Cousin Laura's Revenge (F/m)

This is an F/m story. If that is not to your liking, don't read it. All characters in this story are adults, aged 18 or older.

COUSIN LAURA'S REVENGE by Milagros


From Laura's Journal, Tuesday, May 21, 2002
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They say that revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold, and now I believe it. Not that I had planned this for many years, no, only for the two months before the capture. But I'm getting ahead of myself--I want to start from the beginning.

My name is Laura. I'm a widow, aged 45, with one child. My daughter, Kimberley, is a junior at UCLA, which is where I got my BA in 1978. We live in a large house, a mansion really, on a large plot of land in Brentwood. My husband and I moved there the year that we both finished law school, the same year that Kim was born. The women there who didn't like me made jokes, that it was no surprise that I'd married the richest student at the law school, the only son of a real estate tycoon. But my friends knew how much in love we were, Michael and I. I've just now gotten over my grief; his fatal car accident was two years ago last month. His family's money always gave me the luxury of doing whatever pro bono work interested me, while Michael specialized in real estate law, and worked for his father. Now I just look after my investments, and enjoy life.

But this story is about the other Michael, my cousin Mike, who is five years older than me. From when I was 6 years old, until we moved from New Jersey to California when I was 9, cousin Mike made my life hell.

Cousin Mike and I were both only children, and our families lived next door to each other in a small town in New Jersey. Our mothers, sisters, both worked. So, from the first grade onward, I got off the school bus and went to my aunt's house, where Mike would be. Every school day, from our return home until our parents got home from work, Mike would pin me down and tickle me. I don't mean for a minute or two; I mean for at least an hour. Until I turned red and gasped. Until I cried and cried. Until I couldn't breathe. Until I wished I could faint. Every time, when he finally let me up, he would say the same thing:

"What are you crying for? There's not a mark on you. I only tickled you."

Then he'd send me to wash my face, and warn me that he would kill me if I told my parents. I believed him, and was too scared to tell. He towered over me, being five years older. I was so happy when we moved to L.A. because of my dad's new job. Even so, Mike haunted my dreams for years, a giant hovering over me, with a sadistic grin on his face, and all ten fingers wriggling, ready to pounce on me.

By the time I was 14, and interested in boys, I didn't think much of Mike any more, and the dreams had stopped. Not that I had forgotten my torture at his hands, but he was 3000 miles away, and no longer in my dreams. More years passed.

I was 20 myself when I saw him again, at our Uncle Sid's funeral in Chicago. What a surprise--I had still thought of him as a powerful giant, towering over me. He had not grown all that much since I last saw him when he was 14. He was just 5'9" as an adult, while I had grown up to be 5'11". I was fit, active on several sports teams at UCLA, while cousin Mike looked like what he was: a flabby graduate student, who spent most of his waking hours in the library. That ended all vestigal fear of cousin Mike. I wished we were alone, so that _I_ could pin _him_ down, and give him the tickling of a lifetime. But the funeral ended, and my parents and I flew back to L.A.

In the years that followed, I rarely thought of my cousin. I knew that he had finished his doctorate, and was teaching in a small college back in New Jersey. Every so often, at a family wedding or funeral, he would remark that he heard my husband and I had a nice house with a large swimming pool. I always ignored the hint, and we never invited him to visit.

Inspiration

Three months ago, my daughter Kimberley broke up with her boyfriend, Ken. At first she just said Ken didn't respect her. Later, when she wanted to talk more, she told me that his worst aspect was this: He would often pin her down and tickle her. Even though she had told him that she hated it, he wouldn't stop.

Kim had gotten vengeance on him, she told me. After deciding to break up, she invited him to our house, supposedly for dinner, when I was away for the weekend. He arrived to find Kim and five of her sorority sisters waiting. They jumped him, and four of them sat on his arms and legs. Kim tickled his ribs, his feet, and under his arms. She tickled him without mercy, until he was red in the face, until he couldn't speak or laugh, until he ceased struggling, until he finally wet his pants, unable to control his bladder any longer. Then she told him to get lost, and never call her again. He walked back to his car with his head hung down, ashamed and humiliated. Since then, he has avoided her entirely. He was a senior, one year ahead of her, and just graduated on Sunday, two days ago. Kim is well rid of the SOB.

This story inspired me to tell Kim all about cousin Mike, and my years of tickle-torture at his hands when we were both children. I asked if she and her friends would help me get revenge, and she was enthusiastic about it. I began to make plans.

The Capture

First, I sent Mike an e-mail, inviting him to come and visit for a week, mentioning that our pool had been refurbished. He e-mailed back two days later, surprised to hear from me, accepting the invitation, and saying that he could come any time after his college's graduation ceremony, which was Sunday, May 19. He said the sooner the better, as he needed a nice vacation after the end of the academic year. I e-mailed him again the same day, saying that we would be delighted to have him in our best guest suite, and that we'd expect him on Tuesday, May 21, to stay through Memorial Day weekend.

Next, I renovated the largest guest suite, the one which consists of a large bedroom, a bathroom, and a study, all connected. I had it all sound-proofed, the entire suite, floors, walls, and ceilings. When that was done, I tested it. Blasting a boom-box at full volume in any of the rooms could not be heard outside the suite.

With that accomplished, I bought a sturdy brass bed, with strong vertical bars both in the headboard and the footboard. Becky, one of Kim's sorority sisters who does metal work sculpture, bolted the bed securely to the floor. She also attached metal rings to the frame and to the bars, at strategic places all around the bed.

With that set up, Kim suggested that I talk to Cheryl, another member of her sorority. Cheryl works part time in a Hollywood fetish shop, where they sell all sorts of leather restraints, among other things. After consulting with Cheryl, I had her bring me just about every bondage device that they sell, including a hoist. Becky installed the hoist, attaching it to a support beam in the ceiling. Jennifer, another member of Kim's sorority, set up video cameras all over the suite, with monitors where I wanted them in the rest of the house, and she set up a taping system in the study.

I bought three packages of adult disposable diapers in a pharmacy where I don't usually shop. Then, my final preparation was to go to my doctor, and pretend that I was having trouble sleeping. I got sympathy, and a perscription for sleeping pills.

The capture itself was easy. Mike's flight was due in at 9pm. I met him at the airport myself, drove him to my house, and asked him what he wanted to drink. He requested red wine, and he got it--a fine Merlot, with a double dose of sleeping pills. In ten minutes, he was sound asleep in a chair in my living room. In ten more minutes, my daughter and her friends had come downstairs and gently carried him up to the guest suite. There, they stripped him naked, put a diaper on him, and strapped him into the bed. I left him fast asleep, with the sound-proof door to his suite securely closed. Now that I've written this, I will turn in myself. Tomorrow will be a big day. My e-mail told the truth: We are quite delighted to have him in our best guest suite.

[to be continued in this thread]

part 2

Wednesday, May 22, 2002
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Mike awoke at 8am, feeling awful. When he tried to rub his head, he discovered that his arms wouldn't move. He opened his eyes, and was stunned to see that his wrists, in padded leather cuffs, were locked to the bars in the center of the headboard of the bed in which he found himself. Thumbcuffs held his thumbs together, beyond the headboard. A broad canvas strap went over his chest, just below the nipples, and was holding him down to the mattress--he couldn't see where its ends were fastened, under the bed. He was wearing a diaper.

Leather restraints encircled his upper thighs, and were tied off to rings set in the sides of the brass bed frame. Each of his ankles was in a padded leather cuff, and these cuffs were locked to rings in the corner posts of the footboard. The room was fairly dark, its windows shut, with shades closed, illumination coming from a small lamp on a table near his bed. He could just make out a hoist, with wrist cuffs dangling, set in the ceiling, beyond the lamp, nearer to the door. That's when he began to scream.

"Help! Help me!! Somebody help! Oh God, HELP ME!!!"

After a few minutes, his throat was parched from screaming, and he stopped. He couldn't hold his urine any longer, and just let go into the diaper, feeling humiliated. He began to itch, perhaps from the realization that he couldn't scratch. He waited, in a wet diaper, very thirsty, in misery. Every 15 or 20 minutes he would scream for help again, as loudly as he could, but nobody came to help him.

At 11am, Laura and Kim entered. They turned on the lights, and then they just stood there, grinning, as he ranted.

"What the hell is going on here? You're a lawyer, you should know that this is a crime! Kidnapping! Are you insane? Are you--"

Mike's rant was cut off, as Kim stepped forward with a ball gag, shoved it into his mouth, and strapped it tightly around his head. Muffled sounds could be heard as Laura strapped a blindfold onto him. It was leather, with heavy black padding over the eye patches, cutting off all sight.

"Now listen to me, dear cousin Mikey." He had always hated the diminutive form of his name.

"Your outburst has just cost you lunch. You may possibly be given dinner, if you behave. The first rule is this: You are never permitted to speak, Mikey, without express permission from me or from Kim. Not one word, unless we ask you a direct question. When I take your gag out, remember that. We'll leave it in for now."

As Laura was speaking, Kim put two pillows under his buttocks, and another pillow under the small of his back. This arched him, and put a strain on his bound limbs.

"I'll begin with one solid hour on your rib cage. About what you gave me, every school day, when I was a girl."

Laura began to dig into his rib cage, on both sides, and the women could hear muffled shrieking from under his gag. She began to play his rib cage as if it were a piano, dancing up and down the ribs with all ten fingers. He strained futilely at his cuffs. She went on, and on, and on, giving him no rest. His struggles became less vigorous, and finally he was only quivering. Laura began to taunt him.

"Is poor little Mikey tired already? Poor baby! Too bad for you--I'm only getting started. How much time has passed, Kim?"

"22 minutes, Mom."

"Oh, dear, Mikey, that makes 38 minutes to go. How sad for you! Kim, why don't you let him know where you are? The poor dear can't see you."

Kim picked up a soft artist's brush, and began to stroke the tip of his nose, protruding between the blindfold and the ball gag. As he jerked his head away, she grabbed a handful of his hair, and kept it still, resuming the stroking of his nose, ever so gently. It was maddening.

"See how gentle my sweet daughter is? How softly she strokes you? You'd hardly guess that she's captain of the women's basketball team. And a member of the sorority that has all the women's sports stars. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Oh my, your whole rib cage is red, from my attentions. I do believe you're in agony from laughing so hard, so long. Too bad, Mikey. It's going to go on, and on, and on. No mercy for you, Mikey. Just revenge for me, and lots of it. Poor Mikey."

He thought he was going to faint, and wished that he would, but Laura would let up just enough to allow him to breathe, keeping him conscious, and in agony. He wet his diaper again.

"Naughty boy! Vey naughty baby! Even I, at six years old, managed to avoid wetting myself under similar circumstances. How long has it been, Kim?"

"51 minutes, nine to go." Kim had switched from his nose to inside his ears. Laura dug into his ribs with renewed vigor, and kept it up, ruthlessly, until Kim told her that the hour was up.

"I'm going to lunch now, Kim. He's getting none, so clean him up and give him water while I'm gone. Then feel free to keep him laughing until I come back."

As Laura left, Kim removed the pillows from under Mike, and then put a clean towel under him. She removed his diaper, wiped him off with baby wipes, and threw the soiled diaper and the wipes into a plastic trash basket. As she put a fresh diaper on him, she pinched his bottom, hard, and heard a muffled scream from behind the ball gag.

"Surprised you, hey? Mom told me how you tortured her when she was just a kid, and invited me to be part of her revenge. And I intend to enjoy it! Don't forget, you're not allowed to speak."

She removed the towel, and put an extra pillow under his head. She unbuckled and removed the ball gag. He'd been drooling, so she wiped off his lips and chin with another towel. She brought a pint bottle of water over, and allowed him to drink it through a straw.

"Break's over. I'll start with your feet."

Kim went to the foot of the bed, and firmly grabbed the toes of his left foot with one hand. She began to dig her short nails into the ball of his foot with the other hand. Mike first trembled, then giggled, and then the dam broke. He began to laugh out loud, and,no longer gagged, the sound of his laughter filled the room.

"So, little Mikey is sensitive on his feet. Tickle, tickle, tickle. How amusing. Keep laughing if you want me to keep tickling you. Ah, you do. Very good, that's what you'll get. Plenty of it."

Kim began to explore his sole, from the heel to the base of the toes, and she made mental notes of his best tickle spots. His most sensitive spot turned out to be just where his heel merged into his arch. Once she found it, Kim scratched and scratched at it, driving him crazy. He was pounding his head on the pillow, in an effort to distract himself from the unbearable tickling. It did no good, and Kim gave him no rest.

Finally, half an hour later, she stopped. She took a red magic marker, and colored the spot on his left foot.

"I've marked that spot for Mom. Now I'll see if the corresponding spot on your right foot is also the most vulnerable." Grabbing his right toes, she went to work exploring his right sole, side to side, top to bottom. By now he had given up struggling, and just lay there, laughing weakly, exhausted. It took an hour of exploration, but Kim was, in the end, satisfied that the very same spot on his right foot was also the most sensitive, and she marked it in red.

"Now I'll take my turn at your ribs, until Mom returns from her lunch."

Unlike her mother, Kim kicked off her flip-flops, and climbed onto the bed, kneeling and straddling his waist. She reached down, and began counting his ribs with her thumbs, on both sides.

"One. Very sensitive on the ribs, aren't you? Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Two. Poor Mikey, your ribs must be very sore by now. Three. Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Four. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, Mikey. How cute. How sweet. Five. Tickle, tickle, tickle."

Laura had received a phone call during lunch, and was delayed. By the time she came back to the suite, it was 2pm, and Kim had counted 1 to 12, 12 to 1, 1 to 12, and 12 to 1 again. Mike was nearly unconscious, laughing silently, a quivering mass of jelly, a helpless lump of ticlish flesh. Kim got off of the bed, and hugged Laura.

"I just love tickle-torturing him, Mom. I've explored his feet, and marked the best spots for you. Should I have my lunch now?"

"Sure. I'll be working on his armpits while you're eating."

Mike gasped. He knew that his armpits would be the worst spot of all.

"Watch it, buster. That was almost a violation of rule one," said Laura. She took off her sandals, and climbed onto the bed, just as Kim had. She dug her strong fingers into both of his armpits, and began to scabble her nails there. Mike went berserk, bucking and straining again. He shrieked and howled. He had no stamina left, though, and it took only ten minutes until he was reduced to a quivering jelly, silently laughing, in tickle hell. That's just where Laura kept him, quivering in agony, endlessly squirming. She let up just enough for him to breathe, just often enough to keep him awake, and then dug in again. She was so intent on torturing him that she didn't even notice when Kim came back from her late lunch at about 3pm.

"Having fun, Mom?"

Laura kept right on tickling as she answered.

"Oh, God, yes. This is even better than I had hoped, better than I dreamed it would be. He's in hopeless, helpless tickle agony, and there's nothing he can do about it. While I continue in his armpits, I want you to work on his feet. With no mercy. Be cruel. Be absolutely cruel."

Kim went back to work on the spot she had marked on his left foot. She switched feet about every ten minutes, as her mother just kept at his armpits. Kim began to chant, and Laura joined her.

"No mercy, no mercy, no mercy for Mikey. No mercy, no mercy, no mercy for Mikey."

They kept this up until 5pm, when Laura reported, sadly, that Mike was unconscious, so no longer suffering. They stopped tickling, and let him breathe. Laura got off the bed. In a few minutes, he was awake again, jerking his head, trying to sense if they were in the room.

"We're here, and it's time to feed you. Your blindfold stays on, and don't dare try anything when we untie your arms. Not that either one of us would have any trouble beating you up."

Mike caused no trouble when they took off the thumbcuffs and wrist cuffs, removed the chest strap, and propped him up so that he could eat. After a nice dinner, with a chocolate donut for dessert, they put the wrist cuffs on again, and attached them to the bars. They re-cuffed his thumbs, and re-applied the chest strap.

"We'll actually let you rest while we have an early dinner ourselves," said Kim, giving him a quick tickle in the ribs as she left. Laura tickled his foot for a few seconds, on her way out.

The women returned at a quarter to seven. Mike heard the door open and close, and, in his urgent need, forgot that he was not allowed to speak.

"Please let me use the toilet. I don't want to wet this diaper."

"How dare you! You were warned not to speak. Now you will be punished, in three different ways. Kim," and at this point, Laura whispered into Kim's ear, and Kim left the suite. Mike just trembled in fear, as Laura glared at him, until Kim returned.

"Since you didn't obey orders to shut up, your first punishment is to be gagged again, from now until breakfast tomorrow. And not with the nice clean ball gag we used before, no. With a dirty, smelly, sweat-stained white sock, that Kim wore this morning during her jogging. Open up."

Utterly helpless on the bed, Mike opened his mouth.

"Stick out your tongue. Further! Further!"

Mike's tongue was fully extended. Kim wrapped the sole of the sock around it, then shoved the tongue and sock into his mouth. A silk scarf was put between his teeth, and tied tightly behind his head, securing the sock.

The women then took off the thumbcuffs and wrist cuffs, freeing Mike's arms. Each woman grabbed an arm, and securely locked the hand into a leather bondage mitt, with no fingers. D-rings on the mitts were then clipped together, both at the wrists and at the finger tips. Only then did they untie his legs, and order him to stand. He was wobbly, but eventually stood near the bed, blindfolded, gagged, with his hands in mitts locked together in front of him.

"Step forward, two more steps, fine, stop. Raise your arms above your head. Higher. Fine."

The mitts on his hands were now locked to the hoist, by more D-rings near his encircled wrists. Kim began to turn the large crank, and his arms were drawn up over his head, until he was just barely able to stand flat-footed, his arms stretched taut overhead. Kim tied his knees together, and locked his ankle cuffs together, too.

"That's the way you'll usually be suspended, for your vertical tickling sessions. But today," said Laura, "the second punishment for breaking the rule about not speaking is an extra three inches, to make you stand on tip-toe."

Kim turned the crank more, and until he was indeed forced up on his toes. She locked the crank in place.

"I imagine that your wrists are feeling the strain. And the balls of your feet must hurt, that can't be too comfortable, for somebody who has never worn high heels. Your third punishment for talking may take your mind off these discomforts. Kim and I are each going to give you 50 spanks. Next time you ever disobey us, by talking or in any other way, the spanking doubles--100 from each of us. I'll go first, using a wooden spoon. We will have to remove your diaper, so hold it in until we do, and you can urinate into a bedpan."

Kim did remove the diaper, and told him when the bedpan was in position. Mike found it very humiliating, but did manage to relieve himself with his cousins watching. As Kim went to wash the bedpan in the bathroom, Laura began the spanking.

Ten medium smacks on his left cheek caused Mike to groan through his gag, and a red patch to blossom on his bottom. Ten more on his right cheek had a similar effect. Then next ten, alternating on his upper thighs, caused him to scream through the sock. For the last 20, Lauara smacked him hard, alternating cheeks. Each spank caused a scream, and tears flowed from under his blindfold.

Kim pinched both of his sore cheeks, and his muffled scream was heard again.

"Mom was too kind, using a serving spoon. I'm using a real paddle."

She hefted a sturdy wooden paddle, covered in leather, that sold for $30 at the shop where Cheryl works. Without subtlety, she just tore into Mike's rump, five hard whacks on one cheek, then five on the other, alternating by fives until all fifty were done. He was howling in pain from beginning to end, and crying uncontrollably. He kept sobbing for minutes after she stopped.

"That's what you deserve for being disobedient. And don't forget what Mom said, next time it will be double. How much time do we have to tickle him before we put him to sleep, Mom?"

"It's not even 8 o'clock yet, at least three hours."

Kim pulled up a chair behind Mike, and was in easy reach of his ribs. Laura stood in front of him, positioned to get at his armpits. They both got to work, and soon Mike was shrieking with laughter, muffled by the sock in his mouth. Then he was weak, just a quivering mass of jelly, helpless ticklish flesh trembling under their fingers.

After about an hour, his legs were in spasm, so they paused to lower him a few inches, and let him stand on flat feet. They resumed their merciless tickling, changing places every half hour. Mike was unconscious by 11:15pm, when they tied him to the bed again, and left him for the night.

[to be continued in this thread]

part three

Thursday, May 23, 2002
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Kim went into Mike's guest suite at 8am, and woke him up by tickling him, savagely, for about two minutes in his armpits. Then she untied the scarf from around his head, and pulled out her dirty sock, which he had been gagged with. After unlocking his wrist cuffs from the headboard, she locked them together in front of him. She unlocked his ankle cuffs from the bedposts, but then attached them together with a 10 inch chain, so that he would be hobbled. She took his blindfold off, and stripped him of his diaper, tossing it in the trash.

Having the blindfold off somehow made it more embarrassing to be naked in front of his 20-year-old cousin (first cousin once removed, if you wanted to be technical). He knew better than to say anything, remembering yesterday's spanking.

"Go to the bathroom, and then take a shower. You can manage it--that's why I bound your hands in front. I've put your breakfast in the study. Eat it after you shower. Notice the video cameras in this room?"

As she paused, Mike looked and saw them, at least half a dozen. He nodded.

"There are more in the bathroom and the study. There's a taping system in the study. Never touch it--that's an order. And remember that you're on camera, and being taped, 24-7. So any disobedience, even if we're not here to see it, will get you punished. When you've finished breakfast, come back here and lie down on the bed. Hands over your head, and grip the bars of the headboard. Legs stretched out to the corner posts. Wait for us in that position, and keep quite still."

As he took his tiny steps towards the bathroom, she pinched his bottom, and then left, locking the sound-proof door.

Laura was watching all this on a monitor in her bedroom. Kim came and joined her, and they ate their own breakfasts while watching Mike on the monitors. They laughed at his clumsy efforts to wash himself in his bonds. He followed orders quite well, and was, eventually, lying on the bed as directed, with his legs spread wide, and his hands clasping the brass bars of the headboard. After a few minutes, he reached down and scratched his left lower abdomen, then put his arms back overhead, and re-grasped the bars.

"Got him!" shouted Kim, as she wrote down the time which appeared on the bottom of the screen, so she could easily find this offensive movement on the tape. "He was clearly ordered to remain quite still."

"Yes," said Laura, "but let's not tell him until after his morning tickling. Let's surprise him just before lunch."

The women entered Mike's suite to find him on the bed, exactly in the position ordered. He lay still as Kim put a fresh diaper on him. As she locked his wrist cuffs to the rings in the headboard, and then added the thumbcuffs, Laura locked each ankle cuff to a ring in the nearest bedpost. They added bondage on his upper arms, thighs, and around his chest. A blindfold was applied, but no gag. They took up positions, Laura near his left foot, and Kim up on the bed, straddling his waist. It was 9am.

"He's rested all night," said Laura. "So I'm sure he can stand a full hour, with no pauses, and no mercy. Let's go!"

They both went to work with glee, Laura holding his toes with one hand, and scratching his sole with the other. Kim poked, with toothbrushes, into both of his armpits. Mike went ballistic, screetching and yanking on his bonds. He howled, and laughed, and couldn't stop laughing. The women were relentless, and inside of 15 minutes he was out of breath, gasping, and red in the face. He laughed silently, and could only struggle feebly. Five more minutes, and he was just like a huge jello, only quivering, in agony. They kept him that way, in tickle hell, quivering in agony, for far more than the anticipated hour. They were having too much fun to stop, and it wasn't until a quarter past 11am, when he finally fainted, that they stopped and let him recover.

Kim left the room, and came back, grinning, holding a can of shaving cream and a disposable razor. A few minutes later, when Mike woke up, Kim addressed him.

"Keep quite still now, Mikey. When poking your tender armpits, with the toothbrushes or my fingers, the hair there was no impediment. But when I brushed them, or scratched them with my nails, the hair kept me from getting the best ticklish effect. So I've decided to shave your underarms. For your own sake, keep quite still."

Mike froze in place, and whimpered at the application of shaving cream. In minutes, his armpits were shaved smooth. Kim wiped them off, and then she and her mother tested their sensitivity, one on each side, for the next half hour. They were quite pleased with the resulting laughter, and, eventually, tears streaming down Mike's cheeks. They decided that his underarms would be shaved every day, to keep them smooth and sensitive, and informed him of this decision.

"And now it's time for lunch," announced Laura, "but first there is the matter of your disobedience."

Mike gasped, but knew better than to speak. He couldn't remember disobeying. Laura removed his blindfold. Kim wheeled a TV/VCR set up on a cart over to where Mike could see it, and pushed 'play'. Mike saw himself lying on the bed, grasping the bars of the headboard. Then he saw himself let go and scratch, before returning to the position he had been ordered to assume.

"So, when my daughter tells you to keep quite still to protect yourself while being shaved, you're quite obedient. But the same order this morning was _not_ obeyed. As you were warned, the spanking part of your punishment is doubled, 100 from each of us. I'll do you a favor, and save mine for this evening. Kim's going to wallop you with her hundred right now."

Mike was heartsick with the thought of the pain that he was about to endure, and at the thought that the rest, the other parts of his punishment, had not yet been specified.

They transfered him to the hoist again, and did tell him that the other parts of his punishment would be the same as the day before: a very dirty sock of Kim's in his mouth as a gag, and being hoisted up an extra few inches, to force him to stand on tip-toe.

The filthy sock tasted acidic--just awful. The pain in his feet and calves began to build. But it was all forgotten as soon as Kim connected with the first spank. She used the same leather-covered paddle, but swung it in a longer arc, and harder. Mike was sobbing after the first ten strokes, and thought that he would die after 50. But Kim had no pity, and carried on regardless.

When it was over, and they cranked down the hoist and released him, he collapsed to the floor, still sobbing, unable to move. For a few minutes, they let him lie there, and then helped him up, took out the gag, and let him eat lunch in the study.

After lunch, as Kim put a new diaper on him, she pinched his very sore bottom, causing a loud scream. Laura laughed.

"Poor Mikey. I am going to take pity on you. The hundred spanks that I owe you will be suspended for now. Behave yourself, and you'll never receive them. But beware! Your next disobedience doubles the spanking again--200 from each of us. If you dare to disobey either of us again, then I'll give my 200, and my suspended 100, all to Kim. With her own 200, she will, I am quite sure, be delighted to give you five hundred hard ones, without a rest. Do you think that you could take that?"

"No, Laura." Mike was surprised at the sound of his own voice, after not speaking for so long.

"So you had better be very obedient, and I do mean _very_, Mikey. From now on, refer to us as 'Ms. Laura' and 'Ms. Kim.' Now, put this on."

She handed him a straight jacket, one of the more expensive items that she had bought from Cheryl's employer. Mike put his arm in its sleeves, and wrapped it around himself as best he could. Kim came up, and fastened all of the buckles and straps. She also locked his ankle cuffs together again, and tied his knees together. The women
carried him back to the bedroom, and put him on his back on the floor. Kim placed a chair over him, so that his head was protruding out in front of the seat.

"Now, I'm going to test your obedience, Mikey," said Kim as she sat in the chair. Mike wondered what orders he could possibly follow, being helpless to move.

"I've been going barefoot all morning, and the soles of my feet are filthy. I want you to clean them for me. But you don't seem to have the use of your hands. So use your tongue, Mikey. And lick hard, because I want them spotless."

She placed one large foot right over his lips, and, as he began to lick, taunted him.

"I'm the same height as Mom, 5'11", but I've got larger feet. Mine are size 12. Very big, all dirty, and all yours to clean. Your tongue feels nice and soft, very soothing. Keep licking, but longer strokes. More tongue extension. That's better. You're right where you belong, Mikey. Under my feet, obeying my orders. Terrified of the consequences of any further disobedience. My humble slave. Mom has lots of chores to do this afternoon, so I'll just keep you where you are, licking and licking my soles, until dinner time. After dinner, you can be sure that you'll get more tickle-torture. Ah, that is so soothing. And you're going to give my soles this tongue bath for hours."

Mike's bottom was able to recover from the fierce spanking as the afternoon passed, and his aching diaphragm felt better, too. It was now his tongue that got sore, as he was obliged to lick and lick Kim's soles. When she got done taunting him, she just sat there reading a book, changing feet every half hour. She never noticed when he wet his diaper, and never let him have a rest or a drink of water.

At 5:30pm, Laura came back with Mike's dinner on a tray. Kim had an idea.

"Take that back to the kitchen, Mom. Put it all into the blender, and bring it back here in a soup bowl. I'll dip my feet in it, and he'll eat by licking them clean, over and over again."

"Great idea, Kim," said Laura, as she kicked her own sandals off. "And I want to be part of the fun, too."

They had a fine time feeding Mike his dinner in this manner, even though it did take over an hour. They let him drink lots of water, through a straw, but all his solid food cam smushed from the blender, and licked off their soles. When the meal was done, Kim grinned and spoke to him.

"What do you have to say, Mikey?"

"Um, thank you for dinner, Ms. Kim."

She kicked him the head, softly, and said, "What else?"

As she rubbed her feet on him, one in his hair and one on his cheek, Mike realized what she wanted him to say. "And thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles, Ms. Kim. And the same thanks to you, Ms. Laura. I'm ever so grateful to be allowed to lick your pretty feet, too."

Kim now smiled, and whispered to Laura. Laura nodded to Kim, and then addressed Mike.

"Well, Mikey, you're learning to be obedient and polite. That's an improvement. Here is your reward: Since you are so grateful to us for the privilege of licking our soles, you will now be fed all of your meals this way. Every day, breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Then the women transferred him to the hoist. By 7pm, he was stretched up on his toes, gagged with a dirty sock, blindfolded, and ready for his evening tickle-torture. Laura decided to sit behind Mike, and dig into his rib cage, leaving Kim to torment his shaven armpits. They went at it with great relish, and soon the howls of laughter from behind his gag became muted, as he weakened. As he became a mere quivering mass of ticklish flesh, a plaything in their hands, Laura began to taunt him.

"You're in for a long, long evening Mikey. We'll eat our own dinners separately, so that at least one of us is here, every moment, tickling you endlessly. Are you beginning to be sorry about how you treated me when you were 11? Are you? My vengeance comes with interest, Mikey, decades of compound interest. Your regime of tickle-torture has just begun--this is only the second day of your captivity. And you have hours to go before you sleep, even today."

Kim had dinner first, and rushed a bit, anxious to get back to tickle-torturing her unlucky cousin Mike. Laura then took her time at dinner, as she enjoyed watching his torture on a TV monitor. By the time she returned, Mike's calves had cramped up, and his legs were in spasm. She cranked him down a few inches, just barely enough so that his heels were returned to the floor. She then went to his armpits, and Kim switched to his ribs.

Mike was in tickle hell, in sheer agony, unable to breathe well, wishing to faint, yet still conscious. They kept him in that state, on the ghastly edge of fainting, as long as they could. At about 11:30, he fainted dead away. Laura left Kim to clean him up. Kim put him to sleep wearing the straightjacket, in a clean diaper, with both ankles locked to the footboard, with no gag, but still blindfolded.

[to be continued in this thread]

part four

Friday, May 24, 2002
--------------------

Mike was awakened at 8am by tickling on his feet and his face. As he laughed, he realized that two hands were at his left foot (one holding the toes back, and one scratching at the sole), two hands were similarly at his right foot, and two more hands at his face (one tickling him under the chin, and one grasping his hair, holding his head still). Although blindfolded, he realized that somebody had joined his two cousins. He jerked in his bonds in surprise.

"He's figured out that there's three of us tickling him," said Cheryl, at his head, as she removed the blindfold. Mike blinked at the light, and was stunned to see that neither of his cousins was in the room. The three young women all laughed at him, and stopped tickling.

"I'm Cheryl, but you'll call me 'Ms. Cheryl,' if and when you're told to speak to me. I work, part time, in a store called 'The Pleasure Chest West' in Hollywood. I got a fine discount for your cousin on all of this bondage equipment."

Mike could see that she was a very beautiful woman, about 19 or 20, perhaps 5'6", with what he guessed were northern Chinese ancestors. He looked towards the two at the foot of the bed, expectantly, but knew better than to speak.

The tall woman with brown hair spoke first. She was taller than Kim, perhaps 6'1", and looked even more athletic. "I'm Becky, but you'll call me 'Ms. Rebecca.' I bolted the bed to the floor, added the rings, and installed the hoist. It will be a pleasure to join in the torture of a nasty perv like you--Laura told us all about you."
She also seemed to be 19 or 20.

Mike's heart sank at the obvious hostility, and the realization that he was to be tormented by all five women. The blond near Becky spoke up last. She was about 5'8" and looked a little older, perhaps 22.

"I'm Jen, but you'll call me 'Ms. Jennifer.' I set up the cameras, monitors, and taping system. I just graduated--I was a media studies major. We're all sorority sisters of Kim's, and we Tau Kappa Lambda women stick together. We're glad to help Kim and her mother. If the need ever arises, we'll all testify that _you_ paid us to set up this suite the way it is, because you're into bondage, and you wanted it. So don't think that Laura or Kim can ever be prosecuted for your ordeal. Which we fully intend to enjoy."

Mike's spirits sank once again, as he realized that it would, at best, even if he somehow escaped, be his word against five. He lay back in despair as they stripped him naked, ordered him to shower, and then put him in the back in the straightjacket and under the chair.

"We know how to feed you," exulted Becky, as she dipped her very large feet into a bowl of ham and eggs, or rather what was left of them out of the blender. Mike licked every speck of food up, grimacing at the gritty taste of her dirty soles. She must have purposely walked barefoot in the dust just to punish him more.

Cheryl's feet were clean, but much smaller, so less of his food came from her elegant soles. Just as he finished licking all the food form Cheryl, Jen took off her running shoes and white socks. Her feet were sweaty, and it made the eggs taste sour. As a final indignity, Becky washed her feet in hot water, and then used the water to make instant coffee, which she ordered him to drink, holding the straw for him.

"What do you have to say, Mikey?"

He gulped, and said, "Thank you for breakfast, Ms. Rebecca, and thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles."

"What else?"

"Thank you so much for the coffee, Ms. Rebecca. It is a privilege to have coffee flavored with the dirt off your feet."

The three of them then took off the straightjacket, and bound him to the bed in his usual position, an inverted 'Y'. All three began to tickle him at once. Cheryl dug her nails into the ball of his foot, Becky began playing with his rib cage, as if it were a piano, and Jen was alternately poking and scrabbling her nails in his armpits. All three worked with concentration, never pausing or resting. Jen mocked him about his armpits being as clean shaven as a schoolgirl's.

As usual, he began by shrieking and thrashing about, but became weaker and weaker, with his struggles becoming feeble, and his laughter turning into the silent variety. Finally, he was just quaking jelly, unable to make a sound or to move, just ticklish flesh, helpless under their fingers. The three women sometimes changed places, but never stopped tickling him. They were concentrating on his tickle-torture so much, that they didn't even notice when Kim and Laura came in at noon. Laura startled them by speaking.

"It's so good to see young people enjoying themselves. But it's time for his lunch. Thanks for coming over so early--I needed to sleep in and get my rest, but I could never allow Mikey to miss his morning tickle-torture. Care to help feed him?"

"No, I'll go and eat myself," said Cheryl.

"Me, too," said Jen.

"Not me--I'm looking forward to the caress of his tongue on my soles," said Becky, "but just let me go outside and tramp through the flower beds first."

"Go ahead, Becky," said Kim, "I'll start him off, but I'll leave most of his lunch for you."

In a few minutes Mike was untied, changed into a fresh diaper, bound in the straightjacket, and placed under the comfortable chair. Kim's feet were quite dirty, but he knew that worse was to come. After fifteen minutes of licking what he guessed was a pulverized chicken sandwhich from Kim's soles, she got up and gave way to Becky. Her feet were absolutely filthy, and even had a few strands of grass clinging to them. She happily smeared them with his food, and he set to work licking it off.

"Lick harder! I want all of the food and all of the dirt cleaned off. Do a good job of it, or your bottom will really get it."

Her angry tone was convincing, and Mike began to lick as hard as he could. First one foot, then the other, and then the first again, with the last of his lunch on it. Even when all the food was gone, he kept licking, vowing not to stop until so ordered, thinking of the 500 spanks hanging over him.

"That's enough, you seem to have licked off every speck of grime. What do you day, little Mikey?"

"Thank you for lunch Ms. Rebecca, and thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles."

"Your tone isn't convincing. Are they lovely?"

"Very, very lovely, Ms. Rebecca. Truly beautiful."

"Good. I'm willing to believe you. I'm going to make you some green tea. First, I'm going for a walk in the flower beds, and then you'll have the tea, made from the water that I wash my feet with. Is that
agreeable to you?"

"Of course, Ms. Rebecca. I am deeply honored to have tea flavored with the dirt off your lovely feet."

Becky laughed at him, and departed. Laura smiled down at him.

"Becky really does spoil you. She has another surprise for you. A present that she made for you. The young women will go get it for you, now."

Cheryl, Jen, and Kim left the suite, and Laura removed the chair from over Mike. She planted one bare foot firmly on his forehead.

"I suppose that they told you that they'll all testify for me, if necessary. That _you_ are the one who requested and paid for all this bondage equipment, because you love it. So don't imagine that you can ever make trouble for me. There isn't a mark on you--we only tickled you." She laughed, as the other women all returned.

"Prop his head up, so he can drink his tea," said Becky, with a huge grin. Kim did so, holding up Mike's shoulders and head. Becky held the cup to his lips, and he drank it all down.

"What do you have to say, Mikey?"

"Thank you ever so much for the tea, Ms. Rebecca. It is a great privilege to have it flavored with the dirt off your lovely feet."

The three other young women had placed Becky's present beyond the hoist. It looked like a coffin, comnplete with lid, but it had air holes at one end, and two large holes in the other end. The lid was lifted, and Mike, still in his straightjacket, was carried to the box and laid down inside. The bottom of the coffin had an air mattress in it. His head was on a pillow, near the many air holes in one end. The top half of the other end was now unlocked and lifted, revealing that it was really a set of ankle stocks. His ankle cuffs were removed, and his bare ankles placed in the lower halves of the two padded holes. Then the top half of that end was lowered back into place, and then locked.

"What do you have to say to Becky, Mikey?" asked Kim.

"Thank you ever so much for taking the time to make this new restraining device for me, Ms. Rebecca."

Becky just laughed at him, and closed the lid of the coffin. Mike was lying comfortably on the mattress, with only a little light coming through the air holes near his head. His ankles were firmly held in the padded holes. He could feel the women tying twine around each one of his toes, and he could feel the toes being pulled back and tied, rendering them immobile. He couldn't see the metal eyeholes screwed into the wood, but he knew that his soles were now
flexed and taut, utterly vulnerable. His toes were now also vulnerable. Laura opened the lid for a moment, and smiled down at him.

"On the bed, you wriggled your feet too much. Even holding your toes with one hand didn't really keep them still. But now I can use both hands to drive you mad. All five of us can drive you totally mad, ten hands tickling your feet and toes, all at the same time. And that is just what we intend to do. All through the afternoon."

She closed the lid, and then it began. Mike could feel fingernails scratching his heels, toothbrushes stroking his arches, more fingernails digging into the balls of his feet, and straws poking the pads of his toes. Inside the coffin, he thrashed from side to side in his straightjacket, to no effect. He laughed and laughed, until his face was red, and tears streamed down his cheeks. The women, seeing none of this, merely hearing his laughter from inside the coffin, chatted among themselves as they relentlessly attacked his feet. They did notice that he became exhausted, and that the sound of his laughter died down. They did notice that his soles turned first pink, then red, in the areas where they were ceaselessly scratching. They showed no mercy, none at all, and kept tickling his feet all throught the afternoon, as promised, and then into the early evening. It was just too much fun to stop. They checked on him by opening the lid about evey half hour, just to see if he was still conscious. Finally, at 6pm, he was passed out, and they stopped.

Jen went to put his dinner in the blender, while the others carried him out of the box, and put him under the chair. Jen came back with the sooup bowl containig his dinner, as Laura sat herself in the chair. Mike was awake again by then.

"You'll eat your whole dinner off my feet tonight," said Laura, "my dear little cousin Mikey. I trust that you are beginning to realize just how carefully I've planned this, and how utterly trapped you are. I do hope that you realize that you're going to be my guest for far more than a week."

She grinned sadistically, as she saw the look of horror on his face. It was a great comfort to her that it was all being recorded, and she could play back the video tape, to savor his horror, whenever she wished. She presented her left foot, the sole covered with food, to his lips. As he licked it clean, she went on with her explanation.

"I've hired Becky, Jen, and Cheryl, for the whole summer, to help me tickle-torture you. Kim has volunteered her summer to help. There's an old joke that the three best reasons for a teaching career are June, July, and August. Those three months are going to be pure hell for you, Mikey. Not even to mention the week left in May. Your schedule is going to be this: First breakfast, licked off our soles. Then your morning tickle-torture. Then lunch, served the same way. Then your afternoon tickle-torture. Then dinner, also licked off our soles. Then your evening tickle torture. Then sleep. With five of us, we can take time off when we need to or want to. But it's seven days a week for you, Mikey."

She removed her left foot, now clean, presented her right foot to him, and continued.

"You'll be kept in bondage, 24-7. And you'll be spanked, brutally spanked, if you ever dare to disobey any of us. Now, aren't you sorry for tickling me so much when we were kids? Speak up."

"Yes, very sorry, indeed, Ms. Laura."

"Good. You're going to be much sorrier. This is only the third day of your captivity. There's a whole week left in May, and then June, July, and August. Ah, just think of how much fun we'll have! Some days, it will be all five of us tormenting you. Never fewer than three of us. The hoist is excellent for getting at your underarms and ribs. The coffin is perfect for tickling your feet. And the bed is good for all-arouund access. We'll vary things, as we see fit. Well, that was the last of your dinner. What do you say?"

"Thank you so much for dinner, Ms. Laura. It was a privilege to lick it off your lovely soles."

"Good. Stay polite, and you'll avoid being spanked. Did I mention that not only will Kim give you 500 spanks if you disobey again, but I've also promised Jen, Cheryl, and Becky that they each get to give you 500, too? I wouldn't want any of them to feel that I was favoring my daughter."

At this news, Mike began to cry, softly. Laura laughed at him.

"Well you should cry, Mikey, if you ever get me angry with you. While I go eat now, they will attach you to the hoist, for your evening tickling session. I think four hours will be appropriate this evening, and they can begin while I enjoy dinner."

Laura left the room, still laughing, as Kim and Becky began to remove his straightjacket, and Cheryl lowered the hoist to receive his wrists. Jen just smiled at him, and said, "Poor Mikey."

[to be continued in this thread]

part five -- conclusion

From Laura's Journal, Sunday, June 23, 2002
-------------------------------------------

It is hard to believe that Mike has been my prisoner for more than a month now. It never gets stale--whether I'm tickling him myself, or watching the young women do it on the video monitor, I just love every minute of it. His utter helplessness excites me, just fills me with tickle-lust. Two more months just won't be enough for me. As long as he's bound and helpless, I find him very cute, almost sweet. Especially how polite he's been, being so scared of the severe spanking he would get. I want to keep him this way, a cute, helpless, tickle-toy, all mine to play with. The chance of his ever getting free annoys me. No, he must stay as my prisoner, my obedient slave, my infantile tickle-toy, who humbly thanks me for the privilege of licking my soles. He must be my property, forever, as long as he lives. I hope that Kim succeeds in her search.


From Laura's Journal, Sunday, June 30, 2002
-------------------------------------------

Kim had no trouble at all. Using internet sites where actors seeking work can post their photos and resumes, she found Harry on the second day of her search. Harry is just a year younger than Mike, a few pounds lighter, the same height, and, most important, resembles him. Harry is also broke, about to be evicted from his crummy apartment. As soon as I saw Harry with his hair dyed and face made up to look like Mike, I gave him the first $50,000 of the agreed fee. Using Mike's credit cards and driver's license, Harry flies to Newark, N.J., today, and then on to West Palm Beach tomorrow.

From Laura's Journal, Sunday, July 7, 2002
------------------------------------------

It all went smoothly. On July 1, Harry flew from Newark to West Palm Beach, Florida, and took a taxi to a first rate hotel in Palm Beach, right on the ocean. He used Mike's credit cards, and Mike's driver's license as his photo ID. Meanwhile, Cheryl and Becky flew to Orlando, rented a car, drove to West Palm Beach, where they rented a sailboat. I had supplied them with plenty of cash.

Harry spent the next two days at his hotel establishing a pattern of behavior: late brunch at the hotel's beach-front cafe, long swim out into the ocean, conversation with a waiter at lunch (in one of the hotel's own restaurants) about what a fine, long swim he just had, and how hungry it made him.

On the third day, Thursday, Harry took his long swim out from the hotel's private beach, and reached the sailboat. Becky hoisted him aboard. She and Cheryl sailed him to West Palm Beach, gave him his own wallet, some new clothes, a bus ticket to Atlanta, Georgia, and enough cash to make his way by bus or train from there back to L.A.

Becky and Cheryl are back. They returned the boat, drove to Orlando, returned the car, and flew home on Friday. Harry is on a bus somewhere now, on his way back. I will pay him the remaining $50,000 when he gets here, in small bills, nothing larger than a twenty.

From Laura's Journal, Wednesday, July 10, 2002
----------------------------------------------

Just what I've been waiting for! The 'Palm Beach Press' has this story: "New Jersey Tourist Missing, Feared Drowned." It goes on to say that one Michael Lamb, a professor of English from New Jersey, checked into the hotel on Monday, July 1, with his room reserved for six days. He was last seen at the hotel's beach-front cafe on Thursday morning, July 4, having brunch. His wallet was found in the safe in his room, along with the return half of a round-trip ticket from Newark's airport. His clothes and other items were found in the room. A police investigation revealed that it was his habit to take a long swim out into the ocean each day before lunch. There is, the story ends, little chance that his body will be recovered, if, as is feared, he swam too far out, and drowned.

From Laura's Journal, Thursday, July 11, 2002
---------------------------------------------

My lust for tickle-torturing cousin Mike has grown. Probably it is the fact that now I know that nobody will ever come looking for him here, that now he is more helpless than ever--presumed dead, to the rest of the world. Alive in fact, in my house, in the sound-proof suite designed for his imprisonment, my ticle-slave, forever. After each session of tickle-torture, I just can't wait until the next session.

Becky has built another bondage aparatus for him. (Such a talented young woman! Welder, carpenter, expert sailor. I'm going to give her a large bonus.) The new aparatus has a curved cross-section from the side, arching upward in the middle. He lies on it, belly up, so that his ribs and belly are prominent, protruding upward. His legs go on the downward slope in one direction, and his shoulders and head on the downward slope in the other direction. When strapped in, he is in perfect position for rib and tummy tickling. The hoist is still my favorite for getting at his armpits, and the coffin is, of course, perfect for tickle-torturing his feet. It is entirely my whim what kind of tickling sessions he gets each day, and for how long. Never less than three hours each, for a minimum of nine hours a day. And even that isn't enough for me!

Between the sessions, when the young women are feeding him lunch and dinner, I go to my bedroom. There, I watch some of my favorite video tapes of Mike's torture, and use my personal vibrator to satisfy my sexual lust. As I cum to video images of his tickle-torture, I can't wait to get back to tickling him even more. I am in heaven.

From Laura's Journal, Friday, July 12, 2002
--------------------------------------------

Two fine developments today. I paid off Harry, who's back in L.A., and he was overjoyed to accept the deal that I offered him. I told him that, being only human, he likely was thinking of blackmailing me for more money. He isn't sure exactly why I was setting up somebody who looked like him as dead, but he knows it can't be for any legal reason.

Harry swore not, that he would never try blackmail, but I cut him off. I offered him a pension, to send him $5,000 every month, for as long as he lives, on the condition that he leaves the country, and stays far away. He's going to an island in the Aegean, where he once visited, and he's going to retire there on my pension, with the cash I already gave him to settle in. One million in capital is all it will take to generate his pension, and I've got many, many millions. My guess is that Harry will drink himself to death in five or ten years, but I really don't care; he's welcome to collect the pension indefinitely. Harry was the risky link in this plan, and he now has only an interest in keeping quiet and far away, so he can collect his check every month.

The other fine develpment is this: The coroner in Palm Beach County has issued a death certificate Michael Lamb, and the 'Newark Star Ledger' has published his obituary. How amusing it will be to show it to him!


Sunday, July 14, 2002
---------------------

Mike knew that something strange was going on. All five of them had been present all day, somewhat unusual. And during the afternoon tickle-torture, strapped on the new arch, they kept saying strange things to each other, like, "Doesn't Mikey look well, considering the circumstances?"

With four hands digging into his ribs, two hands stroking his belly with brushes, two hands scratching at his feet, and two hands stroking his neck and ears with Q-tips, he wasn't paying close attention. But their comments made no sense, and they all found them so amusing.

After licking his dinner off the soles of Kim's and Becky's feet, Mike had to thank them, as usual. Then they put him in the straightjakcet and into the coffin. His toes were tied back to the eyeholes, as usual. So his evening tickle-torture would be on his feet. But they left the lid open, and Laura came over to him holding a newspaper.

"The coffin is a fitting spot for you, considering that you're ten days dead."

Laura held the paper in front of his face, so he could see the front page. Then she opened it to the obituary page. His name was highlighted in yellow magic marker. Mike gulped as he read the notice of his own presumed drowning in Florida, a state he had not been in for about fifteen years.

"You're likely wondering how I arranged this, Mikey, so I'll tell you. It wasn't cheap, but it was worth every penny." Laura paused, and relished the look on his face, and knew that tonight's video tape would become one of her favorites, one that she would often watch while she masturbated.

First Laura told of the hiring of Harry, and of Harry's activities, up to the moment when Harry was hoisted out of the Atlantic Ocean by Becky into the sailboat. Then Becky and Cheryl took over the story, telling of their role in the plot, and how smoothly it had all gone. Laura finished by explaining how she had persuaded Harry to retire abroad. Mike was crying, sobbing uncontrollably, by the time she had finished her tale.

"As well you should cry, Mikey, for you are now dead to the world. Nobody outside this room will ever know or care that you are actually alive, here, to be tickle-tortured morning, afternoon, and evening, every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, forever, as long as we both shall live."

Laura reached down and tickled him under the chin. He continued to sob, in misery at the realization that September would not bring his freedom, that his captivity was to continue indefinitely.

"Make that 366 days on leap years," said Becky, as she closed the lid of the coffin. Eight hands began to tickle his feet, without mercy.
Soon that became ten hands, as Becky joined in the fun.

The End

Milagros,

This is one of the most sadistic f/m tickling tales I have ever read. You have done a fantastic job with this tale of fiendish revenge and ticklish terror.

BRAVO!

Thanks, MTJpub.

Coming from the publisher of many fine stories, it makes me happy to receive such praise.

Incredibly cruel!!!! Those women are utterly sadists!!!!

No pleasure for the victim...only torture...endless

Great Story

Diego

Thanks for your comments, Diego. That (women who are incredibly cruel tickle-sadists) is the way my fantasies run. I appreciate the feedback.