midrifftickler
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Here is part 2 of Chapter 15 of Dawn's Story. I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading!
Chapter Beginnings
Chapter 1: Perilous Paradise
Chapter 2: The Evil Box
Chapter 3: On the Run
Chapter 4: A New Paradise
Chapter 5: Tummy Testing
Chapter 6: Hidden Citizen
Chapter 7: Tummy Training
Chapter 8: Sessions and Reflections
Chapter 9: Full Citizen
Chapter 10: The Mistress
Chapter 11: Royals and Revelations
Chapter 12: The Rarest Reunion
Chapter 13: Novice Mistress
Chapter 14: Taking Control
Chapter 15: Mistress Dawn
Chapter 16: Free Friends
Chapter 17: Thursday Trips
Previous Chapter
Chapter 15: Mistress Dawn, Part 1
“What’s the punish- NOHOHOHOHOHO MIHIHIHISTREHEHEHESS! THAHAHAT AHAHAHAHA!”
“Ever felt a brush on these ribs?” Dawn pushed the paintbrush into the crevice of Connor’s left ribs.
“WHAHAHAHAT KIHIHIHIND IHIHIHIS IHIHIHIT? IHIHIHIT FEHEHEHEELS AHAHAHA WEHEHEIRD!”
“You’ll figure it out, Con. Until then, you can just laugh!”
“AHAHAHARE YOHOHOU PUHUHUTTIHIHING SOHOHOMETHIHIHING OHOHOHON MEHEHEHE?” Connor tried to thrash around, but the straps held him in place.
“Perhaps. Does it tickle?”
“YEHEHEHES IHIHIHIT TIHIHICKLEHEHES! IHIHIHIT’S TOHOHORTUHUHURE!”
“Good, punishments should be torture.”
“AHAHAHAHAHA IHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHANT AHAHAHAHA!” Connor forced out before his laughter went pure.
“Don’t worry too much, Con. You’ll get another opportunity to guess when I finish this up. I’m pleased with your laughter for now.” Most of the time when Dawn painted someone who enjoyed the tickling, like Jen, their praises and commentary distracted her from her work. Connor’s simple laughs gave her the freedom to look back and forth between his ticklish body and her sketch. In turn, this allowed her to outline an area to paint and then ruthlessly work the brush all over said area while her tickle slave screamed. “You’re a very good ticklee right now, Con,” she commented after finishing up a few close-by segments.
“PLEHEHEHEASE AHAHAHA!” He managed to throw in a beg as she moved to the right.
“Keep laughing, Con. I’ll give you another chance to guess soon enough.” With that, she began brushing the brown paint over his right ribs. His laughter was the perfect soundtrack to her ticklish painting, and she smiled as she mirrored the painting on the previously untouched set of ribs. Along the way, she began to appreciate the rough tickle brush. It took more effort than the soft brush she was used to, but for this color, it also left a darker paint tone on the sensitive skin. Unfortunately, although perhaps this was just because Connor was her canvas, it tickled him quite a bit more than usual. She could hear her tickle slave’s laughter begin to fade as she neared the end of the original brown coloring, and she rushed to color the last area before finally ceasing the torture. Stepping back, Dawn admired her work as Connor tried to catch his breath. “How was that, Con?” she inquired, setting the brown paintbrush in the water bucket.
“Mis… Mis… Mistress, I am… very sorry… for whatever I did… please, no more.”
“Sorry, Con, but I’m nowhere near ready to stop. Have you figured out what your punishment is?”
“Mistress… I’m sorry… please stop.”
“I get that you’re sorry, but that’s not what I asked. Think about how I’m punishing you for the next little bit.” Grabbing a new paintbrush, she dipped it in green paint and started working again.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” This time, Connor did not even beg before dropping into pure laughter. Just like before, this allowed Dawn to focus on her work. One by one, she built up leafy trees around each of the trunks on her slave’s bare ribs. She made sure to go over each area multiple times to create a darker coloring, similar to the tree trunks. Unfortunately, this thoroughness had the side effect of wearing Connor down faster, and as she was about to move to his right ribs, Dawn heard his laughter begin to die down quickly.
“Con, feeling alright?” the mistress worriedly wondered as she removed the paintbrush and set it on top of the bucket of green paint.
“Mis… tress, it’s… torture,” he breathed heavily. “Too… much… for now.”
“How is this too much for you?” she asked curiously. “I tickled you with all sorts of tools yesterday, and for much longer. You were never this exhausted.”
“It feels… different. Worse than… those, and they… were really… bad.”
“Well, I guess we can take a break,” she frowned. “Do you want water?”
“Please, Mistress.”
“I’ll go get some. In the meantime, think about what could be worse than yesterday’s punishment.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he resignedly accepted the assignment.
‘I never knew paintbrushes could be so torturous,’ Dawn thought as she set the mask on the floor and then headed up to grab water bottles for Connor and herself. ‘The ticklees at the shows never seem to have that kind of a reaction when they’re painted on. Maybe it’s just because Con’s never been tickled with one of those. Like how I was with flossers. It might be such a different sensation that he needs to get used to the feeling. Or paintbrushes could end up as a permanent tickle torture tool, in which case I won’t be able to use them on him after I free him. Right now, though, he’s my tickle slave, and he does still need punishment for Sunday. I am going to finish my painting, no matter how many breaks he needs. When I’m done, I hope he’ll like seeing the picture. Maybe not how it got on or what I’ll have to do to get it off, but hopefully the picture itself.’
By the time Dawn finished up her thought process, she was back downstairs with two filled-up water bottles. She set hers outside the crinkly paper and walked over to Connor with his. “Have a guess as to what your punishment is, Con?”
“I have a question first,” he spoke softly, but without breaks. “Are you putting something on my ribs?”
“I mean, Con, something has to touch your ribs to tickle them. Tilt your head back.”
He took a drink and then clarified, “I know you’re using a brush. Did it leave something on my ribs after it tickled them?”
Dawn considered how to answer before deciding to dodge. “It certainly left a tickly sensation, given how hard you were still laughing after I took it off.”
“Did it leave anything else, Mistress?”
“Tilt your head up again, Con.” As she gave him more water, she quietly stated, “Yes.”
He swallowed and then proclaimed, “You’re painting me.”
Opting to mess with him, she deflected, “Painting you? That’s what you think the punishment is?”
“Yes. You love painting, and we got a whole can of body paint yesterday.”
“You know that I’ve only painted Jen and friends from Tummy Paradise before, right?”
“You said that yesterday, yes.”
“Tummies are soft, and I use a soft paintbrush to paint them.”
“I know the brush you’re using isn’t soft, but I have to imagine that the art museum would have something firmer for foot painting. Maybe you haven’t used it before, but it would have made sense for you to get one when you decided to start body painting.”
“I knew I’d only be painting soft, sensitive tummies.”
“Maybe that was why I felt like I got tickled for longer than fifteen minutes at the gift shop yesterday.”
Dawn gulped. She thought he had been convinced by her simple denial of adding more time to his tickling the day prior. He accepted it as part of his imagination so quickly.
“You bought brushes to paint me with,” his tone turned accusatory.
“Yes, but I am your Mistress,” she aggressively defended herself.
He backed down instantly. “Mistress, I never said I thought you did anything wrong. I know you have every right to tickle me how you want, and I’m not complaining about what you chose.”
“Then why did you say it like that?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress. I didn’t mean to sound angry or anything. It slipped in accidentally.”
He sounded apologetic, and his instant back-down earlier lent credence to his claim. “Fine. I guess I could have been more straightforward.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, yesterday or today. It’s your right to hide information from me.”
“Yes, it is, Con, but I thought you’d be more upset.” Not leaving room for him to agree with that, she moved on, “Now that I know you’re not, are you ready to get back to being painted? I sketched out an entire picture to put on your upper body, and I am not going to waste that work.”
“I guess so, Mistress.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll try to just laugh like before so you can focus and get this done as soon as possible.”
Dawn took his water bottle outside the paper and set it near hers. She put her mask back on as she responded, “It’ll help me focus, sure, but I intend to get all I can out of this punishment. No need for you to hold any laughter back.” She did not give him time to respond before brushing the green paintbrush on his ribs again. Like the prior green painting, he did not start with a plea for her to have mercy; instead, he immediately collapsed into pure laughter. Making sure to keep the volume of his laughter at the back of her mind, Dawn focused on painting the remaining trees.
She started out by simply painting one layer of each tree; unlike before, she was not convinced that she needed to repaint them all. However, after getting to the end of Connor’s ribs, she scanned her work thus far. The trees on the left side looked too different from the right side, so she ran through another round of ticklish coloring. Unfortunately for the tickle slave, his mistress decided that she needed even more paint on the right ribs, so she tormented his worst spot with more painting. Near the end of this round, Connor’s laughter began to die down slightly, so Dawn took a longer break to assess her work. She was still dissatisfied with her painting, and once her ticklee seemed to catch his breath sufficiently, she dove back in. His laughter picked right back up to its earlier levels, and she ruthlessly forced it to continue as she attempted to match the beauty on his left ribs with her right-side painting. Finally, once she finished her fourth pass, the trees all looked the same.
Unfortunately for Connor, the short break was apparently sufficient for him, and his laughter never started dying down during the last tree painting. Dawn took advantage of this to begin painting grass under the tree, focusing on his lower ribs. Her estimates of his stamina, however, were a bit high, and his laughter drastically dropped in volume shortly after she finished the first rib on the right side. Still not wanting him to pass out, Dawn relented, setting her paintbrush back on the paint can and leaving the art paper to retrieve Connor’s water bottle.
“Is the paintbrush still that bad?” she asked as she crinkled the paper near her tickle slave.
“It’s torture, Mistress,” he took a deep breath at the pause. “Same as… before.”
“Lift your head, Con. I’ve got more water for you.”
He took as big of a sip as she allowed. “Thanks, Mistress.”
“Well, I’ve got to keep you strong enough to finish this painting. I really think you’ll enjoy it once I’m done.”
“I hope so,” he remarked with a sigh. “How much longer is this going to be?”
“You’ve got a while left, Con. Lift your head again.” He did so, and she continued, “I’m not even finished with your ribs, and this painting’s going to cover most of your upper body. I’ll have chest and tummy portions to work on. Hopefully, you can last a little longer once I get to those.”
“Maybe. At least they’re not as ticklish as my ribs.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Of course, I had no clue this would be so torturous for you.”
“I figured that, Mistress.”
“You figured right, Con. If I’d known how bad this would be for you, I would have done a smaller picture yesterday. It would have been the perfect starting punishment for what you did Sunday.”
He groaned, “Oh.”
“I guess that the rib-tickling punishment I did yesterday was good enough to start, though. You really hated that.”
“Yes, I did, Mistress,” the slave quickly affirmed. “That was plenty bad, and doing it more would be a proper punishment.”
Dawn chuckled. “I’m sure it would make a great punishment, Con. But painting is one of my favorite hobbies, and I want to show you just how much it means to me. What better way to do that than by painting you?”
“Mistress, there’s AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHO!” Connor’s explanation was lost in hysterical laughter as the paintbrush returned to his ribs.
“You just settle in there and laugh,” Dawn teasingly instructed. She focused on the painting, working hard to finish up the grass before her slave’s stamina ran out. As it turned out, she had given him a large enough break to get through the remainder of the green ground. Needing to switch to a third color, she removed the paintbrush and headed over to grab her water bottle.
“Mistress, are you finished painting?” Connor asked after a couple minutes of rest.
“Not by a longshot,” Dawn instantly refuted. “I’ve only gotten through most of the background. You want more water?”
“I guess so, Mistress.”
The disappointment in the slave’s voice was clear, and Dawn found herself put off. Sure, Connor had hated all the ticklings she had given him, but this was different. She loved painting, and it brought her so much joy to relax with a canvas, especially such a sensitive one. However, his sour mood persisted, even as she was having tons of fun while painting him. Normally, she could think up a snarky or disciplinary remark to counter the negative energy, but not this time. No, this time, Connor hated something that she loved. It was not that he was uninterested; he detested the process of her painting. Granted, that was because the brushing was torturous to him, but his opinion meant a lot to Dawn, and she would not have painted him, even for fun, unless she was confident that she would produce a picture that he could admire. She still hoped that he would like the end result, but the sketch that she chose would take quite a bit more time to complete. Hopefully, the torturous process would not influence his opinion of the painting. That thought and its negative counterpart dwelled on Dawn’s mind, and she stayed silent.
Connor also did not speak, content with simply refreshing his energy.
“Mistress?” After what felt like several minutes, the slave’s voice broke the silence.
“Hmm?” Dawn half-jumped, accidentally bumping Connor’s nose with his water bottle. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Con!”
He scrunched up his nose, but he seemed otherwise unaffected. “It’s okay, Mistress. That’s been empty for a minute or so, and I didn’t think you noticed.”
“Oh.” The red-faced mistress quickly found herself relieved that she had put the blindfold on her slave. “I’ll go fill it up for you. Sorry again.”
“No worries, Mistress,” he again excused her as she headed away from him, dual water bottles in hand.
Filling up both bottles finally allowed Dawn to force the worries from her mind, at least for now. She went back downstairs with a determination to make the best painting possible, no matter how tickly it was for Connor.
“Alright, Con, time to get back to work,” Dawn announced when she arrived in her art room. “I’ve just got a little bit more background to go.”
The mistress caught the start of a sigh coming onto her slave’s mouth, but he shut it down before it became prominent enough to warrant extra punishment. Instead, he stayed silent until she began to paint his upper ribs light blue. Right away, he let loose a scream of pure laughter, not even bothering to beg for a quick end to the torment. Dawn brushed a straight line across his ribs and chest to signal the bottom of the skyline, then covered nearly the entire area from that line to the bottom of the chest strap. She did leave a couple of small areas for the lower parts of clouds, but other than that, she focused on making Connor’s upper ribs into the bottom part of a sunny sky. For three torturous passes of ticklish brushing, his laughter stayed essentially constant, never changing in pitch enough to make Dawn stop.
Once the painter was content with her skyline, she put her current paintbrush in the water bucket and quickly dipped a new brush in white paint. Connor did not even have enough time to get over his residual laughter before she threw him back into hysterics. This time, the quick turnaround and absence of a proper break caused his laughter to pitch up temporarily. Dawn ignored what could have been a signal to stop, figuring it was just an anomaly, and soon enough, Connor returned to his normal laughter. Of course, given that the painter planned to put most of the clouds on the chest above the ribcage, the painting and its corresponding laughter lasted less than three minutes.
“Alright, you look great so far, Con,” Dawn broadcasted once the white paintbrush was resting in the cleaning bucket.
“Thanks, Mistress,” he forced out through some residual laughter.
“Want some more water?”
“Yes, please, Mistress.”
She went and grabbed the water bottles, taking a big drink from hers before she reached Connor and gave him some. “We’re going to have another long break, Con, and then I’ll be moving your restraints. I’ve already got your ribs painted how I want them right now, so it’s time to move to other sensitive spots.”
Next Chapter
Chapter 15: Mistress Dawn, Part 3
Chapter Beginnings
Chapter 1: Perilous Paradise
Chapter 2: The Evil Box
Chapter 3: On the Run
Chapter 4: A New Paradise
Chapter 5: Tummy Testing
Chapter 6: Hidden Citizen
Chapter 7: Tummy Training
Chapter 8: Sessions and Reflections
Chapter 9: Full Citizen
Chapter 10: The Mistress
Chapter 11: Royals and Revelations
Chapter 12: The Rarest Reunion
Chapter 13: Novice Mistress
Chapter 14: Taking Control
Chapter 15: Mistress Dawn
Chapter 16: Free Friends
Chapter 17: Thursday Trips
Previous Chapter
Chapter 15: Mistress Dawn, Part 1
“What’s the punish- NOHOHOHOHOHO MIHIHIHISTREHEHEHESS! THAHAHAT AHAHAHAHA!”
“Ever felt a brush on these ribs?” Dawn pushed the paintbrush into the crevice of Connor’s left ribs.
“WHAHAHAHAT KIHIHIHIND IHIHIHIS IHIHIHIT? IHIHIHIT FEHEHEHEELS AHAHAHA WEHEHEIRD!”
“You’ll figure it out, Con. Until then, you can just laugh!”
“AHAHAHARE YOHOHOU PUHUHUTTIHIHING SOHOHOMETHIHIHING OHOHOHON MEHEHEHE?” Connor tried to thrash around, but the straps held him in place.
“Perhaps. Does it tickle?”
“YEHEHEHES IHIHIHIT TIHIHICKLEHEHES! IHIHIHIT’S TOHOHORTUHUHURE!”
“Good, punishments should be torture.”
“AHAHAHAHAHA IHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHANT AHAHAHAHA!” Connor forced out before his laughter went pure.
“Don’t worry too much, Con. You’ll get another opportunity to guess when I finish this up. I’m pleased with your laughter for now.” Most of the time when Dawn painted someone who enjoyed the tickling, like Jen, their praises and commentary distracted her from her work. Connor’s simple laughs gave her the freedom to look back and forth between his ticklish body and her sketch. In turn, this allowed her to outline an area to paint and then ruthlessly work the brush all over said area while her tickle slave screamed. “You’re a very good ticklee right now, Con,” she commented after finishing up a few close-by segments.
“PLEHEHEHEASE AHAHAHA!” He managed to throw in a beg as she moved to the right.
“Keep laughing, Con. I’ll give you another chance to guess soon enough.” With that, she began brushing the brown paint over his right ribs. His laughter was the perfect soundtrack to her ticklish painting, and she smiled as she mirrored the painting on the previously untouched set of ribs. Along the way, she began to appreciate the rough tickle brush. It took more effort than the soft brush she was used to, but for this color, it also left a darker paint tone on the sensitive skin. Unfortunately, although perhaps this was just because Connor was her canvas, it tickled him quite a bit more than usual. She could hear her tickle slave’s laughter begin to fade as she neared the end of the original brown coloring, and she rushed to color the last area before finally ceasing the torture. Stepping back, Dawn admired her work as Connor tried to catch his breath. “How was that, Con?” she inquired, setting the brown paintbrush in the water bucket.
“Mis… Mis… Mistress, I am… very sorry… for whatever I did… please, no more.”
“Sorry, Con, but I’m nowhere near ready to stop. Have you figured out what your punishment is?”
“Mistress… I’m sorry… please stop.”
“I get that you’re sorry, but that’s not what I asked. Think about how I’m punishing you for the next little bit.” Grabbing a new paintbrush, she dipped it in green paint and started working again.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” This time, Connor did not even beg before dropping into pure laughter. Just like before, this allowed Dawn to focus on her work. One by one, she built up leafy trees around each of the trunks on her slave’s bare ribs. She made sure to go over each area multiple times to create a darker coloring, similar to the tree trunks. Unfortunately, this thoroughness had the side effect of wearing Connor down faster, and as she was about to move to his right ribs, Dawn heard his laughter begin to die down quickly.
“Con, feeling alright?” the mistress worriedly wondered as she removed the paintbrush and set it on top of the bucket of green paint.
“Mis… tress, it’s… torture,” he breathed heavily. “Too… much… for now.”
“How is this too much for you?” she asked curiously. “I tickled you with all sorts of tools yesterday, and for much longer. You were never this exhausted.”
“It feels… different. Worse than… those, and they… were really… bad.”
“Well, I guess we can take a break,” she frowned. “Do you want water?”
“Please, Mistress.”
“I’ll go get some. In the meantime, think about what could be worse than yesterday’s punishment.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he resignedly accepted the assignment.
‘I never knew paintbrushes could be so torturous,’ Dawn thought as she set the mask on the floor and then headed up to grab water bottles for Connor and herself. ‘The ticklees at the shows never seem to have that kind of a reaction when they’re painted on. Maybe it’s just because Con’s never been tickled with one of those. Like how I was with flossers. It might be such a different sensation that he needs to get used to the feeling. Or paintbrushes could end up as a permanent tickle torture tool, in which case I won’t be able to use them on him after I free him. Right now, though, he’s my tickle slave, and he does still need punishment for Sunday. I am going to finish my painting, no matter how many breaks he needs. When I’m done, I hope he’ll like seeing the picture. Maybe not how it got on or what I’ll have to do to get it off, but hopefully the picture itself.’
By the time Dawn finished up her thought process, she was back downstairs with two filled-up water bottles. She set hers outside the crinkly paper and walked over to Connor with his. “Have a guess as to what your punishment is, Con?”
“I have a question first,” he spoke softly, but without breaks. “Are you putting something on my ribs?”
“I mean, Con, something has to touch your ribs to tickle them. Tilt your head back.”
He took a drink and then clarified, “I know you’re using a brush. Did it leave something on my ribs after it tickled them?”
Dawn considered how to answer before deciding to dodge. “It certainly left a tickly sensation, given how hard you were still laughing after I took it off.”
“Did it leave anything else, Mistress?”
“Tilt your head up again, Con.” As she gave him more water, she quietly stated, “Yes.”
He swallowed and then proclaimed, “You’re painting me.”
Opting to mess with him, she deflected, “Painting you? That’s what you think the punishment is?”
“Yes. You love painting, and we got a whole can of body paint yesterday.”
“You know that I’ve only painted Jen and friends from Tummy Paradise before, right?”
“You said that yesterday, yes.”
“Tummies are soft, and I use a soft paintbrush to paint them.”
“I know the brush you’re using isn’t soft, but I have to imagine that the art museum would have something firmer for foot painting. Maybe you haven’t used it before, but it would have made sense for you to get one when you decided to start body painting.”
“I knew I’d only be painting soft, sensitive tummies.”
“Maybe that was why I felt like I got tickled for longer than fifteen minutes at the gift shop yesterday.”
Dawn gulped. She thought he had been convinced by her simple denial of adding more time to his tickling the day prior. He accepted it as part of his imagination so quickly.
“You bought brushes to paint me with,” his tone turned accusatory.
“Yes, but I am your Mistress,” she aggressively defended herself.
He backed down instantly. “Mistress, I never said I thought you did anything wrong. I know you have every right to tickle me how you want, and I’m not complaining about what you chose.”
“Then why did you say it like that?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress. I didn’t mean to sound angry or anything. It slipped in accidentally.”
He sounded apologetic, and his instant back-down earlier lent credence to his claim. “Fine. I guess I could have been more straightforward.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, yesterday or today. It’s your right to hide information from me.”
“Yes, it is, Con, but I thought you’d be more upset.” Not leaving room for him to agree with that, she moved on, “Now that I know you’re not, are you ready to get back to being painted? I sketched out an entire picture to put on your upper body, and I am not going to waste that work.”
“I guess so, Mistress.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll try to just laugh like before so you can focus and get this done as soon as possible.”
Dawn took his water bottle outside the paper and set it near hers. She put her mask back on as she responded, “It’ll help me focus, sure, but I intend to get all I can out of this punishment. No need for you to hold any laughter back.” She did not give him time to respond before brushing the green paintbrush on his ribs again. Like the prior green painting, he did not start with a plea for her to have mercy; instead, he immediately collapsed into pure laughter. Making sure to keep the volume of his laughter at the back of her mind, Dawn focused on painting the remaining trees.
She started out by simply painting one layer of each tree; unlike before, she was not convinced that she needed to repaint them all. However, after getting to the end of Connor’s ribs, she scanned her work thus far. The trees on the left side looked too different from the right side, so she ran through another round of ticklish coloring. Unfortunately for the tickle slave, his mistress decided that she needed even more paint on the right ribs, so she tormented his worst spot with more painting. Near the end of this round, Connor’s laughter began to die down slightly, so Dawn took a longer break to assess her work. She was still dissatisfied with her painting, and once her ticklee seemed to catch his breath sufficiently, she dove back in. His laughter picked right back up to its earlier levels, and she ruthlessly forced it to continue as she attempted to match the beauty on his left ribs with her right-side painting. Finally, once she finished her fourth pass, the trees all looked the same.
Unfortunately for Connor, the short break was apparently sufficient for him, and his laughter never started dying down during the last tree painting. Dawn took advantage of this to begin painting grass under the tree, focusing on his lower ribs. Her estimates of his stamina, however, were a bit high, and his laughter drastically dropped in volume shortly after she finished the first rib on the right side. Still not wanting him to pass out, Dawn relented, setting her paintbrush back on the paint can and leaving the art paper to retrieve Connor’s water bottle.
“Is the paintbrush still that bad?” she asked as she crinkled the paper near her tickle slave.
“It’s torture, Mistress,” he took a deep breath at the pause. “Same as… before.”
“Lift your head, Con. I’ve got more water for you.”
He took as big of a sip as she allowed. “Thanks, Mistress.”
“Well, I’ve got to keep you strong enough to finish this painting. I really think you’ll enjoy it once I’m done.”
“I hope so,” he remarked with a sigh. “How much longer is this going to be?”
“You’ve got a while left, Con. Lift your head again.” He did so, and she continued, “I’m not even finished with your ribs, and this painting’s going to cover most of your upper body. I’ll have chest and tummy portions to work on. Hopefully, you can last a little longer once I get to those.”
“Maybe. At least they’re not as ticklish as my ribs.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Of course, I had no clue this would be so torturous for you.”
“I figured that, Mistress.”
“You figured right, Con. If I’d known how bad this would be for you, I would have done a smaller picture yesterday. It would have been the perfect starting punishment for what you did Sunday.”
He groaned, “Oh.”
“I guess that the rib-tickling punishment I did yesterday was good enough to start, though. You really hated that.”
“Yes, I did, Mistress,” the slave quickly affirmed. “That was plenty bad, and doing it more would be a proper punishment.”
Dawn chuckled. “I’m sure it would make a great punishment, Con. But painting is one of my favorite hobbies, and I want to show you just how much it means to me. What better way to do that than by painting you?”
“Mistress, there’s AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHO!” Connor’s explanation was lost in hysterical laughter as the paintbrush returned to his ribs.
“You just settle in there and laugh,” Dawn teasingly instructed. She focused on the painting, working hard to finish up the grass before her slave’s stamina ran out. As it turned out, she had given him a large enough break to get through the remainder of the green ground. Needing to switch to a third color, she removed the paintbrush and headed over to grab her water bottle.
“Mistress, are you finished painting?” Connor asked after a couple minutes of rest.
“Not by a longshot,” Dawn instantly refuted. “I’ve only gotten through most of the background. You want more water?”
“I guess so, Mistress.”
The disappointment in the slave’s voice was clear, and Dawn found herself put off. Sure, Connor had hated all the ticklings she had given him, but this was different. She loved painting, and it brought her so much joy to relax with a canvas, especially such a sensitive one. However, his sour mood persisted, even as she was having tons of fun while painting him. Normally, she could think up a snarky or disciplinary remark to counter the negative energy, but not this time. No, this time, Connor hated something that she loved. It was not that he was uninterested; he detested the process of her painting. Granted, that was because the brushing was torturous to him, but his opinion meant a lot to Dawn, and she would not have painted him, even for fun, unless she was confident that she would produce a picture that he could admire. She still hoped that he would like the end result, but the sketch that she chose would take quite a bit more time to complete. Hopefully, the torturous process would not influence his opinion of the painting. That thought and its negative counterpart dwelled on Dawn’s mind, and she stayed silent.
Connor also did not speak, content with simply refreshing his energy.
“Mistress?” After what felt like several minutes, the slave’s voice broke the silence.
“Hmm?” Dawn half-jumped, accidentally bumping Connor’s nose with his water bottle. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Con!”
He scrunched up his nose, but he seemed otherwise unaffected. “It’s okay, Mistress. That’s been empty for a minute or so, and I didn’t think you noticed.”
“Oh.” The red-faced mistress quickly found herself relieved that she had put the blindfold on her slave. “I’ll go fill it up for you. Sorry again.”
“No worries, Mistress,” he again excused her as she headed away from him, dual water bottles in hand.
Filling up both bottles finally allowed Dawn to force the worries from her mind, at least for now. She went back downstairs with a determination to make the best painting possible, no matter how tickly it was for Connor.
“Alright, Con, time to get back to work,” Dawn announced when she arrived in her art room. “I’ve just got a little bit more background to go.”
The mistress caught the start of a sigh coming onto her slave’s mouth, but he shut it down before it became prominent enough to warrant extra punishment. Instead, he stayed silent until she began to paint his upper ribs light blue. Right away, he let loose a scream of pure laughter, not even bothering to beg for a quick end to the torment. Dawn brushed a straight line across his ribs and chest to signal the bottom of the skyline, then covered nearly the entire area from that line to the bottom of the chest strap. She did leave a couple of small areas for the lower parts of clouds, but other than that, she focused on making Connor’s upper ribs into the bottom part of a sunny sky. For three torturous passes of ticklish brushing, his laughter stayed essentially constant, never changing in pitch enough to make Dawn stop.
Once the painter was content with her skyline, she put her current paintbrush in the water bucket and quickly dipped a new brush in white paint. Connor did not even have enough time to get over his residual laughter before she threw him back into hysterics. This time, the quick turnaround and absence of a proper break caused his laughter to pitch up temporarily. Dawn ignored what could have been a signal to stop, figuring it was just an anomaly, and soon enough, Connor returned to his normal laughter. Of course, given that the painter planned to put most of the clouds on the chest above the ribcage, the painting and its corresponding laughter lasted less than three minutes.
“Alright, you look great so far, Con,” Dawn broadcasted once the white paintbrush was resting in the cleaning bucket.
“Thanks, Mistress,” he forced out through some residual laughter.
“Want some more water?”
“Yes, please, Mistress.”
She went and grabbed the water bottles, taking a big drink from hers before she reached Connor and gave him some. “We’re going to have another long break, Con, and then I’ll be moving your restraints. I’ve already got your ribs painted how I want them right now, so it’s time to move to other sensitive spots.”
Next Chapter
Chapter 15: Mistress Dawn, Part 3
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