LisaLisaJam
TMF Master
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Let me know how PART 2 made you feel!
That's a Yacht of Tickling
Written by: LisaLisaTickle
PART 2
Cassidy's gaze darted left, another keypad glowed beside the cage, its display reading UNLOCK. But she could just speak to him without doing that. But to be able to go inside, she'd need to use the card again. That thought of touching his soft ivory skin sent electric disgust down her spine. This wasn't just a basic fair testing of morality; it was staging a nearly impossible to refuse, one sided, extremely tempting, scenario.
Jonathan shifted, his soles rasping against the divan's leather as he tucked his feet beneath him, protective, instinctive maybe. The motion drew Cassidy's attention to his ankles: bare, vulnerable, faintly pink at the heels, smooth like a baby's. They looked impossibly soft. "Are you real?" The question tore from her throat raw, unplanned, and sounding strange. Jonathan blinked, then offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm pretty sure yeah." His voice held a nervous tremble that she had expected of someone in his situation.
Cassidy exhaled through her nose, tasting sterile air and something sweeter underneath, was it fear-sweat? She wrapped her palm around one of the rubber-coated bars. "Are you alright in there?" Jonathan's gaze flicked down her body, then back up. "I'm not hurt. But," He gestured vaguely at the cage, the room. "This is... all new for someone like me."
She swallowed hard, trying not to say any more weird things. "Do you know where you are?"
Jonathan stretched his arms above his head, a casual movement that made the tendons in his wrists stand out like, but what instantly caught Cassidy's attention were his hairless, smooth, soft deep underarms. She briefly wondered if he was aware that he had just shown some of his very vulnerable areas. His heels slid back into view against the leather. "Five-million-dollar yacht, middle of the ocean," he said, as if listing breakfast options. "Getting paid five grand for 7 days, to let rich people study my body, even mess around with it, and with my mind. Some kind of weird human studies, I guess."
Cassidy's fingers twitched against the bars. "Paid?"
Jonathan stood up, slow, deliberate, and walked to the middle of the room. The recessed lights caught the tendons in his ankles flexing as he moved. His bare feet made no sound on the carpet. "Yeah. One grand upfront, another four after 7 days." He shrugged. Cassidy replied, "This is... brand new to me too. Never done anything like this before." His gaze flickered over her wrinkled t-shirt, and then down to her clogs. "And so you're, you're not staff, right? So you're the first..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "First rich person to see me like this." He held his hands in front to conceal his cock, while at the same time trying to act like he wasn't at all embarrassed, or covering it.
Cassidy's mouth went dry. The light caught the slope of his shoulders, smooth ivory skin, the elegant taper of his waist, his slender waist where it met his hipbones. His thighs were lean but strong, dusted with fine pale blonde hair that glowed almost silver under the fluorescents. And his feet, oh my his feet. Even the tops looked soft and luscious. (did she just think the word luscious?) His entire body looked untouched by labor or hardship, like some sculptor's idealized youth brought to life.
Jonathan shifted his weight, his bare soles pressing into the carpet. His toes were slender and elegant, the nails neatly trimmed. The arches curved high, the skin there pinker than the rest of him, like he'd never walked barefoot on anything dry or dirty in his life. Could she really truly, if she wanted to, trace those arches with her fingertips, feel the sole's muscles tense and jump under her touch? The book's words echoed in her skull: paroxysmal vocalizations, limbic hijack. Her fingers twitched again. Actually, many parts of her twitched right now.
"You wanna, " Jonathan cleared his throat. "You wanna come in? Or just... look at me?" His voice held no judgment, just a quiet resignation that made her stomach clench. He rubbed the sole of one foot over the opposite lower leg, maybe scratching an itch. The movement highlighting the delicate bones of his ankle. "They said I'm supposed to let you do whatever. Or I don't get my money." He glanced at the cage's keypad. "So. Up to you." Cassidy's pulse roared in her ears. His situation was five thousand dollars, seven days. Her situation was no rules, test her envelope of limits. She pressed the CURATOR card to her sternum, feeling its edges bite into her palm. His body was beautiful, undeniably appealing. And he'd been paid to be here. He had walked into this willingly. That should have made it easier for her. But it didn't. Not yet.
Cassidy inhaled sharply, forcing her gaze back to his face, to the blue eyes tracking her. "No," she said, too quickly. "I mean. I hadn't planned on anything like that." The confession sounded absurd even to her. What had she planned? A rescue mission? Some noble act? Jonathan tilted his head, his hair falling across his forehead. "So, why'd you swipe in at the door?" His bare toes curled into the carpet. "Just to window-shop?" There it was, the first spark of something beneath his practiced compliance. Anger? Challenge? Cassidy swallowed hard.
She stepped back from the bars, gripping her elbows. "I wanted to see if anyone was in here," she admitted. "And I wanted to ask how I can help you." The words tasted like cheap theater, like the canned dialogue of some would-be hero. Jonathan exhaled through his nose. "Help me how? With what?"
Cassidy's stomach dropped. She could tell he was playing tough but underneath was timid. Yet he also wasn't a terrified captive awaiting rescue. This was a college kid who'd weighed $5000 against seven days of probing discomfort and signed on the dotted line. The realization should have eased her conscience. Instead, it coiled tighter, because if he wasn't a victim, what did that make her? The CURATOR card's edges dug deeper into her palm as Jonathan stretched luxuriously, arching his back until his ribs cast shadows across his abdomen. "So," he murmured, watching her through lowered lashes. "You gonna help me earn my paycheck?"
She studied his face, really studied it, for the first time. High cheekbones, lips fuller than most Caucasian men, eyelashes surprisingly dark. The overall effect was somehow... prettier than handsome. Delicate. Almost feminine in its symmetry. And that unsettled her most of all, how much she liked seeing his attractiveness. And that she liked that he was ... white. As a 35-year-old woman of Persian Egyptian heritage, she had always kind of felt that white women disliked her, because their white men give her a lot of attention. The thought slithered through her brain, unwelcome and sticky. She'd prided herself on colorblind attraction, and in understanding that every race and color all had good and bad people within their “group.” Yet here in this antiseptic box, something about his whiteness, the vulnerability of him, perhaps in a way his privilege was being inverted. She didn't know how to explain it to herself but, it was hot. Arousing.
She hesitated, uncertain, and decided to ask out loud. "Computer? Am I allowed to set him free from Deck Zero?" The AI's response slithered through hidden speakers, a sound like oiled gears turning. "Freedom parameters are unrestricted. However..." with a pause that felt like a digital raised eyebrow. "Mr. Hansen's contractual stipulations include forfeiture of all compensation if removed from designated observation zones prior to conclusion of study period. Would you like me to recite the relevant clauses?"
Jonathan's calmly moved forward, gripping the cage bars with urgency. "No! Please," His fingers flexed. Up close, Cassidy could see the faint tremor in his wrists, not fear, but something closer to desperation. "I need that money. My mom's got medical bills." His face was genuine, shy and embarrassed. "Five grand is my community college tuition plus books. Plus rent." He pressed his forehead to the bars. "Just...don't ruin this. Please."
Cassidy had stepped back because he came up to the bars, she studied his face closely. "OK. I won't," she assured him.
Jonathan exhaled sharply, forehead pressed to the bars. When he looked up, his blue eyes shimmered with gratitude, and something else. Something that tightened Cassidy's throat. "You're...you're really nice," he murmured, voice cracking like a teenager. "Like, genuinely." His fingers uncurled from the bars; palms upturned in surrender or invitation. "And if you wanted to...you know, mess around with me a little. Like they planned?" His toes curled against the carpet, pink, perfect, vulnerable. "I'll trust you."
All of a sudden silence, and those words hung between them like cobwebs. Trust. Not compliance, not resignation. Trust. Cassidy's fingers twitched at her sides. His body was so close to the bars now, close enough that she could see the pulse fluttering in his throat, smell the clean sweat at his temples. She could actually reach through this very moment and... no. She should walk away right now. Instead, Cassidy found her voice: "You trust me to what, exactly?" The question came out huskier than she'd intended, likely because she subconsciously wanted to let him know that she'd had some kinky thoughts. Her question was a great one to probe what he thinks he should put up with.
Jonathan wet his lips. His throat worked as he swallowed. "Whatever you want." A pause. Then, softer: "Within reason." His attempt at humor fell flat, the ghost of a smile trembling at the corners of his mouth. His bare foot scuffed the carpet, drawing her gaze downward again. Those soft foot tops. Those long, delicate toes. The book's clinical phrases echoed in her skull: hyper-ticklish subjects, neurological override.
Cassidy's mouth became more dry. She glanced at the keypad, UNLOCK CAGE glowing innocently beside them. One swipe. That's all it would take.
"How does this...work?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Logistically."
Jonathan exhaled through his nose, shoulders relaxing slightly, relieved, perhaps, that she hadn't immediately recoiled from his offer.
"This room?" He gestured vaguely at the padded walls, the divan. "Just where I sleep, eat, shower, and... wait. They tell me the sessions happen elsewhere." His bare toes flexed against the carpet as he leaned closer to the bars, voice dropping conspiratorially. "They told me they've got, like, theme rooms all down this hallway." His cheeks pinked. "There's probably instructions for you somewhere about that."
Cassidy's mind fluttered. Themed rooms. The clinical detachment of it made her stomach twist, as if Jonathan were a library book to be checked out and annotated in different reading environments. She had no intentions of having a session with this poor confused kid. She stepped back and begin closing the door she had entered. "Stay here please," she murmured, though the command was unnecessary, the cage did that for him. The corridor seemed to narrow further as she moved to just the very next door down, the matte black walls absorbing the sound of her footsteps. She might as well at least know everything that's down here, and also make sure there weren't more than just the two people locked up. The keypad at the next door was larger, its screen displaying a menu that made her breath hitch:
SESSION TYPES:
1. Classical Interrogation
2. Sensory Deprivation
3. Extreme Tactile Exploration
4. Kinetic Response Analysis
Each option pulsed faintly, awaiting input. Cassidy's thumb hovered over the screen, casting a trembling shadow. Kinetic Response Analysis, that sounded sterile enough. She selected it.
The door hissed open to reveal what looked like a cross between a physical therapy clinic and a BDSM dungeon. Parallel bars bolted to the floor, restraint cuffs dangling from ceiling tracks, and, geez, a padded spanking horse with ankle stocks at one end, wrist stocks at the other. But the wall-mounted display that caught her attention too: screens showing real-time biometrics, heart rate, galvanic skin response, respiratory patterns, all pulsing in soothing pastel wave-forms. Beneath them, a shelf held instruments that ranged from medical (reflex hammers) to obscene (a peacock-feather duster with a velvet-wrapped handle).
Cassidy took in all the restraint devices slowly, wow. They'd turned vulnerability into a menu option. And the worst part? Her pulse was accelerating, not from horror, but something possibly far more treacherous. The door's automatic closure cut off any hallway sounds with surgical precision. Silence descended, not natural quiet, but the eerie vacuum-seal hush of engineered isolation. She could scream in here and no one on the boat would ever know. That realization coiled in her gut like swallowed mercury. Things could be done in here... and sort of like Las Vegas, they stayed in here.
Her fingers hovered over the comm panel. Three breaths. Four. Then, "Computer," she rasped, throat suddenly parched. "Which room in Deck Zero is... optimized..." The words clogged in her throat. She tried again, voice dropping to a whisper only the AI's microphones could parse: "Which room is designed for immobilization? Specifically... foot tickling?" The admission scalded her cheeks. Asking made it real.
The AI responded with an eerie cheerfulness, like a nurse offering anesthesia before the bone saw. *"Room Z-03 features supine restraint architecture ideal for pedal hyper-stimulation studies. Did she just feel a little bit wet between her legs? No. That would be ridiculous. She took some time to visit every door in the hallway, to make sure of the things she wanted to make sure of.
Cassidy's soles slid across cold metal plating as she approached Z-02, each step deliberate. The keypad here pulsed slower than Z-07's, a languid red heartbeat. When the CURATOR card met the reader, the lock released with a sigh rather than a click. The door whispered inward on hydraulics, revealing soundproofed black walls and black floor.
Amber sat there, reclining back on a leather white low sofa, in a clean, mostly empty room. There was one other door that no doubt led to her small kitchen and restroom facilities. But the same cage inside the door as was in Jonathan's. Amber was naked, exposing much of her, especially the delicate hollows above her hipbones. Her legs were... exquisite. Slender but strong, the muscles defined even at rest. And her feet, ankles crossed in relaxation, were also a sight to behold. They would be even to a person who doesn't like feet. Cassidy did like feet.
Cassidy's throat tightened as she looked at this 20 year old short blonde haired young lady. "Hi, just checking on you really quick. We'll talk more later. Do you, " She swallowed, tried again. "Do you need anything? Food? Water?" The questions sounded absurd in this context, like asking a caged bird if it wanted a magazine.
Amber showed some shyness and wasn't sure what to say, or if this was some kind of trick or something. "Nope. Other than being bored to death in here," she said softly. Her room seemed the same as Jonathan's. Restroom, kitchen, comfy sofa. Her toes crunched then flexed, unknowingly. "But thank you for asking."
Cassidy hesitated in the doorway. "OK, I just wanted to, " She stopped, exhaling sharply through her nose. How did one apologize for gawking at a naked stranger? "I'm going to figure out what's really happening around here," she promised, though the words tasted hollow even as they left her lips.
Amber's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Sure." She stretched her legs out, soles stretching, high arches, the skin on her soft soles various shades of pink and white. "They told me you'd say stuff like that." The revelation punched through Cassidy's ribs. Of course they had. Every variable was controlled, every reaction anticipated. She backed toward the corridor, pulse hammering in her temples. "I'll come back," she lied. The door hissed shut behind her, sealing Amber away with the same surgical efficiency as Jonathan's cage.
The stairwell's crimson lighting felt like emerging from a fever dream. Cassidy climbed up through the narrow stairwell. By Deck Four, sweat slicked her collarbones, half exertion, half adrenal aftershock. Noon sunlight illuminating the lounge's infinity pool where water met sky in a seamless blue void. She collapsed onto a premium, curved bench, upholstered in cream leather, the material warm against her thighs. Below her, through layers of steel and insulation, two beautiful strangers waited in rooms designed to dissolve her personal hesitations.
The Morality Group hadn't just predicted her curiosity; they'd weaponized it. Curiosity has a very strong pull on most people. Every ethical safeguard she'd built over thirty-five years, her kindness, her restraint, to treat everyone with respect, meant almost nothing when compared against soundproof rooms, no repercussions, and soft helpless flesh ...that anticipated her darkest impulses before she had. The realization unspooled something primal in her gut: if the Group had already decided who she was, or who she could be, why should she bother pretending otherwise?
The yacht's vast emptiness pressed against her temples. She imagined Deck Zero's occupants, Amber stretching her feet on top of leather cushions, Jonathan pacing his cage with that wounded-doe grace. The thoughts should have repulsed her. Instead, her pulse stuttered at the memory of Jonathan's genuinely whispered I trust you, and Amber's sides and hip bones calling out to Cassidy, as she sat timidly, shy on the white sofa. Perhaps neither victims nor predators existed here; only collaborators in a game the house funded, and where everybody wins.
Lunch. Something neutral, grounding, an anchor in this feverish unreality. The galley's brushed steel surfaces gleamed. Cassidy explored the refrigerator and freezer. There, wrapped in wax paper, nestled beside bottles of chilled water, rested an assortment of sandwiches, triangles of crustless sourdough revealing jewel-toned fillings: roasted eggplant and feta, fig jam with prosciutto, baked cod with Meyer lemon aioli. She selected the cod, unwrapping it with trembling fingers. The first bite exploded across her palate, the fish's richness cut by citrus, the bread yielding yet crisp. For three blissful chews, she was just a woman eating lunch. Not a participant. Not a selfish tickler. Wait. Why did she make a reference to her not being a tickler? She could have simply said she wasn't selfish.
Cassidy carried her meal up to the sun deck, where the light wind rustled through her curly hair. The infinity pool's edge dissolved into the horizon, a perfect optical illusion of endless blue. She sat at the pool's rim, dangling her feet in water that was exactly the best temperature. Below the surface, her toes looked distorted, elongated, like some aquatic creature's. How long had it taken The Morality Group's architects to calculate this precise shade of tile, the way it mirrored tropical shallows? Every aesthetic detail engineered to near perfection. She had to give them credit for that.
She checked her cell phone. Two bars, barely enough to maintain a call but she pressed her mom's icon. Her mother answered on the second ring. "Baby! You're alive!" The familiar rasp of cigarette smoke and laughter coiled through the speaker. Cassidy pictured her leaning against their chipped kitchen counter, phone wedged between shoulder and ear while stirring sweet tea.
"It's incredible here," Cassidy lied around a mouthful of prosciutto and fig. "Who knows, maybe a private beach tomorrow, just me, the sun, a cabana boy and his coconuts." She ground her molars and rolled her eyes at the unintended double meaning. She may as well just a cabana boy, his banana and his coconuts.
Her mother sighed, the sound of deep relief. "Good. Lord knows you needed this." A pause. The ice in her glass clinked. "I'm so glad for you honey. You sound different though." Cassidy watched her own toes ripple the water. Different? She'd spoken just a few sentences. But mothers had sonar for their children's silences.
"Salt air," she deflected. "And I may have sampled the champagne stash." The lie came easier with each syllable. What would happen if she whispered There's cages and naked college students downstairs, Mom. The phone would probably cut out, and her mom would say she didn't hear that, say it again please. Or worse, the call would connect perfectly while she vomited the truth, and her mother would spend six days calling the police all over the earth, imagining kidnappers tossing her daughter's body overboard.
Cassidy ended the call with promises to check in tomorrow or the next day. The sun deck's polished teak was warm underfoot as she left her clogs near the pool, then retreated below deck, past the small gym, past the empty cinema pod, until she reached the master suite's relative silence.
She found the envelope precisely where she'd left it, wedged between the nightstand and a Bergman monograph she'd pretended to read. The remaining pages crackled like dried leaves as she unfolded them, revealing a subfolder labeled Subject Jonathan: Threshold Testing (Unauthorized Disclosure). Cassidy held her breath as she skimmed the clinical detachment of phrases like "spontaneous sole twitching during routine pedicures" and "audible giggling reflex triggered by sock removal" and "constant giggling during soothing massages." But it was the handwritten marginalia that made her stomach flip: "Confirmed, Jonathan is unaware of his own vulnerability. Recommend exploiting it by surprise, when too late for him to decline."
The documents fluttered to the duvet. So that's how they did it, not by tickling him outright, but by watching, waiting, cataloging every flinch when a nurse "accidentally" brushed his arch during a physical, every time he jolted with reflex during a "relaxing" pedicure. The Morality Group hadn't broken Jonathan with tickling yet; they'd simply studied him until his body betrayed how ticklish he is. Cassidy pressed her knuckles to her lips, tasting salt and unreality. That's pretty brilliant actually. Had they restrained him in some way and just tickle tested him, he would then become afraid and aware of that situation and scenario. Over the next 15 minutes she sipped on more of that high quality wine, just to take the edge off.
Stepping into the corridor, she addressed the ceiling. "Computer, which room has restraints to position someone spread eagled?" Yet at the same time, she was still full of doubt that she could or should take advantage of him. The AI gave her an answer, and she went back inside her room, took a long hot shower, pampered her skin, visited the complimentary closet, and put on a white turtleneck compression shirt, and white form-fitting leggings. Over those things she slipped into a light grey soft full length cozy robe, and slippers.
Cassidy exhaled sharply through her nose, once, twice, then pivoted toward Deck Zero’s stairwell. The robe's hem jostled against her calves with each descending step, the fabric parting to reveal flashes of white compression fabric beneath, long white tights, long-sleeved compression shirt. The irony wasn’t lost on her; she’d dressed for plausible deniability, yet every stitch clung with intention. But she hadn't lost hope in herself. She'd just go there and talk, keep him company for a while. On the way she made a five-minute stop inside room Z-04.
Using her key card, Jonathan’s door unlocked, and she stepped in. He startled awake from a nap, blinking up at her with sleep-softened confusion, then froze at the sight of her in her robe, not expecting to see such a thing. Cassidy gave him a warm expression to try to calm him before reaching into her robe pocket. "Here," she said, shaking out a pair of soft pink sweatpants. Too big for me, she explained, they might fit you just right. I found them in the fully stocked closet in my suite, untouched tags still dangling from the waistband.
Jonathan eyed them warily, fingers twitching at his sides. His bare thighs pressed together as he sat up straighter on the divan, clearly torn between suspicion and the undeniable appeal of clothing, he walked forward and took them. "Why?" The word came out hoarse, less challenge, more genuine bewilderment. Cassidy shrugged. "Because I can." His hesitation was almost pitiful, The moment his fingers brushed the fabric, Cassidy saw it, the way his shoulders loosened infinitesimally, the ghost of relief flickering across his face.
He stepped into them with his back turned, giving her a fleeting glimpse of the dimples just above his waistband. They fit pretty well considering, riding low on his hips, the cuffs pooling just slightly over his slender ankles. When he turned back, Cassidy caught the faintest pink tinge high on his cheekbones.
"Better?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah," he admitted softly, plucking at the waistband. "Thanks."
Cassidy reached into her robe's other pocket, and produced an expensive bottle of wine. "Do you have this available to you?" she asked, watching his reaction. Jonathan's gaze flicked from the wine to her face. "No." His throat worked. "Nothing like that."
"I thought you might like to share it with me," she said. "And just talk."
"You're coming in?" he asked.
Cassidy hesitated, then nodded. "May I?"
Jonathan exhaled sharply, half-laugh, half-sigh, and gestured vaguely at the bars. "You're the boss." The resignation in his voice didn't quite mask the undercurrent of something else, nervous anticipation?
Cassidy gripped the wine bottle tighter. "My instructions... they said to be careful. Not to take chances." She pointed towards the floor at the center of the room, where a faint circular seam gleamed dully under the recessed lighting. "There's an ankle cuff under that panel. Would you mind...?"
Jonathan blinked. For a suspended moment, Cassidy thought he might refuse. Then his shoulders dropped an inch, acceptance or relief, she couldn't tell, as he knelt beside the panel. His fingers found the latch. The panel cover popped off, revealing a polished steel cuff attached to a short cable. The mechanism looked medical, sleek padded curves devoid of brutality, yet undeniably final. Jonathan's throat bobbed as he snapped it around his own left ankle. The click echoed like a gavel.
Cassidy's breath hitched. The sight of him kneeling there, obediently shackling himself at her request, it sent an electric jolt through her. She keyed the cage door, stepped inside, letting both doors seal behind her with a whisper. She made sure to walk far enough away so that he could not reach her. He didn't try. He actually sat cross legged and faced her. She went to the couch.
"I haven't had much wine in my life," Jonathan observed, nodding at the bottle in her hand.
Cassidy sank onto the couch, producing a bottle opener from her pocket and begin the process of opening the bottle. She wanted to make sure he saw that it had not been tampered with, which could lead to his fear of being poisoned or drugged. "This whole situation with you makes me nervous," she said.
Jonathan nodded in agreement. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious and a little terrified." She smiled a little. "I'm glad you're honest."
Cassidy twisted the corkscrew slowly, letting the scent of oak and blackberry unfurl between them. "2015 Château Margaux," she murmured, watching the cork release with a satisfying pop. "One of my favorites, got hooked during a wine tour in New York." She slowly took a drink directly from the bottle. "Tastes like... velvet and smoke. Like someone distilled the concept of luxury."
Then she walked just close enough to him so that with her outstretched arm, could hand his outstretched arm the bottle. Jonathan timidly accepted it. "You seem pretty sure it's authentic."
Cassidy returned to the couch, removed her slippers and tucked her feet under her knees, cross legged. "Oh, I am. The Morality Group may be monsters, but they're not cheap monsters. That bottle retails for...about 1k."
His eyebrows shot up. "My god." He looked at the bottle's stickers, and slowly took a sip, pretty much mimicking the way she took her sip.
"This wine probably won't help me with my upcoming track meet," he added. Cassidy watched his throat move as he swallowed, the way his lips glistened afterward, pink and slightly parted. "You're in sports at school?" she asked. The question felt absurdly normal, like they were two strangers chatting at a vineyard tasting.
Jonathan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hundred-meter dash," he admitted. "Not varsity or anything yet." Cassidy's gaze snagged down to his torso. "Used to think I was the fastest until college tryouts kinda humbled me," he added. Cassidy replied with, "Wish I could be as lean as you. I'm jealous." That comment caused a slight awkward pause, but it didn't last long. Jonathan agreed that training for track did in fact keep his body lean.
The wine bottle passed between them again, Cassidy taking a longer pull this time, the alcohol warm in her throat. Jonathan's fingers lingered near hers when he reclaimed it, not quite touching. "Tell me something true," she said suddenly, watching his eyelashes flicker. "Something you've never told anyone else." Jonathan froze mid-sip, wine staining his upper lip burgundy. He wiped it away with a nervous laugh. "That's... intense for a first date." The joke landed awkwardly between them. She didn't smile. "I'm not asking as your captor." Her toes curled under her thighs. "Asking as the only other person trapped here with you." She assumed he did not know about Amber.
The bottle trembled slightly in his grip. "Ms. Delvanno. AP Calculus." His thumb traced the label's embossed lettering. "She wore these knit sweaters that, " His breath hitched. "You could see her bra straps when she wrote on the board." Cassidy watched his hand rub his outer thigh, the pink sweatpants fabric straining. "And her legs were...I'd stay after class pretending to need help. One day she leaned over my desk and..." His throat worked. "Her perfume smelled like lemons and leather. I got um, excited instantly. Had to put my textbook on my lap." Cassidy burst out laughing, then apologized.
Cassidy's fingers tingled. The image bloomed unbidden, young Jonathan flushed and fumbling, the teacher perhaps even knowing about it. She took the bottle back, their fingers brushing. "Ever act on it?" His exhale shuddered. "She caught me staring once. Just... smiled and adjusted her glasses." As he unconsciously ran his fingers over his ankle cuff. "That's when I realized older women terrify me." His gaze flicked to whatever small areas of her legs and feet were available to see. "In a good way."
In that moment Cassidy thought up a sneaky trick. She jokingly told him that she is in her mid 30's and said, "I wasn't your teacher back then, was I?" and laughed at her own joke. He surprisingly didn't laugh back, just stared with pupils blown wide. His fingers slid over the radius of the metal cuff as he was thinking. "Oh god," he whispered. "...were you?" Cassidy nearly choked. "No, hell, of course not. I'm kidding!" He faintly smiled.
His lips parted, not in shock, but something closer to recognition. "You... really do kind of remind me of her," he admitted, voice fraying at the edges. The confession hung between them, humid and dangerous. Cassidy's pulse thrummed in her wrists. She took another sip purely to wet her suddenly dry mouth. "Should I be flattered?" Jonathan's fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants. The cuff's cable slithered against the floor as he shifted. "You're prettier," he mumbled. The words were barely audible, half-drowned in Cabernet, but they sent an electric current down Cassidy's spine. She wondered how much of that was alcohol. How much was something else.
She stretched her legs out, letting her bare feet and toes rest onto the carpet. She took note to watch him closely then, to see if her pretty feet attracted any attention from him. They did, and it was instant. His eyes lowered to her feet and legs. He wasn't very good at disguising it and his stare lingered too long. "And if I told you..." Her voice dropped to a murmur. "...that I'm worried they won't pay you a penny unless I... engage? Unless I do something with you or to you or for you." She watched his face carefully, searching for the line between discomfort and intrigue. Jonathan's breath hitched. His gaze instantly went to the floor in front of him with shyness. "...yeah," he admitted after a beat. "That's... kind of why I'm here. I don't want to not get paid." The cable slithered over the carpet piles as he adjusted his position, not retreating, just... settling in.
Cassidy's toes flexed involuntarily. The air between them thickened. She could see the exact moment the alcohol loosened his tongue, the way his shoulders slumped forward, the way his gaze kept flicking to her exposed ankles. "So..." She tilted her head. "...what would you do if I just... walked away right now and did nothing?"
Jonathan's expression sobered up. "You wouldn't." He wasn't defiant, he was pleading. The cable clinked softly as he shifted his legs. "I can't not... I need that money." His voice cracked on the last word, revealing the boy beneath the captive. Cassidy's stomach twisted. The wine-dark flush crept down his neck. "...but..." He swallowed hard. "You could... think up something that you'd like." His eyelashes fluttered shut. "Like I said before. I trust you."
Cassidy exhaled slowly through her nose. The robe's belt slithered loose between her fingers as she pushed herself off the couch. "You'll laugh at what I was thinking," she warned, circling him slowly, her bare feet silent on the carpet. Jonathan tracked her movement, his breathing shallowing. "Try me," he whispered. The cuff's cable scraped against the floor as he twisted to keep her in view.
She stopped behind him, close enough that her robe's hem brushed his spine. "Alright," Cassidy murmured. "Embarrassing admission time." The scent of his shampoo, something citrusy and cheap, mixed with the wine on his breath. "Your body..." Her throat clicked. "It's ridiculous. Like Michelangelo got bored with marble and decided to sculpt a track star instead." Jonathan's shoulders hitched up toward his ears. "I just..." Cassidy's voice dropped to a whisper near his nape. "I want to see how many angles and positions your body can make. All those tendons. Every arch." Her fingertip ghosted along his trapezius muscle.
Jonathan exhaled sharply, less protest, more shudder. His fingers clenched around the pink sweatpants' fabric at his thighs. "That's... not too normal of a thing to ask." The words lacked any real resistance. Cassidy watched his Adam's apple bob. "Too much for you?" she breathed against the shell of his ear. His eyelashes fluttered. The cable scraped against the floor as he subtly arched his back.
Silence pooled between them. Then, so quiet she almost missed it: "...No. it's not too much." Those words sent heat lancing through Cassidy's abdomen. She stepped back, circling to face him again. Jonathan's gaze stayed fixed on his own lap, but his breathing had gone shallow, his chest rising fast. He noticed that the wine was really buzzing him at the moment, and it actually felt nice. He felt un-inhibited. A beautiful older woman was asking to see his naked body and different positions, and he was to be paid for letting her. Yes he sure would.
“Let's give you an easy test then,” said Cassidy. “Simon says raise both of your arms up high over your head and hold them there.” She wanted to see what his no doubt ticklish underarms looked like. She couldn't wait another second. So she disguised her arousal as a simple test for him. He made a slightly confused face and said, “Now? Just put my arms up high?” “Yes.” she replied. He kind of shrugged his shoulders in a way that said ok that super easy, and he raised his arms. Cassidy did not conceal her arousal as well as she intended to. She shifted her legs and arms to new positions and looked away and down for a moment with inner embarrassment.
But then she look back up, directly at his beautiful form and his exposed smooth hairless underarms. Why they were hairless she didn't care. They looked so damn ticklish. She immediately imagined lightly touching them and imagined his squeals of laughter that would probably follow. Seconds went by and neither of them said anything. It got awkward.
"There's something you should know," Cassidy murmured, nudging the empty wine bottle with her bare toe. She watched his eyes track the movement, the way his throat worked when she flexed her foot's arch against the glass. "Next door, room Z-04, it's got...equipment." She let the word hang, ripe with implication. "Things that'll let me see you exactly how I'm imagining." She purposely scraped her toenails across the carpet with a faint scratch. Her next words would force him to comply. "If you want them to pay you...you'll walk over there with me right now."
Jonathan's eyes raised up to meet her gaze, with curiosity. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "What kind of equipment?" Cassidy smiled. "The fun kind." She reached down, swiped her key card over the ankle cuff, it unlocked, and offering her hand. "Come see, together."
Jonathan stared at her palm. His fingers twitched, once, twice, before he finally reached up. His skin was warmer than she expected, his grip tentative at first, then tightening as she pulled him to his feet. Cassidy guided him toward the door, her palm lightly guiding the small of his back. "You can say no," she reminded him, feeling his pulse jump under her fingers. "Anytime."
He didn't say no. This was actually a young man's dream of dreams. Was this beautiful 35 year old woman going to get sexual with him?
The corridor lights flickered as they stepped out, Jonathan hovering close in front of her, his breath uneven. When they reached Z-04's door, Cassidy pressed her key card to the reader. The mechanism buzzed, once, twice, then clicked open. Inside, recessed lighting revealed a space that wasn't clinical, but...it was deliberate. Four smooth metal wrist and ankle cuffs were near the center of the room, on the rubber floor. They were each attached to their own strong cable, and each cable went down into the floor a few feet away, disappearing. The spots they disappeared into the floor, if you were to connect the dots, formed a large rectangle.
Jonathan's sharp inhale filled the silence. Cassidy watched his reflection, the way his eyes darted to the cuffs on the floor, and the rigging points going into the floor at the end of their cables. "I," his fingers tightened around the waistband of his pink sweatpants. Cassidy smiled slow and warm, in a way that made his breath stutter. "I know," she murmured. "It's kind of a big ask." She reached out, fingertips brushing his wrist. "But you're doing so well. And you trust me. And this is what I want."
The pause stretched thin. Then, with a shaky exhale, Jonathan lowered himself onto the rubber flooring between the cuffs, his long limbs folding awkwardly, knees pressing together. The pink fabric strained over his thighs. Cassidy knelt beside him, close enough to catch the scent of the nervous sweat beneath his citrus shampoo.
"Hey," she whispered, tapping one sweat pant-clad knee with her pointer finger. "Can't see Michelangelo's chiseled work through these things." He slightly jumped at her finger on his knee. She noticed the jump, and she became so very aroused, but she could not reveal that to him right now. She needed his trust until he put on the restraints. Jonathan's throat clicked audibly. His fingers twitched toward the waistband, then froze. Cassidy leaned in, close enough that her breath stirred his hair. "Tell you what," she murmured. "You take them off, and I'll..." Her lips brushed the shell of his ear. "...I'll let you look at, and maybe smell … my bare feet."
Jonathan shuddered. His fingers hooked into the waistband, slow at first, then with sudden resolve, pushing the fabric down his legs in one jerky motion. The sweatpants pooled around his ankles, revealing his lean thighs, kneecaps sharp enough to cut glass. Cassidy's gaze snagged on his hip bones, how the skin there was a beautiful ivory, and sickeningly soft.
"Good," she breathed, resisting the urge to touch. "Now put your cuffs on. Left ankle first, use that cuff there." She noticed that he was circumcised, and it was done very nicely. It was attractive and clean. Jonathan hesitated, glancing at the padded restraints, more like luxurious wearable pillows. He clicked the first cuff around his left ankle, the inner lining cool but yielding against his skin. The click of the mechanism locking sounded absurdly gentle, like a car door closing on a luxury sedan. The cable pooled loosely beside his leg, with plenty of movement allowed.
"Other ankle," Cassidy murmured, pointing at the correct cuff to use, watching his fingers tremble as he repeated the process. This time, the cuff's interior brushed the delicate hollow beneath his outer ankle bone, she saw his breath hitch at the contact. When he reached for the wrist cuff on his right side, his movements had gained a strange fluidity, like himself and his body had decided surrender was easier than resistance. The restraint closed with a whisper around his slender wrist, leaving only one arm free, an incompleteness that made his pulse jump visibly in his throat.
"Last one," Cassidy said softly, extending the last cuff in her hands toward his uncuffed wrist. The overhead lights caught the sweat-slick sheen along his forearm as he held it out, not offering, not resisting, just...existing in the charged space between. The final cuff's padding molded to his skin as she clicked it shut. Then she adjusted the slack of all the cables until they formed graceful arcs toward their floor anchors. She then slid her keycard over each cuff, and they mechanically came to life, the soft inside padding filled with air pressure until all four cuffs molded perfectly snug around his wrists and ankles, with a firmness that would never allow his hands or feet to slip out of them. “This stuff is so high tech isn't it?” she said as she smiled at him.
Cassidy rose smoothly, stepping back toward the door, pushed it shut, it's lock clicked with authority. The room was wow, so obviously sound proof. Jonathan's gaze tracked her like a compass needle finding north, his breath catching when her fingers found her robe's tie. She untied it. The soft belt slithered open with a whisper, the robe dropping and pooling at her feet like shed skin. And now the clothing that used to be under the robe was visible, the compression fabric clung to every dip and curve of her, the white leggings all the way down to her slender ankles, showcasing the delicate bones of her bare feet. Her white compression turtle neck shirt stuck to her feminine body like paint.
Jonathan made a small, punched-out noise in his throat. The cables twitched as his restrained hands and legs moved around nervously, not struggling, just...reacting. Cassidy arched one eyebrow, rolling her shoulders to accentuate the way the shirt stretched across her breasts. "Problem?" she murmured, though his flushed cheeks and parted lips had answered well enough, he still replied, "No Maam."
She gestured to a football-sized dark-gray oval stenciled onto the rubber flooring beside him, its matte surface slightly raised. "Tailbone goes right there please," she instructed, tapping the spot with her toes. Jonathan exhaled sharply through his nose but obeyed, wriggling awkwardly until his sacrum pressed flush against the marking. Then she manually maneuvered all four of the long loose cables away from his body so that she could begin.
Cassidy strode to the control panel embedded in the far wall, her bare feet leaving faint damp prints on the rubber flooring. Her fingers slowly pushed commands on the touchscreen, selecting icons that bloomed crimson under her touch. Beneath them, machinery whirred to life, not the industrial grind expected, but a smooth hydraulic purr like a luxury elevator ascending.
"Just stay still," she murmured, watching the cables twitch like sleeping serpents stirring. The first tugs and movement came gradually, his left ankle drawn down with gentleness until his leg stretched nearly taut, his knee locking involuntarily. Then his right leg the same way. Jonathan gasped as the right cuff mirrored the motion, his thighs quivering where they met the floor. The wrist restraints followed suit, pulling his arms behind his head, straightening them. His armpit exposure growing with each gently incremental adjustment. Cassidy was observing his body and manually making these adjustments to stretch him as much as she wanted.
The pulleys hissed as they reached her desired optimal tension, not painful, but certainly he was held completely captive, his ankles and wrists spread apart the same distance, his limbs nearly forming the shape of the letter X. Cassidy admired her handiwork: Jonathan's body was now straight from fingers to feet, against the rubber matting, every tendon and sinew subtly highlighted by the stretch. His breathing hitched the more he realized how he couldn't move. The rise and fall of his ribs and chest were rousingly noticeable to Cassidy.
"Answer me honestly," she murmured as she walked up near him. "If our roles were reversed, if I were the one stretched out like this, wouldn't you enjoy seeing me?" Jonathan swallowed audibly, his gaze darting to her bare feet as they paused near his shoulder. The cables creaked faintly as he shifted, testing them. "I," His voice cracked. Cassidy tilted her head, waiting. His throat worked. "...yes," he admitted, barely audible. "Yeah, I think I would."
Cassidy's lips curved. "So now you understand why it's not so crazy of a request by me. I'm simply curious to learn about your body." He didn't reply, but his inner thoughts were plenty fine that she had said that. This could only mean good things were about to happen.
She went to the wall where a variety of well, bondage accessories were lined up like library books, each tool able to perform different tasks. Her fingers trailed over them before selecting what looked like an avaunt-garde sleep mask, but thicker, more intentional. It's thick leather was cold when she lifted it, the inner lining plush as velvet. Jonathan's breath quickened as she turned the mask in her hands, letting him see the intricate stitching, the openings where his mouth and nose would be. "Custom fit I hope," she murmured, thumb brushing one of the sound-dampening ear cups. "Won't hurt. Just... removes any distractions for you. I'm going to put this on you for a while so I can study your body in peace, without you watching me. You'll be deaf and blind, ok?" He was very aroused right now, frightened but aroused, so he quickly agreed.
“But...” he interrupted. She didn't at first understand what he was getting at. “But what?” He turned his head and eyes towards her bare foot. She smiled and exhaled. “But what?” she said again. She wanted to make him ask. “Um... remember you said I could um... see your feet up close? … if I put these on?” He gestured towards one of his wrist restraints. She was turned on by everything she was seeing and hearing. And she wanted to learn more about this foot thing he seemed to have, so she asked, “That's right! I did say that didn't I?” I'll let you if you answer just a couple questions. He looked her straight in the eyes as if to agree, waiting for her questions.
“Do you like women's feet?” He paused because it was embarrassing to admit, especially while bound naked! “Yes,” he replied. She smiled at how cute it was that he was embarrassed. “Explain to me what you like about them?”
He thought about his answer for a few moments then timidly said, "Hard to explain. Women’s feet curve nicely. The arch is higher, smoother. Like they were designed to be looked at." Cassidy sat herself on the floor near his shoulder. “Keep going,” she said.
"And the toes—don’t laugh—but they’re kind of special and elegant? Like, proportional. Not stubby." He took a long calm breath in and then out. "And the way they move in high heels—the tension in the tendons, the way the skin stretches over the bone—it’s art, fine art. Poetry." Jonathan’s ears flushed pink, his voice dropping as if sharing classified intel. "The smell, the texture, the softness.”
Without speaking she lifted one leg and placed it's foot directly over his face, about 5 inches above. “Here you go. Take a good close look.” He did. He stared right up at the soft arched sold, noticing the toes and how thin lines of light showed through between her slender perfect toes. To him, it was an incredible sight. His face sort of changed as if in a trance. This is where he wanted to be, under her feet, and he didn't really understand why.
“I make the decisions around here I want you to understand,” she said in a lower voice. “But I'm going to allow you the privilege of smelling my foot, just briefly.” His eyes darted to her with disbelief and excitement, then right back to the slender heavenly foot above him. She slowly lowered it and rested it on his nose and closed mouth, his nostrils nestling where her big toe and 2nd toe meets the sole. He breathed in through his nose. It was everything he thought it would be and more. And incredible feeling of contentment washed over him as he felt her foot's velvet skin on his face, and breathed in her exquisite, priceless aroma. She removed it a few seconds later. He instantly longed for it and was already missing it's presence.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” she said. “You can earn more time with my feet if you're a good boy, ok?” He looked at her face to check if she was serious or sarcastic. “Yes. I will be. I promise.” he replied. She picked up the black leather hood that would cover his hears and his eyes, depriving him of sight or sound.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he look at it in her hands. The cables skittered softly with his minute shifts of his arms and legs, the only freedom his body was allowed. Cassidy positioned the hood just above his sight-line, letting him stare at it a beat too long before she said, "Tip your head forward." His obedience was beautiful, without hesitation. The way his neck corded as he inclined toward her, the way his lashes fluttered shut a second before the leather eclipsed his vision. The straps whispered as she secured them, first the crown buckle, then the one beneath his jaw, each soft buckle resonating like a door locking behind him.
When she leaned back, Jonathan existed only from the nose down, his lips slightly parted, the curve of his thick beautiful lips was a sight to behold. She walked back to the control panel. Cassidy tapped the button labeled "CRADLE." With a pneumatic sigh, the rubber matting beneath Jonathan's pelvis expanded outward, not abruptly, but with the fluid menace of ink dispersing in water. The material curved and crept up his flanks, molding to the angles of his hip bones before hardening in a half circle, just enough to eliminate any possibility of left or right lateral movement. Because it was a half circle it did not cover his front hip bones or anywhere on the front side of his waist or stomach. It was designed to leave all of those areas open for business. He jerked instinctively at the sensation, the cables singing taut with his startled tension. His fingers flexed, useless, beautiful, against their restraints.
Cassidy inhaled slowly through her nose. The scent of his clean sweat, the ghost of cheap shampoo, something undeniably young and male underneath, coiled in her lungs. Her pulse hammered in her fingertips. The Morality Group was right, there was something utterly intoxicating about this complete lack of consequences. No witnesses. No laws. Just her and him, and this perfect playground of endless nerve endings. She grinned. This was going to be fun, and very hot.
Cassidy tapped the control panel, commanding the cradle to rise at a slow pace, enough to be able to view the resistance in Jonathan's body. The rubber matting beneath his hips groaned softly as it ascended, lifting his pelvis off the floor inch by deliberate inch. His cock jostled slightly into a new position, flushed and helpless against his stomach, as the movement pulled slack away from his wrist and ankle restraints. The cables hissed through their pulleys, tension mounting with every centimeter gained. Jonathan's breath hitched as he realized what was happening, a soft, strangled noise escaping his lips, as his back began to arch involuntarily, the skin above his hipbones pulling taut like canvas stretched over a frame. His muscles trembled, not quite resisting, not quite yielding, as his body was reshaped before her eyes.
The cradle stopped at its zenith, Jonathan's hips tilted upward obscenely; his spine curved into a perfect bow. Every tendon in his abdomen stood out in stark relief, his ribs visible beneath the stretched skin of his torso. "God, look at you," she murmured, not that he could hear her, her voice thick with something between reverence and hunger. His fingers flexed uselessly, his toes curling inward as the cables kept him suspended in that exquisite, vulnerable arc.
The wine hummed pleasantly through Cassidy's veins, blurring the edges of her hesitation. She circled him slowly, studying the way his cock twitched against his stomach with no stimulus but the air moving over sensitive skin. She imagined the sensory deprivation that must be crashing over him. No sight. No sounds. Just the pressure of the restraints, the slow burn of muscles held taut, the maddening awareness of being watched by her, without knowing what happens next. The thought of his predicament coiled low in her belly, heating it up.
She watched the goosebumps rise on his lower stomach and hips. His hips shifting instinctively, restrained motion amplifying the shudder that rolled through him. Cassidy bit her lip. This is actually real. Not some fantasy, not some role play. This is a living, breathing young man surrendered entirely to my whims. The Morality Group hadn’t just given her a wonderful yacht; they’d provided her a living, breathing boy toy, wrapped in tendons, sweat and desperate, trembling compliance. A sense of power surged through her. Not just arousal, but something darker, hungrier. They'll let me do this. The realization hit her like a drug, sharp and sweet. No repercussions. No judgment. No limits. Just Jonathan’s body, bound and responsive, and the delicious liberty to explore every twitch, every shudder, and he could do nothing about it.
She leaned in, her breath hot, unable to keep her words inside. “You’re so perfect like this,” she murmured, knowing he couldn’t hear her, but saying it anyway, admiring her handiwork. The cradle held him suspended at just the right angle to expose every vulnerable inch: the delicate skin behind his knees, the dip of his navel, the way his cock lay heavy against his stomach, flushed and starting to leak a little bit? Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, savoring the pulse between her own thighs. He's mine. He's going to laugh.
She wanted to first let him know how truly vulnerable he was, hoping that in his mind he would worry that maybe she'd figured out that tickling him, was an option. She wanted him to be afraid that tickling could possibly enter her thoughts. Sure, tickling was already her plan, but he didn't know that. As far as he knew, she'd said she just wanted to look at his lean body in different positions. Cassidy leaned in, her mouth an inch from the soft skin above one of his hip bones. She blew with her mouth shaped the way it would be to whistle.
He felt it instantly, realizing how close her beautiful mouth was to his skin. She watched for the subtle hitch in his breathing, the way his stomach tightened instinctively, anticipating perhaps more contact. She drew it out, letting him wait, letting her own anticipation build until she just couldn’t stand it any longer. This young man needed to be tickled. She wasn't sure how or why but he deserved to be tickled. He had it coming. She dragged the tip of one fingernail down his side in one slow, feather-light stroke, barely there, just enough to let him fully understand that she does realize tickling is something she can easily do to him.
His entire body spasmed from the surprise fingernail skitter, the cradle groaning under the sudden strain of trying to pull both arms and both legs back towards his body. They moved perhaps a quarter inch each. That would be of no help to him if he were to be tickled. A choked, breathless sound ripped from his throat, a half-laugh, half-scream, the restraints not allowing him any movement. He trembled with the realization of how immobilized he was. Cassidy’s lips parted in silent delight. Oh my. His skin was hypersensitive electric ticklish, the muscles in that area tensing like plucked wires. She must do that again, and she did. Tracing the same path, just a fraction harder this time, and he jerked again, laughing. His hips bucked uselessly against the padded cradle holding his lower back and sides in place.
Jonathan decided he needed to say something, because her recent touches meant 100% that she was finding amusement or pleasure or whatever, in tickling him. It would only continue and get worse unless he said something. “Wait!” he called out as his laughter subsided. “You didn't say this! Don't do this please!” He called it this because he was so helpless and so sensitive that he didn't even want to use the word tickling. Didn't want to encourage her even more by saying the 'T' word.
Cassidy laughed softly. She was very delighted to see him understanding his situation, to see his frantic worry of being tickled. Her finger skimmed once again but on the other side of his torso. “You’re so ticklish,” she muttered even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. Her nails begin to dance lightly over the delicate skin on each of his sides, and over the hip bones. Jonathan’s reaction was immediate, his shoulders hunching, his chest heaved, his entire body twisting in a futile attempt to escape the sensations. But the restraints held firm, leaving him utterly at her mercy. She watched, fascinated, as his skin begin to flush pink and red in some areas. His toes curled, his fingers flexed, every muscle tensed up. Cassidy felt power surge through her veins, it was hot and intoxicating.
This handsome naked guy was reacting viscerally, uncontrollably, just from her fingers touching. Her simple touch was able to change his entire world, controlling him physically in the sense that he had no choice but to twist and tense up, and quiver. Controlling his mind in the sense that he 100% must give her touch all of his thoughts, whether it be trying to get her to stop, or simply how to process this very intense attack on his ticklish skin. Wielding that power was suddenly amazing to Cassidy. She retracted her touch and waited. She had tickled for about 15 full seconds and he was madly laughing. She was very interested in what he would say or do now. She wanted very much for him to beg, which would prove to both of them that she controls everything right now.
Jonathan gasped as soon as she stopped touching him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Cassidy, wait, please!" His voice cracked, half still laughing, half-panicked. "You, you didn’t tell me, " A breathless hitch interrupted him as she poked twice around his navel, his stomach muscles jumping under her fingertip. "Damn, fuck, you didn’t say, say you were gonna, hah!, tickle!" He twisted uselessly, his laughter desperate, his words spilling out in ragged bursts. "I, I wouldn’t have, nngh!, agreed, hahaha!, if!" His hips jerked more, his cock rolled and moved against his stomach, already quite hard, his body betraying him even as he protested.
Cassidy tilted her head, studying him. His laughter was simply put, gorgeous, high-pitched, breathless, almost girlish in its helplessness. "I know you can hear me!", Jonathan continued. She dragged a single nail down each of his inner thighs, light as a whisper, and his entire body convulsed. "Nnnooo!" he wailed, his voice breaking. "Hahaha!, Cassidy, please, oh God, stop!" His laughter dissolved into panting, his chest heaving. "I, I can’t, hah!, I can’t be tickled!" His toes curled violently, his fingers clutching at nothing. "Just a moment. Please just listen! I'll tell why!" He was using any words at all to get her to stop.
She smirked and calmly blinked her eye lashes a couple times, well aware that he still would not hear her words. "But you did agree," she murmured, her voice low and honeyed. "You let me tie you up. You let me play with you." She reveled in the thought of how he must feel as he spoke out to her but received no communication back. She wondered if he might start to think she couldn't hear him, even though common sense dictated she should be able to. Either way, no response or stoppage by her, and yet continued tickling must be crazy scary for him. She liked the thought of that. Her fingers skated up his ribs, spider-light, and he shrieked, his body arching as much as the restraints allowed. "Hahahaha! NO!" His laughter now bordered on hysterical, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "Mercy!, I beg you, hah!, just, just a break!" His voice cracked, his words dissolving into breathless giggles as she scribbled her nails over his ribs.
Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, happily watching him unravel. His begging was so delicious, the way his voice wavered, the way his body trembled, the way his cock leaked against his stomach...
...To Be Continued in PART 3
That's a Yacht of Tickling
Written by: LisaLisaTickle
PART 2
Cassidy's gaze darted left, another keypad glowed beside the cage, its display reading UNLOCK. But she could just speak to him without doing that. But to be able to go inside, she'd need to use the card again. That thought of touching his soft ivory skin sent electric disgust down her spine. This wasn't just a basic fair testing of morality; it was staging a nearly impossible to refuse, one sided, extremely tempting, scenario.
Jonathan shifted, his soles rasping against the divan's leather as he tucked his feet beneath him, protective, instinctive maybe. The motion drew Cassidy's attention to his ankles: bare, vulnerable, faintly pink at the heels, smooth like a baby's. They looked impossibly soft. "Are you real?" The question tore from her throat raw, unplanned, and sounding strange. Jonathan blinked, then offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm pretty sure yeah." His voice held a nervous tremble that she had expected of someone in his situation.
Cassidy exhaled through her nose, tasting sterile air and something sweeter underneath, was it fear-sweat? She wrapped her palm around one of the rubber-coated bars. "Are you alright in there?" Jonathan's gaze flicked down her body, then back up. "I'm not hurt. But," He gestured vaguely at the cage, the room. "This is... all new for someone like me."
She swallowed hard, trying not to say any more weird things. "Do you know where you are?"
Jonathan stretched his arms above his head, a casual movement that made the tendons in his wrists stand out like, but what instantly caught Cassidy's attention were his hairless, smooth, soft deep underarms. She briefly wondered if he was aware that he had just shown some of his very vulnerable areas. His heels slid back into view against the leather. "Five-million-dollar yacht, middle of the ocean," he said, as if listing breakfast options. "Getting paid five grand for 7 days, to let rich people study my body, even mess around with it, and with my mind. Some kind of weird human studies, I guess."
Cassidy's fingers twitched against the bars. "Paid?"
Jonathan stood up, slow, deliberate, and walked to the middle of the room. The recessed lights caught the tendons in his ankles flexing as he moved. His bare feet made no sound on the carpet. "Yeah. One grand upfront, another four after 7 days." He shrugged. Cassidy replied, "This is... brand new to me too. Never done anything like this before." His gaze flickered over her wrinkled t-shirt, and then down to her clogs. "And so you're, you're not staff, right? So you're the first..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "First rich person to see me like this." He held his hands in front to conceal his cock, while at the same time trying to act like he wasn't at all embarrassed, or covering it.
Cassidy's mouth went dry. The light caught the slope of his shoulders, smooth ivory skin, the elegant taper of his waist, his slender waist where it met his hipbones. His thighs were lean but strong, dusted with fine pale blonde hair that glowed almost silver under the fluorescents. And his feet, oh my his feet. Even the tops looked soft and luscious. (did she just think the word luscious?) His entire body looked untouched by labor or hardship, like some sculptor's idealized youth brought to life.
Jonathan shifted his weight, his bare soles pressing into the carpet. His toes were slender and elegant, the nails neatly trimmed. The arches curved high, the skin there pinker than the rest of him, like he'd never walked barefoot on anything dry or dirty in his life. Could she really truly, if she wanted to, trace those arches with her fingertips, feel the sole's muscles tense and jump under her touch? The book's words echoed in her skull: paroxysmal vocalizations, limbic hijack. Her fingers twitched again. Actually, many parts of her twitched right now.
"You wanna, " Jonathan cleared his throat. "You wanna come in? Or just... look at me?" His voice held no judgment, just a quiet resignation that made her stomach clench. He rubbed the sole of one foot over the opposite lower leg, maybe scratching an itch. The movement highlighting the delicate bones of his ankle. "They said I'm supposed to let you do whatever. Or I don't get my money." He glanced at the cage's keypad. "So. Up to you." Cassidy's pulse roared in her ears. His situation was five thousand dollars, seven days. Her situation was no rules, test her envelope of limits. She pressed the CURATOR card to her sternum, feeling its edges bite into her palm. His body was beautiful, undeniably appealing. And he'd been paid to be here. He had walked into this willingly. That should have made it easier for her. But it didn't. Not yet.
Cassidy inhaled sharply, forcing her gaze back to his face, to the blue eyes tracking her. "No," she said, too quickly. "I mean. I hadn't planned on anything like that." The confession sounded absurd even to her. What had she planned? A rescue mission? Some noble act? Jonathan tilted his head, his hair falling across his forehead. "So, why'd you swipe in at the door?" His bare toes curled into the carpet. "Just to window-shop?" There it was, the first spark of something beneath his practiced compliance. Anger? Challenge? Cassidy swallowed hard.
She stepped back from the bars, gripping her elbows. "I wanted to see if anyone was in here," she admitted. "And I wanted to ask how I can help you." The words tasted like cheap theater, like the canned dialogue of some would-be hero. Jonathan exhaled through his nose. "Help me how? With what?"
Cassidy's stomach dropped. She could tell he was playing tough but underneath was timid. Yet he also wasn't a terrified captive awaiting rescue. This was a college kid who'd weighed $5000 against seven days of probing discomfort and signed on the dotted line. The realization should have eased her conscience. Instead, it coiled tighter, because if he wasn't a victim, what did that make her? The CURATOR card's edges dug deeper into her palm as Jonathan stretched luxuriously, arching his back until his ribs cast shadows across his abdomen. "So," he murmured, watching her through lowered lashes. "You gonna help me earn my paycheck?"
She studied his face, really studied it, for the first time. High cheekbones, lips fuller than most Caucasian men, eyelashes surprisingly dark. The overall effect was somehow... prettier than handsome. Delicate. Almost feminine in its symmetry. And that unsettled her most of all, how much she liked seeing his attractiveness. And that she liked that he was ... white. As a 35-year-old woman of Persian Egyptian heritage, she had always kind of felt that white women disliked her, because their white men give her a lot of attention. The thought slithered through her brain, unwelcome and sticky. She'd prided herself on colorblind attraction, and in understanding that every race and color all had good and bad people within their “group.” Yet here in this antiseptic box, something about his whiteness, the vulnerability of him, perhaps in a way his privilege was being inverted. She didn't know how to explain it to herself but, it was hot. Arousing.
She hesitated, uncertain, and decided to ask out loud. "Computer? Am I allowed to set him free from Deck Zero?" The AI's response slithered through hidden speakers, a sound like oiled gears turning. "Freedom parameters are unrestricted. However..." with a pause that felt like a digital raised eyebrow. "Mr. Hansen's contractual stipulations include forfeiture of all compensation if removed from designated observation zones prior to conclusion of study period. Would you like me to recite the relevant clauses?"
Jonathan's calmly moved forward, gripping the cage bars with urgency. "No! Please," His fingers flexed. Up close, Cassidy could see the faint tremor in his wrists, not fear, but something closer to desperation. "I need that money. My mom's got medical bills." His face was genuine, shy and embarrassed. "Five grand is my community college tuition plus books. Plus rent." He pressed his forehead to the bars. "Just...don't ruin this. Please."
Cassidy had stepped back because he came up to the bars, she studied his face closely. "OK. I won't," she assured him.
Jonathan exhaled sharply, forehead pressed to the bars. When he looked up, his blue eyes shimmered with gratitude, and something else. Something that tightened Cassidy's throat. "You're...you're really nice," he murmured, voice cracking like a teenager. "Like, genuinely." His fingers uncurled from the bars; palms upturned in surrender or invitation. "And if you wanted to...you know, mess around with me a little. Like they planned?" His toes curled against the carpet, pink, perfect, vulnerable. "I'll trust you."
All of a sudden silence, and those words hung between them like cobwebs. Trust. Not compliance, not resignation. Trust. Cassidy's fingers twitched at her sides. His body was so close to the bars now, close enough that she could see the pulse fluttering in his throat, smell the clean sweat at his temples. She could actually reach through this very moment and... no. She should walk away right now. Instead, Cassidy found her voice: "You trust me to what, exactly?" The question came out huskier than she'd intended, likely because she subconsciously wanted to let him know that she'd had some kinky thoughts. Her question was a great one to probe what he thinks he should put up with.
Jonathan wet his lips. His throat worked as he swallowed. "Whatever you want." A pause. Then, softer: "Within reason." His attempt at humor fell flat, the ghost of a smile trembling at the corners of his mouth. His bare foot scuffed the carpet, drawing her gaze downward again. Those soft foot tops. Those long, delicate toes. The book's clinical phrases echoed in her skull: hyper-ticklish subjects, neurological override.
Cassidy's mouth became more dry. She glanced at the keypad, UNLOCK CAGE glowing innocently beside them. One swipe. That's all it would take.
"How does this...work?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Logistically."
Jonathan exhaled through his nose, shoulders relaxing slightly, relieved, perhaps, that she hadn't immediately recoiled from his offer.
"This room?" He gestured vaguely at the padded walls, the divan. "Just where I sleep, eat, shower, and... wait. They tell me the sessions happen elsewhere." His bare toes flexed against the carpet as he leaned closer to the bars, voice dropping conspiratorially. "They told me they've got, like, theme rooms all down this hallway." His cheeks pinked. "There's probably instructions for you somewhere about that."
Cassidy's mind fluttered. Themed rooms. The clinical detachment of it made her stomach twist, as if Jonathan were a library book to be checked out and annotated in different reading environments. She had no intentions of having a session with this poor confused kid. She stepped back and begin closing the door she had entered. "Stay here please," she murmured, though the command was unnecessary, the cage did that for him. The corridor seemed to narrow further as she moved to just the very next door down, the matte black walls absorbing the sound of her footsteps. She might as well at least know everything that's down here, and also make sure there weren't more than just the two people locked up. The keypad at the next door was larger, its screen displaying a menu that made her breath hitch:
SESSION TYPES:
1. Classical Interrogation
2. Sensory Deprivation
3. Extreme Tactile Exploration
4. Kinetic Response Analysis
Each option pulsed faintly, awaiting input. Cassidy's thumb hovered over the screen, casting a trembling shadow. Kinetic Response Analysis, that sounded sterile enough. She selected it.
The door hissed open to reveal what looked like a cross between a physical therapy clinic and a BDSM dungeon. Parallel bars bolted to the floor, restraint cuffs dangling from ceiling tracks, and, geez, a padded spanking horse with ankle stocks at one end, wrist stocks at the other. But the wall-mounted display that caught her attention too: screens showing real-time biometrics, heart rate, galvanic skin response, respiratory patterns, all pulsing in soothing pastel wave-forms. Beneath them, a shelf held instruments that ranged from medical (reflex hammers) to obscene (a peacock-feather duster with a velvet-wrapped handle).
Cassidy took in all the restraint devices slowly, wow. They'd turned vulnerability into a menu option. And the worst part? Her pulse was accelerating, not from horror, but something possibly far more treacherous. The door's automatic closure cut off any hallway sounds with surgical precision. Silence descended, not natural quiet, but the eerie vacuum-seal hush of engineered isolation. She could scream in here and no one on the boat would ever know. That realization coiled in her gut like swallowed mercury. Things could be done in here... and sort of like Las Vegas, they stayed in here.
Her fingers hovered over the comm panel. Three breaths. Four. Then, "Computer," she rasped, throat suddenly parched. "Which room in Deck Zero is... optimized..." The words clogged in her throat. She tried again, voice dropping to a whisper only the AI's microphones could parse: "Which room is designed for immobilization? Specifically... foot tickling?" The admission scalded her cheeks. Asking made it real.
The AI responded with an eerie cheerfulness, like a nurse offering anesthesia before the bone saw. *"Room Z-03 features supine restraint architecture ideal for pedal hyper-stimulation studies. Did she just feel a little bit wet between her legs? No. That would be ridiculous. She took some time to visit every door in the hallway, to make sure of the things she wanted to make sure of.
Cassidy's soles slid across cold metal plating as she approached Z-02, each step deliberate. The keypad here pulsed slower than Z-07's, a languid red heartbeat. When the CURATOR card met the reader, the lock released with a sigh rather than a click. The door whispered inward on hydraulics, revealing soundproofed black walls and black floor.
Amber sat there, reclining back on a leather white low sofa, in a clean, mostly empty room. There was one other door that no doubt led to her small kitchen and restroom facilities. But the same cage inside the door as was in Jonathan's. Amber was naked, exposing much of her, especially the delicate hollows above her hipbones. Her legs were... exquisite. Slender but strong, the muscles defined even at rest. And her feet, ankles crossed in relaxation, were also a sight to behold. They would be even to a person who doesn't like feet. Cassidy did like feet.
Cassidy's throat tightened as she looked at this 20 year old short blonde haired young lady. "Hi, just checking on you really quick. We'll talk more later. Do you, " She swallowed, tried again. "Do you need anything? Food? Water?" The questions sounded absurd in this context, like asking a caged bird if it wanted a magazine.
Amber showed some shyness and wasn't sure what to say, or if this was some kind of trick or something. "Nope. Other than being bored to death in here," she said softly. Her room seemed the same as Jonathan's. Restroom, kitchen, comfy sofa. Her toes crunched then flexed, unknowingly. "But thank you for asking."
Cassidy hesitated in the doorway. "OK, I just wanted to, " She stopped, exhaling sharply through her nose. How did one apologize for gawking at a naked stranger? "I'm going to figure out what's really happening around here," she promised, though the words tasted hollow even as they left her lips.
Amber's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Sure." She stretched her legs out, soles stretching, high arches, the skin on her soft soles various shades of pink and white. "They told me you'd say stuff like that." The revelation punched through Cassidy's ribs. Of course they had. Every variable was controlled, every reaction anticipated. She backed toward the corridor, pulse hammering in her temples. "I'll come back," she lied. The door hissed shut behind her, sealing Amber away with the same surgical efficiency as Jonathan's cage.
The stairwell's crimson lighting felt like emerging from a fever dream. Cassidy climbed up through the narrow stairwell. By Deck Four, sweat slicked her collarbones, half exertion, half adrenal aftershock. Noon sunlight illuminating the lounge's infinity pool where water met sky in a seamless blue void. She collapsed onto a premium, curved bench, upholstered in cream leather, the material warm against her thighs. Below her, through layers of steel and insulation, two beautiful strangers waited in rooms designed to dissolve her personal hesitations.
The Morality Group hadn't just predicted her curiosity; they'd weaponized it. Curiosity has a very strong pull on most people. Every ethical safeguard she'd built over thirty-five years, her kindness, her restraint, to treat everyone with respect, meant almost nothing when compared against soundproof rooms, no repercussions, and soft helpless flesh ...that anticipated her darkest impulses before she had. The realization unspooled something primal in her gut: if the Group had already decided who she was, or who she could be, why should she bother pretending otherwise?
The yacht's vast emptiness pressed against her temples. She imagined Deck Zero's occupants, Amber stretching her feet on top of leather cushions, Jonathan pacing his cage with that wounded-doe grace. The thoughts should have repulsed her. Instead, her pulse stuttered at the memory of Jonathan's genuinely whispered I trust you, and Amber's sides and hip bones calling out to Cassidy, as she sat timidly, shy on the white sofa. Perhaps neither victims nor predators existed here; only collaborators in a game the house funded, and where everybody wins.
Lunch. Something neutral, grounding, an anchor in this feverish unreality. The galley's brushed steel surfaces gleamed. Cassidy explored the refrigerator and freezer. There, wrapped in wax paper, nestled beside bottles of chilled water, rested an assortment of sandwiches, triangles of crustless sourdough revealing jewel-toned fillings: roasted eggplant and feta, fig jam with prosciutto, baked cod with Meyer lemon aioli. She selected the cod, unwrapping it with trembling fingers. The first bite exploded across her palate, the fish's richness cut by citrus, the bread yielding yet crisp. For three blissful chews, she was just a woman eating lunch. Not a participant. Not a selfish tickler. Wait. Why did she make a reference to her not being a tickler? She could have simply said she wasn't selfish.
Cassidy carried her meal up to the sun deck, where the light wind rustled through her curly hair. The infinity pool's edge dissolved into the horizon, a perfect optical illusion of endless blue. She sat at the pool's rim, dangling her feet in water that was exactly the best temperature. Below the surface, her toes looked distorted, elongated, like some aquatic creature's. How long had it taken The Morality Group's architects to calculate this precise shade of tile, the way it mirrored tropical shallows? Every aesthetic detail engineered to near perfection. She had to give them credit for that.
She checked her cell phone. Two bars, barely enough to maintain a call but she pressed her mom's icon. Her mother answered on the second ring. "Baby! You're alive!" The familiar rasp of cigarette smoke and laughter coiled through the speaker. Cassidy pictured her leaning against their chipped kitchen counter, phone wedged between shoulder and ear while stirring sweet tea.
"It's incredible here," Cassidy lied around a mouthful of prosciutto and fig. "Who knows, maybe a private beach tomorrow, just me, the sun, a cabana boy and his coconuts." She ground her molars and rolled her eyes at the unintended double meaning. She may as well just a cabana boy, his banana and his coconuts.
Her mother sighed, the sound of deep relief. "Good. Lord knows you needed this." A pause. The ice in her glass clinked. "I'm so glad for you honey. You sound different though." Cassidy watched her own toes ripple the water. Different? She'd spoken just a few sentences. But mothers had sonar for their children's silences.
"Salt air," she deflected. "And I may have sampled the champagne stash." The lie came easier with each syllable. What would happen if she whispered There's cages and naked college students downstairs, Mom. The phone would probably cut out, and her mom would say she didn't hear that, say it again please. Or worse, the call would connect perfectly while she vomited the truth, and her mother would spend six days calling the police all over the earth, imagining kidnappers tossing her daughter's body overboard.
Cassidy ended the call with promises to check in tomorrow or the next day. The sun deck's polished teak was warm underfoot as she left her clogs near the pool, then retreated below deck, past the small gym, past the empty cinema pod, until she reached the master suite's relative silence.
She found the envelope precisely where she'd left it, wedged between the nightstand and a Bergman monograph she'd pretended to read. The remaining pages crackled like dried leaves as she unfolded them, revealing a subfolder labeled Subject Jonathan: Threshold Testing (Unauthorized Disclosure). Cassidy held her breath as she skimmed the clinical detachment of phrases like "spontaneous sole twitching during routine pedicures" and "audible giggling reflex triggered by sock removal" and "constant giggling during soothing massages." But it was the handwritten marginalia that made her stomach flip: "Confirmed, Jonathan is unaware of his own vulnerability. Recommend exploiting it by surprise, when too late for him to decline."
The documents fluttered to the duvet. So that's how they did it, not by tickling him outright, but by watching, waiting, cataloging every flinch when a nurse "accidentally" brushed his arch during a physical, every time he jolted with reflex during a "relaxing" pedicure. The Morality Group hadn't broken Jonathan with tickling yet; they'd simply studied him until his body betrayed how ticklish he is. Cassidy pressed her knuckles to her lips, tasting salt and unreality. That's pretty brilliant actually. Had they restrained him in some way and just tickle tested him, he would then become afraid and aware of that situation and scenario. Over the next 15 minutes she sipped on more of that high quality wine, just to take the edge off.
Stepping into the corridor, she addressed the ceiling. "Computer, which room has restraints to position someone spread eagled?" Yet at the same time, she was still full of doubt that she could or should take advantage of him. The AI gave her an answer, and she went back inside her room, took a long hot shower, pampered her skin, visited the complimentary closet, and put on a white turtleneck compression shirt, and white form-fitting leggings. Over those things she slipped into a light grey soft full length cozy robe, and slippers.
Cassidy exhaled sharply through her nose, once, twice, then pivoted toward Deck Zero’s stairwell. The robe's hem jostled against her calves with each descending step, the fabric parting to reveal flashes of white compression fabric beneath, long white tights, long-sleeved compression shirt. The irony wasn’t lost on her; she’d dressed for plausible deniability, yet every stitch clung with intention. But she hadn't lost hope in herself. She'd just go there and talk, keep him company for a while. On the way she made a five-minute stop inside room Z-04.
Using her key card, Jonathan’s door unlocked, and she stepped in. He startled awake from a nap, blinking up at her with sleep-softened confusion, then froze at the sight of her in her robe, not expecting to see such a thing. Cassidy gave him a warm expression to try to calm him before reaching into her robe pocket. "Here," she said, shaking out a pair of soft pink sweatpants. Too big for me, she explained, they might fit you just right. I found them in the fully stocked closet in my suite, untouched tags still dangling from the waistband.
Jonathan eyed them warily, fingers twitching at his sides. His bare thighs pressed together as he sat up straighter on the divan, clearly torn between suspicion and the undeniable appeal of clothing, he walked forward and took them. "Why?" The word came out hoarse, less challenge, more genuine bewilderment. Cassidy shrugged. "Because I can." His hesitation was almost pitiful, The moment his fingers brushed the fabric, Cassidy saw it, the way his shoulders loosened infinitesimally, the ghost of relief flickering across his face.
He stepped into them with his back turned, giving her a fleeting glimpse of the dimples just above his waistband. They fit pretty well considering, riding low on his hips, the cuffs pooling just slightly over his slender ankles. When he turned back, Cassidy caught the faintest pink tinge high on his cheekbones.
"Better?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah," he admitted softly, plucking at the waistband. "Thanks."
Cassidy reached into her robe's other pocket, and produced an expensive bottle of wine. "Do you have this available to you?" she asked, watching his reaction. Jonathan's gaze flicked from the wine to her face. "No." His throat worked. "Nothing like that."
"I thought you might like to share it with me," she said. "And just talk."
"You're coming in?" he asked.
Cassidy hesitated, then nodded. "May I?"
Jonathan exhaled sharply, half-laugh, half-sigh, and gestured vaguely at the bars. "You're the boss." The resignation in his voice didn't quite mask the undercurrent of something else, nervous anticipation?
Cassidy gripped the wine bottle tighter. "My instructions... they said to be careful. Not to take chances." She pointed towards the floor at the center of the room, where a faint circular seam gleamed dully under the recessed lighting. "There's an ankle cuff under that panel. Would you mind...?"
Jonathan blinked. For a suspended moment, Cassidy thought he might refuse. Then his shoulders dropped an inch, acceptance or relief, she couldn't tell, as he knelt beside the panel. His fingers found the latch. The panel cover popped off, revealing a polished steel cuff attached to a short cable. The mechanism looked medical, sleek padded curves devoid of brutality, yet undeniably final. Jonathan's throat bobbed as he snapped it around his own left ankle. The click echoed like a gavel.
Cassidy's breath hitched. The sight of him kneeling there, obediently shackling himself at her request, it sent an electric jolt through her. She keyed the cage door, stepped inside, letting both doors seal behind her with a whisper. She made sure to walk far enough away so that he could not reach her. He didn't try. He actually sat cross legged and faced her. She went to the couch.
"I haven't had much wine in my life," Jonathan observed, nodding at the bottle in her hand.
Cassidy sank onto the couch, producing a bottle opener from her pocket and begin the process of opening the bottle. She wanted to make sure he saw that it had not been tampered with, which could lead to his fear of being poisoned or drugged. "This whole situation with you makes me nervous," she said.
Jonathan nodded in agreement. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious and a little terrified." She smiled a little. "I'm glad you're honest."
Cassidy twisted the corkscrew slowly, letting the scent of oak and blackberry unfurl between them. "2015 Château Margaux," she murmured, watching the cork release with a satisfying pop. "One of my favorites, got hooked during a wine tour in New York." She slowly took a drink directly from the bottle. "Tastes like... velvet and smoke. Like someone distilled the concept of luxury."
Then she walked just close enough to him so that with her outstretched arm, could hand his outstretched arm the bottle. Jonathan timidly accepted it. "You seem pretty sure it's authentic."
Cassidy returned to the couch, removed her slippers and tucked her feet under her knees, cross legged. "Oh, I am. The Morality Group may be monsters, but they're not cheap monsters. That bottle retails for...about 1k."
His eyebrows shot up. "My god." He looked at the bottle's stickers, and slowly took a sip, pretty much mimicking the way she took her sip.
"This wine probably won't help me with my upcoming track meet," he added. Cassidy watched his throat move as he swallowed, the way his lips glistened afterward, pink and slightly parted. "You're in sports at school?" she asked. The question felt absurdly normal, like they were two strangers chatting at a vineyard tasting.
Jonathan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hundred-meter dash," he admitted. "Not varsity or anything yet." Cassidy's gaze snagged down to his torso. "Used to think I was the fastest until college tryouts kinda humbled me," he added. Cassidy replied with, "Wish I could be as lean as you. I'm jealous." That comment caused a slight awkward pause, but it didn't last long. Jonathan agreed that training for track did in fact keep his body lean.
The wine bottle passed between them again, Cassidy taking a longer pull this time, the alcohol warm in her throat. Jonathan's fingers lingered near hers when he reclaimed it, not quite touching. "Tell me something true," she said suddenly, watching his eyelashes flicker. "Something you've never told anyone else." Jonathan froze mid-sip, wine staining his upper lip burgundy. He wiped it away with a nervous laugh. "That's... intense for a first date." The joke landed awkwardly between them. She didn't smile. "I'm not asking as your captor." Her toes curled under her thighs. "Asking as the only other person trapped here with you." She assumed he did not know about Amber.
The bottle trembled slightly in his grip. "Ms. Delvanno. AP Calculus." His thumb traced the label's embossed lettering. "She wore these knit sweaters that, " His breath hitched. "You could see her bra straps when she wrote on the board." Cassidy watched his hand rub his outer thigh, the pink sweatpants fabric straining. "And her legs were...I'd stay after class pretending to need help. One day she leaned over my desk and..." His throat worked. "Her perfume smelled like lemons and leather. I got um, excited instantly. Had to put my textbook on my lap." Cassidy burst out laughing, then apologized.
Cassidy's fingers tingled. The image bloomed unbidden, young Jonathan flushed and fumbling, the teacher perhaps even knowing about it. She took the bottle back, their fingers brushing. "Ever act on it?" His exhale shuddered. "She caught me staring once. Just... smiled and adjusted her glasses." As he unconsciously ran his fingers over his ankle cuff. "That's when I realized older women terrify me." His gaze flicked to whatever small areas of her legs and feet were available to see. "In a good way."
In that moment Cassidy thought up a sneaky trick. She jokingly told him that she is in her mid 30's and said, "I wasn't your teacher back then, was I?" and laughed at her own joke. He surprisingly didn't laugh back, just stared with pupils blown wide. His fingers slid over the radius of the metal cuff as he was thinking. "Oh god," he whispered. "...were you?" Cassidy nearly choked. "No, hell, of course not. I'm kidding!" He faintly smiled.
His lips parted, not in shock, but something closer to recognition. "You... really do kind of remind me of her," he admitted, voice fraying at the edges. The confession hung between them, humid and dangerous. Cassidy's pulse thrummed in her wrists. She took another sip purely to wet her suddenly dry mouth. "Should I be flattered?" Jonathan's fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants. The cuff's cable slithered against the floor as he shifted. "You're prettier," he mumbled. The words were barely audible, half-drowned in Cabernet, but they sent an electric current down Cassidy's spine. She wondered how much of that was alcohol. How much was something else.
She stretched her legs out, letting her bare feet and toes rest onto the carpet. She took note to watch him closely then, to see if her pretty feet attracted any attention from him. They did, and it was instant. His eyes lowered to her feet and legs. He wasn't very good at disguising it and his stare lingered too long. "And if I told you..." Her voice dropped to a murmur. "...that I'm worried they won't pay you a penny unless I... engage? Unless I do something with you or to you or for you." She watched his face carefully, searching for the line between discomfort and intrigue. Jonathan's breath hitched. His gaze instantly went to the floor in front of him with shyness. "...yeah," he admitted after a beat. "That's... kind of why I'm here. I don't want to not get paid." The cable slithered over the carpet piles as he adjusted his position, not retreating, just... settling in.
Cassidy's toes flexed involuntarily. The air between them thickened. She could see the exact moment the alcohol loosened his tongue, the way his shoulders slumped forward, the way his gaze kept flicking to her exposed ankles. "So..." She tilted her head. "...what would you do if I just... walked away right now and did nothing?"
Jonathan's expression sobered up. "You wouldn't." He wasn't defiant, he was pleading. The cable clinked softly as he shifted his legs. "I can't not... I need that money." His voice cracked on the last word, revealing the boy beneath the captive. Cassidy's stomach twisted. The wine-dark flush crept down his neck. "...but..." He swallowed hard. "You could... think up something that you'd like." His eyelashes fluttered shut. "Like I said before. I trust you."
Cassidy exhaled slowly through her nose. The robe's belt slithered loose between her fingers as she pushed herself off the couch. "You'll laugh at what I was thinking," she warned, circling him slowly, her bare feet silent on the carpet. Jonathan tracked her movement, his breathing shallowing. "Try me," he whispered. The cuff's cable scraped against the floor as he twisted to keep her in view.
She stopped behind him, close enough that her robe's hem brushed his spine. "Alright," Cassidy murmured. "Embarrassing admission time." The scent of his shampoo, something citrusy and cheap, mixed with the wine on his breath. "Your body..." Her throat clicked. "It's ridiculous. Like Michelangelo got bored with marble and decided to sculpt a track star instead." Jonathan's shoulders hitched up toward his ears. "I just..." Cassidy's voice dropped to a whisper near his nape. "I want to see how many angles and positions your body can make. All those tendons. Every arch." Her fingertip ghosted along his trapezius muscle.
Jonathan exhaled sharply, less protest, more shudder. His fingers clenched around the pink sweatpants' fabric at his thighs. "That's... not too normal of a thing to ask." The words lacked any real resistance. Cassidy watched his Adam's apple bob. "Too much for you?" she breathed against the shell of his ear. His eyelashes fluttered. The cable scraped against the floor as he subtly arched his back.
Silence pooled between them. Then, so quiet she almost missed it: "...No. it's not too much." Those words sent heat lancing through Cassidy's abdomen. She stepped back, circling to face him again. Jonathan's gaze stayed fixed on his own lap, but his breathing had gone shallow, his chest rising fast. He noticed that the wine was really buzzing him at the moment, and it actually felt nice. He felt un-inhibited. A beautiful older woman was asking to see his naked body and different positions, and he was to be paid for letting her. Yes he sure would.
“Let's give you an easy test then,” said Cassidy. “Simon says raise both of your arms up high over your head and hold them there.” She wanted to see what his no doubt ticklish underarms looked like. She couldn't wait another second. So she disguised her arousal as a simple test for him. He made a slightly confused face and said, “Now? Just put my arms up high?” “Yes.” she replied. He kind of shrugged his shoulders in a way that said ok that super easy, and he raised his arms. Cassidy did not conceal her arousal as well as she intended to. She shifted her legs and arms to new positions and looked away and down for a moment with inner embarrassment.
But then she look back up, directly at his beautiful form and his exposed smooth hairless underarms. Why they were hairless she didn't care. They looked so damn ticklish. She immediately imagined lightly touching them and imagined his squeals of laughter that would probably follow. Seconds went by and neither of them said anything. It got awkward.
"There's something you should know," Cassidy murmured, nudging the empty wine bottle with her bare toe. She watched his eyes track the movement, the way his throat worked when she flexed her foot's arch against the glass. "Next door, room Z-04, it's got...equipment." She let the word hang, ripe with implication. "Things that'll let me see you exactly how I'm imagining." She purposely scraped her toenails across the carpet with a faint scratch. Her next words would force him to comply. "If you want them to pay you...you'll walk over there with me right now."
Jonathan's eyes raised up to meet her gaze, with curiosity. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "What kind of equipment?" Cassidy smiled. "The fun kind." She reached down, swiped her key card over the ankle cuff, it unlocked, and offering her hand. "Come see, together."
Jonathan stared at her palm. His fingers twitched, once, twice, before he finally reached up. His skin was warmer than she expected, his grip tentative at first, then tightening as she pulled him to his feet. Cassidy guided him toward the door, her palm lightly guiding the small of his back. "You can say no," she reminded him, feeling his pulse jump under her fingers. "Anytime."
He didn't say no. This was actually a young man's dream of dreams. Was this beautiful 35 year old woman going to get sexual with him?
The corridor lights flickered as they stepped out, Jonathan hovering close in front of her, his breath uneven. When they reached Z-04's door, Cassidy pressed her key card to the reader. The mechanism buzzed, once, twice, then clicked open. Inside, recessed lighting revealed a space that wasn't clinical, but...it was deliberate. Four smooth metal wrist and ankle cuffs were near the center of the room, on the rubber floor. They were each attached to their own strong cable, and each cable went down into the floor a few feet away, disappearing. The spots they disappeared into the floor, if you were to connect the dots, formed a large rectangle.
Jonathan's sharp inhale filled the silence. Cassidy watched his reflection, the way his eyes darted to the cuffs on the floor, and the rigging points going into the floor at the end of their cables. "I," his fingers tightened around the waistband of his pink sweatpants. Cassidy smiled slow and warm, in a way that made his breath stutter. "I know," she murmured. "It's kind of a big ask." She reached out, fingertips brushing his wrist. "But you're doing so well. And you trust me. And this is what I want."
The pause stretched thin. Then, with a shaky exhale, Jonathan lowered himself onto the rubber flooring between the cuffs, his long limbs folding awkwardly, knees pressing together. The pink fabric strained over his thighs. Cassidy knelt beside him, close enough to catch the scent of the nervous sweat beneath his citrus shampoo.
"Hey," she whispered, tapping one sweat pant-clad knee with her pointer finger. "Can't see Michelangelo's chiseled work through these things." He slightly jumped at her finger on his knee. She noticed the jump, and she became so very aroused, but she could not reveal that to him right now. She needed his trust until he put on the restraints. Jonathan's throat clicked audibly. His fingers twitched toward the waistband, then froze. Cassidy leaned in, close enough that her breath stirred his hair. "Tell you what," she murmured. "You take them off, and I'll..." Her lips brushed the shell of his ear. "...I'll let you look at, and maybe smell … my bare feet."
Jonathan shuddered. His fingers hooked into the waistband, slow at first, then with sudden resolve, pushing the fabric down his legs in one jerky motion. The sweatpants pooled around his ankles, revealing his lean thighs, kneecaps sharp enough to cut glass. Cassidy's gaze snagged on his hip bones, how the skin there was a beautiful ivory, and sickeningly soft.
"Good," she breathed, resisting the urge to touch. "Now put your cuffs on. Left ankle first, use that cuff there." She noticed that he was circumcised, and it was done very nicely. It was attractive and clean. Jonathan hesitated, glancing at the padded restraints, more like luxurious wearable pillows. He clicked the first cuff around his left ankle, the inner lining cool but yielding against his skin. The click of the mechanism locking sounded absurdly gentle, like a car door closing on a luxury sedan. The cable pooled loosely beside his leg, with plenty of movement allowed.
"Other ankle," Cassidy murmured, pointing at the correct cuff to use, watching his fingers tremble as he repeated the process. This time, the cuff's interior brushed the delicate hollow beneath his outer ankle bone, she saw his breath hitch at the contact. When he reached for the wrist cuff on his right side, his movements had gained a strange fluidity, like himself and his body had decided surrender was easier than resistance. The restraint closed with a whisper around his slender wrist, leaving only one arm free, an incompleteness that made his pulse jump visibly in his throat.
"Last one," Cassidy said softly, extending the last cuff in her hands toward his uncuffed wrist. The overhead lights caught the sweat-slick sheen along his forearm as he held it out, not offering, not resisting, just...existing in the charged space between. The final cuff's padding molded to his skin as she clicked it shut. Then she adjusted the slack of all the cables until they formed graceful arcs toward their floor anchors. She then slid her keycard over each cuff, and they mechanically came to life, the soft inside padding filled with air pressure until all four cuffs molded perfectly snug around his wrists and ankles, with a firmness that would never allow his hands or feet to slip out of them. “This stuff is so high tech isn't it?” she said as she smiled at him.
Cassidy rose smoothly, stepping back toward the door, pushed it shut, it's lock clicked with authority. The room was wow, so obviously sound proof. Jonathan's gaze tracked her like a compass needle finding north, his breath catching when her fingers found her robe's tie. She untied it. The soft belt slithered open with a whisper, the robe dropping and pooling at her feet like shed skin. And now the clothing that used to be under the robe was visible, the compression fabric clung to every dip and curve of her, the white leggings all the way down to her slender ankles, showcasing the delicate bones of her bare feet. Her white compression turtle neck shirt stuck to her feminine body like paint.
Jonathan made a small, punched-out noise in his throat. The cables twitched as his restrained hands and legs moved around nervously, not struggling, just...reacting. Cassidy arched one eyebrow, rolling her shoulders to accentuate the way the shirt stretched across her breasts. "Problem?" she murmured, though his flushed cheeks and parted lips had answered well enough, he still replied, "No Maam."
She gestured to a football-sized dark-gray oval stenciled onto the rubber flooring beside him, its matte surface slightly raised. "Tailbone goes right there please," she instructed, tapping the spot with her toes. Jonathan exhaled sharply through his nose but obeyed, wriggling awkwardly until his sacrum pressed flush against the marking. Then she manually maneuvered all four of the long loose cables away from his body so that she could begin.
Cassidy strode to the control panel embedded in the far wall, her bare feet leaving faint damp prints on the rubber flooring. Her fingers slowly pushed commands on the touchscreen, selecting icons that bloomed crimson under her touch. Beneath them, machinery whirred to life, not the industrial grind expected, but a smooth hydraulic purr like a luxury elevator ascending.
"Just stay still," she murmured, watching the cables twitch like sleeping serpents stirring. The first tugs and movement came gradually, his left ankle drawn down with gentleness until his leg stretched nearly taut, his knee locking involuntarily. Then his right leg the same way. Jonathan gasped as the right cuff mirrored the motion, his thighs quivering where they met the floor. The wrist restraints followed suit, pulling his arms behind his head, straightening them. His armpit exposure growing with each gently incremental adjustment. Cassidy was observing his body and manually making these adjustments to stretch him as much as she wanted.
The pulleys hissed as they reached her desired optimal tension, not painful, but certainly he was held completely captive, his ankles and wrists spread apart the same distance, his limbs nearly forming the shape of the letter X. Cassidy admired her handiwork: Jonathan's body was now straight from fingers to feet, against the rubber matting, every tendon and sinew subtly highlighted by the stretch. His breathing hitched the more he realized how he couldn't move. The rise and fall of his ribs and chest were rousingly noticeable to Cassidy.
"Answer me honestly," she murmured as she walked up near him. "If our roles were reversed, if I were the one stretched out like this, wouldn't you enjoy seeing me?" Jonathan swallowed audibly, his gaze darting to her bare feet as they paused near his shoulder. The cables creaked faintly as he shifted, testing them. "I," His voice cracked. Cassidy tilted her head, waiting. His throat worked. "...yes," he admitted, barely audible. "Yeah, I think I would."
Cassidy's lips curved. "So now you understand why it's not so crazy of a request by me. I'm simply curious to learn about your body." He didn't reply, but his inner thoughts were plenty fine that she had said that. This could only mean good things were about to happen.
She went to the wall where a variety of well, bondage accessories were lined up like library books, each tool able to perform different tasks. Her fingers trailed over them before selecting what looked like an avaunt-garde sleep mask, but thicker, more intentional. It's thick leather was cold when she lifted it, the inner lining plush as velvet. Jonathan's breath quickened as she turned the mask in her hands, letting him see the intricate stitching, the openings where his mouth and nose would be. "Custom fit I hope," she murmured, thumb brushing one of the sound-dampening ear cups. "Won't hurt. Just... removes any distractions for you. I'm going to put this on you for a while so I can study your body in peace, without you watching me. You'll be deaf and blind, ok?" He was very aroused right now, frightened but aroused, so he quickly agreed.
“But...” he interrupted. She didn't at first understand what he was getting at. “But what?” He turned his head and eyes towards her bare foot. She smiled and exhaled. “But what?” she said again. She wanted to make him ask. “Um... remember you said I could um... see your feet up close? … if I put these on?” He gestured towards one of his wrist restraints. She was turned on by everything she was seeing and hearing. And she wanted to learn more about this foot thing he seemed to have, so she asked, “That's right! I did say that didn't I?” I'll let you if you answer just a couple questions. He looked her straight in the eyes as if to agree, waiting for her questions.
“Do you like women's feet?” He paused because it was embarrassing to admit, especially while bound naked! “Yes,” he replied. She smiled at how cute it was that he was embarrassed. “Explain to me what you like about them?”
He thought about his answer for a few moments then timidly said, "Hard to explain. Women’s feet curve nicely. The arch is higher, smoother. Like they were designed to be looked at." Cassidy sat herself on the floor near his shoulder. “Keep going,” she said.
"And the toes—don’t laugh—but they’re kind of special and elegant? Like, proportional. Not stubby." He took a long calm breath in and then out. "And the way they move in high heels—the tension in the tendons, the way the skin stretches over the bone—it’s art, fine art. Poetry." Jonathan’s ears flushed pink, his voice dropping as if sharing classified intel. "The smell, the texture, the softness.”
Without speaking she lifted one leg and placed it's foot directly over his face, about 5 inches above. “Here you go. Take a good close look.” He did. He stared right up at the soft arched sold, noticing the toes and how thin lines of light showed through between her slender perfect toes. To him, it was an incredible sight. His face sort of changed as if in a trance. This is where he wanted to be, under her feet, and he didn't really understand why.
“I make the decisions around here I want you to understand,” she said in a lower voice. “But I'm going to allow you the privilege of smelling my foot, just briefly.” His eyes darted to her with disbelief and excitement, then right back to the slender heavenly foot above him. She slowly lowered it and rested it on his nose and closed mouth, his nostrils nestling where her big toe and 2nd toe meets the sole. He breathed in through his nose. It was everything he thought it would be and more. And incredible feeling of contentment washed over him as he felt her foot's velvet skin on his face, and breathed in her exquisite, priceless aroma. She removed it a few seconds later. He instantly longed for it and was already missing it's presence.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” she said. “You can earn more time with my feet if you're a good boy, ok?” He looked at her face to check if she was serious or sarcastic. “Yes. I will be. I promise.” he replied. She picked up the black leather hood that would cover his hears and his eyes, depriving him of sight or sound.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he look at it in her hands. The cables skittered softly with his minute shifts of his arms and legs, the only freedom his body was allowed. Cassidy positioned the hood just above his sight-line, letting him stare at it a beat too long before she said, "Tip your head forward." His obedience was beautiful, without hesitation. The way his neck corded as he inclined toward her, the way his lashes fluttered shut a second before the leather eclipsed his vision. The straps whispered as she secured them, first the crown buckle, then the one beneath his jaw, each soft buckle resonating like a door locking behind him.
When she leaned back, Jonathan existed only from the nose down, his lips slightly parted, the curve of his thick beautiful lips was a sight to behold. She walked back to the control panel. Cassidy tapped the button labeled "CRADLE." With a pneumatic sigh, the rubber matting beneath Jonathan's pelvis expanded outward, not abruptly, but with the fluid menace of ink dispersing in water. The material curved and crept up his flanks, molding to the angles of his hip bones before hardening in a half circle, just enough to eliminate any possibility of left or right lateral movement. Because it was a half circle it did not cover his front hip bones or anywhere on the front side of his waist or stomach. It was designed to leave all of those areas open for business. He jerked instinctively at the sensation, the cables singing taut with his startled tension. His fingers flexed, useless, beautiful, against their restraints.
Cassidy inhaled slowly through her nose. The scent of his clean sweat, the ghost of cheap shampoo, something undeniably young and male underneath, coiled in her lungs. Her pulse hammered in her fingertips. The Morality Group was right, there was something utterly intoxicating about this complete lack of consequences. No witnesses. No laws. Just her and him, and this perfect playground of endless nerve endings. She grinned. This was going to be fun, and very hot.
Cassidy tapped the control panel, commanding the cradle to rise at a slow pace, enough to be able to view the resistance in Jonathan's body. The rubber matting beneath his hips groaned softly as it ascended, lifting his pelvis off the floor inch by deliberate inch. His cock jostled slightly into a new position, flushed and helpless against his stomach, as the movement pulled slack away from his wrist and ankle restraints. The cables hissed through their pulleys, tension mounting with every centimeter gained. Jonathan's breath hitched as he realized what was happening, a soft, strangled noise escaping his lips, as his back began to arch involuntarily, the skin above his hipbones pulling taut like canvas stretched over a frame. His muscles trembled, not quite resisting, not quite yielding, as his body was reshaped before her eyes.
The cradle stopped at its zenith, Jonathan's hips tilted upward obscenely; his spine curved into a perfect bow. Every tendon in his abdomen stood out in stark relief, his ribs visible beneath the stretched skin of his torso. "God, look at you," she murmured, not that he could hear her, her voice thick with something between reverence and hunger. His fingers flexed uselessly, his toes curling inward as the cables kept him suspended in that exquisite, vulnerable arc.
The wine hummed pleasantly through Cassidy's veins, blurring the edges of her hesitation. She circled him slowly, studying the way his cock twitched against his stomach with no stimulus but the air moving over sensitive skin. She imagined the sensory deprivation that must be crashing over him. No sight. No sounds. Just the pressure of the restraints, the slow burn of muscles held taut, the maddening awareness of being watched by her, without knowing what happens next. The thought of his predicament coiled low in her belly, heating it up.
She watched the goosebumps rise on his lower stomach and hips. His hips shifting instinctively, restrained motion amplifying the shudder that rolled through him. Cassidy bit her lip. This is actually real. Not some fantasy, not some role play. This is a living, breathing young man surrendered entirely to my whims. The Morality Group hadn’t just given her a wonderful yacht; they’d provided her a living, breathing boy toy, wrapped in tendons, sweat and desperate, trembling compliance. A sense of power surged through her. Not just arousal, but something darker, hungrier. They'll let me do this. The realization hit her like a drug, sharp and sweet. No repercussions. No judgment. No limits. Just Jonathan’s body, bound and responsive, and the delicious liberty to explore every twitch, every shudder, and he could do nothing about it.
She leaned in, her breath hot, unable to keep her words inside. “You’re so perfect like this,” she murmured, knowing he couldn’t hear her, but saying it anyway, admiring her handiwork. The cradle held him suspended at just the right angle to expose every vulnerable inch: the delicate skin behind his knees, the dip of his navel, the way his cock lay heavy against his stomach, flushed and starting to leak a little bit? Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, savoring the pulse between her own thighs. He's mine. He's going to laugh.
She wanted to first let him know how truly vulnerable he was, hoping that in his mind he would worry that maybe she'd figured out that tickling him, was an option. She wanted him to be afraid that tickling could possibly enter her thoughts. Sure, tickling was already her plan, but he didn't know that. As far as he knew, she'd said she just wanted to look at his lean body in different positions. Cassidy leaned in, her mouth an inch from the soft skin above one of his hip bones. She blew with her mouth shaped the way it would be to whistle.
He felt it instantly, realizing how close her beautiful mouth was to his skin. She watched for the subtle hitch in his breathing, the way his stomach tightened instinctively, anticipating perhaps more contact. She drew it out, letting him wait, letting her own anticipation build until she just couldn’t stand it any longer. This young man needed to be tickled. She wasn't sure how or why but he deserved to be tickled. He had it coming. She dragged the tip of one fingernail down his side in one slow, feather-light stroke, barely there, just enough to let him fully understand that she does realize tickling is something she can easily do to him.
His entire body spasmed from the surprise fingernail skitter, the cradle groaning under the sudden strain of trying to pull both arms and both legs back towards his body. They moved perhaps a quarter inch each. That would be of no help to him if he were to be tickled. A choked, breathless sound ripped from his throat, a half-laugh, half-scream, the restraints not allowing him any movement. He trembled with the realization of how immobilized he was. Cassidy’s lips parted in silent delight. Oh my. His skin was hypersensitive electric ticklish, the muscles in that area tensing like plucked wires. She must do that again, and she did. Tracing the same path, just a fraction harder this time, and he jerked again, laughing. His hips bucked uselessly against the padded cradle holding his lower back and sides in place.
Jonathan decided he needed to say something, because her recent touches meant 100% that she was finding amusement or pleasure or whatever, in tickling him. It would only continue and get worse unless he said something. “Wait!” he called out as his laughter subsided. “You didn't say this! Don't do this please!” He called it this because he was so helpless and so sensitive that he didn't even want to use the word tickling. Didn't want to encourage her even more by saying the 'T' word.
Cassidy laughed softly. She was very delighted to see him understanding his situation, to see his frantic worry of being tickled. Her finger skimmed once again but on the other side of his torso. “You’re so ticklish,” she muttered even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. Her nails begin to dance lightly over the delicate skin on each of his sides, and over the hip bones. Jonathan’s reaction was immediate, his shoulders hunching, his chest heaved, his entire body twisting in a futile attempt to escape the sensations. But the restraints held firm, leaving him utterly at her mercy. She watched, fascinated, as his skin begin to flush pink and red in some areas. His toes curled, his fingers flexed, every muscle tensed up. Cassidy felt power surge through her veins, it was hot and intoxicating.
This handsome naked guy was reacting viscerally, uncontrollably, just from her fingers touching. Her simple touch was able to change his entire world, controlling him physically in the sense that he had no choice but to twist and tense up, and quiver. Controlling his mind in the sense that he 100% must give her touch all of his thoughts, whether it be trying to get her to stop, or simply how to process this very intense attack on his ticklish skin. Wielding that power was suddenly amazing to Cassidy. She retracted her touch and waited. She had tickled for about 15 full seconds and he was madly laughing. She was very interested in what he would say or do now. She wanted very much for him to beg, which would prove to both of them that she controls everything right now.
Jonathan gasped as soon as she stopped touching him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Cassidy, wait, please!" His voice cracked, half still laughing, half-panicked. "You, you didn’t tell me, " A breathless hitch interrupted him as she poked twice around his navel, his stomach muscles jumping under her fingertip. "Damn, fuck, you didn’t say, say you were gonna, hah!, tickle!" He twisted uselessly, his laughter desperate, his words spilling out in ragged bursts. "I, I wouldn’t have, nngh!, agreed, hahaha!, if!" His hips jerked more, his cock rolled and moved against his stomach, already quite hard, his body betraying him even as he protested.
Cassidy tilted her head, studying him. His laughter was simply put, gorgeous, high-pitched, breathless, almost girlish in its helplessness. "I know you can hear me!", Jonathan continued. She dragged a single nail down each of his inner thighs, light as a whisper, and his entire body convulsed. "Nnnooo!" he wailed, his voice breaking. "Hahaha!, Cassidy, please, oh God, stop!" His laughter dissolved into panting, his chest heaving. "I, I can’t, hah!, I can’t be tickled!" His toes curled violently, his fingers clutching at nothing. "Just a moment. Please just listen! I'll tell why!" He was using any words at all to get her to stop.
She smirked and calmly blinked her eye lashes a couple times, well aware that he still would not hear her words. "But you did agree," she murmured, her voice low and honeyed. "You let me tie you up. You let me play with you." She reveled in the thought of how he must feel as he spoke out to her but received no communication back. She wondered if he might start to think she couldn't hear him, even though common sense dictated she should be able to. Either way, no response or stoppage by her, and yet continued tickling must be crazy scary for him. She liked the thought of that. Her fingers skated up his ribs, spider-light, and he shrieked, his body arching as much as the restraints allowed. "Hahahaha! NO!" His laughter now bordered on hysterical, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "Mercy!, I beg you, hah!, just, just a break!" His voice cracked, his words dissolving into breathless giggles as she scribbled her nails over his ribs.
Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, happily watching him unravel. His begging was so delicious, the way his voice wavered, the way his body trembled, the way his cock leaked against his stomach...
...To Be Continued in PART 3
