Sablesword
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UPDATE: Tickle Witch is at the e-publisher, and should soon be available at http://www.a1adultebooks.com/site.php?id=Sablesword&aut=579 I've also updated the "cover blurb" and Chapters 1 and 13 in this post to the latest versions.
I've been working on a tickle-novel. (A real novel, with an anticipated word-count somewhere north of 60,000 words [EDIT: Submitted word count is 69,365]). I'm not going to post the whole thing here, since I intend it to be a for-pay piece. But I am going to post bits of it, as a tease and to drum up interest. And also because I haven't posted anything here in TT in a while.
In any case I'm posting Chapter 1 and Chapter 13 here. Chapter 1 because it's the beginning, and Chapter 13 because it's in the middle and because it has lots of tickling in it.
The "Cover Blurb"
It's 1958, and Guy Herbert has gone down to his neighborhood dealer to sell his current woman and buy a new house slave: Dark-skinned, ticklish Susanna.
No, the South didn't win the Civil War. Rather, history took a different turn when the pioneering feminists of the nineteenth century began to practice "witchcraft." They used actual psychic powers to try to achieve their goals, and the women's suffrage movement turned violent and nasty as a result. In the anti-feminist backlash that followed, the post-civil-war abolition of slavery was re-interpreted as applying only to black men.
This caused racial equality to come a decade or two earlier that it otherwise would have, but for feminism it was all downhill: In this timeline, instead of securing the right to vote, the Nineteenth Amendment turned all the women in the US into the chattel slaves of their menfolk, regardless of race.
So it stands in this alternative year of 1958. Guy Herbert has a house in the suburbs and a new slavegirl on which he can indulge his passion for tickling. But the Soviet Union exists in this world as well. Its KGB seeks to steal the technical secrets of male-capitalist-pig America, and Guy's job as an engineer for a government contractor has brought him up against a pair of the KGB's feminist-commie spies.
Tickle Witch
by Sablesword
Chapter 1 - Tuesday, June 17, 1958
Guy Herbert knew he was tired when the lights failed to come on. He glared at the switch panel, deliberately sending a second mental probe. The lights still failed to come on. Then the room lit as Jane entered. Women almost always have stronger psychic abilities than men, even when they are mere house slaves.
Guy sighed and sank into the loveseat, letting the familiar smell of leather rise around him. He was home early from work, after working 'only' from six to four. The past two weeks had been even worse, but that's the way his job went. He was a supervisor on the special line in Rockland Chemical's Plant Four, and sometimes that meant days of twelve hours plus, and sometimes a scant half-day before the boss told him to go home already.
"I have a martini for you, master." Jane knelt before him, barefoot, dressed in a square of colorful rayon gauze. The pattern she wore had come into style in 1957 and remained in the mode a year later.
Guy took the glass. "Thank you dear." He spoke in a mild tone, as his father had taught him. Slaves deserved slave-politeness, according to the elder Herbert, and only vulgar men spoke cruelly to the females they owned. Guy was not vulgar. He had an engineering degree and an engineer's salary.
But what Guy really wanted was a mug of Brew. He considered Jane, thinking about ordering her to fetch him some. She was pretty enough in a straightforward sort of way, with blue eyes and light brown hair. In addition to her translucent covering, she wore a plain slave-mark tattooed on her left hand, and a plain steel collar inscribed with her master's name. That collar marked her as a typical American woman. A house slave, rather than a bond witch.
Guy had purchased Jane a few years after the War. A mistake, he admitted to himself, and one he had been too embarrassed to correct. He'd been twenty-two then, having spent a year fighting the Nazi war machine, and then a couple of years as part of the Japanese Occupation. Freshly discharged from the Army, he had the bright idea of buying a fresh eighteen year old and training her himself.
The training had been a success. Jane might not be physically stunning, and she might not be a bond witch, but she could enchant any man without half trying. Except for Guy himself. As the years went by, he found her more and more cloying, and she in turn had become frustrated and unhappy. But just as Guy was too embarrassed to admit to his mistake in buying her, Jane was too stubborn to claim her Right of Sale from him.
Jane would never be the woman Guy really wanted. He should go ahead and sell her on his own initiative, and then buy a different woman for himself. He really should.
Guy set down his untasted drink. "Go hobble yourself, Jane. We're going out."
Susanna wiggled on the display platform, frightened and excited. She was being sold! She was twenty-two now - the tattoo on her hand read '31May1936' below the Mark of Sheba - and she was being sold! She would be sold to a man, a master, and not another training estate. She stretched and wiggled as men walked by, beyond the Plexiglas. She pulled enticingly at the restraints that bound her to the platform. Thick rubber cuffs grasped her wrists and ankles, with steel chains running from them to the anchor point before her. She shivered. She'd been restrained before, many times, in a dozen different ways, but her new master would go beyond simply restraining her. He would do things to her, after making her deliciously helpless with ropes or leather or chains of steel. She was being sold!
An older man, gray at the temples, stopped to give her a look. Susanna smiled at him. Except for the dealer's collar she wore, she was nude, with brown skin from her Negro father, large eyes from her Jewish mother, and dark curly hair from both of them. If her shackles had allowed her to stand, she would be an inch or two under average height for an American woman. Which she was, even if her mother hadn't been. Her mother had been one of the early ones sent to America as part of the Devil's Bargain with the Nazis. Three million women had escaped that way, while the men stayed behind and died.
The American government had given Susanna's mother to the Buffalo Soldiers for training, along with all the other women in that refugee ship. A few of those Negro soldiers had received permission to make private purchases, before the authorities realized just who was making the request, and Susanna was one of the results.
The gray-templed man moved on, but there were others. Another man, a younger one in a rumpled suit was looking at her now. Sooner or later, someone would buy her. Susanna wiggled once more. She was being sold!
Guy kept his eyes away from the display platforms as he made his way out of Forrest's Finest Females. He had the check from Jane's sale tucked safely away, and he intended to deposit it and then wait a couple of days before shopping for a new house slave. So he kept his eyes on the walls, looking at the historical prints displayed there.
The prints portrayed the antebellum uprising of Jane Brown, and the assassination of Abe Lincoln by Jane Wilma Booth. Then Mad Mary Lincoln's attempted coup, after her husband's death. The preaching of Brother Samson, the former slave who had done so much to improve the relations between white men and black. The Undermarket of New York, where women and psychic-enhancing Brew were sold, despite both being technically illegal at the time. The decision in Missie vs Montgomery, where the Supreme Court ruled that the Thirteenth Amendment applied to black men and white women, but not to black females. The Eighteenth Amendment, prohibiting Brew nationwide, and the Twenty-First Amendment that repealed it. And the Nineteenth Amendment, advancing the cause of racial equality by confirming that all women in the United States, regardless of color, were the chattel slaves of their menfolk.
There the historical series ended, and Guy glanced out over the checker-tiled floor of the showroom, looking for the exit. That's when he saw the half-Negro cutie.
She was one of two non-white women on the floor, the other being a Japanese girl. Neither had price tags displayed, but no doubt they'd be overpriced. Certainly the Japanese woman would cost too much, compared to the cheap prices Guy had seen during the Occupation. A number of his buddies had brought Japanese purchases home with them, and more power to them. Some masters were just plain good with exotics. But Guy didn't consider himself one of them.
On the other hand, a Negress wasn't really an exotic. In fact, her darkness could be an advantage if he ever had to travel. The southern States still resisted the Nineteenth Amendment, almost forty years after its passage. They got sticky about white women being treated as chattels, despite the clear language of the Amendment and of the various Supreme Court cases confirming that Demancipation really did apply to females of all races.
A salesman materialized just as Guy started to turn away. "Good evening sir. Would you like to examine her more closely? She's a good one."
"I'll bet you say that about all the women here," Guy told him.
"Of course sir," the salesman answered smoothly, professional smile in place. "Only the good ones are offered for sale here at Forrest's Finest Females. Now I can raise the enclosure, if you'd like."
Guy was about to refuse when he caught sight of the rack of mugs and the Brew pot. He really did want a mug of Brew. Besides, maybe this was a real premonition, even if premonitions normally came after drinking Brew, rather than before.
"Actually I'd like to start by looking over her papers." Guy smiled back at the salesman, the smile he used at work. Slave women, new autos, or tanker-cars of ammonium hydroxide, whatever they sold, salesmen were all the same.
A few minutes later they were sharing mugs of Brew, sitting on opposite sides of a desk cluttered with folders, loose paper, and a little Samson-icon. Guy looked over the paperwork. "Hmm, 'Susanna, S-number such-and-such, born 31-May-1936; father Alexander Brown, race Negro; mother Hanna, S-number so-and-so, race Jewish' - she must have come over as part of the Bargain." Guy paused, then continued reading aloud. " 'Height 62.5 inches, weight 115 pounds, collar 13, bra 32B' - I think she's a bit bigger than that, now - 'wrists 5.5, waist 25, ankles 8.0 (6)...' What's the parentheses?"
"Sandal-size for hobbles," the salesman answered.
"OK, that's a new one on me." Guy took another swallow. "This is good Brew."
"Not as good as my grandpa used to make. Of course that was moonshine Brew, back during Prohibition." The salesman, Guy noticed, was no longer pushing hard. He thought he had his fish hooked, and was playing out the line, nice and easy. Well, Guy thought, maybe he was hooked. Or maybe the Brew really was giving him a premonition. It's what Brew was for, after all - enhancing psychic abilities.
Guy returned to the papers. " 'Cleveland schooling crèche 1943-47, Ohio State Plantation (Mansfield) 1947-54, Mansfield Finishing Estate 1954-57, IQ 126' - that's another new one on me - 'Rhine score 23 with a star. Telescribe WPM dash dash' - what does that mean? Hasn't she been tested?"
"Let me look..." The salesman set aside his mug and thumbed through the folder. "Here it is: Her Rhine score is for potential only. They tested her on a telescribe back in '53 and found that she couldn't work it. She's got a block. It won't matter if you're shopping for just a house slave, but I'll tell you what: I'll knock a little off her price for that."
"Thanks. I'll remember that when we start haggling." Guy finished skimming the papers. "OK, just one more question for you: Is she ticklish?"
The salesman's professional smile returned. "Let's find out."
Susanna watched the man in the rumpled suit as he approached her platform again, following behind the salesman. The salesman flipped a switch and the Plexiglas rose. Susanna knelt very straight, smiling. She noticed the man's fingers twitch. He would feel her and then, if she pleased him, he would buy her. Her breath came more quickly and she suppressed a wiggle, holding her head high. She tried to project desire and desirability, and once again found her projection contained frustratingly within her skin.
The salesman unlocked Susanna's manacle-chain from the anchor before her and stepped up onto the platform, holding the chain so that she was forced to raise her arms above her head. Her potential buyer stepped forward, and the blunt fingers of his masculine hands stroked her breasts, her sides, and her thighs. He leaned closer, to whisper in her ear. "I am going to tickle you, now," and true to his word, his stroking fingers began to tickle.
Susanna squirmed, giggling, in an attempt to shift away. She couldn't. Kneeling, her ankles and wrists imprisoned, her arms above her head, she could not escape. She couldn't avoid the fingers tickling her belly and her sides, her upper arms and her shoulder blades. She couldn't stand it, but neither could she avoid it. She could only suffer, squirming and laughing, as her tormentor sent tickle-sensations into her skin wherever and however he pleased.
Then Susanna's perceptions changed, with the suddenness of a card being flipped over. Just as she was about to beg for the tickling to stop, it turned into pleasure. Unbearable pleasure, as those masculine fingers danced down her spine, just as it had been unbearable agony moments before.
Susanna still laughed, unable to make herself stop, and she still squirmed, unable to keep herself from trying to twist away, but now she was desperate for her struggles to fail. She felt those fingers raking her soles, first on her right foot, and then her left, and spikes of pleasure ran up her legs as the tickle-sensations poured into her. She was glad of the strong chains holding her to the platform, and the strong arms of the salesman that held her in place for that desperately desirable tickle-torment that her new master was inflicting upon her.
The tickling stopped. Susanna sobbed, once, twice, and shivered. A cold fear blew through her. Maybe she wasn't good enough. Maybe her new master didn't want her. Maybe he wouldn't buy her after all. Maybe...
"I guess she is ticklish, after all," master said, a huge grin on his face.
The salesman kept his own smile professional. "I guess she is."
"What's her asking price?" master raised his hand. "And don't tell me what a bargain I'm getting.
The salesman opened his mouth, and closed it again. His smile grew a shade more genuine. "$2,000," he said at last.
"You said you'd knock some off her price," master answered, and the haggling began. Haggling over her! Back and forth the salesman went with master, and then master said, "$1,700 and you pay the registration, along with all the other nickle-and-dime fees."
"Done!" the salesman said. He flipped the switch lowering the Plexiglas, and hung a red 'SOLD' sign on it. The two men then shook hands.
Susanna ignored the envious looks that the other slaves at shot her from their own platforms. She had been sold!
Guy carried Susanna into his house the traditional way: Over his shoulder, feet first. She was still wrapped in the dealer's tissue, of course, and properly restrained. Hard rubber slave bracelets secured her wrists behind her back, and a matching pair of tight hobbles were locked on her ankles. A traditionalist would have used metal cuffs on wrists and ankles, but Guy actually preferred the modern design. Metal he reserved for the collar around Susanna's neck - a plain collar, one that marked Susanna as a house slave. It lacked the cheap glass gems that would adorn the collar of a bond witch.
"First things first, my dear," Guy said as he lay Susanna on the couch. He rummaged around and eventually found the light fiberglass switch. For some things, Guy did prefer to follow custom. It was good psychology. Even so, he'd keep things short and simple; it was too late in the evening to start anything fancy. He sat down at the end of the couch, taking his new slave's feet in his lap. "I'm sure you already know your place, Susanna, but I'm giving you thirty-nine strokes anyway, just as a reminder."
"Yes master," Susanna said, and then, "No man will ever tame me!"
Guy's lips twitched. There were traditions, and there were traditions. He began to switch Susanna's soles, lightly, with blows intended to tease, rather than sting. Susanna remained silent. She even relaxed after his first stroke, a sign that he was calibrating things correctly.
Another master would have aimed to sting her soles, or would have switched his slave's back, or her ass. But Guy liked feet. Susanna had a pretty pair, Guy thought, creamy soles wrinkling as he counted off each stroke. He looked forward to ticking them later. Now, however, was a time for business and custom, rather than pleasure.
After finishing his strokes, Guy rubbed the feet he had just symbolically punished, and unlocked the ankle-cuffs. He yawned, provoking a yawn from Susanna as well. "Bedtime," he announced. "It's late, and I can give you your list of rules and duties tomorrow. Tonight you're just my snuggle-bunny, understand?"
Susanna twisted around to smile at Guy. "I understand, master. I can do that."
"Good." Guy tore away the tissue-paper wrapping his slave and helped her to stand. "Now, kiss me, Susanna."
Susanna kissed enthusiastically. Guy found himself filled with smugness when she grinned at him, afterwards. "The bedroom is this way," he told his new purchase.
(11 chapters go here - you'll get to see them when the novel goes up for sale)
Chapter 13 - Sunday, June 29, 1958
To Susanna's eyes, Master Ted's mansion looked huge.
Of course, that it didn't really belong to Master Ted, but rather to his father. It came from the nineteenth century, and had enough room to house six to eight couples in an antique nineteenth century style, with big, high-ceilinged rooms. It had a grand appearance, but the added-in plumbing and electric wiring didn't really match.
The rugs that covered the floors, on the other hand, managed to both match the style of the place and be up-to-date at the same time. They felt soft and soothing under Susanna's bare feet as Master Guy led her to the party room.
Susanna looked forward to that party. In fact, she tingled with excitement and anticipation. Master Guy had hardly touched her at all on Friday night, saying that he was too tired. (And, in truth, he had both looked and sounded exhausted.) But on Saturday he had used her hard, with lots and lots of sex but barely any tickling at all.
He'd begun in the morning, waking her up from a cuddled sleep with the impalement from behind that he referred to as a 'tool-whipping.' He released her to fix breakfast, and then carried her back to bed, whispering that he planned to keep her there all day. He then followed that plan, mostly. Susanna remembered the kisses Master Guy had rained on her, and the wonderful hammering he applied as she lay under him, legs spread and arms clutching. She remembered the way he held her in return, and his fierce, happy growls. But she couldn't remember how many times it had happened, or how many times she had cried out with her own pleasure. Lunch had been in there, somewhere, and a too-brief session on the basement tickle-couch, followed by a return upstairs. Back in the bedroom, his hands had taken full possession of her. Those strong, confident hands made her feel owned from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. They soothed her as well, the gentle hands of a master caressing his slavegirl.
They had slept then, until midnight, when he woke her and ordered her to ride him. She immediately obeyed, bucking and squirming, using all her skill with her second mouth, doing her best to pleasure him as he lay back and grinned lazily up at her. She rode him again and again, striving to exhaust his hardness until she became exhausted herself. He then folded her to him, and they slept once more, cuddled together, her dark and feminine skin pressed against his pale, male, body.
After all that Master Guy had put her through yesterday, Susanna felt as if she ought to be sated and exhausted. But she wasn't. Yesterday had been short on the Tickle, and the Tickle was what Susanna wanted. She wanted it so badly that it ached. She followed eagerly after her master. The sooner they arrived in the party room, the sooner the tickling would start.
When they did arrive, the contents of the party room turned out to be even better than Susanna had imagined. A nice, big room, it had an abundance of traps and ropes, stocks and benches, and posts and devices. It had all sorts of wonderful things for securing tickle-slaves. The tables along the walls were loaded with feathers, brushes, wooden spoons, and tickle implements of all sorts. Everything, in short, that a master might use to tease the skin of a helpless female. Its luxury looked utterly sinful.
At a gesture from Master Ted, Susanna raised her arms, allowing Master Guy to strip her naked. He folded her green rayon square in half, and restored it to her as a short wrap-skirt. A very short skirt, one that left Susanna feeling nakeder than nude. She exchanged glances with Gina and April, who had already been stripped and skirted. Their bare breasts contrasted oddly with their glasses. April flushed, but Gina just grinned.
Master Ted introduced Marie-Theodora, his own slave woman. Her waist-wrap was tiny, a scrap hardly larger than a handkerchief. Then the others arrived, and were stripped and skirted: Emily and Marie from the Kroger coven. Their masters exchanged greetings, with the rest of the group, and then each master led his woman to one of the various restraining devices. Master Guy secured Susanna in the left-hand position of a three-place set of stocks, with Master Ted securing Marie-Theodora in the middle, and Master Curtis securing his Emily on the right.
The three women then got to watch their masters sort through the tickle implements displayed on one of the side tables. Susanna grinned in happy anticipation. Marie-Theodora kept turning her head, her movements sharp and nervous, and Susanna decided to distract her. "Marie-Theodora," she said. "That's an unusual name."
"Just call me Marie, please," came the tight-voiced answer, "Or Marie T, since there's another Marie here." She forced a smile, then muttered, "I hope I've been warmed up enough."
"You've been warmed up enough," Emily said from the other side. "Tell yourself that, and it will be true. Isn't that right, Susanna?"
"That's right," Susanna nodded. "You'll be fine." She turned her head back to watch her own Master Guy approach, his fists full of feathers and things, and his face filled with a grin. Her return smile felt smug. She felt smug, secure in the knowledge that this afternoon, at least, she would not have to beg him for the tickle.
Even though Gina was not a bond witch herself, she could still feel the witchery in the air.
Her Master Stan had put her in a restraint that held her in a shallow vee, half sitting and half lying. Smooth wooden slats supported her back, padded cuffs held her wrists below the level of her rear, and her legs rose up again, strapped to a leaning post. The binding left her bare soles well-presented for the attentions of the masters.
Gina looked around, seeing Susanna in a set of triple stocks with Emily and Master Ted's new house slave. April knelt on an elevated cushion, her arms spread wide and strapped to a cross-beam. Gina couldn't see April's ankles, but she knew that they would be strapped in place as well. Turning her head, Gina could see Marie laying on a padded bench, belly down, knees pent, and ankles trapped in a set of vertical stocks that held her feet soles-up.
Gina heard a squeal of laughter, but didn't look to see where it came from. Her eyes were on Master Stan, as he stepped around April, his eyes locked on her helpless body. Each master would begin by tickling he own slave woman, which meant that Master Stan would be warming her up for the others. Not that she needed any warming up this afternoon. Not with all the witchery in the air. Still, it was the custom. Tickle parties like this one were an exception to the masters' normal rule of 'look but don't touch' when it came to slave women who didn't belong to them. But even so, each woman here would receive her first tickles from her own master. After that, each master would tickle each slavegirl in turn.
Gina saw - and felt - Master Stan applying his tickles to her feet. He wasn't using the brushes he had selected. Gina had glimpsed a curved nylon-plastic thing, an implement that master had picked up along with the brushes. Then she felt its touch, raking her soles. Happy tickle-shocks ran down her legs, making her squeal. Then the laughter poured out of her.
Gina struggled, unable to keep herself from doing so. She pulled at the cuffs holding her wrists. No escape that way. Her big toes were tied, leaving her no way to avoid the raking tickle. Gina could do nothing but endure and enjoy that skritchy tickle. She could do nothing but squeal and laugh at each stroke. And twist in her bonds, futilely. Unable to escape.
The raking tickle focused all of Gina's attention on her soles, as the long strokes ran up from her heels to her toes. And as the hard-soft tines left paths of teasing behind them. Heels to toes, heels to toes, over and over, a dozen or more times before master changed his tickle to a cross-wise raking. Rake, rake rake. Then a pause. "Cute little Korean feet," master said. It was one of his favorite expressions. Then, "Koochy koochy koo!"
Gina burst into laughter once more as the raking resumed on her helpless soles.
Susanna giggled uncontrollably as Master Guy attacked her from behind. She felt his fingers run up and down her sides, dancing in her armpits, moving down to her hips, and reaching around to tease her belly. After that, they returned to her sides to repeat that unbearable, delicious tickle-pattern.
Then the pattern changed. Instead of dancing fingers digging into her sides, there was a brush dry-painting her belly. A brush not held in the hands of her own Master Guy, but in another master's hands. Another master taking his turn as Master Guy moved over to Marie T.
No, not one brush. Two brushes. Two brushes held in two masculine hands. Brushes making Susanna laugh so hard she couldn't identify the hands that held them. Brushes running over her belly, around her sides to her back, and then returning to her belly once more. Brushes that left a broad trail of tickles behind them. Stroke, wiggle, stroke, the brushes ran back and forth, causing laughter to fountain out of Susanna as she sat secured in the stocks.
Susanna squirmed. Her wrists were secured above her head, out of the way. Her ankles were secured in front of her. The restraints held her perfectly helpless. They left her unable to avoid the brushing tickle as it covered everything between her waist and her collar. Everything. Whichever master it was, he seemed determined to address every ticklish bit of her torso's dark skin.
Gina found herself receiving an upper-body tickling as well, when Master Curtis took over from Master Stan. Not with a broad, soft paintbrush, but with a rubber spatula dipped in lotion. The spatula rubbed and slicked and scraped, tickling her in its own way. Tickling her as much as anything did. Producing squirms and laughter from her just as forcefully as any other tickle-method. Master Curtis couldn't reach her back, secured as she was, but he could ¬- and did - tickle-tease her sides and belly, between her breasts and all around them. He teased her armpits and ran the lotion-slick spatula down her legs as well. Or rather up her legs, secured as they were with her bare feet and tied toes held at the top of the slanted post and her rear at the bottom.
Giggling and twisting in response to all those teasing touches, Gina felt herself at the edge of something. At the edge of an incredible tickling! some part of her mind screamed. It would be horrible and wonderful, and wonderfully horrible when Master Curtis finally applied himself to her soles. But there was something else as well. The witchery in the air grew thicker. Couldn't everyone sense it?
Then another teasing line came. Down her left leg. Across her belly from her left hip to her right armpit. Up her right arm. And then down her left arm to repeat in reverse. And Gina had no more attention to spare for anything but how that slick, rubbery scraping tickled.
Susanna could feel the witchery as well. She did her best to ignore it as it whispered to her: Kootchy koo! Kootchy koo! Kootchy kootchy koo! She needed to catch her breath, during this brief break. At any moment, her tickling might resume. Master Ted would tickle her next, she thought. He was choosing new implements with the air of a man preparing for a foot-tickle. Susanna's feet squirmed in anticipation. He wouldn't tickle her quite as well as her own Master Guy could, but he would come close. Very close. He'd be thorough, and he'd be different, and Susanna looked forward to that. Yet at the same time, she'd be very happy when her own Master Guy took her home to cuddle and tease. Which was, of course, one of the purposes of these parties. The main purpose was to amuse the masters, but they also left slaves with a better appreciation of the touch of the men who actually owned them.
And here came Master Ted. He applied his chosen implement to Susanna's feet. A toothbrush! A toothbrush scrubbing the pads of her toes! Susanna squealed, twisting, deeply aware of that scrubbing tickle-sensation, somewhat aware of Marie T giggling and giggling beside her, and only vaguely aware of the other tickle-vibrations that filled the room. Vibrations produced by six slavegirls, each one held helpless and forced to laugh under a master's touch.
Now that devilish toothbrush had moved on. Instead of pouring a concentrated tickle into her toe-pads, Master Ted was using it to touch, and scrub, and tickle-tease the rest of Susanna's feet. Every bit of them. She felt the tickle applied to the tops of her feet as well as her soles, a wonderfully evil tickle that she loved. She loved it, she couldn't stand it, and she feared it would stop too soon. She squirmed and struggled as Master Ted brushed and scrubbed her insteps and the tops of her toes. She laughed and laughed as he tickle-wiggled the toothbrush around her heels and the balls of her feet. She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand those huge tickles that he produced with such a little implement. And she loved it, loved it, loved it!
Sitting between Susanna and Emily, Marie-Theodora felt her own sensitivity increasing. Master Ted had given her a strong bastinado just before the guests arrived, and she had hoped it would be enough to warm her up. Otherwise, this tickle party would be sheer agony for her.
But now she was certain; she had been warmed up enough. Not just from the bastinado, but from all the witchery in the air. Marie T could sense the ticklishness of Susanna on her left and of Emily on her right, and that was making her crave a tickling of her own.
Master Ted began her tickle session, and then Master Guy took over. He stood behind her, reaching around to tease her belly and sides. Marie T pulled at the bonds on her wrists, bonds that held her arms up out of the way. Bonds that held her so as to give the masters a clear field in which to inflict their sweet torments.
Master Guy's tickling was not much of a torment, but it did feel pleasantly spicy. Marie T could admire his expertise as she squirmed and giggled under his touch. He knew how to move at just the right speed, with just the right degree of pressure, to make his tickles both gentle and incredibly effective. His fingers teased wonderfully as they traveled up and down her ribs and back and forth across her belly. They found a bottomless well of laughter inside her, and brought it gushing out. And they made her squirm in the stocks, as well, sharply aware of her inability to escape. She stiffened as one forefinger wiggled in her navel, and twisted as the other forefinger flicked lightly at an especially sensitive spot between and below her breasts.
Now Master Stan joined in to tickle her feet. Marie T couldn't see what he was using, but she could feel it. Spirits above, she could feel it! She could feel the flick-flick-flicking over her soles, quick and fierce. She could feel the rapid flicks on the sole of her left heel, each flick a short downward stroke, but with a swarm of them moving slowly upward toward her toes. She could feel them move to the ball of her right foot, where they imposed a most wonderful tickle-sensation as the stroke-swarm moved back down toward her heels. And then... And then... Marie T could feel Master Stan alternating between her two helpless feet for the best, worst, strongest pleasure-torment of them all! Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle!
Gina watched April's Master William, as he came forward to tickle her. He grinned as he showed her the feather-fan, armed with soft, fluffy feathers. Gina grinned back at him, in anticipation of just what that feather-fan would do to her vulnerable skin.
The tickle-touch came. Soft. Very soft. Teasingly soft, squirmingly soft, as the feather tips ran up and down and up and down again. Trapped by her bonds, Gina could not avoid the gentle touch, but could only wiggle and giggle as Master William delicately brushed her legs and the tops of her feet. He fanned the bottoms of her feet as well, not quite touching them, and the anticipation made Gina feel even more ticklish. Soon, soon that terribly soft touch would tickle-tease her naked soles as well.
Susanna thrashed, as Master Stan moved over from Marie T to apply his tickle-rake to her own soles. Rake-rake-rake-rake-rake, the tickle sensations sank deeply into Susanna's insteps. But not into her insteps alone. She could feel the raking tickle on her heels, and on the balls of her feet, as Master Stan applied them there, as well. She felt as if every one of her nerve endings was receiving its own special tickle as the rake swept up and down her feet. Up and down her helpless feet. The stocks held her trapped, and the tickling made her feel even more helpless. She could not escape. She could never escape, no matter how much she struggled, and it felt wonderful. It was too much, and too much was wonderful! All the world became that terrible raking of her feet that tickled wonderfully.
Tickling and witchery filled the room, like incense, like a fog. Visions came to Susanna, in quick flashes. Visions of the gazebo. Visions of her new neighbors; of Gina, Lillanna, and Karen, of Master Stan, Master Jim, and Master Bruce. Visions of Master Guy tickling her. Of her owner and master binding her in many different ways and tickling her thoroughly, using paintbrushes, and toothbrushes, and plastic rakes on her brown skin and bare feet. She squealed in delight. It would be wonderful.
Then came the vision that Susanna couldn't see. She was the mirror, reflecting the vision for someone else. For one of the other women in the room to see. But the vision tickled as it reflected from Susanna, and she giggled. Giggled and giggled and giggled.
Gina heard Susanna's squeal as it rose above all the other giggles and laughter in the room. Including Gina's own. She felt the vision settle on her, but she wasn't a bond witch and so she didn't recognize it. At least not at first. At first, she just felt herself floating, floating on the echoes of laughter. Floating on the tickle-vibrations that filled the room, from Susanna, and April, and Emily, and the two Maries.
Gina could sense the grins of the masters, as they inflicted those tickle-vibrations. She could also feel the tickles being inflicted on her own helpless body. Those tickle-sensations burned within her. Burned like liquid fire, only more pleasant. Much more pleasant...
It was when she saw the four men that Gina realized she was in a vision. They were young men, soldierly men, men sprawled out in a small room. Resting, but with their guns near at hand. Where? Gina couldn't tell. When? Soon, she thought. Maybe very soon. More than a day, but certainly less than a month. And Lillanna was with them.
Lillanna? Why Lillanna? She looked worried. Frightened? Trying to hide her fear? Maybe.
Then Gina could hear, as well as see. One of the men was speaking. "...too bad we couldn't grab all four," he said. "American women would be worth a lot, on the..."
A roaring filled Gina's ears. Her sight went blurry, as if she had lost her glasses. She felt dizzy. Dizzy, and whirling away...
(Chapters 14-21 will be available at the e-publisher)
I've been working on a tickle-novel. (A real novel, with an anticipated word-count somewhere north of 60,000 words [EDIT: Submitted word count is 69,365]). I'm not going to post the whole thing here, since I intend it to be a for-pay piece. But I am going to post bits of it, as a tease and to drum up interest. And also because I haven't posted anything here in TT in a while.
In any case I'm posting Chapter 1 and Chapter 13 here. Chapter 1 because it's the beginning, and Chapter 13 because it's in the middle and because it has lots of tickling in it.
The "Cover Blurb"
It's 1958, and Guy Herbert has gone down to his neighborhood dealer to sell his current woman and buy a new house slave: Dark-skinned, ticklish Susanna.
No, the South didn't win the Civil War. Rather, history took a different turn when the pioneering feminists of the nineteenth century began to practice "witchcraft." They used actual psychic powers to try to achieve their goals, and the women's suffrage movement turned violent and nasty as a result. In the anti-feminist backlash that followed, the post-civil-war abolition of slavery was re-interpreted as applying only to black men.
This caused racial equality to come a decade or two earlier that it otherwise would have, but for feminism it was all downhill: In this timeline, instead of securing the right to vote, the Nineteenth Amendment turned all the women in the US into the chattel slaves of their menfolk, regardless of race.
So it stands in this alternative year of 1958. Guy Herbert has a house in the suburbs and a new slavegirl on which he can indulge his passion for tickling. But the Soviet Union exists in this world as well. Its KGB seeks to steal the technical secrets of male-capitalist-pig America, and Guy's job as an engineer for a government contractor has brought him up against a pair of the KGB's feminist-commie spies.
Tickle Witch
by Sablesword
Chapter 1 - Tuesday, June 17, 1958
Guy Herbert knew he was tired when the lights failed to come on. He glared at the switch panel, deliberately sending a second mental probe. The lights still failed to come on. Then the room lit as Jane entered. Women almost always have stronger psychic abilities than men, even when they are mere house slaves.
Guy sighed and sank into the loveseat, letting the familiar smell of leather rise around him. He was home early from work, after working 'only' from six to four. The past two weeks had been even worse, but that's the way his job went. He was a supervisor on the special line in Rockland Chemical's Plant Four, and sometimes that meant days of twelve hours plus, and sometimes a scant half-day before the boss told him to go home already.
"I have a martini for you, master." Jane knelt before him, barefoot, dressed in a square of colorful rayon gauze. The pattern she wore had come into style in 1957 and remained in the mode a year later.
Guy took the glass. "Thank you dear." He spoke in a mild tone, as his father had taught him. Slaves deserved slave-politeness, according to the elder Herbert, and only vulgar men spoke cruelly to the females they owned. Guy was not vulgar. He had an engineering degree and an engineer's salary.
But what Guy really wanted was a mug of Brew. He considered Jane, thinking about ordering her to fetch him some. She was pretty enough in a straightforward sort of way, with blue eyes and light brown hair. In addition to her translucent covering, she wore a plain slave-mark tattooed on her left hand, and a plain steel collar inscribed with her master's name. That collar marked her as a typical American woman. A house slave, rather than a bond witch.
Guy had purchased Jane a few years after the War. A mistake, he admitted to himself, and one he had been too embarrassed to correct. He'd been twenty-two then, having spent a year fighting the Nazi war machine, and then a couple of years as part of the Japanese Occupation. Freshly discharged from the Army, he had the bright idea of buying a fresh eighteen year old and training her himself.
The training had been a success. Jane might not be physically stunning, and she might not be a bond witch, but she could enchant any man without half trying. Except for Guy himself. As the years went by, he found her more and more cloying, and she in turn had become frustrated and unhappy. But just as Guy was too embarrassed to admit to his mistake in buying her, Jane was too stubborn to claim her Right of Sale from him.
Jane would never be the woman Guy really wanted. He should go ahead and sell her on his own initiative, and then buy a different woman for himself. He really should.
Guy set down his untasted drink. "Go hobble yourself, Jane. We're going out."
#
Susanna wiggled on the display platform, frightened and excited. She was being sold! She was twenty-two now - the tattoo on her hand read '31May1936' below the Mark of Sheba - and she was being sold! She would be sold to a man, a master, and not another training estate. She stretched and wiggled as men walked by, beyond the Plexiglas. She pulled enticingly at the restraints that bound her to the platform. Thick rubber cuffs grasped her wrists and ankles, with steel chains running from them to the anchor point before her. She shivered. She'd been restrained before, many times, in a dozen different ways, but her new master would go beyond simply restraining her. He would do things to her, after making her deliciously helpless with ropes or leather or chains of steel. She was being sold!
An older man, gray at the temples, stopped to give her a look. Susanna smiled at him. Except for the dealer's collar she wore, she was nude, with brown skin from her Negro father, large eyes from her Jewish mother, and dark curly hair from both of them. If her shackles had allowed her to stand, she would be an inch or two under average height for an American woman. Which she was, even if her mother hadn't been. Her mother had been one of the early ones sent to America as part of the Devil's Bargain with the Nazis. Three million women had escaped that way, while the men stayed behind and died.
The American government had given Susanna's mother to the Buffalo Soldiers for training, along with all the other women in that refugee ship. A few of those Negro soldiers had received permission to make private purchases, before the authorities realized just who was making the request, and Susanna was one of the results.
The gray-templed man moved on, but there were others. Another man, a younger one in a rumpled suit was looking at her now. Sooner or later, someone would buy her. Susanna wiggled once more. She was being sold!
#
Guy kept his eyes away from the display platforms as he made his way out of Forrest's Finest Females. He had the check from Jane's sale tucked safely away, and he intended to deposit it and then wait a couple of days before shopping for a new house slave. So he kept his eyes on the walls, looking at the historical prints displayed there.
The prints portrayed the antebellum uprising of Jane Brown, and the assassination of Abe Lincoln by Jane Wilma Booth. Then Mad Mary Lincoln's attempted coup, after her husband's death. The preaching of Brother Samson, the former slave who had done so much to improve the relations between white men and black. The Undermarket of New York, where women and psychic-enhancing Brew were sold, despite both being technically illegal at the time. The decision in Missie vs Montgomery, where the Supreme Court ruled that the Thirteenth Amendment applied to black men and white women, but not to black females. The Eighteenth Amendment, prohibiting Brew nationwide, and the Twenty-First Amendment that repealed it. And the Nineteenth Amendment, advancing the cause of racial equality by confirming that all women in the United States, regardless of color, were the chattel slaves of their menfolk.
There the historical series ended, and Guy glanced out over the checker-tiled floor of the showroom, looking for the exit. That's when he saw the half-Negro cutie.
She was one of two non-white women on the floor, the other being a Japanese girl. Neither had price tags displayed, but no doubt they'd be overpriced. Certainly the Japanese woman would cost too much, compared to the cheap prices Guy had seen during the Occupation. A number of his buddies had brought Japanese purchases home with them, and more power to them. Some masters were just plain good with exotics. But Guy didn't consider himself one of them.
On the other hand, a Negress wasn't really an exotic. In fact, her darkness could be an advantage if he ever had to travel. The southern States still resisted the Nineteenth Amendment, almost forty years after its passage. They got sticky about white women being treated as chattels, despite the clear language of the Amendment and of the various Supreme Court cases confirming that Demancipation really did apply to females of all races.
A salesman materialized just as Guy started to turn away. "Good evening sir. Would you like to examine her more closely? She's a good one."
"I'll bet you say that about all the women here," Guy told him.
"Of course sir," the salesman answered smoothly, professional smile in place. "Only the good ones are offered for sale here at Forrest's Finest Females. Now I can raise the enclosure, if you'd like."
Guy was about to refuse when he caught sight of the rack of mugs and the Brew pot. He really did want a mug of Brew. Besides, maybe this was a real premonition, even if premonitions normally came after drinking Brew, rather than before.
"Actually I'd like to start by looking over her papers." Guy smiled back at the salesman, the smile he used at work. Slave women, new autos, or tanker-cars of ammonium hydroxide, whatever they sold, salesmen were all the same.
A few minutes later they were sharing mugs of Brew, sitting on opposite sides of a desk cluttered with folders, loose paper, and a little Samson-icon. Guy looked over the paperwork. "Hmm, 'Susanna, S-number such-and-such, born 31-May-1936; father Alexander Brown, race Negro; mother Hanna, S-number so-and-so, race Jewish' - she must have come over as part of the Bargain." Guy paused, then continued reading aloud. " 'Height 62.5 inches, weight 115 pounds, collar 13, bra 32B' - I think she's a bit bigger than that, now - 'wrists 5.5, waist 25, ankles 8.0 (6)...' What's the parentheses?"
"Sandal-size for hobbles," the salesman answered.
"OK, that's a new one on me." Guy took another swallow. "This is good Brew."
"Not as good as my grandpa used to make. Of course that was moonshine Brew, back during Prohibition." The salesman, Guy noticed, was no longer pushing hard. He thought he had his fish hooked, and was playing out the line, nice and easy. Well, Guy thought, maybe he was hooked. Or maybe the Brew really was giving him a premonition. It's what Brew was for, after all - enhancing psychic abilities.
Guy returned to the papers. " 'Cleveland schooling crèche 1943-47, Ohio State Plantation (Mansfield) 1947-54, Mansfield Finishing Estate 1954-57, IQ 126' - that's another new one on me - 'Rhine score 23 with a star. Telescribe WPM dash dash' - what does that mean? Hasn't she been tested?"
"Let me look..." The salesman set aside his mug and thumbed through the folder. "Here it is: Her Rhine score is for potential only. They tested her on a telescribe back in '53 and found that she couldn't work it. She's got a block. It won't matter if you're shopping for just a house slave, but I'll tell you what: I'll knock a little off her price for that."
"Thanks. I'll remember that when we start haggling." Guy finished skimming the papers. "OK, just one more question for you: Is she ticklish?"
The salesman's professional smile returned. "Let's find out."
#
Susanna watched the man in the rumpled suit as he approached her platform again, following behind the salesman. The salesman flipped a switch and the Plexiglas rose. Susanna knelt very straight, smiling. She noticed the man's fingers twitch. He would feel her and then, if she pleased him, he would buy her. Her breath came more quickly and she suppressed a wiggle, holding her head high. She tried to project desire and desirability, and once again found her projection contained frustratingly within her skin.
The salesman unlocked Susanna's manacle-chain from the anchor before her and stepped up onto the platform, holding the chain so that she was forced to raise her arms above her head. Her potential buyer stepped forward, and the blunt fingers of his masculine hands stroked her breasts, her sides, and her thighs. He leaned closer, to whisper in her ear. "I am going to tickle you, now," and true to his word, his stroking fingers began to tickle.
Susanna squirmed, giggling, in an attempt to shift away. She couldn't. Kneeling, her ankles and wrists imprisoned, her arms above her head, she could not escape. She couldn't avoid the fingers tickling her belly and her sides, her upper arms and her shoulder blades. She couldn't stand it, but neither could she avoid it. She could only suffer, squirming and laughing, as her tormentor sent tickle-sensations into her skin wherever and however he pleased.
Then Susanna's perceptions changed, with the suddenness of a card being flipped over. Just as she was about to beg for the tickling to stop, it turned into pleasure. Unbearable pleasure, as those masculine fingers danced down her spine, just as it had been unbearable agony moments before.
Susanna still laughed, unable to make herself stop, and she still squirmed, unable to keep herself from trying to twist away, but now she was desperate for her struggles to fail. She felt those fingers raking her soles, first on her right foot, and then her left, and spikes of pleasure ran up her legs as the tickle-sensations poured into her. She was glad of the strong chains holding her to the platform, and the strong arms of the salesman that held her in place for that desperately desirable tickle-torment that her new master was inflicting upon her.
The tickling stopped. Susanna sobbed, once, twice, and shivered. A cold fear blew through her. Maybe she wasn't good enough. Maybe her new master didn't want her. Maybe he wouldn't buy her after all. Maybe...
"I guess she is ticklish, after all," master said, a huge grin on his face.
The salesman kept his own smile professional. "I guess she is."
"What's her asking price?" master raised his hand. "And don't tell me what a bargain I'm getting.
The salesman opened his mouth, and closed it again. His smile grew a shade more genuine. "$2,000," he said at last.
"You said you'd knock some off her price," master answered, and the haggling began. Haggling over her! Back and forth the salesman went with master, and then master said, "$1,700 and you pay the registration, along with all the other nickle-and-dime fees."
"Done!" the salesman said. He flipped the switch lowering the Plexiglas, and hung a red 'SOLD' sign on it. The two men then shook hands.
Susanna ignored the envious looks that the other slaves at shot her from their own platforms. She had been sold!
#
Guy carried Susanna into his house the traditional way: Over his shoulder, feet first. She was still wrapped in the dealer's tissue, of course, and properly restrained. Hard rubber slave bracelets secured her wrists behind her back, and a matching pair of tight hobbles were locked on her ankles. A traditionalist would have used metal cuffs on wrists and ankles, but Guy actually preferred the modern design. Metal he reserved for the collar around Susanna's neck - a plain collar, one that marked Susanna as a house slave. It lacked the cheap glass gems that would adorn the collar of a bond witch.
"First things first, my dear," Guy said as he lay Susanna on the couch. He rummaged around and eventually found the light fiberglass switch. For some things, Guy did prefer to follow custom. It was good psychology. Even so, he'd keep things short and simple; it was too late in the evening to start anything fancy. He sat down at the end of the couch, taking his new slave's feet in his lap. "I'm sure you already know your place, Susanna, but I'm giving you thirty-nine strokes anyway, just as a reminder."
"Yes master," Susanna said, and then, "No man will ever tame me!"
Guy's lips twitched. There were traditions, and there were traditions. He began to switch Susanna's soles, lightly, with blows intended to tease, rather than sting. Susanna remained silent. She even relaxed after his first stroke, a sign that he was calibrating things correctly.
Another master would have aimed to sting her soles, or would have switched his slave's back, or her ass. But Guy liked feet. Susanna had a pretty pair, Guy thought, creamy soles wrinkling as he counted off each stroke. He looked forward to ticking them later. Now, however, was a time for business and custom, rather than pleasure.
After finishing his strokes, Guy rubbed the feet he had just symbolically punished, and unlocked the ankle-cuffs. He yawned, provoking a yawn from Susanna as well. "Bedtime," he announced. "It's late, and I can give you your list of rules and duties tomorrow. Tonight you're just my snuggle-bunny, understand?"
Susanna twisted around to smile at Guy. "I understand, master. I can do that."
"Good." Guy tore away the tissue-paper wrapping his slave and helped her to stand. "Now, kiss me, Susanna."
Susanna kissed enthusiastically. Guy found himself filled with smugness when she grinned at him, afterwards. "The bedroom is this way," he told his new purchase.
(11 chapters go here - you'll get to see them when the novel goes up for sale)
Chapter 13 - Sunday, June 29, 1958
To Susanna's eyes, Master Ted's mansion looked huge.
Of course, that it didn't really belong to Master Ted, but rather to his father. It came from the nineteenth century, and had enough room to house six to eight couples in an antique nineteenth century style, with big, high-ceilinged rooms. It had a grand appearance, but the added-in plumbing and electric wiring didn't really match.
The rugs that covered the floors, on the other hand, managed to both match the style of the place and be up-to-date at the same time. They felt soft and soothing under Susanna's bare feet as Master Guy led her to the party room.
Susanna looked forward to that party. In fact, she tingled with excitement and anticipation. Master Guy had hardly touched her at all on Friday night, saying that he was too tired. (And, in truth, he had both looked and sounded exhausted.) But on Saturday he had used her hard, with lots and lots of sex but barely any tickling at all.
He'd begun in the morning, waking her up from a cuddled sleep with the impalement from behind that he referred to as a 'tool-whipping.' He released her to fix breakfast, and then carried her back to bed, whispering that he planned to keep her there all day. He then followed that plan, mostly. Susanna remembered the kisses Master Guy had rained on her, and the wonderful hammering he applied as she lay under him, legs spread and arms clutching. She remembered the way he held her in return, and his fierce, happy growls. But she couldn't remember how many times it had happened, or how many times she had cried out with her own pleasure. Lunch had been in there, somewhere, and a too-brief session on the basement tickle-couch, followed by a return upstairs. Back in the bedroom, his hands had taken full possession of her. Those strong, confident hands made her feel owned from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. They soothed her as well, the gentle hands of a master caressing his slavegirl.
They had slept then, until midnight, when he woke her and ordered her to ride him. She immediately obeyed, bucking and squirming, using all her skill with her second mouth, doing her best to pleasure him as he lay back and grinned lazily up at her. She rode him again and again, striving to exhaust his hardness until she became exhausted herself. He then folded her to him, and they slept once more, cuddled together, her dark and feminine skin pressed against his pale, male, body.
After all that Master Guy had put her through yesterday, Susanna felt as if she ought to be sated and exhausted. But she wasn't. Yesterday had been short on the Tickle, and the Tickle was what Susanna wanted. She wanted it so badly that it ached. She followed eagerly after her master. The sooner they arrived in the party room, the sooner the tickling would start.
#
When they did arrive, the contents of the party room turned out to be even better than Susanna had imagined. A nice, big room, it had an abundance of traps and ropes, stocks and benches, and posts and devices. It had all sorts of wonderful things for securing tickle-slaves. The tables along the walls were loaded with feathers, brushes, wooden spoons, and tickle implements of all sorts. Everything, in short, that a master might use to tease the skin of a helpless female. Its luxury looked utterly sinful.
At a gesture from Master Ted, Susanna raised her arms, allowing Master Guy to strip her naked. He folded her green rayon square in half, and restored it to her as a short wrap-skirt. A very short skirt, one that left Susanna feeling nakeder than nude. She exchanged glances with Gina and April, who had already been stripped and skirted. Their bare breasts contrasted oddly with their glasses. April flushed, but Gina just grinned.
Master Ted introduced Marie-Theodora, his own slave woman. Her waist-wrap was tiny, a scrap hardly larger than a handkerchief. Then the others arrived, and were stripped and skirted: Emily and Marie from the Kroger coven. Their masters exchanged greetings, with the rest of the group, and then each master led his woman to one of the various restraining devices. Master Guy secured Susanna in the left-hand position of a three-place set of stocks, with Master Ted securing Marie-Theodora in the middle, and Master Curtis securing his Emily on the right.
The three women then got to watch their masters sort through the tickle implements displayed on one of the side tables. Susanna grinned in happy anticipation. Marie-Theodora kept turning her head, her movements sharp and nervous, and Susanna decided to distract her. "Marie-Theodora," she said. "That's an unusual name."
"Just call me Marie, please," came the tight-voiced answer, "Or Marie T, since there's another Marie here." She forced a smile, then muttered, "I hope I've been warmed up enough."
"You've been warmed up enough," Emily said from the other side. "Tell yourself that, and it will be true. Isn't that right, Susanna?"
"That's right," Susanna nodded. "You'll be fine." She turned her head back to watch her own Master Guy approach, his fists full of feathers and things, and his face filled with a grin. Her return smile felt smug. She felt smug, secure in the knowledge that this afternoon, at least, she would not have to beg him for the tickle.
#
Even though Gina was not a bond witch herself, she could still feel the witchery in the air.
Her Master Stan had put her in a restraint that held her in a shallow vee, half sitting and half lying. Smooth wooden slats supported her back, padded cuffs held her wrists below the level of her rear, and her legs rose up again, strapped to a leaning post. The binding left her bare soles well-presented for the attentions of the masters.
Gina looked around, seeing Susanna in a set of triple stocks with Emily and Master Ted's new house slave. April knelt on an elevated cushion, her arms spread wide and strapped to a cross-beam. Gina couldn't see April's ankles, but she knew that they would be strapped in place as well. Turning her head, Gina could see Marie laying on a padded bench, belly down, knees pent, and ankles trapped in a set of vertical stocks that held her feet soles-up.
Gina heard a squeal of laughter, but didn't look to see where it came from. Her eyes were on Master Stan, as he stepped around April, his eyes locked on her helpless body. Each master would begin by tickling he own slave woman, which meant that Master Stan would be warming her up for the others. Not that she needed any warming up this afternoon. Not with all the witchery in the air. Still, it was the custom. Tickle parties like this one were an exception to the masters' normal rule of 'look but don't touch' when it came to slave women who didn't belong to them. But even so, each woman here would receive her first tickles from her own master. After that, each master would tickle each slavegirl in turn.
Gina saw - and felt - Master Stan applying his tickles to her feet. He wasn't using the brushes he had selected. Gina had glimpsed a curved nylon-plastic thing, an implement that master had picked up along with the brushes. Then she felt its touch, raking her soles. Happy tickle-shocks ran down her legs, making her squeal. Then the laughter poured out of her.
Gina struggled, unable to keep herself from doing so. She pulled at the cuffs holding her wrists. No escape that way. Her big toes were tied, leaving her no way to avoid the raking tickle. Gina could do nothing but endure and enjoy that skritchy tickle. She could do nothing but squeal and laugh at each stroke. And twist in her bonds, futilely. Unable to escape.
The raking tickle focused all of Gina's attention on her soles, as the long strokes ran up from her heels to her toes. And as the hard-soft tines left paths of teasing behind them. Heels to toes, heels to toes, over and over, a dozen or more times before master changed his tickle to a cross-wise raking. Rake, rake rake. Then a pause. "Cute little Korean feet," master said. It was one of his favorite expressions. Then, "Koochy koochy koo!"
Gina burst into laughter once more as the raking resumed on her helpless soles.
#
Susanna giggled uncontrollably as Master Guy attacked her from behind. She felt his fingers run up and down her sides, dancing in her armpits, moving down to her hips, and reaching around to tease her belly. After that, they returned to her sides to repeat that unbearable, delicious tickle-pattern.
Then the pattern changed. Instead of dancing fingers digging into her sides, there was a brush dry-painting her belly. A brush not held in the hands of her own Master Guy, but in another master's hands. Another master taking his turn as Master Guy moved over to Marie T.
No, not one brush. Two brushes. Two brushes held in two masculine hands. Brushes making Susanna laugh so hard she couldn't identify the hands that held them. Brushes running over her belly, around her sides to her back, and then returning to her belly once more. Brushes that left a broad trail of tickles behind them. Stroke, wiggle, stroke, the brushes ran back and forth, causing laughter to fountain out of Susanna as she sat secured in the stocks.
Susanna squirmed. Her wrists were secured above her head, out of the way. Her ankles were secured in front of her. The restraints held her perfectly helpless. They left her unable to avoid the brushing tickle as it covered everything between her waist and her collar. Everything. Whichever master it was, he seemed determined to address every ticklish bit of her torso's dark skin.
#
Gina found herself receiving an upper-body tickling as well, when Master Curtis took over from Master Stan. Not with a broad, soft paintbrush, but with a rubber spatula dipped in lotion. The spatula rubbed and slicked and scraped, tickling her in its own way. Tickling her as much as anything did. Producing squirms and laughter from her just as forcefully as any other tickle-method. Master Curtis couldn't reach her back, secured as she was, but he could ¬- and did - tickle-tease her sides and belly, between her breasts and all around them. He teased her armpits and ran the lotion-slick spatula down her legs as well. Or rather up her legs, secured as they were with her bare feet and tied toes held at the top of the slanted post and her rear at the bottom.
Giggling and twisting in response to all those teasing touches, Gina felt herself at the edge of something. At the edge of an incredible tickling! some part of her mind screamed. It would be horrible and wonderful, and wonderfully horrible when Master Curtis finally applied himself to her soles. But there was something else as well. The witchery in the air grew thicker. Couldn't everyone sense it?
Then another teasing line came. Down her left leg. Across her belly from her left hip to her right armpit. Up her right arm. And then down her left arm to repeat in reverse. And Gina had no more attention to spare for anything but how that slick, rubbery scraping tickled.
#
Susanna could feel the witchery as well. She did her best to ignore it as it whispered to her: Kootchy koo! Kootchy koo! Kootchy kootchy koo! She needed to catch her breath, during this brief break. At any moment, her tickling might resume. Master Ted would tickle her next, she thought. He was choosing new implements with the air of a man preparing for a foot-tickle. Susanna's feet squirmed in anticipation. He wouldn't tickle her quite as well as her own Master Guy could, but he would come close. Very close. He'd be thorough, and he'd be different, and Susanna looked forward to that. Yet at the same time, she'd be very happy when her own Master Guy took her home to cuddle and tease. Which was, of course, one of the purposes of these parties. The main purpose was to amuse the masters, but they also left slaves with a better appreciation of the touch of the men who actually owned them.
And here came Master Ted. He applied his chosen implement to Susanna's feet. A toothbrush! A toothbrush scrubbing the pads of her toes! Susanna squealed, twisting, deeply aware of that scrubbing tickle-sensation, somewhat aware of Marie T giggling and giggling beside her, and only vaguely aware of the other tickle-vibrations that filled the room. Vibrations produced by six slavegirls, each one held helpless and forced to laugh under a master's touch.
Now that devilish toothbrush had moved on. Instead of pouring a concentrated tickle into her toe-pads, Master Ted was using it to touch, and scrub, and tickle-tease the rest of Susanna's feet. Every bit of them. She felt the tickle applied to the tops of her feet as well as her soles, a wonderfully evil tickle that she loved. She loved it, she couldn't stand it, and she feared it would stop too soon. She squirmed and struggled as Master Ted brushed and scrubbed her insteps and the tops of her toes. She laughed and laughed as he tickle-wiggled the toothbrush around her heels and the balls of her feet. She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand those huge tickles that he produced with such a little implement. And she loved it, loved it, loved it!
#
Sitting between Susanna and Emily, Marie-Theodora felt her own sensitivity increasing. Master Ted had given her a strong bastinado just before the guests arrived, and she had hoped it would be enough to warm her up. Otherwise, this tickle party would be sheer agony for her.
But now she was certain; she had been warmed up enough. Not just from the bastinado, but from all the witchery in the air. Marie T could sense the ticklishness of Susanna on her left and of Emily on her right, and that was making her crave a tickling of her own.
Master Ted began her tickle session, and then Master Guy took over. He stood behind her, reaching around to tease her belly and sides. Marie T pulled at the bonds on her wrists, bonds that held her arms up out of the way. Bonds that held her so as to give the masters a clear field in which to inflict their sweet torments.
Master Guy's tickling was not much of a torment, but it did feel pleasantly spicy. Marie T could admire his expertise as she squirmed and giggled under his touch. He knew how to move at just the right speed, with just the right degree of pressure, to make his tickles both gentle and incredibly effective. His fingers teased wonderfully as they traveled up and down her ribs and back and forth across her belly. They found a bottomless well of laughter inside her, and brought it gushing out. And they made her squirm in the stocks, as well, sharply aware of her inability to escape. She stiffened as one forefinger wiggled in her navel, and twisted as the other forefinger flicked lightly at an especially sensitive spot between and below her breasts.
Now Master Stan joined in to tickle her feet. Marie T couldn't see what he was using, but she could feel it. Spirits above, she could feel it! She could feel the flick-flick-flicking over her soles, quick and fierce. She could feel the rapid flicks on the sole of her left heel, each flick a short downward stroke, but with a swarm of them moving slowly upward toward her toes. She could feel them move to the ball of her right foot, where they imposed a most wonderful tickle-sensation as the stroke-swarm moved back down toward her heels. And then... And then... Marie T could feel Master Stan alternating between her two helpless feet for the best, worst, strongest pleasure-torment of them all! Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle!
#
Gina watched April's Master William, as he came forward to tickle her. He grinned as he showed her the feather-fan, armed with soft, fluffy feathers. Gina grinned back at him, in anticipation of just what that feather-fan would do to her vulnerable skin.
The tickle-touch came. Soft. Very soft. Teasingly soft, squirmingly soft, as the feather tips ran up and down and up and down again. Trapped by her bonds, Gina could not avoid the gentle touch, but could only wiggle and giggle as Master William delicately brushed her legs and the tops of her feet. He fanned the bottoms of her feet as well, not quite touching them, and the anticipation made Gina feel even more ticklish. Soon, soon that terribly soft touch would tickle-tease her naked soles as well.
#
Susanna thrashed, as Master Stan moved over from Marie T to apply his tickle-rake to her own soles. Rake-rake-rake-rake-rake, the tickle sensations sank deeply into Susanna's insteps. But not into her insteps alone. She could feel the raking tickle on her heels, and on the balls of her feet, as Master Stan applied them there, as well. She felt as if every one of her nerve endings was receiving its own special tickle as the rake swept up and down her feet. Up and down her helpless feet. The stocks held her trapped, and the tickling made her feel even more helpless. She could not escape. She could never escape, no matter how much she struggled, and it felt wonderful. It was too much, and too much was wonderful! All the world became that terrible raking of her feet that tickled wonderfully.
Tickling and witchery filled the room, like incense, like a fog. Visions came to Susanna, in quick flashes. Visions of the gazebo. Visions of her new neighbors; of Gina, Lillanna, and Karen, of Master Stan, Master Jim, and Master Bruce. Visions of Master Guy tickling her. Of her owner and master binding her in many different ways and tickling her thoroughly, using paintbrushes, and toothbrushes, and plastic rakes on her brown skin and bare feet. She squealed in delight. It would be wonderful.
Then came the vision that Susanna couldn't see. She was the mirror, reflecting the vision for someone else. For one of the other women in the room to see. But the vision tickled as it reflected from Susanna, and she giggled. Giggled and giggled and giggled.
#
Gina heard Susanna's squeal as it rose above all the other giggles and laughter in the room. Including Gina's own. She felt the vision settle on her, but she wasn't a bond witch and so she didn't recognize it. At least not at first. At first, she just felt herself floating, floating on the echoes of laughter. Floating on the tickle-vibrations that filled the room, from Susanna, and April, and Emily, and the two Maries.
Gina could sense the grins of the masters, as they inflicted those tickle-vibrations. She could also feel the tickles being inflicted on her own helpless body. Those tickle-sensations burned within her. Burned like liquid fire, only more pleasant. Much more pleasant...
It was when she saw the four men that Gina realized she was in a vision. They were young men, soldierly men, men sprawled out in a small room. Resting, but with their guns near at hand. Where? Gina couldn't tell. When? Soon, she thought. Maybe very soon. More than a day, but certainly less than a month. And Lillanna was with them.
Lillanna? Why Lillanna? She looked worried. Frightened? Trying to hide her fear? Maybe.
Then Gina could hear, as well as see. One of the men was speaking. "...too bad we couldn't grab all four," he said. "American women would be worth a lot, on the..."
A roaring filled Gina's ears. Her sight went blurry, as if she had lost her glasses. She felt dizzy. Dizzy, and whirling away...
(Chapters 14-21 will be available at the e-publisher)
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