Sablesword
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2001
- Messages
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A story written very quickly in respose to a request by chocolatepuddin (What the heck, I didn't really need to sleep tonight anyway...)
Tempo
by Sablesword
"It's a shame," Professor DiDominico said, looking at the coed seated across from him. His office was cluttered but not messy, with sheet music, recorders, tambourines, shawms, and extra hammers for a dulcimer. The obligatory computer screen on the corner of his desk looked like an alien visitor. "It's a shame," he repeated. "You have perfect pitch and good hands. Very good hands. It's just that your sense of tempo is, is... well, not so good." He smiled apologetically, a friendly enough smile on a thin face that featured a great beak of a nose. The rest of him matched the face, lean and gangly, dressed in a casual shirt and khaki pants.
His visitor looked back at him, prettier and very much darker than the Professor. Lisa Peterson was black (or rather a chocolate-pudding brown) with bright brown eyes in an oval face and body that displayed the health of youth. Her clothing was brighter too: A sleeveless blue-and-white dress that came down just past her knees, and tan leather sandals on her feet. "Is there anything we can do about it, Professor?" she asked at last. "I've tried. I really have, and I can't think of anything else to try."
"I can," DiDominico answered. "I know you have a sense of tempo - I saw it in the introductory course. That's why you haven't already flunked out." He folded his hands in front of him. "However you have lost your timing since then, and haven't been able to find it. I can think of one way to try to fish it back out, but it's rather extreme." His hands unfolded so that his fingers could make their usual precise gestures as he explained.
"I'm willing to try it, Professor DiDominico," Lisa blurted out when he finished.
As Lisa approached Professor DiDominico's cottage she began to have second thoughts. You have to try something she told herself. You said you'd do it. And it's too far to turn back now. The professor's home was huge for a "cottage," since it had to hold his piano, his harpsichord, and all his other instruments. It was also a long walk from the Hannover Academy campus. Far enough from any neighbors that Professor DiDominico's music-making would bother them. Far enough that any other noise from the house wouldn't bother them either. She knocked on the door, right at seven pm.
"Welcome, Lisa," Professor DiDominico welcomed her in. "Leave your sandals by the door, please; it makes it easier to keep the place clean. You can hang your dress over here. No, keep your bra on, please. Now stretch out on the couch."
Lisa did as she was told, lying down on the backless couch with only her bra and panties left on. She smiled nervously as the leather cuffs were buckled onto her wrists and ankles and anchored in place. The cuffs were a one-piece design, padded, each forming a figure-eight, with strong attachment points, the ankle-cuffs to the foot of the couch, and the wrist-cuffs holding her arms above her head at the other end.
A small table to the side held a metronome and a pair of paintbrushes, one four inches wide, and the other an inch-and-a-half. "No feathers?" Lisa asked as Professor DiDominico secured her.
"No feathers. Feathers have the right symbolism, but soft brushes work better." The professor produced a shoelace Lisa felt him use it to tie her large toes together. She heard him set the metronome into motion. Tock... tock... tock... tock...
With each beat of the metronome, Professor DiDominico applied a quick tickle-stroke to Lisa's helpless body. Lisa shrieked. He was using his fingers, tickling her insteps. Applying his quick soft-sharp strokes to the absolutely most ticklish part of her insteps.
Tock... tock... tock... tock...The broad paintbrush ran over Lisa's belly, back and forth in time with the metronome. It worked its way methodically from the tops of her panties to the base of her bra, flooding her with tickle-sensations. It seemed to hunt, each pass searching for the most ticklish bits of her dark skin, but she felt ticklish all over. Everywhere.
The brush moved to Lisa's knee-caps. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Silken strokes in time with the metronome. She didn't expect her knees to be ticklish. She didn't expect to be forced to giggle, squealing as each beat passed. But her knees were ticklish. Insanely ticklish. And she couldn't dodge the pulsing tickle-strokes, no matter how hard she squirmed. And then Lisa discovered that the undersides of her knees were even more ticklish. Discovered this as the Professor's fingers reached under to twitch and dig in in time with the metronome's beat.
Tock... tock... tock... tock...The narrow brush was in play now, stroking in time up and down Lisa's forearms. Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle... Lisa hands, trapped in their cuffs, opened and closed in time as she squeaked, as the tickle-jolts ran down her arms into her body. Now Professor DiDominico's hand grasped her jaw, gently but firmly forcing her head back. The tickling brush came in to stroke her jaw line, to stroke under her chin. The place where her neck met her jaw. Keeping regular time with the metronome. Again and again it stroked, giggles leaking out of Lisa's nose. Again and again, each stroke seeming more tickle-inducing than the previous one. Lisa writhed, desperate, as the tickle strokes came again, and again, and again.
Lisa felt her jaw released, and a questing finger reaching into her belly button. The Professor's finger, twitching with that regular beat. Flooding her whole belly with those impossible tickle-sensations. "Heehee eek! Heehehe eek! Heehee eek! Heehee eek!" Lisa laughed. "Ican'tstandit! Heehee! Ican'tstandit! Heehee! Ican'tstandit! Heehee!"
"Do you want me to stop?" Professor DiDominico asked, not pausing his tickling tempo.
"No! No! No! No! Heehee eek! Hehehe eek!" Lisa cried out. The tickling was awful, but she was too deep in it now. She didn't want it to stop. She knew, somehow, that it would be even worse if it did stop.
And it didn't stop. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Lisa felt the broad brush stroked down her left side, from her ribs to her hip, in time with that eternal beat. She attempted to squirm away, futilely, and the brush pursued her, hunting out all the most sensitive nerve endings in her chocolate skin. The brush switched to her right side, and again Lisa squirmed. Again the tickle-sensations sank into her body through the most sensitive nerve endings she had. Then Professor DiDominico switched to his hands, fingers dancing down both sides at once, still in perfect time. It was impossible, but his fingers were even more skilled in finding her tickle-spots than the brush. Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle... Lisa arched as the tickle-sensations ran howling through her.
Lisa blinked and gasped, catching her breath. The tickling had paused, but the metronome kept beating. Tock... tock... tock... tock...The tickling then began once more, this time with the Professor using the narrow brush to tease the tops of Lisa's feet. Stroke... stroke... stroke... stroke... Perfectly in time. The tops of her feet couldn't be that ticklish. But they were that ticklish. But they couldn't be. But they were. Lisa almost wished that Professor DiDominico would switch to her soles once more.
Lisa's almost-wish was granted. The Professor's fingers now sought the spaces between Lisa's toes. The places where the now-flushed skin of her soles met the darker skin of the rest of her. Places from which the Professor launched the most incredible tickle-sensations. Lisa pulled at the bonds holding her ankles, attempting to escape those tickle-sensations. And she couldn't. She pulled at the cuffs holding her wrists, attempting to relieve those tickle-sensations. And she couldn't do that, either. She could only endure those maddening tickle-sensations as they pulsed through her. In time with the metronome. Tock... tock... tock... tock...
Once more Lisa saw Professor DiDominico move to her head. Once more she felt his hands gently force her chin back. She braced for the chin-tickling to come. And squirmed, giggling through her nose as she felt the silken touch of the narrow brush at the base of her throat. Back and forth the brush ran, still in time with the metronome's beat. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Lisa felt it seek out the ticklish strip just on top of her collar-bones. Teasing them again, and again, and again.
Fingers on her belly now. Lisa could look down and see them: Professor DiDominico's pale, skillful, masculine fingers contrasting against the brown of her belly. And she could feel them, as they twitched and stroked in time to the beat, gently digging in. She couldn't feel anything but those fingers as they tickled and tickled and tickled with that maddening slow beat. The Professor was making some comment, but she could only hear her own laughter. Continuous laughter now, both in anticipation of each tickle-pulse to come, and in response to the last one.
Tock... tock... tock... tock...No tickling for the moment, but just the beat of the metronome. Lisa caught her breath once more. No tickling for the moment, and then it resumed. The Professor moved down to Lisa's feet, applying the broad paintbrush to her soles. Slashing, tender strokes, each one in time with the beat. Unbearably soft strokes that tickled unbearably.
Under that unbearably gentle lash, Lisa felt her feet swell and grow. It was impossible, it was madness, but she felt as if they were a yard long. Each. And the brush was now a foot wide. At least. And each tickle-stroke was ten times as much as before. Lisa felt the quivering anticipation before each stroke began, the wild tickle-sensation that seemed to engulf her as the Professor applied each stroke, and the jolting tickle-shock that ran up and through her the brush found the Most Ticklish Place on each sole every time it ran past. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle... Tock... tock... tock... tock... Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle...
Lisa found herself curled up on the couch, no longer a prisoner of the leather cuffs. No longer a tickle-victim. The metronome was stilled.
"Water?" Professor DiDominico offered her a glass, and Lisa drank through the straw. "It isn't magic, you know," he told her. "This is only the first session of many, if you want to get your tempo back." He gave her a sudden grin that managed to be both evil and foolish-looking. "If you dare." He waggled his ridiculous eyebrows at her and repeated. "If you dare."
(Might be continued, if I get comments and people say they like it.)
Tempo
by Sablesword
"It's a shame," Professor DiDominico said, looking at the coed seated across from him. His office was cluttered but not messy, with sheet music, recorders, tambourines, shawms, and extra hammers for a dulcimer. The obligatory computer screen on the corner of his desk looked like an alien visitor. "It's a shame," he repeated. "You have perfect pitch and good hands. Very good hands. It's just that your sense of tempo is, is... well, not so good." He smiled apologetically, a friendly enough smile on a thin face that featured a great beak of a nose. The rest of him matched the face, lean and gangly, dressed in a casual shirt and khaki pants.
His visitor looked back at him, prettier and very much darker than the Professor. Lisa Peterson was black (or rather a chocolate-pudding brown) with bright brown eyes in an oval face and body that displayed the health of youth. Her clothing was brighter too: A sleeveless blue-and-white dress that came down just past her knees, and tan leather sandals on her feet. "Is there anything we can do about it, Professor?" she asked at last. "I've tried. I really have, and I can't think of anything else to try."
"I can," DiDominico answered. "I know you have a sense of tempo - I saw it in the introductory course. That's why you haven't already flunked out." He folded his hands in front of him. "However you have lost your timing since then, and haven't been able to find it. I can think of one way to try to fish it back out, but it's rather extreme." His hands unfolded so that his fingers could make their usual precise gestures as he explained.
"I'm willing to try it, Professor DiDominico," Lisa blurted out when he finished.
#
As Lisa approached Professor DiDominico's cottage she began to have second thoughts. You have to try something she told herself. You said you'd do it. And it's too far to turn back now. The professor's home was huge for a "cottage," since it had to hold his piano, his harpsichord, and all his other instruments. It was also a long walk from the Hannover Academy campus. Far enough from any neighbors that Professor DiDominico's music-making would bother them. Far enough that any other noise from the house wouldn't bother them either. She knocked on the door, right at seven pm.
"Welcome, Lisa," Professor DiDominico welcomed her in. "Leave your sandals by the door, please; it makes it easier to keep the place clean. You can hang your dress over here. No, keep your bra on, please. Now stretch out on the couch."
Lisa did as she was told, lying down on the backless couch with only her bra and panties left on. She smiled nervously as the leather cuffs were buckled onto her wrists and ankles and anchored in place. The cuffs were a one-piece design, padded, each forming a figure-eight, with strong attachment points, the ankle-cuffs to the foot of the couch, and the wrist-cuffs holding her arms above her head at the other end.
A small table to the side held a metronome and a pair of paintbrushes, one four inches wide, and the other an inch-and-a-half. "No feathers?" Lisa asked as Professor DiDominico secured her.
"No feathers. Feathers have the right symbolism, but soft brushes work better." The professor produced a shoelace Lisa felt him use it to tie her large toes together. She heard him set the metronome into motion. Tock... tock... tock... tock...
With each beat of the metronome, Professor DiDominico applied a quick tickle-stroke to Lisa's helpless body. Lisa shrieked. He was using his fingers, tickling her insteps. Applying his quick soft-sharp strokes to the absolutely most ticklish part of her insteps.
Tock... tock... tock... tock...The broad paintbrush ran over Lisa's belly, back and forth in time with the metronome. It worked its way methodically from the tops of her panties to the base of her bra, flooding her with tickle-sensations. It seemed to hunt, each pass searching for the most ticklish bits of her dark skin, but she felt ticklish all over. Everywhere.
The brush moved to Lisa's knee-caps. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Silken strokes in time with the metronome. She didn't expect her knees to be ticklish. She didn't expect to be forced to giggle, squealing as each beat passed. But her knees were ticklish. Insanely ticklish. And she couldn't dodge the pulsing tickle-strokes, no matter how hard she squirmed. And then Lisa discovered that the undersides of her knees were even more ticklish. Discovered this as the Professor's fingers reached under to twitch and dig in in time with the metronome's beat.
Tock... tock... tock... tock...The narrow brush was in play now, stroking in time up and down Lisa's forearms. Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle... Lisa hands, trapped in their cuffs, opened and closed in time as she squeaked, as the tickle-jolts ran down her arms into her body. Now Professor DiDominico's hand grasped her jaw, gently but firmly forcing her head back. The tickling brush came in to stroke her jaw line, to stroke under her chin. The place where her neck met her jaw. Keeping regular time with the metronome. Again and again it stroked, giggles leaking out of Lisa's nose. Again and again, each stroke seeming more tickle-inducing than the previous one. Lisa writhed, desperate, as the tickle strokes came again, and again, and again.
Lisa felt her jaw released, and a questing finger reaching into her belly button. The Professor's finger, twitching with that regular beat. Flooding her whole belly with those impossible tickle-sensations. "Heehee eek! Heehehe eek! Heehee eek! Heehee eek!" Lisa laughed. "Ican'tstandit! Heehee! Ican'tstandit! Heehee! Ican'tstandit! Heehee!"
"Do you want me to stop?" Professor DiDominico asked, not pausing his tickling tempo.
"No! No! No! No! Heehee eek! Hehehe eek!" Lisa cried out. The tickling was awful, but she was too deep in it now. She didn't want it to stop. She knew, somehow, that it would be even worse if it did stop.
And it didn't stop. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Lisa felt the broad brush stroked down her left side, from her ribs to her hip, in time with that eternal beat. She attempted to squirm away, futilely, and the brush pursued her, hunting out all the most sensitive nerve endings in her chocolate skin. The brush switched to her right side, and again Lisa squirmed. Again the tickle-sensations sank into her body through the most sensitive nerve endings she had. Then Professor DiDominico switched to his hands, fingers dancing down both sides at once, still in perfect time. It was impossible, but his fingers were even more skilled in finding her tickle-spots than the brush. Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle... Lisa arched as the tickle-sensations ran howling through her.
Lisa blinked and gasped, catching her breath. The tickling had paused, but the metronome kept beating. Tock... tock... tock... tock...The tickling then began once more, this time with the Professor using the narrow brush to tease the tops of Lisa's feet. Stroke... stroke... stroke... stroke... Perfectly in time. The tops of her feet couldn't be that ticklish. But they were that ticklish. But they couldn't be. But they were. Lisa almost wished that Professor DiDominico would switch to her soles once more.
Lisa's almost-wish was granted. The Professor's fingers now sought the spaces between Lisa's toes. The places where the now-flushed skin of her soles met the darker skin of the rest of her. Places from which the Professor launched the most incredible tickle-sensations. Lisa pulled at the bonds holding her ankles, attempting to escape those tickle-sensations. And she couldn't. She pulled at the cuffs holding her wrists, attempting to relieve those tickle-sensations. And she couldn't do that, either. She could only endure those maddening tickle-sensations as they pulsed through her. In time with the metronome. Tock... tock... tock... tock...
Once more Lisa saw Professor DiDominico move to her head. Once more she felt his hands gently force her chin back. She braced for the chin-tickling to come. And squirmed, giggling through her nose as she felt the silken touch of the narrow brush at the base of her throat. Back and forth the brush ran, still in time with the metronome's beat. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Lisa felt it seek out the ticklish strip just on top of her collar-bones. Teasing them again, and again, and again.
Fingers on her belly now. Lisa could look down and see them: Professor DiDominico's pale, skillful, masculine fingers contrasting against the brown of her belly. And she could feel them, as they twitched and stroked in time to the beat, gently digging in. She couldn't feel anything but those fingers as they tickled and tickled and tickled with that maddening slow beat. The Professor was making some comment, but she could only hear her own laughter. Continuous laughter now, both in anticipation of each tickle-pulse to come, and in response to the last one.
Tock... tock... tock... tock...No tickling for the moment, but just the beat of the metronome. Lisa caught her breath once more. No tickling for the moment, and then it resumed. The Professor moved down to Lisa's feet, applying the broad paintbrush to her soles. Slashing, tender strokes, each one in time with the beat. Unbearably soft strokes that tickled unbearably.
Under that unbearably gentle lash, Lisa felt her feet swell and grow. It was impossible, it was madness, but she felt as if they were a yard long. Each. And the brush was now a foot wide. At least. And each tickle-stroke was ten times as much as before. Lisa felt the quivering anticipation before each stroke began, the wild tickle-sensation that seemed to engulf her as the Professor applied each stroke, and the jolting tickle-shock that ran up and through her the brush found the Most Ticklish Place on each sole every time it ran past. Tock... tock... tock... tock...Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle... Tock... tock... tock... tock... Tickle... tickle... tickle... tickle...
#
Lisa found herself curled up on the couch, no longer a prisoner of the leather cuffs. No longer a tickle-victim. The metronome was stilled.
"Water?" Professor DiDominico offered her a glass, and Lisa drank through the straw. "It isn't magic, you know," he told her. "This is only the first session of many, if you want to get your tempo back." He gave her a sudden grin that managed to be both evil and foolish-looking. "If you dare." He waggled his ridiculous eyebrows at her and repeated. "If you dare."
(Might be continued, if I get comments and people say they like it.)
