Nylon Goth
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- Joined
- Jun 9, 2005
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So here we are back with part 3 - thank you for those sticking with me. (Links to part 1 and 2 below) - wall to wall nylon tickling of multiple stockinged F’s in a classic tickling scenario - one for the nylon tickling fans out there and a slight nod to Paradise Productions. All feedback gratefully received as always 🪶🪶🦇🦇
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 Return to the Bat Cave Club
“AAAHAaaaa! HEeeeee!!! STTTTAAAAAPPP!!” Begged the prone form of Jennifer secured face down on a padded St Andrew’s Cross. Jennifer had become something of a personal favourite of Simon Baxter, sometime millionaire and full time proprietor of the Bat Cave Club. There was something about how she seemed to have a love hate relationship with the tickling and edging she willingly allowed him to subject her to which fascinated and inflamed him. She was secured in his favourite position. Naked apart from sheer seamed coffee coloured nylon stockings. Her soles and arse both facing upwards on perfect display. Her spreadeagled legs allowing him access to her most intimate spots.
Simon, dressed in his favourite black silk kimono, restrained the big toe of her right foot between the finger and thumb of one hand whilst the well manicured digits of the other snaked their way tortuously up and down her nylon arch. He would occasionally add a slightly more robust flourish of his finger tips, luxuriating not only in the feel of the exquisite nylon but the extra ticklish squeals they elicited. He gently bent her toes back and scrabbled his nails over super sensitive nylon encased flesh at their base. “On a scale of 1-100 how much would you say this tickles my dear?”
“EEaaaaaeeep Gaaaad haaa one EEEAAA THOUSAAAAAAAAND HEEeeee PLEEEAZeeee!!” Smiling with satisfaction and passion he flicked his finger nails over the pads and tips of her stockinged toes. The soft scritching noise of nails on nylons was music to his ears. Abandoning her right foot he retrieved a Pursonic toothbrush and stiff turkey feather from his tray of torture implements. “Now tickle slave I think I have been far too easy on you!” With that the brush buzzed into life. “Noooo! Master pleeease not the brush on my ticklish feet!” She wailed. He applied the vibrating bristles to the ball of her left foot allowing then to tease and stimulate the coffee coloured hosed nerve endings. He was rewarded with more desperate laughing and begging but before she realised what was happening he reached out and began feathering her arse crack. Had she not been strapped down Jennifer would have hit the roof. “AAAAGHHHHH GAAAAAAOD NOOOO YOU FIEHEHEEND!!!!!” He burried the tormenting bristles in the high nylon arch of her foot whilst relentlessly stroking her naked butt with the feather, unsure as to which tactic was providing the most exquisite torture.
Despite the desperate pleading and giggling the room had started to smell of sex and as well as his own raging arousal he could tell Jennifer was getting turned on by his tickling ministrations. Abandoning his comfortable arm chair and the Pursonic he stood between her spreadeagled legs and concentrated the feathers’ tip on her glistening lips. The quality of her giggling and begging became more throaty but no less desperate. He curled the wicked tip under her to gently graze her clitoris. “Ooooooh master mmmmm please pleeeease let me cum!” She begged whilst thinking secretly to herself that she could not believe she was being paid for this as she would have submitted to this delicious torture for free. He continued relentlessly feathering how now very wet lips and nub. “Are you going to be my good girl?”
“Yes! Yeeees! My tickle master!” He smiled evily. “I think you can do better then that slave!” He used his free hand to motivate her by spider tickling the back of her left knee, admiring the delicate back seams of her stockings. “Mahahaster nooooOOO. I AM YOUR TICKLE SLAHAHAVE! I LoooOOVE THE THIHICKLING! Take meeeeEEE PLEEEAAAZEEE!” Simon needed no further encouragement and dropping the feather to the floor he brought them both to a shuddering climax.
Today was not be all pleasure though. The Bat Cave Club was receiving a VIP member at 7PM and everything had to be perfect. The VIP in question was Sir Quentin Barclay, Member of Parliament and current Chancellor of the Exchequer. He would be arriving on a private launch from the Palace of Westminster to the clubs’ own private Thames-side jetty in absolute privacy. Simon smiled at the fact Old Father Thames had ferried rich patrons down river to the fleshpots of Greenwich since at least Tudor times and things had not changed. Though “happily” married with picture perfect children, Sir Quentin had a raging nylon tickling fetish which the Bat Cave quenched, albeit for a hefty price.
Simon stood at the entrance desk with Madame Cholett his formidable front of house and a lady who put the “Dom” in “indomitable”. “So Mrs C are we prepared?”
“Absolutament Monsieur Baxter! We have two rounds of the tickling tournament and a 1920’s gangster themed interrogation happening in the basement but the upper playrooms have been cleared and prepared. We will be using room 5. The six girls are all dressed and ready for our special guest but I am sure they would appreciate a pep talk from their boss,” she winked. Smiling he took the stairs to Room 5.
The room looked like every other high end board room across the globe. Dominated by a a very large sturdy black oak table and with 5 imposing leather and steel chairs. One at the head of the table and the other 4 flanking, 2 on either side. At each position lap tops, document folders, pens and pads had been laid out as if a real board meeting was about to begin. Simon smiled at the perfect illusion.
The door opened and the 6 smiling girls entered the room. 4 (Chloe, Katie, Porsche and Unity) were dressed in formal business attire. Pencil skirts and tailored jackets in various shades of formal grey. Their legs encased in sheer black tights that Simon, with his practiced eye, knew to be an extra sheer 10 denier. Perfect for tickling. The look was finished off with shiny patent leather Louboutin heels. The other two girls (Kitty and Kim) were dressed more mischievously as french maids. Their short black and white pinafores revealing fishnet stocking tops and the hint of suspenders. Both twirled feather dusters in their well manicured hands.
“Ladies! You look wonderful! Today is a very special day for our little enterprise. Sir Quentin is a very valued patron so I want you to do everything to look after him. Madame Chollet has given you a detailed briefing as to his requirements so all I can ask is that you put your best feet forward and give him an evening to remember. He is very generous tipper. To your positions - he will be here imminently.”
Leaving the room he waited in the hallway. Three minutes later the lift doors opened and the 6 foot Saville Row suited frame of Sir Quentin exited the lift flanked by Madame C. He firmly gripped Simons hand with the quiet air of total authority. “Good to meet you Mr Baxter. I take it all of my requirements have been met?”
“Absolutely Sir Quentin. To the last letter.”
“Excellent then I am rather keen to get underway as I have to be back in the House for a late vote tonight.”
“I shall leave you to it Sir. I hope you have a very successful “meeting” and call the front desk if there is anything else you require.”
Sir Quentin entered Room 5, surveying the scene. Chloe, Katie, Porsche and Unity were lined up hovering attentively near the boardroom table and Kitty and Kim were nowhere to be seen. His gaze momentarily flicked over the 4 pairs of shapely black nylon covered legs and he felt his arousal growing.
“Good morning colleagues thank you for being on time,” he boomed. “Time is tight so I suggest we commence this meeting immediately, if you could all take your seats please.”
“Yes sir, absolutely,” they all chorused. Sir Quentin took his position at the head of the table with Chloe and Katie on his left and Porsche and Unity on his right. “As you all know we are here to review the U.K. trade deficit numbers for Quarter 3 so I expect your utmost attention and focus on this serious matter.” The girls demurely assented and for a moment the only sound in the room was a series of soft metallic clicks from under the table.
Sir Quentin opened his notepad and pointed at Chloe, “You Miss Smith, appraise us of the actions from our previous meeting.”
“Of course Sir,” Chloe smiled picking up a document from the table in front of her and began to read aloud, “The Indian trade delegation is….” She shifted in her seat, twitching slightly, “…to be hosted…” She twitched again, slightly more noticeably and her grasp tightened on the document. “…at the…at the,” a smile was beginning to creep into the corners of her mouth, “…at the Savoy ho…ho..hoteeeel…” She took a deep breath in through her nose and momentarily screwed her eyes shut.
“Miss Smith, we do not have all day! Please pick up the pace!” Sir Quentin barked, his eyes glittering at her predicament.
“Absolutely SiUUur,” she jumped in her seat.
The reason for Chloe’s distraction lurked unseen beneath the table. Kitty was currently curled on the floor playing her finger tips gently over Chloe’s black nyloned soles. When the meeting had started she and Kim, her french maid accomplice, had cuffed the ankles of all 4 girls to the stainless steel legs of their chairs and slipped off their heels. Their nylon feet were now defenceless against the tickling tortures that would be inflicted on them to try and break their professional composure. Chloe, Katie, Porsche and Unity’s brief was to hold out at all costs.
“The del…he…hee…gation will be led by the…the…” Chloe let out a suppressed mewl as beneath the table Kitty fluttered her fingernails across the hose of her high arch.
“Miss Smith, I do not know what has come over you. Miss Brown perhaps you can takeover this more than simple task,” he said turning to Unity. Visibly flushed, Chloe lowered her head and tried to calm her breathing as Kitty gave her soles a few more ticklish strokes for luck.
“Of course Sir!” Unity answered primly. She started well, making it to the end of the third action point whilst Kim ever so delicately teased the tops and sides of her stockinged feet with the barest of touches. The pads of her fingers gliding over the sheer nylon material, lingering on her toe cleavage before tracing their way back to her ankles and heels. Unity was literally dying inside and using all of her mental strength not to either scream or beg for the tickling to stop. Suddenly she felt her unseen assailants hands slide under her restrained feet, all 10 fingernails poised menacingly on her helpless black nylon soles.
“Action 4. Reconciliation of outstandeeeeeeeeing….” After what seemed like a tortuous eternity, Kim unleashed her nails on both of Unity’s soles simultaneously. Stroking, scraping, wiggling, teasing but above all tickling. Unable to carry on and hardly able to breathe, Unity tried to disguise the giggles bubbling from her throat as a coughing fit.
“Really Miss Brown this is quite unorthodox. Please take some water and let one of your colleagues take over,” admonished Sir Quentin, his voice betraying no sign of the delight he was feeling inside knowing the delicious nylon soles of his “colleagues” were being tickled mercilessly beyond his view. He could only imagine what the two French Maids were doing to their helpless victims. He pointed at Katie, “You Miss Jones, I trust you have more composure than your colleagues who will both find themselves on performance improvement plans for their levity!”
“I won’t let you down Sir!” Katie beamed. She successfully narrated the next 5 action points without feeling the slightest touch from below the table. The tension was unbearable. Beneath her, like circling shark, Kitty was biding her time, relishing the anticipation she was building not only in her victim but also in their VIP client. Becoming increasingly nervous, Katie glanced down to be met with sight of a long stiff red feather being twirled menacingly in her lap. It was swiftly withdrawn out of sight and Katie felt it flutter over her nylon covered knee and insidiously snake it’s way down the inside of her calf. Gritting her teeth she continued as calmly as she could with her monologue.
Kitty was only warming up. With an evil grin she firmly grasped Katie’s right foot, reversed the feather and began poking at her sole with quill end. Her victim almost gave up there and then.
“Poieeeeeeeeent sev…HEV…HEV…SEVEN!” Katie gasped, jumping forward at each of the quills pokes. Beneath the table Kitty used the wicked quill to firmly stroke the tender crease just below the ball of Katie’s sole. The point rasping up and down the thin layer of black nylon. Over and over and over, never stopping. With tears forming in the corners of her eyes, Katie thumped her hand repeatedly on the arm of her chair in frustration and emitted a high pitched “ Eeeeeeeeeeep!” noise from behind a desperate grimace.
A flush had crept up Sir Quentin’s face and his nostrils flared as he watched Katie’s ticklish agony. Not being able to see what was causing her so much ticklish torment made it even more arousing. He was loving every stifled yelp and squirm as she desperately tried to hold on to the shreds of her composure. “You do disappoint me Miss Jones! May I remind you U.K. Treasury business is certainly no laughing matter!”
“No..ho ho ho Sir,” she exclaimed rocking backwards and forwards in her chair as the quill tip continued to relentlessly excite her ticklish nerve endings.
“Miss Price,” he exclaimed, “It seems you are my only hope. Please try and succeed where your colleagues have failed!” Nodding, Porsche took over from where Katie had abruptly ended.
“Point seven - quarter three tax returns have returned to more normal oooooh!” She gasped. Kitty had wasted no time fluttering her nails over Porsches’ ankles and Achilles tendons before spider tickling up the backs of her nylon sheathed calves. This was the endgame and Porsche was to be broken. Abandoning her lower legs she grasped her victims’ left foot in both hands and began using her teeth to graze the underside of her sole. Scraping and nibbling at the nylon flesh.
“To moHOore normaaaaahlll lehehehevels eeeaAAA,” Porsche squealed. When Kitty started to nibble her toes and lickle their undersides with her tongue piercing her victim really started to come undone. “I CAAAN’T NO! PLEEAAZEE!” She wailed bucking wildly in her chair.
“You can’t or won’t!?” Bellowed Sir Quentin in mock frustration. “What an earth is wrong with you woman!?” Knowing full well what was causing her body to convulse in mirth.
“IT’S NOOOOOT MY FA HA HA HAULT! THERE’S SOMEONE AAAAAAGH UNDER THE TABLE AND THEY’RE TICKLING MY FE HEE HEEET!!!!!”
Sir Quentin banged his fist on the table, which was his preplanned signal. “What nonsense! This is His Majesties Government! We don’t have people hiding under tables! You are clearly hysterical!” He felt his trousers being undone and the cooler air of the room as his engorged cock was freed from his clothing. At their clients’ signal Kitty had unzipped him and began to caress his straining member with her feather duster. His manhood was engulfed in the delicate feathery fronds. With her left hand she slid off his left Italian loafer and gently played her finger nails over his thin nylon dress socked foot. Meanwhile her partner in crime, Kim, was using her teeth and the fingers of both hands on Porsche’s restrained nylon soles causing her to thrash and cackle in her seat unable to stop the tickling torture. All composure gone.
Watching Porsche’s ticklish torment whilst having his cock feathered and his own soles gently tickled was too much for Sir Quentin, “I Aaaah AAHH AAAAHHH DECLARE THIS MEETING AAAAJOOOUURNED!” As he came powerfully into the mass of feathers swirling over his tip. “I will see you all in quarter four….” He panted with satisfaction. Sir Quentin’s evening had started magnificently and the Bat Cave had secured a very important patron.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 Return to the Bat Cave Club
“AAAHAaaaa! HEeeeee!!! STTTTAAAAAPPP!!” Begged the prone form of Jennifer secured face down on a padded St Andrew’s Cross. Jennifer had become something of a personal favourite of Simon Baxter, sometime millionaire and full time proprietor of the Bat Cave Club. There was something about how she seemed to have a love hate relationship with the tickling and edging she willingly allowed him to subject her to which fascinated and inflamed him. She was secured in his favourite position. Naked apart from sheer seamed coffee coloured nylon stockings. Her soles and arse both facing upwards on perfect display. Her spreadeagled legs allowing him access to her most intimate spots.
Simon, dressed in his favourite black silk kimono, restrained the big toe of her right foot between the finger and thumb of one hand whilst the well manicured digits of the other snaked their way tortuously up and down her nylon arch. He would occasionally add a slightly more robust flourish of his finger tips, luxuriating not only in the feel of the exquisite nylon but the extra ticklish squeals they elicited. He gently bent her toes back and scrabbled his nails over super sensitive nylon encased flesh at their base. “On a scale of 1-100 how much would you say this tickles my dear?”
“EEaaaaaeeep Gaaaad haaa one EEEAAA THOUSAAAAAAAAND HEEeeee PLEEEAZeeee!!” Smiling with satisfaction and passion he flicked his finger nails over the pads and tips of her stockinged toes. The soft scritching noise of nails on nylons was music to his ears. Abandoning her right foot he retrieved a Pursonic toothbrush and stiff turkey feather from his tray of torture implements. “Now tickle slave I think I have been far too easy on you!” With that the brush buzzed into life. “Noooo! Master pleeease not the brush on my ticklish feet!” She wailed. He applied the vibrating bristles to the ball of her left foot allowing then to tease and stimulate the coffee coloured hosed nerve endings. He was rewarded with more desperate laughing and begging but before she realised what was happening he reached out and began feathering her arse crack. Had she not been strapped down Jennifer would have hit the roof. “AAAAGHHHHH GAAAAAAOD NOOOO YOU FIEHEHEEND!!!!!” He burried the tormenting bristles in the high nylon arch of her foot whilst relentlessly stroking her naked butt with the feather, unsure as to which tactic was providing the most exquisite torture.
Despite the desperate pleading and giggling the room had started to smell of sex and as well as his own raging arousal he could tell Jennifer was getting turned on by his tickling ministrations. Abandoning his comfortable arm chair and the Pursonic he stood between her spreadeagled legs and concentrated the feathers’ tip on her glistening lips. The quality of her giggling and begging became more throaty but no less desperate. He curled the wicked tip under her to gently graze her clitoris. “Ooooooh master mmmmm please pleeeease let me cum!” She begged whilst thinking secretly to herself that she could not believe she was being paid for this as she would have submitted to this delicious torture for free. He continued relentlessly feathering how now very wet lips and nub. “Are you going to be my good girl?”
“Yes! Yeeees! My tickle master!” He smiled evily. “I think you can do better then that slave!” He used his free hand to motivate her by spider tickling the back of her left knee, admiring the delicate back seams of her stockings. “Mahahaster nooooOOO. I AM YOUR TICKLE SLAHAHAVE! I LoooOOVE THE THIHICKLING! Take meeeeEEE PLEEEAAAZEEE!” Simon needed no further encouragement and dropping the feather to the floor he brought them both to a shuddering climax.
Today was not be all pleasure though. The Bat Cave Club was receiving a VIP member at 7PM and everything had to be perfect. The VIP in question was Sir Quentin Barclay, Member of Parliament and current Chancellor of the Exchequer. He would be arriving on a private launch from the Palace of Westminster to the clubs’ own private Thames-side jetty in absolute privacy. Simon smiled at the fact Old Father Thames had ferried rich patrons down river to the fleshpots of Greenwich since at least Tudor times and things had not changed. Though “happily” married with picture perfect children, Sir Quentin had a raging nylon tickling fetish which the Bat Cave quenched, albeit for a hefty price.
Simon stood at the entrance desk with Madame Cholett his formidable front of house and a lady who put the “Dom” in “indomitable”. “So Mrs C are we prepared?”
“Absolutament Monsieur Baxter! We have two rounds of the tickling tournament and a 1920’s gangster themed interrogation happening in the basement but the upper playrooms have been cleared and prepared. We will be using room 5. The six girls are all dressed and ready for our special guest but I am sure they would appreciate a pep talk from their boss,” she winked. Smiling he took the stairs to Room 5.
The room looked like every other high end board room across the globe. Dominated by a a very large sturdy black oak table and with 5 imposing leather and steel chairs. One at the head of the table and the other 4 flanking, 2 on either side. At each position lap tops, document folders, pens and pads had been laid out as if a real board meeting was about to begin. Simon smiled at the perfect illusion.
The door opened and the 6 smiling girls entered the room. 4 (Chloe, Katie, Porsche and Unity) were dressed in formal business attire. Pencil skirts and tailored jackets in various shades of formal grey. Their legs encased in sheer black tights that Simon, with his practiced eye, knew to be an extra sheer 10 denier. Perfect for tickling. The look was finished off with shiny patent leather Louboutin heels. The other two girls (Kitty and Kim) were dressed more mischievously as french maids. Their short black and white pinafores revealing fishnet stocking tops and the hint of suspenders. Both twirled feather dusters in their well manicured hands.
“Ladies! You look wonderful! Today is a very special day for our little enterprise. Sir Quentin is a very valued patron so I want you to do everything to look after him. Madame Chollet has given you a detailed briefing as to his requirements so all I can ask is that you put your best feet forward and give him an evening to remember. He is very generous tipper. To your positions - he will be here imminently.”
Leaving the room he waited in the hallway. Three minutes later the lift doors opened and the 6 foot Saville Row suited frame of Sir Quentin exited the lift flanked by Madame C. He firmly gripped Simons hand with the quiet air of total authority. “Good to meet you Mr Baxter. I take it all of my requirements have been met?”
“Absolutely Sir Quentin. To the last letter.”
“Excellent then I am rather keen to get underway as I have to be back in the House for a late vote tonight.”
“I shall leave you to it Sir. I hope you have a very successful “meeting” and call the front desk if there is anything else you require.”
Sir Quentin entered Room 5, surveying the scene. Chloe, Katie, Porsche and Unity were lined up hovering attentively near the boardroom table and Kitty and Kim were nowhere to be seen. His gaze momentarily flicked over the 4 pairs of shapely black nylon covered legs and he felt his arousal growing.
“Good morning colleagues thank you for being on time,” he boomed. “Time is tight so I suggest we commence this meeting immediately, if you could all take your seats please.”
“Yes sir, absolutely,” they all chorused. Sir Quentin took his position at the head of the table with Chloe and Katie on his left and Porsche and Unity on his right. “As you all know we are here to review the U.K. trade deficit numbers for Quarter 3 so I expect your utmost attention and focus on this serious matter.” The girls demurely assented and for a moment the only sound in the room was a series of soft metallic clicks from under the table.
Sir Quentin opened his notepad and pointed at Chloe, “You Miss Smith, appraise us of the actions from our previous meeting.”
“Of course Sir,” Chloe smiled picking up a document from the table in front of her and began to read aloud, “The Indian trade delegation is….” She shifted in her seat, twitching slightly, “…to be hosted…” She twitched again, slightly more noticeably and her grasp tightened on the document. “…at the…at the,” a smile was beginning to creep into the corners of her mouth, “…at the Savoy ho…ho..hoteeeel…” She took a deep breath in through her nose and momentarily screwed her eyes shut.
“Miss Smith, we do not have all day! Please pick up the pace!” Sir Quentin barked, his eyes glittering at her predicament.
“Absolutely SiUUur,” she jumped in her seat.
The reason for Chloe’s distraction lurked unseen beneath the table. Kitty was currently curled on the floor playing her finger tips gently over Chloe’s black nyloned soles. When the meeting had started she and Kim, her french maid accomplice, had cuffed the ankles of all 4 girls to the stainless steel legs of their chairs and slipped off their heels. Their nylon feet were now defenceless against the tickling tortures that would be inflicted on them to try and break their professional composure. Chloe, Katie, Porsche and Unity’s brief was to hold out at all costs.
“The del…he…hee…gation will be led by the…the…” Chloe let out a suppressed mewl as beneath the table Kitty fluttered her fingernails across the hose of her high arch.
“Miss Smith, I do not know what has come over you. Miss Brown perhaps you can takeover this more than simple task,” he said turning to Unity. Visibly flushed, Chloe lowered her head and tried to calm her breathing as Kitty gave her soles a few more ticklish strokes for luck.
“Of course Sir!” Unity answered primly. She started well, making it to the end of the third action point whilst Kim ever so delicately teased the tops and sides of her stockinged feet with the barest of touches. The pads of her fingers gliding over the sheer nylon material, lingering on her toe cleavage before tracing their way back to her ankles and heels. Unity was literally dying inside and using all of her mental strength not to either scream or beg for the tickling to stop. Suddenly she felt her unseen assailants hands slide under her restrained feet, all 10 fingernails poised menacingly on her helpless black nylon soles.
“Action 4. Reconciliation of outstandeeeeeeeeing….” After what seemed like a tortuous eternity, Kim unleashed her nails on both of Unity’s soles simultaneously. Stroking, scraping, wiggling, teasing but above all tickling. Unable to carry on and hardly able to breathe, Unity tried to disguise the giggles bubbling from her throat as a coughing fit.
“Really Miss Brown this is quite unorthodox. Please take some water and let one of your colleagues take over,” admonished Sir Quentin, his voice betraying no sign of the delight he was feeling inside knowing the delicious nylon soles of his “colleagues” were being tickled mercilessly beyond his view. He could only imagine what the two French Maids were doing to their helpless victims. He pointed at Katie, “You Miss Jones, I trust you have more composure than your colleagues who will both find themselves on performance improvement plans for their levity!”
“I won’t let you down Sir!” Katie beamed. She successfully narrated the next 5 action points without feeling the slightest touch from below the table. The tension was unbearable. Beneath her, like circling shark, Kitty was biding her time, relishing the anticipation she was building not only in her victim but also in their VIP client. Becoming increasingly nervous, Katie glanced down to be met with sight of a long stiff red feather being twirled menacingly in her lap. It was swiftly withdrawn out of sight and Katie felt it flutter over her nylon covered knee and insidiously snake it’s way down the inside of her calf. Gritting her teeth she continued as calmly as she could with her monologue.
Kitty was only warming up. With an evil grin she firmly grasped Katie’s right foot, reversed the feather and began poking at her sole with quill end. Her victim almost gave up there and then.
“Poieeeeeeeeent sev…HEV…HEV…SEVEN!” Katie gasped, jumping forward at each of the quills pokes. Beneath the table Kitty used the wicked quill to firmly stroke the tender crease just below the ball of Katie’s sole. The point rasping up and down the thin layer of black nylon. Over and over and over, never stopping. With tears forming in the corners of her eyes, Katie thumped her hand repeatedly on the arm of her chair in frustration and emitted a high pitched “ Eeeeeeeeeeep!” noise from behind a desperate grimace.
A flush had crept up Sir Quentin’s face and his nostrils flared as he watched Katie’s ticklish agony. Not being able to see what was causing her so much ticklish torment made it even more arousing. He was loving every stifled yelp and squirm as she desperately tried to hold on to the shreds of her composure. “You do disappoint me Miss Jones! May I remind you U.K. Treasury business is certainly no laughing matter!”
“No..ho ho ho Sir,” she exclaimed rocking backwards and forwards in her chair as the quill tip continued to relentlessly excite her ticklish nerve endings.
“Miss Price,” he exclaimed, “It seems you are my only hope. Please try and succeed where your colleagues have failed!” Nodding, Porsche took over from where Katie had abruptly ended.
“Point seven - quarter three tax returns have returned to more normal oooooh!” She gasped. Kitty had wasted no time fluttering her nails over Porsches’ ankles and Achilles tendons before spider tickling up the backs of her nylon sheathed calves. This was the endgame and Porsche was to be broken. Abandoning her lower legs she grasped her victims’ left foot in both hands and began using her teeth to graze the underside of her sole. Scraping and nibbling at the nylon flesh.
“To moHOore normaaaaahlll lehehehevels eeeaAAA,” Porsche squealed. When Kitty started to nibble her toes and lickle their undersides with her tongue piercing her victim really started to come undone. “I CAAAN’T NO! PLEEAAZEE!” She wailed bucking wildly in her chair.
“You can’t or won’t!?” Bellowed Sir Quentin in mock frustration. “What an earth is wrong with you woman!?” Knowing full well what was causing her body to convulse in mirth.
“IT’S NOOOOOT MY FA HA HA HAULT! THERE’S SOMEONE AAAAAAGH UNDER THE TABLE AND THEY’RE TICKLING MY FE HEE HEEET!!!!!”
Sir Quentin banged his fist on the table, which was his preplanned signal. “What nonsense! This is His Majesties Government! We don’t have people hiding under tables! You are clearly hysterical!” He felt his trousers being undone and the cooler air of the room as his engorged cock was freed from his clothing. At their clients’ signal Kitty had unzipped him and began to caress his straining member with her feather duster. His manhood was engulfed in the delicate feathery fronds. With her left hand she slid off his left Italian loafer and gently played her finger nails over his thin nylon dress socked foot. Meanwhile her partner in crime, Kim, was using her teeth and the fingers of both hands on Porsche’s restrained nylon soles causing her to thrash and cackle in her seat unable to stop the tickling torture. All composure gone.
Watching Porsche’s ticklish torment whilst having his cock feathered and his own soles gently tickled was too much for Sir Quentin, “I Aaaah AAHH AAAAHHH DECLARE THIS MEETING AAAAJOOOUURNED!” As he came powerfully into the mass of feathers swirling over his tip. “I will see you all in quarter four….” He panted with satisfaction. Sir Quentin’s evening had started magnificently and the Bat Cave had secured a very important patron.
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