Haltickling
2nd Level Green Feather
- Joined
- Apr 3, 2001
- Messages
- 4,353
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Cleo was standing naked in front of her open wardrobe with a sigh: "Oh God, I have nothing to wear!" Despite (or because) of the huge amount of clothing which filled her wardrobe to the point of bursting, she was unable to decide. After all, this was a special occasion, and she had to be dressed properly. Sexy, sure, but not too provocative, and certainly not too conservative.
She was going to visit one of the hippest disco clubs in San Francisco, the "Golden Gate Gay Gig". As its name said, it was a homosexual meeting place, but: Ladies Only! Her friend Mary had brought up the idea. Oh, they weren't lesbian at all, but everybody seemed to be talking about this club, so they just HAD to find out more about it.
Mary and Cleo were inseparable since their college days. "Trouble Twins" was the weakest nickname they've earned. And because of their insatiable curiosity and relentless rumor-mongering, they were called CNN and MTV. But this had a deeper reason:
Mary's full name was Maria Talia Vellicata, and as Cleo was the result of her parents' honeymoon on a Nile cruise in Egypt, she was baptized as Cleopatra Nefertiti Neville. So their initials literally invited the nickname. Her middle initial had always seemed like an ancient Pharaoh's curse to Cleo: Her breasts developed as early as her female classmates', but they stopped growing too soon. They remained small mounds instead of becoming apples or pears. In High School she had been at the center of jokes: "Never-a-titty", that's how her middle name was pronounced.
With a doubtful glance, she looked at her reflection from the large mirror beside her wardrobe, and she mostly liked what she saw: 5'6", slim and trim body, short brown hair with a natural reddish touch which parted like a boy's, but in a carefully coiffured disarray. Long legs, almost but not quite too thin, and a skin like white satin. If only her breasts were a bit larger! But Joe, her last lover, had affirmed they were just the right size: Big enough to play with nicely. When she was aroused, her aureoles protruded beautifully, and her nipples became almost half an inch long! Thoughtfully, she stroked herself there with both hands, sending goosebumps all over her body. Oh God, she was so ticklish that she almost managed to tickle herself, something that's considered impossible normally!
A glance on her Cartier watch made her hurry: In barely 5 minutes, Mary would arrive to pick her up. So she quickly chose her outfit: almost white nylon pantyhose, incredibly tight red leather hot-pants, and one of those white men-shirts Joe had left back when he had moved out. She let the shirt fall loosely over her pants, almost like a miniskirt. Finally, she donned her favorite sandals: dark-red, open-toed, and with leather straps which criss-crossed up her calves almost to the knees. As final touches, she pulled the back of her shirt's collar halfway up, and added a touch of Calvin Klein perfume behind her ears. A bra was utterly unnecessary, obviously. She didn't even own one. The cool shirt made her nipples stiffen slightly, and they were clearly visible beneath the thin material. As the night air was cool, she slipped into her black leather jacket adorned with steel rivets and decorative chains.
When Mary arrived, she proved to share Cleo's taste once more: She wore a white men's shirt, too, but it was bound in a knot above her navel, leaving just an inch of bare skin down to her broad belt around the hips of her black miniskirt. Over that came a short red leather jacket. She was clad in black half-boots carefully hiding her pampered feet. She never wore sandals, as she was so afraid that somebody might tickle her there. If Cleo thought she was ticklish, it was nothing against Mary's sensitivity, especially on her feet.
Mary was half a head taller than Cleo, and even slimmer. Some called her a beanstalk. But at least she had breasts, still small but much larger than her friend's. Her long pitch-black hair fell down to her waist, and Cleo considered her much more beautiful than herself. Needless to mention, Mary thought just the opposite.
A cab took them to the club at North Beach. They passed muster, and the stern-looking female security guard allowed them to enter. Inside, it was incredibly hot and loud, just the way both liked it. The place was crammed despite its considerable size, it took them some time to find a seat at the bar.
With big eyes, the newcomers watched the dancing female couples, especially their outfits: Some were dressed like vulgar hookers, others like the newest fashion models, and another group was wearing pure men's clothes, complete with neckties and suspenders. Many wore black leather, along with fitting uniform caps. "Ah, the SM-people", Mary the smart-ass remarked, shouting to make her voice audible above the music. The tunes varied from techno with open dancing, over sexy lambada and salsa rhythms, to cheek-to-cheek slow-fox. But there was no doubt about one fact: This was a place for the rich and the beautiful.
Both pointed out the most grotesque male-lookers to each other, thoroughly amused by their butch attitude. They even wore large divers' wristwatches to stress their masculinity, and two had painted moustaches on their upper lips, imagine that! When Cleo and Mary discovered them, they broke into a helpless fit of constant giggling, even increased when they saw a female couple eagerly engaged in a hot French kiss in the nearest corner.
Suddenly, the black-leather-clad dominatrix sitting next to Mary addressed them: "You seem to have a good time. May I join the funny party?" Still giggling, Mary explained to her that it was their first time in a lesbian club, and the people seemed so "strange". Baring her white teeth, the dominatrix smiled like a shark: "So you're just amused by lesbians. Do you want to know where the real action takes place?" Eagerly they agreed, and the dominatrix rose from her barstool. "Come on, I'll show you the private club. You'll be able to see what lesbianism really is about!" Cleo gasped breathlessly: "Do they have real sex in there?" - "Of course, what else do you think I meant by 'real action'?"
The girls followed her to the far end of the club, picking their way through several dancing couples and half blinded by the laser stroboscope effects on the dance floor. A huge quarter-ton female security guard blocked their way, but the dominatrix seemed familiar to this Cerberus, so she opened the heavy oak door for them.
When the door closed behind them, the techno club noise reduced itself to a mere whisper. The walls were padded with dark-red leather, and a few unidentifiable black objects represented the furniture. Several smoke-free flares dipped this chamber into flickering light, too dim to see everything clearly. Cleo thought she recognized some medieval torture instruments, but before they could exchange their impressions, both felt a sharp prick in their neck muscles. The lights went out instantly.
An unknown time span later, Cleo's mind returned to this world. Slowly, and slightly blurred. She tried to rub her eyes, but she couldn't move her hands. At first she thought she was still paralyzed, but then the truth hit her cruelly: Her wrists were tied up! The shock cleared away most of her dizziness, and she recognized she was lying on a leather-padded table. Her legs and arms were stretched out, fixated to the table by broad, soft leather cuffs. When she arched her back and neck to see her hands, she noticed Mary standing behind her in a strange position: She was tied to an X-cross, spread-eagled, just as helpless, and with a fearful look in her eyes.
At first they were alone in this dungeon, but soon the oak door opened, and five women entered. Impressive, mature women, the youngest of them about thirty, the oldest one in her mid-forties. Two of them wore the men's clothes which had amused the girls so much before. One showed off her gorgeous model shape in a tight black mini-dress, and the last two were dressed in dominatrix outfit. Her "kidnapper" was one of those, and she took the helm:
"Welcome to the world of lesbianism, girls. As you seem to be so keen to learn more about us, we decided to let you participate in a little lesbian ritual we usually play here. May I introduce: We are the Secret Tickling Society, and we perform weekly black masses here. There is a fixed number of seven women for this ritual, and as only five of us are here tonight, we decided to invite two newcomers." They all grinned sadistically.
"What are you going to do to us?" asked the fearful Mary, with a terrified glance to some whips and paddles on the wall. "Don't you worry, sweetheart," replied the dominatrix. "These implements are for the Secret Sadist Society which also meets here occasionally. We have much more subtle methods to make you suffer…" She let the last word linger.
"But first let's see whom we have here. See if you can find some kind of ID in their pockets, girls," she ordered her companions. The rummaged through the captives' clothes and produced their driving licenses. "We need your names and addresses, just in case we decide to 'invite' you again, if you foolishly risked to report us to anybody," she murmured.
"Ah, what a beautiful name! Cleopatra Nefertiti Neville; bet you are called CNN usually…" she grinned. "And so apt for our little ritual! And this long-haired beauty, let's see: Maria Talia VELLICATA! MTV? And has anybody ever told you what your last name means in Latin? It means 'The Tickled One'! Oh, we really picked the right new members!"
Mary shouted: "What's all this nonsense about? You don't (gasp) intend (gasp) to TICKLE us (gasp!!!), do you?" Cleo chimed in: "You can't do this to us! That's illegal! And what has my name to do with tickling anyway?"
The dominatrix shook her head in mock gravity: "Ts, ts, ts! Don't you get worked up so much, that's bad for your beauty! And our little Egyptian empress doesn't know anything, does she?" She winked at her companions with a big smile. "During our little ritual, we worship the ancient Egyptian goddess of tickling, Ishala! Let's show her!"
All five women surrounded Cleo's table and poised their long painted talons, hovering above her body and feet. Slowly, very slowly they descended on Cleo's sensitive alabaster skin, attacking her on ten different spots at the same time. Cleo tried to suppress a fit of giggles, but she could only withhold it for three seconds: A high-pitched shriek was followed by an ear-shattering "Aaaaaah!". Then the guffaws pearled out freely. She didn't know where to concentrate first: her heaving, twitching tummy, her protruding ribs, the deep hollows of her shaved armpits, the extremely tender skin on both her inner thighs, or the high-arched, pampered feet.
The fifty finger tips with their excruciating long nails painted in a firework of colors whirled over her ticklish young body like a thousand ants, wreaking havoc on her supersensitive nerves. Her view became blurred, and she lost touch with the real world. Her now agonized laughter and screams reverberated through the somber dungeon, turning it into a lunatics' asylum.
Her five torturers knew exactly where and how to touch for the worst (or best?) effect. Scribbling and dabbling on the softer skin at feet, armpits, and thighs, deep-gut kneading her flat tummy, counting the ribs with knuckles one by one. Slowly, she felt herself fading out, panting and gasping for oxygen. But the women showed their considerable experience in tickling: Whenever they felt their victim was about to faint, they granted her a breather for a few seconds.
All the time, the five dominatrixes brandished a huge, sadistically lecherous grin. They were obviously enjoying their "work" tremendously. After about fifteen minutes of severe torture, one of the women looked up to see how Mary took the tickling of her friend. "Hey, look, Mary's enjoying it, too!" she exclaimed. Indeed, Mary was infected by Cleo's laughter, unable to hide her wide smile. "Maybe we should let her participate…" the woman suggested.
Now Mary's grin changed into a mask of terror: "No, no please no, you can't do that to me!" she pleaded fervently. In vain, needless to mention. The five dominatrixes turned their attention to her. As she stood upright and spread-eagled tied to the X-cross, the tickling fingertips approached her upper body. Long before the first touch, she let out a scream: "Hellllllp!!!" The fifty fingers wriggled in the air just millimeters above her skin, but she started to laugh already. "Oh, the anticipation! Exquisite torture, isn't it!" remarked one of her tormentors.
Unable to control this, Mary giggled and guffawed her heart out, even without being touched. But the women couldn't restrain themselves for long either, so the gentle giggle of anticipation was replaced by heavy guffaws as the nails met their targets. They seemed to know every ticklish nerve ending by heart, better than every anatomist. One woman knelt down to tickle the sensitive knee-hollows, while the others tickled away skillfully at ribs, tummy, and underarms. The space for eight hands on the upper body was limited, so another woman squatted to give Mary's feet a fair share. The high arches permitted some access, but seemingly not enough, so the dominatrix stood up again and remarked with some frustration: "I can't reach her feet that way. Why don't we change their positions?"
The others agreed eagerly. They untied the completely exhausted Cleo who wasn't able to offer much resistance, and then Mary was unshackled, one of the strong women controlling her easily with a practiced police-grip. Cleo found herself on the X-cross within a minute, and Mary was stretched out on the padded table.
The dominatrixes' leader held a short speech: "I hope you girls are really amused now. You know, we disapprove of outsiders sneering and laughing at us for our sexual predisposition. Laughing about lesbians in a gay club is no laughing matter! But I'm getting all hot and bothered, we should have some more fun ourselves." With a broad grin which revealed about 64 teeth (at least it seemed so to Mary and Cleo), she added: "And I promised them some real sex, so don't let us disappoint them…" The women undressed, revealing various sizes of gorgeous breasts. All kept their pussies cleanly shaved, and their lower lips were surprisingly small for such mature women. Probably a result of not having to endure any male penetration!
The two involuntary ritual participants were only too glad for their break. But unfortunately it didn't last for long: Only a few minutes later, Mary saw them approaching her body. Slowly. Very slowly, their wriggling fingers producing the now well-known giggles of anticipation. And again, they hit their prey! Once more, the nails in her armpits, the knuckles on her ribs, and the deep-stomach digging reduced poor Mary into a laughing, screaming vegetable in ticklish tears.
But a new sensation penetrated the blanket of ticklish sensations like an electric jolt: One long, pointed nail traced up and down each of her super-sensitive and oh-so-pampered feet! Not a single callus spoilt the perfection of her size tens' hyper-soft skin, and her scream was the only appropriate reaction to this new torment. It sounded clearly different, so the "boss" looked up in astonishment: "Seems we've found her real T-spot! Let's exploit it!" The tickling stopped, and one of the women fetched two long goose quills hidden behind some whips.
Of course! Extremely ticklish regions called for a softer treatment first, to be increased slowly. Only Mary's feet were tickled now, but it sent her into hysteria more than the fifty fingers on her upper body before. Gently, the feather tips glided up and down her high arches, her long slim feet deliciously inviting them to feast. Circles and geometric figures were drawn over every square inch, finally arriving at the undersides of her long slender toes. Two strong hands rendered the toes motionless, declining them their urge to curl up. Fiery sparks exploded before Mary's eyes at each new touch, especially when the feathers slided between the toes. She had always known her feet were ticklish, but this was much more than she ever thought imaginable! How much torture can a girl endure?
From time to time, the women stopped the foot-torment and concentrated of the upper body again, only to be rewarded by new torrents of laughter from poor Mary. Cleo watched the incredible scene wide-eyed, but she, too, couldn't help grinning. And she noticed something else: Her own moisture wasn't restricted to the sweat on her skin anymore. It built up inside her lower body regions, slowly oozing out between her spread thighs. Hot and sticky, and perfuming the air with erotic fragrance. She couldn't believe it, watching her friend getting tickled aroused her sexually!
One of the woman seemed to scent this instinctively, and she started to kiss and tongue-tickle Cleo's now extremely long nipples, savoring them thoroughly. Oh, she was so sensitive there, and the pointed tongue even elicited some tickled giggles. Another woman joined in, caressing Cleo's pubic area in narrowing circles, always avoiding the really interesting spots. While the tickle-torture on Mary's feet continued, Cleo now experienced the most erotic torment ever. She would have liked to speed up the proceedings, but in her fettered position, she was unable to move.
The other women noticed this, too, and they became aroused as hell. Their hands sneaked out to caress their neighbors' breasts and pussies. Soon, the moaning and sighing almost drowned out Mary's agonized guffaws. The "boss" took the helm again: "We should let them both share our lesbian pleasure, shouldn't we?" Turning to Mary's tear-soaked face, she said: "You will tickle your friend Cleo now, we'll free your hands. If your tickling gets too weak, your soles and toes will be punished thoroughly by our nails! But if you do it right, we'll do something really pleasurable to you."
She unshackled Mary's wrist cuffs and shoved the table over to the X-cross. Mary was now able to tickle Cleo's tummy and ribs effortlessly, but only with outstretched arms. Cleo watched her fearfully, but a strange gleam glinted in her eyes: She longed for more body touches now, no matter where and how. Her state of arousal clouded her mind, and secretly she imagined Mary eating her out!
The daydream was shattered cruelly by Mary's fingers: She knew her friend's ticklish spots now, having watched her previous torture, and she made merciless use of it, not only afraid of the foot tickling to begin once more. Believe it or not: she had become considerably hot herself. This arousal was now increased by a woman's experienced lesbian tongue on her most excitable spot: around her clit. While her fingertips tickled away on the screaming and laughing Cleo's tummy and ribcage, her own moaning and sighing became audible to the onlookers.
After a while, stretching her arms out high up made Mary tired, and her tickling lessened a bit. Immediately two women encouraged her resume scrabbling their nails over Mary's soles, she howled up like being branded with a red-hot iron. And she doubled her efforts on Cleo at once, sending her friend into plain hysteria once more.
One of the women snickered: "Look, we made MTV tickle CNN!" The dominatrixes burst out laughing, and before long, the hilarity was increased by some mutual tickling. The five mature women were horsing around like children, but the favored sensation titillated their own arousal, and the mood turned amorous soon. The started to finger each other feverishly, forgetting about their two young playthings.
Less than five minutes later, the five dominatrixes were entangled in a knot of limbs and mouths and pussies, completely oblivious of their surroundings. While Cleo still watched their erotic trance open-mouthed and feeling a little neglected, the ever-practical Mary grasped the opportunity: With a huge effort, she sat up and untied her ankles. Now, she was so glad for the countless push-ups she had exercised in the gym, and despite her tummy muscles being thoroughly sore from the laughter, she was able to free herself.
Quickly, she left the table and untied Cleo, who took some time to realize what was going on, as she swam still in an erotic, horny haze. Gently, Mary slapped her face to bring her back to Earth, and in a frenzied hurry, they bolted through the dungeon's other door, grabbing some pieces of the women's garment on their way out. The door led into a deserted, run-down backyard. They climbed on a trash-bin and hustled over a brick wall to the adjacent estate. Another backyard, dimly lit by the street lamps a hundred yards away.
Still halfway dizzy about their narrow escape, they put on the clothes they had grabbed, and moved towards the street lamps. Arrived at the boardwalk, they stared at each other in disbelief: Cleo wore a black men's suit and white shirt, while Mary had covered herself with a black leather bikini. Both outfits were much too large for them, and they had to hold their trousers and pants with their hands during their run.
Luckily, the first car passing them was a cab. Waving desperately, they hailed it, and with screeching brakes it stopped in front of them. They jumped in breathlessly and gave Cleo's address. The driver was a nondescript Jamaican with a huge, multicolored leather patch cap on his curly nest of hair, not an unusual view in an American cab.
But the girls only saw the cabbie from behind. They didn't notice the white-toothed grin on the black woman's face and her lecherous grin in the rear mirror. And there was another fact they weren't aware of: This female cabbie was a member of the 'Caribbean Lesbian Tickling Society", a private club in Oakland, specializing in tickling each other. They had always wanted some white upper class girls as victims, and the girls' clothing clearly proved they were lesbians. So the taxi took some unknown alleys, obviously shortcuts. Mary and Cleo just wondered why the cab unexpectedly turned off at the Bay Bridge to cross it…
She was going to visit one of the hippest disco clubs in San Francisco, the "Golden Gate Gay Gig". As its name said, it was a homosexual meeting place, but: Ladies Only! Her friend Mary had brought up the idea. Oh, they weren't lesbian at all, but everybody seemed to be talking about this club, so they just HAD to find out more about it.
Mary and Cleo were inseparable since their college days. "Trouble Twins" was the weakest nickname they've earned. And because of their insatiable curiosity and relentless rumor-mongering, they were called CNN and MTV. But this had a deeper reason:
Mary's full name was Maria Talia Vellicata, and as Cleo was the result of her parents' honeymoon on a Nile cruise in Egypt, she was baptized as Cleopatra Nefertiti Neville. So their initials literally invited the nickname. Her middle initial had always seemed like an ancient Pharaoh's curse to Cleo: Her breasts developed as early as her female classmates', but they stopped growing too soon. They remained small mounds instead of becoming apples or pears. In High School she had been at the center of jokes: "Never-a-titty", that's how her middle name was pronounced.
With a doubtful glance, she looked at her reflection from the large mirror beside her wardrobe, and she mostly liked what she saw: 5'6", slim and trim body, short brown hair with a natural reddish touch which parted like a boy's, but in a carefully coiffured disarray. Long legs, almost but not quite too thin, and a skin like white satin. If only her breasts were a bit larger! But Joe, her last lover, had affirmed they were just the right size: Big enough to play with nicely. When she was aroused, her aureoles protruded beautifully, and her nipples became almost half an inch long! Thoughtfully, she stroked herself there with both hands, sending goosebumps all over her body. Oh God, she was so ticklish that she almost managed to tickle herself, something that's considered impossible normally!
A glance on her Cartier watch made her hurry: In barely 5 minutes, Mary would arrive to pick her up. So she quickly chose her outfit: almost white nylon pantyhose, incredibly tight red leather hot-pants, and one of those white men-shirts Joe had left back when he had moved out. She let the shirt fall loosely over her pants, almost like a miniskirt. Finally, she donned her favorite sandals: dark-red, open-toed, and with leather straps which criss-crossed up her calves almost to the knees. As final touches, she pulled the back of her shirt's collar halfway up, and added a touch of Calvin Klein perfume behind her ears. A bra was utterly unnecessary, obviously. She didn't even own one. The cool shirt made her nipples stiffen slightly, and they were clearly visible beneath the thin material. As the night air was cool, she slipped into her black leather jacket adorned with steel rivets and decorative chains.
When Mary arrived, she proved to share Cleo's taste once more: She wore a white men's shirt, too, but it was bound in a knot above her navel, leaving just an inch of bare skin down to her broad belt around the hips of her black miniskirt. Over that came a short red leather jacket. She was clad in black half-boots carefully hiding her pampered feet. She never wore sandals, as she was so afraid that somebody might tickle her there. If Cleo thought she was ticklish, it was nothing against Mary's sensitivity, especially on her feet.
Mary was half a head taller than Cleo, and even slimmer. Some called her a beanstalk. But at least she had breasts, still small but much larger than her friend's. Her long pitch-black hair fell down to her waist, and Cleo considered her much more beautiful than herself. Needless to mention, Mary thought just the opposite.
A cab took them to the club at North Beach. They passed muster, and the stern-looking female security guard allowed them to enter. Inside, it was incredibly hot and loud, just the way both liked it. The place was crammed despite its considerable size, it took them some time to find a seat at the bar.
With big eyes, the newcomers watched the dancing female couples, especially their outfits: Some were dressed like vulgar hookers, others like the newest fashion models, and another group was wearing pure men's clothes, complete with neckties and suspenders. Many wore black leather, along with fitting uniform caps. "Ah, the SM-people", Mary the smart-ass remarked, shouting to make her voice audible above the music. The tunes varied from techno with open dancing, over sexy lambada and salsa rhythms, to cheek-to-cheek slow-fox. But there was no doubt about one fact: This was a place for the rich and the beautiful.
Both pointed out the most grotesque male-lookers to each other, thoroughly amused by their butch attitude. They even wore large divers' wristwatches to stress their masculinity, and two had painted moustaches on their upper lips, imagine that! When Cleo and Mary discovered them, they broke into a helpless fit of constant giggling, even increased when they saw a female couple eagerly engaged in a hot French kiss in the nearest corner.
Suddenly, the black-leather-clad dominatrix sitting next to Mary addressed them: "You seem to have a good time. May I join the funny party?" Still giggling, Mary explained to her that it was their first time in a lesbian club, and the people seemed so "strange". Baring her white teeth, the dominatrix smiled like a shark: "So you're just amused by lesbians. Do you want to know where the real action takes place?" Eagerly they agreed, and the dominatrix rose from her barstool. "Come on, I'll show you the private club. You'll be able to see what lesbianism really is about!" Cleo gasped breathlessly: "Do they have real sex in there?" - "Of course, what else do you think I meant by 'real action'?"
The girls followed her to the far end of the club, picking their way through several dancing couples and half blinded by the laser stroboscope effects on the dance floor. A huge quarter-ton female security guard blocked their way, but the dominatrix seemed familiar to this Cerberus, so she opened the heavy oak door for them.
When the door closed behind them, the techno club noise reduced itself to a mere whisper. The walls were padded with dark-red leather, and a few unidentifiable black objects represented the furniture. Several smoke-free flares dipped this chamber into flickering light, too dim to see everything clearly. Cleo thought she recognized some medieval torture instruments, but before they could exchange their impressions, both felt a sharp prick in their neck muscles. The lights went out instantly.
An unknown time span later, Cleo's mind returned to this world. Slowly, and slightly blurred. She tried to rub her eyes, but she couldn't move her hands. At first she thought she was still paralyzed, but then the truth hit her cruelly: Her wrists were tied up! The shock cleared away most of her dizziness, and she recognized she was lying on a leather-padded table. Her legs and arms were stretched out, fixated to the table by broad, soft leather cuffs. When she arched her back and neck to see her hands, she noticed Mary standing behind her in a strange position: She was tied to an X-cross, spread-eagled, just as helpless, and with a fearful look in her eyes.
At first they were alone in this dungeon, but soon the oak door opened, and five women entered. Impressive, mature women, the youngest of them about thirty, the oldest one in her mid-forties. Two of them wore the men's clothes which had amused the girls so much before. One showed off her gorgeous model shape in a tight black mini-dress, and the last two were dressed in dominatrix outfit. Her "kidnapper" was one of those, and she took the helm:
"Welcome to the world of lesbianism, girls. As you seem to be so keen to learn more about us, we decided to let you participate in a little lesbian ritual we usually play here. May I introduce: We are the Secret Tickling Society, and we perform weekly black masses here. There is a fixed number of seven women for this ritual, and as only five of us are here tonight, we decided to invite two newcomers." They all grinned sadistically.
"What are you going to do to us?" asked the fearful Mary, with a terrified glance to some whips and paddles on the wall. "Don't you worry, sweetheart," replied the dominatrix. "These implements are for the Secret Sadist Society which also meets here occasionally. We have much more subtle methods to make you suffer…" She let the last word linger.
"But first let's see whom we have here. See if you can find some kind of ID in their pockets, girls," she ordered her companions. The rummaged through the captives' clothes and produced their driving licenses. "We need your names and addresses, just in case we decide to 'invite' you again, if you foolishly risked to report us to anybody," she murmured.
"Ah, what a beautiful name! Cleopatra Nefertiti Neville; bet you are called CNN usually…" she grinned. "And so apt for our little ritual! And this long-haired beauty, let's see: Maria Talia VELLICATA! MTV? And has anybody ever told you what your last name means in Latin? It means 'The Tickled One'! Oh, we really picked the right new members!"
Mary shouted: "What's all this nonsense about? You don't (gasp) intend (gasp) to TICKLE us (gasp!!!), do you?" Cleo chimed in: "You can't do this to us! That's illegal! And what has my name to do with tickling anyway?"
The dominatrix shook her head in mock gravity: "Ts, ts, ts! Don't you get worked up so much, that's bad for your beauty! And our little Egyptian empress doesn't know anything, does she?" She winked at her companions with a big smile. "During our little ritual, we worship the ancient Egyptian goddess of tickling, Ishala! Let's show her!"
All five women surrounded Cleo's table and poised their long painted talons, hovering above her body and feet. Slowly, very slowly they descended on Cleo's sensitive alabaster skin, attacking her on ten different spots at the same time. Cleo tried to suppress a fit of giggles, but she could only withhold it for three seconds: A high-pitched shriek was followed by an ear-shattering "Aaaaaah!". Then the guffaws pearled out freely. She didn't know where to concentrate first: her heaving, twitching tummy, her protruding ribs, the deep hollows of her shaved armpits, the extremely tender skin on both her inner thighs, or the high-arched, pampered feet.
The fifty finger tips with their excruciating long nails painted in a firework of colors whirled over her ticklish young body like a thousand ants, wreaking havoc on her supersensitive nerves. Her view became blurred, and she lost touch with the real world. Her now agonized laughter and screams reverberated through the somber dungeon, turning it into a lunatics' asylum.
Her five torturers knew exactly where and how to touch for the worst (or best?) effect. Scribbling and dabbling on the softer skin at feet, armpits, and thighs, deep-gut kneading her flat tummy, counting the ribs with knuckles one by one. Slowly, she felt herself fading out, panting and gasping for oxygen. But the women showed their considerable experience in tickling: Whenever they felt their victim was about to faint, they granted her a breather for a few seconds.
All the time, the five dominatrixes brandished a huge, sadistically lecherous grin. They were obviously enjoying their "work" tremendously. After about fifteen minutes of severe torture, one of the women looked up to see how Mary took the tickling of her friend. "Hey, look, Mary's enjoying it, too!" she exclaimed. Indeed, Mary was infected by Cleo's laughter, unable to hide her wide smile. "Maybe we should let her participate…" the woman suggested.
Now Mary's grin changed into a mask of terror: "No, no please no, you can't do that to me!" she pleaded fervently. In vain, needless to mention. The five dominatrixes turned their attention to her. As she stood upright and spread-eagled tied to the X-cross, the tickling fingertips approached her upper body. Long before the first touch, she let out a scream: "Hellllllp!!!" The fifty fingers wriggled in the air just millimeters above her skin, but she started to laugh already. "Oh, the anticipation! Exquisite torture, isn't it!" remarked one of her tormentors.
Unable to control this, Mary giggled and guffawed her heart out, even without being touched. But the women couldn't restrain themselves for long either, so the gentle giggle of anticipation was replaced by heavy guffaws as the nails met their targets. They seemed to know every ticklish nerve ending by heart, better than every anatomist. One woman knelt down to tickle the sensitive knee-hollows, while the others tickled away skillfully at ribs, tummy, and underarms. The space for eight hands on the upper body was limited, so another woman squatted to give Mary's feet a fair share. The high arches permitted some access, but seemingly not enough, so the dominatrix stood up again and remarked with some frustration: "I can't reach her feet that way. Why don't we change their positions?"
The others agreed eagerly. They untied the completely exhausted Cleo who wasn't able to offer much resistance, and then Mary was unshackled, one of the strong women controlling her easily with a practiced police-grip. Cleo found herself on the X-cross within a minute, and Mary was stretched out on the padded table.
The dominatrixes' leader held a short speech: "I hope you girls are really amused now. You know, we disapprove of outsiders sneering and laughing at us for our sexual predisposition. Laughing about lesbians in a gay club is no laughing matter! But I'm getting all hot and bothered, we should have some more fun ourselves." With a broad grin which revealed about 64 teeth (at least it seemed so to Mary and Cleo), she added: "And I promised them some real sex, so don't let us disappoint them…" The women undressed, revealing various sizes of gorgeous breasts. All kept their pussies cleanly shaved, and their lower lips were surprisingly small for such mature women. Probably a result of not having to endure any male penetration!
The two involuntary ritual participants were only too glad for their break. But unfortunately it didn't last for long: Only a few minutes later, Mary saw them approaching her body. Slowly. Very slowly, their wriggling fingers producing the now well-known giggles of anticipation. And again, they hit their prey! Once more, the nails in her armpits, the knuckles on her ribs, and the deep-stomach digging reduced poor Mary into a laughing, screaming vegetable in ticklish tears.
But a new sensation penetrated the blanket of ticklish sensations like an electric jolt: One long, pointed nail traced up and down each of her super-sensitive and oh-so-pampered feet! Not a single callus spoilt the perfection of her size tens' hyper-soft skin, and her scream was the only appropriate reaction to this new torment. It sounded clearly different, so the "boss" looked up in astonishment: "Seems we've found her real T-spot! Let's exploit it!" The tickling stopped, and one of the women fetched two long goose quills hidden behind some whips.
Of course! Extremely ticklish regions called for a softer treatment first, to be increased slowly. Only Mary's feet were tickled now, but it sent her into hysteria more than the fifty fingers on her upper body before. Gently, the feather tips glided up and down her high arches, her long slim feet deliciously inviting them to feast. Circles and geometric figures were drawn over every square inch, finally arriving at the undersides of her long slender toes. Two strong hands rendered the toes motionless, declining them their urge to curl up. Fiery sparks exploded before Mary's eyes at each new touch, especially when the feathers slided between the toes. She had always known her feet were ticklish, but this was much more than she ever thought imaginable! How much torture can a girl endure?
From time to time, the women stopped the foot-torment and concentrated of the upper body again, only to be rewarded by new torrents of laughter from poor Mary. Cleo watched the incredible scene wide-eyed, but she, too, couldn't help grinning. And she noticed something else: Her own moisture wasn't restricted to the sweat on her skin anymore. It built up inside her lower body regions, slowly oozing out between her spread thighs. Hot and sticky, and perfuming the air with erotic fragrance. She couldn't believe it, watching her friend getting tickled aroused her sexually!
One of the woman seemed to scent this instinctively, and she started to kiss and tongue-tickle Cleo's now extremely long nipples, savoring them thoroughly. Oh, she was so sensitive there, and the pointed tongue even elicited some tickled giggles. Another woman joined in, caressing Cleo's pubic area in narrowing circles, always avoiding the really interesting spots. While the tickle-torture on Mary's feet continued, Cleo now experienced the most erotic torment ever. She would have liked to speed up the proceedings, but in her fettered position, she was unable to move.
The other women noticed this, too, and they became aroused as hell. Their hands sneaked out to caress their neighbors' breasts and pussies. Soon, the moaning and sighing almost drowned out Mary's agonized guffaws. The "boss" took the helm again: "We should let them both share our lesbian pleasure, shouldn't we?" Turning to Mary's tear-soaked face, she said: "You will tickle your friend Cleo now, we'll free your hands. If your tickling gets too weak, your soles and toes will be punished thoroughly by our nails! But if you do it right, we'll do something really pleasurable to you."
She unshackled Mary's wrist cuffs and shoved the table over to the X-cross. Mary was now able to tickle Cleo's tummy and ribs effortlessly, but only with outstretched arms. Cleo watched her fearfully, but a strange gleam glinted in her eyes: She longed for more body touches now, no matter where and how. Her state of arousal clouded her mind, and secretly she imagined Mary eating her out!
The daydream was shattered cruelly by Mary's fingers: She knew her friend's ticklish spots now, having watched her previous torture, and she made merciless use of it, not only afraid of the foot tickling to begin once more. Believe it or not: she had become considerably hot herself. This arousal was now increased by a woman's experienced lesbian tongue on her most excitable spot: around her clit. While her fingertips tickled away on the screaming and laughing Cleo's tummy and ribcage, her own moaning and sighing became audible to the onlookers.
After a while, stretching her arms out high up made Mary tired, and her tickling lessened a bit. Immediately two women encouraged her resume scrabbling their nails over Mary's soles, she howled up like being branded with a red-hot iron. And she doubled her efforts on Cleo at once, sending her friend into plain hysteria once more.
One of the women snickered: "Look, we made MTV tickle CNN!" The dominatrixes burst out laughing, and before long, the hilarity was increased by some mutual tickling. The five mature women were horsing around like children, but the favored sensation titillated their own arousal, and the mood turned amorous soon. The started to finger each other feverishly, forgetting about their two young playthings.
Less than five minutes later, the five dominatrixes were entangled in a knot of limbs and mouths and pussies, completely oblivious of their surroundings. While Cleo still watched their erotic trance open-mouthed and feeling a little neglected, the ever-practical Mary grasped the opportunity: With a huge effort, she sat up and untied her ankles. Now, she was so glad for the countless push-ups she had exercised in the gym, and despite her tummy muscles being thoroughly sore from the laughter, she was able to free herself.
Quickly, she left the table and untied Cleo, who took some time to realize what was going on, as she swam still in an erotic, horny haze. Gently, Mary slapped her face to bring her back to Earth, and in a frenzied hurry, they bolted through the dungeon's other door, grabbing some pieces of the women's garment on their way out. The door led into a deserted, run-down backyard. They climbed on a trash-bin and hustled over a brick wall to the adjacent estate. Another backyard, dimly lit by the street lamps a hundred yards away.
Still halfway dizzy about their narrow escape, they put on the clothes they had grabbed, and moved towards the street lamps. Arrived at the boardwalk, they stared at each other in disbelief: Cleo wore a black men's suit and white shirt, while Mary had covered herself with a black leather bikini. Both outfits were much too large for them, and they had to hold their trousers and pants with their hands during their run.
Luckily, the first car passing them was a cab. Waving desperately, they hailed it, and with screeching brakes it stopped in front of them. They jumped in breathlessly and gave Cleo's address. The driver was a nondescript Jamaican with a huge, multicolored leather patch cap on his curly nest of hair, not an unusual view in an American cab.
But the girls only saw the cabbie from behind. They didn't notice the white-toothed grin on the black woman's face and her lecherous grin in the rear mirror. And there was another fact they weren't aware of: This female cabbie was a member of the 'Caribbean Lesbian Tickling Society", a private club in Oakland, specializing in tickling each other. They had always wanted some white upper class girls as victims, and the girls' clothing clearly proved they were lesbians. So the taxi took some unknown alleys, obviously shortcuts. Mary and Cleo just wondered why the cab unexpectedly turned off at the Bay Bridge to cross it…
