Hey ^_^ Not my first story ever, but my first tickling story. There's bondage and lesbian fun galore with a bit of mind control and a delightfully fun super villain.
Hawke's Shot
Hawke's eyes had been fixed all day on the mansion, watching every little movement she could. The large glass windows in the back certainly made it easy enough to gather all the information she needed. Her target was the famous Dama, seamstress extraordinaire. The woman was worth a large fortune, and Hawke was sure her financiers would fork over a few million to see her returned safely.
She smirked as the full moon hung overhead. She knew the layout of the house perfectly, she had even gotten the blue prints from a paid off official at city hall. She knew the codes to the security system, and she knew that Dama's little helper wasn't going to be around tonight. Hawke didn't even care that it was so easy. Challenges were just for people too stupid to find the easy way.
She stood from her hiding place in the tall grass and skulked toward the back door. She took out her pick-lock and started working at the door. Her expertise rewarded her quickly, and she had the door open wide in less than ten seconds. She darted through the opening and quickly dialed the code into a nearby security pad. She closed the door behind her and smiled.
The only difficult part was over. If the security code had been wrong, she might have been in trouble, but it was smooth sailing from her on out. She carefully examined her surroundings, letting her eyes get used to the shadows of the house. Moonlight poured through the windows, making it quite easy to see where she was going, though there weren't many available hiding spots.
It didn't matter, though. Dama was asleep, which just meant she was an easy target. Hawke quickly made her way to the master bedroom and cracked the door. Moonlight revealed a figured curled up under elaborate blankets. Perfect. She was fast asleep. Things really couldn't get better. Cloth hung loosely about the room, which Hawke could only assume were projects of some sort. The bed was overloaded with blankets, all made from a material that glistened in the moonlight, making it look like diamonds were sprinkled over it.
Flamboyant. Dama was obviously very proud of her work so much that she'd drape herself in it.
Hawke walked right up beside the bed and drew her gun. She pointed it at the bulge of Dama's head. She tapped the woman's shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”
The woman stirred and moved a little. “Mm? What is it? Did you have another nightmare?” she said groggily. “You know you're welcome to climb into bed with me anytime. You don't have to be scared.”
Hawke furrowed her brow. As far as she knew, Dama didn't have any kids. She couldn't be talking about that college girl that spent so much time here.
Hawke tapped the woman's shoulder again. “Come on, wake up, we have to go.”
Again, Dama stirred, but this time she lifted the blankets to stare right down the barrel of the gun. She didn't seem phased by the intruder in her room. “Hello,” she said.
“You're coming with me. I'm going to take you as a hostage and demand a ransom. If you cooperate, it'll be much easier in the long run.”
“So, why the gun then?” Dama stretched before yawning. The blanket slipped off her, revealing a small, frail stature. Hawke knew she couldn't put up a fight just by looking at her. “I have to say, I much prefer when a strong leather clad woman brings cuffs. Guns really just aren't very fun.”
Hawke twitched. This woman was shameless. “I'm not interested in sex with you. I just want money.”
Dama tilted her head and pouted her lips, drawing her fingers toward her cleavage. Hawke let her eyes wander, not feeling threatened by the woman. The bra Dama wore was about what Hawke would imagine. Black with lace. Dama's breasts were small and matched her frame, making her look even more vulnerable as she tried to show herself off.
“I think that could be arranged. I don't particularly find anything wrong with prostitution as long as it's not coerced.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come, hop in the bed, I'm sure I can arrange to pay you what you were seeking for my ransom.”
Hawke visibly twitched. How utterly shameless. “Look, I'm not interested in having sex with you. Now get up, we're leaving.”
Dama sighed as she twisted on her bed. Hawke had no time to react as the blanket seemed to come alive and wrapped around the gun. “I will never understand why people just don't take the easy option instead of having to put up a fight every time. I really would've paid you, too. I can't see you very well, but I do love naughty girls.”
Hawke stood paralyzed at what had just happened. She pulled her hand away from the gun and stepped back. “What the fuck?”
Dama stood up from the bed, clutching her blanket between her fingers. The material shifted and curled before stretched out to restrain Hawke, wrapping around her ankles and her wrists, pulling her into a neat hogtie on the floor. All she could see as she tried to move and struggle was Dama's stocking clad feet stepping toward her.
“Who... but... what the hell? How are you doing this? This...” Hawke fumbled with her words. The situation hadn't even really clicked with her. Seeing the blanket move like it was alive had been a shock – being subdued was an even bigger one.
“Why, I'm a seamstress of course. Rather, I'm the Seamstress. You know, that super villain who rubs banks and uses cloth to subdue everyone? I swear, it would've been easier had you just became a prostitute for the night. I admit, I was lamenting about having no one to share my bed with. It can be so boring to sleep alone.” Seamstress sat down in front of Hawke, her legs to the side as she pulled Hawke's head onto her lap, gently scratching under her chin.
Hawke growled. “And so what, you plan to rape me or something? Do you think you're the first to try that?” she laughed. “I'm an ex-sharpshooter and a mercenary, do you think you can do anything to me that will bother me? You hold meetings here, and I can already tell you don't have what it takes to kill someone or keep them locked in a room for too long. So do whatever the hell you want, I don't give a damn.”
Seamstress pouted. “My, my, my so feisty and so serious. And why would I want to rape you? It's not like sticking my fingers in you and wiggling them is going to bring me any pleasure afterward. No, I want you pleasing me, and I would rather avoid... well, let's just call them love bites for now.”
“Ha! See, you don't have what it takes.” Hawke shook her head. This was still easy. Eventually this woman would let her out of the bindings, and then she'd just knock her out and find a plastic box for her in the meantime. Limiting her access to clothes wasn't something she wanted to do, but the thought of the bitch locked in some box prone and helpless at least would make up for this indignity.
“You take yourself so seriously, don't you?” Seamstress lifted Hawke's chin further so she could look her in the eyes. “What do you plan to do with the money anyways?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because if you don't, I'll make sure to put you in every delightful outfit I can think of and take pictures, and then when you accomplish whatever goal you're going for, I'll release them.”
Hawke sneered. “I'm going to build my own company of mercenaries, and maybe some hunters for you super powered freaks.”
“Wow, even your goals are so serious. You really need to lighten up to you know. Maybe smile a bit more.” Seamstress reached toward Hawke's boots and brushed them with he fingers, watching as the boots shifted and started to warp before what seemed to be a black ooze wrapped around Seamstress's fingers and wiggled it's way up her arm and across her torso before forming into a belt on her midsection.
Hawke wiggled her toes in her athletic socks to confirm what had just happened. “Geeze that power is freaky. How the hell do you manage to manipulate clothes anyway?”
“Well, it was passed down from my mother and my grandmother. I imagine it's been something in the family for quite a long time. It's quite useful.” She suddenly lifted Hawke's chin off her lap and stood up. “If you'll excuse me, I need to get a mirror and turn on the lights. I want to make sure you can see yourself, after all.”
“See myself?” Hawke asked. She tried to watch as Seamstress moved about the runs and turned on the lights, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted. Seamstress pulled a mirror from the side of the room and put it in front of Hawke so she could see herself. What seemed to be cloth strips bound her wrists to her ankles, and the remainder of the blanket fell off loosely to the side. Some of her black hair had fallen out of her ponytail and was splayed against the side of her face. Her black pants and shirt stuck out against the cream colored carpet. She wore no makeup, and her hair and clothes seemed frizzled.
“Oh, yes, just how I like my girls,” Seamstress said as she sat to the side of Hawke. She still looked small and frail in the light, with a black lace thong that was almost transparent along with a matching bra and stockings. Her pale skin and brunette hair somehow seemed to go together quite well with what she wore. Hawke sighed as she thought that being a prostitute for a night probably wouldn't have been as bad as being captured by such a small looking person.
“Now, are you ready to smile?” Seamstress traced across Hawke's bicep.
“There is literally nothing you can do that'll make me smile.”
Seamstress grinned as her fingers raised above Hawke's feet. She started wiggling her fingers across the sole of Hawke's foot, digging her nails through the socks and scratching.
Hawke's eyes widened as she immediately started laughing. She thrashed her head and tried to wiggle away. “Nooohahahahaha! No! Stahahahap! Noooo!”
Seamstress's fingers stopped. “Wow, you broke fast. I thought you'd at least try to hold it in a little.”
Hawke's face burned. She clenched her jaw tight as she pulled harder at her restraints. What the hell was wrong with this woman. Why would she try to tickle her of all things. She hadn't been tickled in ages.
“You know, I'm surprised. You have such delicate little feet that are apparently very sensitive, but you hide them in ugly boots and thick socks? Tsk tsk, I think I'm going to have to get some hose for you. Though, I wonder what underwear you're wearing, hm?”
Seamstress dragged a finger across Hawke's pants, watching them fall to the floor in strips of cloth before doing the same to her shirt. All it revealed were black trunks and a sports bra. Hawke clenched her teeth tighter. Now she was being stripped. How the hell was this even happening.
“You're so boring. I swear. When coming to kidnap a pretty lady, the least you could do is at least wear some sexy underwear, you know? Maybe something to show off those delightful muscles of yours. Like a transparent leotard with a leather collar.” Seamstress smiles as she put her hand on Hawke's rump and the other against Hawke's bra strap.
Hawke could feel her clothes squirming on her as they shifted and reshaped themselves, turning into a smooth glossy transparent latex leotard with a black leather collar wrapped tightly around her neck. She was sure if her breasts weren't pushed to the ground that her nipples would be visible, and she doubted she was afforded much modesty for her crotch either. She stared at herself in the mirror, looking more like some sort of weird fetishist than a mercenary.
She couldn't give this woman the satisfaction though. She just had to wait a while longer, she would get bored eventually.
“And don't think I'd forget these,” Seamstress said as her nails attacked Hawke's feet again, digging in a little harder.
To Hawke's horror, she let out a girlish squeal as she started to struggle again. “Nyahahaha! Stooop! I'm ticklish dammit so fucking stoooop!” Even as she protested she could feel her socks shifted and sliding up her legs. She could see thin sheer hose decorating her toes in the mirror. Seamstress's nails dug in again, this time their sharp little bites making Hawke squeal and giggle more. She buried her face to the floor to try to muffle her laughter.
“How delightful. You're as ticklish as they come.” Seamstress's fingers started to roam, teasing at Hawke's ankles and her lower leg, turning the uncontrollable laughter into giggles and light struggling. “It seems all of you is at least a bit ticklish, but I have to wonder about your big spots, like... well, your ribs.”
Hawke shook her head, but her protests were ignored as Seamstress dug her nails into the mercenaries ribs. The latex even parted for Seamstress, leaving only her bare skin to take the tickling assault. Hawke squealed loudly, trying to roll away from her torturer. “Daaammit! Stop this instant! It tickles too damn much!”
“My goodness, to think I can make such a serious strong woman whine like a child just by tickling her.” Seamstress let out a few laughs herself. “To think if you smiled more you wouldn't be going through this. Of course, had you not broken into my home to try and kidnap me....”
She shook her head and pulled at Hawke's bindings, releasing her feet. “I'm tired of laying on the floor, come on, to my bed,” she said as she walked in front of Hawke, leaving the woman to get up her own.
Hawke didn't move even as she saw Seamstress sit at the side of her bed.
“So stubborn. You're just going to make things harder on yourself. If you don't get up this instant, I'll show you what my powers can really do and manipulate that body of yours into something much more fragile to match your apparent love of being tickled.”
“What?” Hawke asked.
“Your muscles I'm sure you're so proud of. I'll make them atrophy away. And how tall are you? Just a tad under six foot? I bet you'd look adorable just peaking above five. You'd be so tiny you'd actually look like you belonged on my lap.”
Hawke looked around the room nervously. She couldn't tell whether the woman was telling the truth or not.
“Oh yes, I could turn you into a cute little doll. I don't think you'd ever be able to fulfill that dream of yours if I did though, quite problematic as I don't think I want to ruin your entire life. Maybe just for a month or two. I could keep you that long, I think. Zen could use someone she could order around after all.”
Hawke sighed. She couldn't risk it. She wriggled about on the floor before getting to her knees and slowly standing up. She caught a look at herself in the mirror, her face turning bright red as she saw the ridiculous outfit. Her nipples were pressed against the transparent latex, and her crotch was completely visible. The stockings looked like something she wouldn't be caught dead in. She walked over to Seamstress, glaring the entire time, and stood in front of the woman.
“I'm glad you see it my way.” Seamstress patted the bed next to her as she examined Hawke quite openly. “It's a good thing too, I honestly do love a bit of musculature.”Seamstress reached around Hawke and undid the cloth around her wrists, freeing her. Hawke blinked and took her chance.
She immediately grabbed Seamstress by the throat and and yanked her from the bed. She held the woman up in the air and laughed. “I knew you'd slip up if I just waited long enough. Now are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to knock you out?”
Seamstress glared back at Hawke. Hawke barely felt Seamstress's foot rub against hers, but she did notice the feeling of something crawling up her body and stuffing itself in her mouth and covering her nose. She dropped Seamstress and tried to rip off the clothing that had affixed itself on her face. Her eyes opened wide as Seamstress pushed her back onto the bed.
The sheets came alive when Seamstress put a finger on it. It grabbed Hawke by her wrists and ankles and forced her into a spread eagle pose. Hawke continued to panic as she desperately sought oxygen, kicking and tugging at her restraints. She turned to look at Seamstress, who very delicately and carefully pushed the cloth affixed to Hawke's face into the restrained woman's mouth. It receded from her nose, but the cloth now acted as a balled up gag, leaving Hawke unable to say a word.
“That was a mistake,” Seamstress said, her eyes glinting yellow. “I can't believe you actually attacked me.” Seamstress pushed the gag in further, causing Hawke to cough and sputter as a bit of drool fell from her lips. “You're going to be punished quite hard for that, though I have to get some special material to do it. I have so many outfits you'll just look amazing in.”
Seamstress slid her fingertips along the sheets as the bed further changed, little tendrils of material surrounded Hawke. Without hesitation, they attacked, like a hundred little fingers tickling every spot of bare skin on Hawke's body. They brushed along her toes with sharp little ends, dug against her thighs and her neck, even her underarms weren't spared the torture. The tendrils kept going no matter how much she squirmed and tried to get away, only muffled screams of laughter able to make it past the gag.
Seamstress laughed as she strode away from the bed with only one sock on, holding what seemed to be a single thread of the sheet. Hawke groaned as she realized what was in her mouth, but the tendrils of the sheet forced that groaned into more sputtering laughter.
Hawke felt the blood rushing to her head. The more she squirmed, the more the tendrils seemed to sneak their way into sensitive locations. She couldn't protect herself in her helpless position, and she was forced to bare the brunt of the assault. The tendrils even seemed to be able to poke hard enough to ignore the latex, scraping little holes in it as they raked her ribs and across her stomach.
Her mind buzzed at the overload of sensations. Her body convulsed and shook as she continued to struggle. She pulled as hard as she could at her wrists, but that just caused her to flex and allowed the tendrils to find the sensitive creases in her biceps to torture her there too. She kicked and tried to scream through her gag, but they just allowed her torturers access to the back of her knees and the back of her legs. She whimpered and sputtered more, feeling tears run down her face as bit more drool collected at the edges of her mouth.
The nylons on her leg just made it worse. They seemed to move with the touches as if they too were alive, making the fine texture vibrate and move across her skin, irritating and tickling even more. No matter what she tried to focus on, there was no escape. Not even her neck and ears were spared at little tendrils of the sheets teased with feather light touches.
Goose bumps raised across all of Hawke's body as she whimpered and protested weakly, her energy having ran out from the struggling and laughing. Her sides her, and she could feel her muscles starting to ache, but it didn't matter. No matter how she responded, the touching of the cloth tendrils never subsided. They continued going at full blast, causing her laughing whimpers and pathetic muffled sounds of protests to to just escalate into fits and spurts of laughter.
Her head spun. She felt deprived of oxygen, and her body felt like it was on fire. She panicked a little as she felt like she was losing control, but then the tendrils suddenly stopped. She tilted her head and saw Seamstress looking down at her with a very wide grin.
“I can't believe it. I really can't believe it. I was just doing this to punish you, to get a bit of sexual thrill myself, but... you're actually soaking,” she laughed. “You're actually getting off on this! That's too great. Ms. Serious-Mercenary-Wannabe-Badass is aroused by being tickled and forced to squeal like she was a defenseless girl.”
Seamstress stepped onto the bed and draped her legs across Hawke's midsection. She pulled the stocking out of Hawke's mouth and held the soaking article of clothing up and away from herself. “My my, I certainly can't wear this. I think I may have another use for it though.” She moved it down toward Hawke's crotch and parted the latex before gently stuffing it into Hawke's pussy.
“Ah! Fucking bitch!” Hawke protested as she moved her hips to try and stop Seamstress. Her protests were ignored and all she could do was pout as the latex reformed over her crotch, leaving her pussy stuffed with the stocking. “Let me the fuck out of here!”
“Such filthy language. If I didn't want to hear you laughing, I'd definitely just gag you again.” Seamstress laughed as the tendrils rose against from the sheets and threateningly pointed at Hawke. “But you have your first special outfit you'll be spending most of the night in. After all, it's much easier to teach a schoolgirl, and admittedly, I kind of have a thing for grown women in silly schoolgirl outfits.”
Hawke glared at Seamstress. “And what do you think you can even fucking teach me? I'm not going to listen to a damn word you say.”
“Well, how to obey of course. You're going to be doing it for the next month or two, after all.” Seamstress leaned back and picked up a schoolgirl outfit from the floor. She dangled the impossibly small thing in front of Hawke. “I can already imagine it, Tina, the giggling schoolgirl!”
“Tina?” Hawke looked from the outfit to Seamstress. “You don't honestly expect me to play the part, do you?”
“I don't know your name, so I'm giving you a new one.” She smiled. “And you will play the part. It's not really up to you. You see, the final little part of my power is that, well, you become what you wear. And since you'll be wearing a slutty schoolgirl outfit with a collar and some latex, it's just natural you'd act like an enslaved schoolgirl.” Seamstress laid the clothes on Hawke, grinning from ear to ear.
“That's... you're lying.” Hawke looked nervously between the outfit and Seamstress. It had to be a bluff, just to scare her. It was all an attempt to make her beg or something.
Seamstress just smiled as she touched the clothes and they moved and parted to wrap around Hawke. “Well my Tina, I'll let you continue to be athletic, but those tits and that ass... those are definitely changing.” She laughed as the tendrils resumed their work at tickling Hawke. They wasted no time in re-exploring her body to make her squeal and laugh.
“Fuuuck! Nooohahahahaha! Pleeeeashahaha stop!”
Hawke writhed on the bed. Everywhere at once was being assaulted. She couldn't keep her thoughts straight, and the new feelings of warmth across her bust and her ass were just increasing the sensory overload. She barely could panic as she felt her pussy further squished against the latex leotard as ass expanded, and the tightness across her chest as her tits pushed tightly into the latex just compounded as the tickling increased in speed.
She could feel something inside her head. Like words filtering into her own thoughts. “Tina, my name is Tina.” She buckled and wiggled her hips. Her ass squished against the bed. She shook her head. That wasn't her name, and that certainly wasn't her ass! “I'm Tina, and I'm a slutty little schoolgirl.”
She tried to scream out “No!” but the laughter pouring out of her mouth was uninterrupted.
“I'm Tina, I have big tits, an amazing ass, and I love being punished by Miss Seamstress!” The voice sounded so resounding and certain, Hawke tried her best to tune it out, but it just kept going. “I have this collar cause I was a bad girl, and she's going to teach me to behave. She's going to show me what my tits and ass are good for!” The voice even giggled inside her head.
Hawke could feel herself losing control. Her identity was being stolen. All her hard work, all her power was becoming completely meaningless. “My name is Tina, and I love obeying Ms. Seamstress and worshipping her **** cause I'm her personal slut, and I absolutely love being tickled!”
Tina smiled as she laughed. It was so easy to just give in. “My nahahaame is Tiiiheheeheeena~!” she said.
Seamstress grinned. Maybe a month. Maybe two. Just enough time to really enjoy Tina's delicious body and make sure she'd never break into the mansion ever again.
Hawke's Shot
Hawke's eyes had been fixed all day on the mansion, watching every little movement she could. The large glass windows in the back certainly made it easy enough to gather all the information she needed. Her target was the famous Dama, seamstress extraordinaire. The woman was worth a large fortune, and Hawke was sure her financiers would fork over a few million to see her returned safely.
She smirked as the full moon hung overhead. She knew the layout of the house perfectly, she had even gotten the blue prints from a paid off official at city hall. She knew the codes to the security system, and she knew that Dama's little helper wasn't going to be around tonight. Hawke didn't even care that it was so easy. Challenges were just for people too stupid to find the easy way.
She stood from her hiding place in the tall grass and skulked toward the back door. She took out her pick-lock and started working at the door. Her expertise rewarded her quickly, and she had the door open wide in less than ten seconds. She darted through the opening and quickly dialed the code into a nearby security pad. She closed the door behind her and smiled.
The only difficult part was over. If the security code had been wrong, she might have been in trouble, but it was smooth sailing from her on out. She carefully examined her surroundings, letting her eyes get used to the shadows of the house. Moonlight poured through the windows, making it quite easy to see where she was going, though there weren't many available hiding spots.
It didn't matter, though. Dama was asleep, which just meant she was an easy target. Hawke quickly made her way to the master bedroom and cracked the door. Moonlight revealed a figured curled up under elaborate blankets. Perfect. She was fast asleep. Things really couldn't get better. Cloth hung loosely about the room, which Hawke could only assume were projects of some sort. The bed was overloaded with blankets, all made from a material that glistened in the moonlight, making it look like diamonds were sprinkled over it.
Flamboyant. Dama was obviously very proud of her work so much that she'd drape herself in it.
Hawke walked right up beside the bed and drew her gun. She pointed it at the bulge of Dama's head. She tapped the woman's shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”
The woman stirred and moved a little. “Mm? What is it? Did you have another nightmare?” she said groggily. “You know you're welcome to climb into bed with me anytime. You don't have to be scared.”
Hawke furrowed her brow. As far as she knew, Dama didn't have any kids. She couldn't be talking about that college girl that spent so much time here.
Hawke tapped the woman's shoulder again. “Come on, wake up, we have to go.”
Again, Dama stirred, but this time she lifted the blankets to stare right down the barrel of the gun. She didn't seem phased by the intruder in her room. “Hello,” she said.
“You're coming with me. I'm going to take you as a hostage and demand a ransom. If you cooperate, it'll be much easier in the long run.”
“So, why the gun then?” Dama stretched before yawning. The blanket slipped off her, revealing a small, frail stature. Hawke knew she couldn't put up a fight just by looking at her. “I have to say, I much prefer when a strong leather clad woman brings cuffs. Guns really just aren't very fun.”
Hawke twitched. This woman was shameless. “I'm not interested in sex with you. I just want money.”
Dama tilted her head and pouted her lips, drawing her fingers toward her cleavage. Hawke let her eyes wander, not feeling threatened by the woman. The bra Dama wore was about what Hawke would imagine. Black with lace. Dama's breasts were small and matched her frame, making her look even more vulnerable as she tried to show herself off.
“I think that could be arranged. I don't particularly find anything wrong with prostitution as long as it's not coerced.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come, hop in the bed, I'm sure I can arrange to pay you what you were seeking for my ransom.”
Hawke visibly twitched. How utterly shameless. “Look, I'm not interested in having sex with you. Now get up, we're leaving.”
Dama sighed as she twisted on her bed. Hawke had no time to react as the blanket seemed to come alive and wrapped around the gun. “I will never understand why people just don't take the easy option instead of having to put up a fight every time. I really would've paid you, too. I can't see you very well, but I do love naughty girls.”
Hawke stood paralyzed at what had just happened. She pulled her hand away from the gun and stepped back. “What the fuck?”
Dama stood up from the bed, clutching her blanket between her fingers. The material shifted and curled before stretched out to restrain Hawke, wrapping around her ankles and her wrists, pulling her into a neat hogtie on the floor. All she could see as she tried to move and struggle was Dama's stocking clad feet stepping toward her.
“Who... but... what the hell? How are you doing this? This...” Hawke fumbled with her words. The situation hadn't even really clicked with her. Seeing the blanket move like it was alive had been a shock – being subdued was an even bigger one.
“Why, I'm a seamstress of course. Rather, I'm the Seamstress. You know, that super villain who rubs banks and uses cloth to subdue everyone? I swear, it would've been easier had you just became a prostitute for the night. I admit, I was lamenting about having no one to share my bed with. It can be so boring to sleep alone.” Seamstress sat down in front of Hawke, her legs to the side as she pulled Hawke's head onto her lap, gently scratching under her chin.
Hawke growled. “And so what, you plan to rape me or something? Do you think you're the first to try that?” she laughed. “I'm an ex-sharpshooter and a mercenary, do you think you can do anything to me that will bother me? You hold meetings here, and I can already tell you don't have what it takes to kill someone or keep them locked in a room for too long. So do whatever the hell you want, I don't give a damn.”
Seamstress pouted. “My, my, my so feisty and so serious. And why would I want to rape you? It's not like sticking my fingers in you and wiggling them is going to bring me any pleasure afterward. No, I want you pleasing me, and I would rather avoid... well, let's just call them love bites for now.”
“Ha! See, you don't have what it takes.” Hawke shook her head. This was still easy. Eventually this woman would let her out of the bindings, and then she'd just knock her out and find a plastic box for her in the meantime. Limiting her access to clothes wasn't something she wanted to do, but the thought of the bitch locked in some box prone and helpless at least would make up for this indignity.
“You take yourself so seriously, don't you?” Seamstress lifted Hawke's chin further so she could look her in the eyes. “What do you plan to do with the money anyways?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because if you don't, I'll make sure to put you in every delightful outfit I can think of and take pictures, and then when you accomplish whatever goal you're going for, I'll release them.”
Hawke sneered. “I'm going to build my own company of mercenaries, and maybe some hunters for you super powered freaks.”
“Wow, even your goals are so serious. You really need to lighten up to you know. Maybe smile a bit more.” Seamstress reached toward Hawke's boots and brushed them with he fingers, watching as the boots shifted and started to warp before what seemed to be a black ooze wrapped around Seamstress's fingers and wiggled it's way up her arm and across her torso before forming into a belt on her midsection.
Hawke wiggled her toes in her athletic socks to confirm what had just happened. “Geeze that power is freaky. How the hell do you manage to manipulate clothes anyway?”
“Well, it was passed down from my mother and my grandmother. I imagine it's been something in the family for quite a long time. It's quite useful.” She suddenly lifted Hawke's chin off her lap and stood up. “If you'll excuse me, I need to get a mirror and turn on the lights. I want to make sure you can see yourself, after all.”
“See myself?” Hawke asked. She tried to watch as Seamstress moved about the runs and turned on the lights, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted. Seamstress pulled a mirror from the side of the room and put it in front of Hawke so she could see herself. What seemed to be cloth strips bound her wrists to her ankles, and the remainder of the blanket fell off loosely to the side. Some of her black hair had fallen out of her ponytail and was splayed against the side of her face. Her black pants and shirt stuck out against the cream colored carpet. She wore no makeup, and her hair and clothes seemed frizzled.
“Oh, yes, just how I like my girls,” Seamstress said as she sat to the side of Hawke. She still looked small and frail in the light, with a black lace thong that was almost transparent along with a matching bra and stockings. Her pale skin and brunette hair somehow seemed to go together quite well with what she wore. Hawke sighed as she thought that being a prostitute for a night probably wouldn't have been as bad as being captured by such a small looking person.
“Now, are you ready to smile?” Seamstress traced across Hawke's bicep.
“There is literally nothing you can do that'll make me smile.”
Seamstress grinned as her fingers raised above Hawke's feet. She started wiggling her fingers across the sole of Hawke's foot, digging her nails through the socks and scratching.
Hawke's eyes widened as she immediately started laughing. She thrashed her head and tried to wiggle away. “Nooohahahahaha! No! Stahahahap! Noooo!”
Seamstress's fingers stopped. “Wow, you broke fast. I thought you'd at least try to hold it in a little.”
Hawke's face burned. She clenched her jaw tight as she pulled harder at her restraints. What the hell was wrong with this woman. Why would she try to tickle her of all things. She hadn't been tickled in ages.
“You know, I'm surprised. You have such delicate little feet that are apparently very sensitive, but you hide them in ugly boots and thick socks? Tsk tsk, I think I'm going to have to get some hose for you. Though, I wonder what underwear you're wearing, hm?”
Seamstress dragged a finger across Hawke's pants, watching them fall to the floor in strips of cloth before doing the same to her shirt. All it revealed were black trunks and a sports bra. Hawke clenched her teeth tighter. Now she was being stripped. How the hell was this even happening.
“You're so boring. I swear. When coming to kidnap a pretty lady, the least you could do is at least wear some sexy underwear, you know? Maybe something to show off those delightful muscles of yours. Like a transparent leotard with a leather collar.” Seamstress smiles as she put her hand on Hawke's rump and the other against Hawke's bra strap.
Hawke could feel her clothes squirming on her as they shifted and reshaped themselves, turning into a smooth glossy transparent latex leotard with a black leather collar wrapped tightly around her neck. She was sure if her breasts weren't pushed to the ground that her nipples would be visible, and she doubted she was afforded much modesty for her crotch either. She stared at herself in the mirror, looking more like some sort of weird fetishist than a mercenary.
She couldn't give this woman the satisfaction though. She just had to wait a while longer, she would get bored eventually.
“And don't think I'd forget these,” Seamstress said as her nails attacked Hawke's feet again, digging in a little harder.
To Hawke's horror, she let out a girlish squeal as she started to struggle again. “Nyahahaha! Stooop! I'm ticklish dammit so fucking stoooop!” Even as she protested she could feel her socks shifted and sliding up her legs. She could see thin sheer hose decorating her toes in the mirror. Seamstress's nails dug in again, this time their sharp little bites making Hawke squeal and giggle more. She buried her face to the floor to try to muffle her laughter.
“How delightful. You're as ticklish as they come.” Seamstress's fingers started to roam, teasing at Hawke's ankles and her lower leg, turning the uncontrollable laughter into giggles and light struggling. “It seems all of you is at least a bit ticklish, but I have to wonder about your big spots, like... well, your ribs.”
Hawke shook her head, but her protests were ignored as Seamstress dug her nails into the mercenaries ribs. The latex even parted for Seamstress, leaving only her bare skin to take the tickling assault. Hawke squealed loudly, trying to roll away from her torturer. “Daaammit! Stop this instant! It tickles too damn much!”
“My goodness, to think I can make such a serious strong woman whine like a child just by tickling her.” Seamstress let out a few laughs herself. “To think if you smiled more you wouldn't be going through this. Of course, had you not broken into my home to try and kidnap me....”
She shook her head and pulled at Hawke's bindings, releasing her feet. “I'm tired of laying on the floor, come on, to my bed,” she said as she walked in front of Hawke, leaving the woman to get up her own.
Hawke didn't move even as she saw Seamstress sit at the side of her bed.
“So stubborn. You're just going to make things harder on yourself. If you don't get up this instant, I'll show you what my powers can really do and manipulate that body of yours into something much more fragile to match your apparent love of being tickled.”
“What?” Hawke asked.
“Your muscles I'm sure you're so proud of. I'll make them atrophy away. And how tall are you? Just a tad under six foot? I bet you'd look adorable just peaking above five. You'd be so tiny you'd actually look like you belonged on my lap.”
Hawke looked around the room nervously. She couldn't tell whether the woman was telling the truth or not.
“Oh yes, I could turn you into a cute little doll. I don't think you'd ever be able to fulfill that dream of yours if I did though, quite problematic as I don't think I want to ruin your entire life. Maybe just for a month or two. I could keep you that long, I think. Zen could use someone she could order around after all.”
Hawke sighed. She couldn't risk it. She wriggled about on the floor before getting to her knees and slowly standing up. She caught a look at herself in the mirror, her face turning bright red as she saw the ridiculous outfit. Her nipples were pressed against the transparent latex, and her crotch was completely visible. The stockings looked like something she wouldn't be caught dead in. She walked over to Seamstress, glaring the entire time, and stood in front of the woman.
“I'm glad you see it my way.” Seamstress patted the bed next to her as she examined Hawke quite openly. “It's a good thing too, I honestly do love a bit of musculature.”Seamstress reached around Hawke and undid the cloth around her wrists, freeing her. Hawke blinked and took her chance.
She immediately grabbed Seamstress by the throat and and yanked her from the bed. She held the woman up in the air and laughed. “I knew you'd slip up if I just waited long enough. Now are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to knock you out?”
Seamstress glared back at Hawke. Hawke barely felt Seamstress's foot rub against hers, but she did notice the feeling of something crawling up her body and stuffing itself in her mouth and covering her nose. She dropped Seamstress and tried to rip off the clothing that had affixed itself on her face. Her eyes opened wide as Seamstress pushed her back onto the bed.
The sheets came alive when Seamstress put a finger on it. It grabbed Hawke by her wrists and ankles and forced her into a spread eagle pose. Hawke continued to panic as she desperately sought oxygen, kicking and tugging at her restraints. She turned to look at Seamstress, who very delicately and carefully pushed the cloth affixed to Hawke's face into the restrained woman's mouth. It receded from her nose, but the cloth now acted as a balled up gag, leaving Hawke unable to say a word.
“That was a mistake,” Seamstress said, her eyes glinting yellow. “I can't believe you actually attacked me.” Seamstress pushed the gag in further, causing Hawke to cough and sputter as a bit of drool fell from her lips. “You're going to be punished quite hard for that, though I have to get some special material to do it. I have so many outfits you'll just look amazing in.”
Seamstress slid her fingertips along the sheets as the bed further changed, little tendrils of material surrounded Hawke. Without hesitation, they attacked, like a hundred little fingers tickling every spot of bare skin on Hawke's body. They brushed along her toes with sharp little ends, dug against her thighs and her neck, even her underarms weren't spared the torture. The tendrils kept going no matter how much she squirmed and tried to get away, only muffled screams of laughter able to make it past the gag.
Seamstress laughed as she strode away from the bed with only one sock on, holding what seemed to be a single thread of the sheet. Hawke groaned as she realized what was in her mouth, but the tendrils of the sheet forced that groaned into more sputtering laughter.
Hawke felt the blood rushing to her head. The more she squirmed, the more the tendrils seemed to sneak their way into sensitive locations. She couldn't protect herself in her helpless position, and she was forced to bare the brunt of the assault. The tendrils even seemed to be able to poke hard enough to ignore the latex, scraping little holes in it as they raked her ribs and across her stomach.
Her mind buzzed at the overload of sensations. Her body convulsed and shook as she continued to struggle. She pulled as hard as she could at her wrists, but that just caused her to flex and allowed the tendrils to find the sensitive creases in her biceps to torture her there too. She kicked and tried to scream through her gag, but they just allowed her torturers access to the back of her knees and the back of her legs. She whimpered and sputtered more, feeling tears run down her face as bit more drool collected at the edges of her mouth.
The nylons on her leg just made it worse. They seemed to move with the touches as if they too were alive, making the fine texture vibrate and move across her skin, irritating and tickling even more. No matter what she tried to focus on, there was no escape. Not even her neck and ears were spared at little tendrils of the sheets teased with feather light touches.
Goose bumps raised across all of Hawke's body as she whimpered and protested weakly, her energy having ran out from the struggling and laughing. Her sides her, and she could feel her muscles starting to ache, but it didn't matter. No matter how she responded, the touching of the cloth tendrils never subsided. They continued going at full blast, causing her laughing whimpers and pathetic muffled sounds of protests to to just escalate into fits and spurts of laughter.
Her head spun. She felt deprived of oxygen, and her body felt like it was on fire. She panicked a little as she felt like she was losing control, but then the tendrils suddenly stopped. She tilted her head and saw Seamstress looking down at her with a very wide grin.
“I can't believe it. I really can't believe it. I was just doing this to punish you, to get a bit of sexual thrill myself, but... you're actually soaking,” she laughed. “You're actually getting off on this! That's too great. Ms. Serious-Mercenary-Wannabe-Badass is aroused by being tickled and forced to squeal like she was a defenseless girl.”
Seamstress stepped onto the bed and draped her legs across Hawke's midsection. She pulled the stocking out of Hawke's mouth and held the soaking article of clothing up and away from herself. “My my, I certainly can't wear this. I think I may have another use for it though.” She moved it down toward Hawke's crotch and parted the latex before gently stuffing it into Hawke's pussy.
“Ah! Fucking bitch!” Hawke protested as she moved her hips to try and stop Seamstress. Her protests were ignored and all she could do was pout as the latex reformed over her crotch, leaving her pussy stuffed with the stocking. “Let me the fuck out of here!”
“Such filthy language. If I didn't want to hear you laughing, I'd definitely just gag you again.” Seamstress laughed as the tendrils rose against from the sheets and threateningly pointed at Hawke. “But you have your first special outfit you'll be spending most of the night in. After all, it's much easier to teach a schoolgirl, and admittedly, I kind of have a thing for grown women in silly schoolgirl outfits.”
Hawke glared at Seamstress. “And what do you think you can even fucking teach me? I'm not going to listen to a damn word you say.”
“Well, how to obey of course. You're going to be doing it for the next month or two, after all.” Seamstress leaned back and picked up a schoolgirl outfit from the floor. She dangled the impossibly small thing in front of Hawke. “I can already imagine it, Tina, the giggling schoolgirl!”
“Tina?” Hawke looked from the outfit to Seamstress. “You don't honestly expect me to play the part, do you?”
“I don't know your name, so I'm giving you a new one.” She smiled. “And you will play the part. It's not really up to you. You see, the final little part of my power is that, well, you become what you wear. And since you'll be wearing a slutty schoolgirl outfit with a collar and some latex, it's just natural you'd act like an enslaved schoolgirl.” Seamstress laid the clothes on Hawke, grinning from ear to ear.
“That's... you're lying.” Hawke looked nervously between the outfit and Seamstress. It had to be a bluff, just to scare her. It was all an attempt to make her beg or something.
Seamstress just smiled as she touched the clothes and they moved and parted to wrap around Hawke. “Well my Tina, I'll let you continue to be athletic, but those tits and that ass... those are definitely changing.” She laughed as the tendrils resumed their work at tickling Hawke. They wasted no time in re-exploring her body to make her squeal and laugh.
“Fuuuck! Nooohahahahaha! Pleeeeashahaha stop!”
Hawke writhed on the bed. Everywhere at once was being assaulted. She couldn't keep her thoughts straight, and the new feelings of warmth across her bust and her ass were just increasing the sensory overload. She barely could panic as she felt her pussy further squished against the latex leotard as ass expanded, and the tightness across her chest as her tits pushed tightly into the latex just compounded as the tickling increased in speed.
She could feel something inside her head. Like words filtering into her own thoughts. “Tina, my name is Tina.” She buckled and wiggled her hips. Her ass squished against the bed. She shook her head. That wasn't her name, and that certainly wasn't her ass! “I'm Tina, and I'm a slutty little schoolgirl.”
She tried to scream out “No!” but the laughter pouring out of her mouth was uninterrupted.
“I'm Tina, I have big tits, an amazing ass, and I love being punished by Miss Seamstress!” The voice sounded so resounding and certain, Hawke tried her best to tune it out, but it just kept going. “I have this collar cause I was a bad girl, and she's going to teach me to behave. She's going to show me what my tits and ass are good for!” The voice even giggled inside her head.
Hawke could feel herself losing control. Her identity was being stolen. All her hard work, all her power was becoming completely meaningless. “My name is Tina, and I love obeying Ms. Seamstress and worshipping her **** cause I'm her personal slut, and I absolutely love being tickled!”
Tina smiled as she laughed. It was so easy to just give in. “My nahahaame is Tiiiheheeheeena~!” she said.
Seamstress grinned. Maybe a month. Maybe two. Just enough time to really enjoy Tina's delicious body and make sure she'd never break into the mansion ever again.
