Sablesword
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2001
- Messages
- 801
- Points
- 18
“I beg the tickle, master!”
Marci smiled up at her owner, waiting for his reply. They were both stripped down for this warm summer night, and the rumpling of Master Tiim’s blue fur made him look rather savage. He looked down at her smiling bisnik-style in return, and Marci knew that her pale bare skin and mouse-brown hair make her a desirably exotic female in his eyes.
“Kiss,” Master Tiim commanded, as he joined her in the bed.
Marci kissed. More, she licked his masculine horns, an act that bisnik considered particularly slutty. That she was completely nude, except for her slave collar and the ankle-cuff that leashed her to the bed, didn’t make it more so. Master Tiim’s smile turned into a bisnik grin, and he stroked her hair in return. That hair was much longer now than it had been when he purchased her. He had insisted on her growing it out, and she had been glad of an excuse to abandon the ‘practical’ style she’d worn before joining the Hostage Corps.
“I beg the tickle, master!” Marci repeated. Then she yawned.
Master Tiim considered that yawn. “No,” he said at last.
“As master wishes,” Marci said. She stifled another yawn and snuggled against him, the touch of his fur feeling familiar against her bare skin. He made a rumbling noise of approval and flopped an arm loosely over her. She pressed his hand against her chest.
They both fell asleep.
When Marci woke again, she found her wrists tied behind her. With clevercord, rather than traditional nylon. Master Tiim had unlocked the bed-cuff, and was now securing her ankles with another length of clevercord.
Marci could tell the difference between nylon and clevercord by feel. They both had advantages and drawbacks, and overall were equally effective for binding human slave women. One advantage of clevercord was that it didn’t need knots. That meant it didn’t leave knots potentially vulnerable to a captive’s fingers.
“Do you still beg the tickle, my Marci-slave?” Master Tiim asked.
“Yes, master!” Marci answered at once. “I beg the tickle, master!” Then, “Would it make any difference if I had said ‘no’? Heeheeheehee!” she added at the quick tease on her right sole.
“No it wouldn’t,” Master Tiim said. “You are not allowed to change your mind, my Marci-slave. That is a master’s privilege.”
“Yes, master.”
Marci could feel her large toes being tied together. With nylon rather than clevercord, and with ‘pea-cord’ rather than nylon rope. One drawback of clevercord was that it couldn’t be made as thin as nylon pea-cord. Despite its name, clevercord was limited to rope-like thicknesses.
A short length of clevercord connected wrist to ankles. Marci still thought of this as a ‘hogtie,’ despite hogs being alien Earth-animals here on Ustan. The Ustani term translated into something like ‘tie of the harem’ or ‘tie of the odalisque,’ derived from one of the bisnik’s dead languages. It was also a traditional tie for a tickle – here as well as on Earth.
“Tickle-tickle!” Master Tiim said, and Marci felt his fingers wiggle on her bare soles. They danced over her feet again and again, making her giggle. Occasionally, Master Tiim would reach out for a body-tickle along her sides or down her spine, or to tickle the tops of her feet. But most of the tickling came in through her soles.
Marci squirmed and giggled as Master Tiim kept the tickles coming. She loved it. She wanted it. But it was a good thing she was well-tied for it, because she could not possibly have held still for it. And that would have spoiled the experience. The excitement of being thoroughly helpless was a big part of it. Not being able to resist or escape made that delightful tickling effective.
“Tickle-tickle-tickle!” Master Tiim said, as Marci felt his tickling fingers shift to a different style. “Tickle-tickle!”
“Ah, ah, heeheehahaha!”
On Earth, bisnik slave women were notorious for their enjoyment of being tickled, and of course everyone knew that human slave women on Ustan were the same. When Marci joined the Hostage Corps, she had expected to be made to like being tickled, as part of her basic slave training. But that wasn’t how it worked. The secret was in the vaccination against Bhoorz Fever which, as a very common side effect, turned the recipient into a ‘lee who liked the tickle.
It had shocked Marci to discover how good it felt, the first time Master Tiim had tickled her. But this wasn’t the first time, or even the tenth or the hundredth, and now she could just enjoy the futile struggle and the pleasant vulnerability.
“Haha heeheeheehee!”
Master Tiim’s fingers moved in soft circles, on Marci’s soles, on her legs, and on her arms and backs and sides. They returned to her soles to apply more of that circular tickle tease. He sat on the bed, lights dim. She lay belly-down in the tie-of-the-harem, feet secured at the ankles and large toes, as his circling fingers tickled and tickled and tickled her.
It felt wonderful.
“Tickle-tickle!” Master Tiim said. “Tickle-tickle-tickle, my Marci-slave.” And he kept those tickles coming.
He would decide when Marci had had enough. Most of the time this would leave her wanting just a little bit more. Sometimes it would leave her feeling like she’d had just a little too much – but a little too much was just right. Right now, with the circling tickles sinking into her soles, Marci both wanted Master Tiim’s fingers to keep going, and for him to switch to something new.
The circling finger-tickle wiggled down Marci’s legs and sides, and back again. She felt special attention paid to the tops of her feet, and then her soles received those tickles once more.
That sole-tickling kept coming, and kept coming, and kept coming. “Have you had enough, my Marci-slave?” Master Tiim asked.
“No master! Heeheeheeheehee!” Marci answered. “Eeeek! Hahahaha!” as she felt a suddenly vigorous tickling. And then the slower tempo resumed.
Master Tiim chuckled. He didn’t ask that very often. Nor, as far as Marci could tell, did her answer make any difference. Once – just once – Marci had answered, “Yes master!” just to see what would happen. And had been caught in her lie. The delicious tickling had just kept coming, as Master Tiim had said, “No you haven’t.”
Now another finger-expedition teased Marci’s legs and sides before returning up her arms. Then she felt a soothing massage of her feet that didn’t tickle at all. She wiggled, knowing what this meant. Then she squealed at the touch of the fur-curry brush on her soles.
“Tickle-tickle!”
Master Tiim was in a talkative mood. In most of their sessions, he would tickle Marci in silence. Not tonight, however. Tonight he had chosen to add teasing words to his teasing touches. And that too was a master’s privilege.
“Tickle-tickle-tickle!”
“Heehehehee hahaheeheeheee!”
A fur-curry brush wasn’t quite like a hairbrush. It did come close, however, and it tickled just as well when repurposed to that task. Especially this one, with the soft puff glued to the back to provide an alternative tickle-tease.
Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke, the brush side tickle-scrubbed Marci’s soles. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke, the soft puff applied its own tease. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! And then the puff again – but this time ranging over the rest of Marci’s vulnerable skin. She then felt the tickle on her soles again: Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke. “Tickle-tickle-tickle my Marci-slave!”
Marci felt the tickle-pattern repeat. Then Master Tiim applied it again. And again. Exactly the same way each time. And despite – or because – Marci knew exactly what touch to expect next, each pass tickled just as much as last time.
“Heeheehahahahaa!” Marci felt herself melting under that wonderful tickle. Melting! Melting as the tickling came again and again and again. She could not resist. She could not escape. She had to accept that wonderful tickling for as long as Master Tiim chose to apply it.
Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! And each stroke tickled her helpless soles. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! came the soft tease of the puff. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! It was maddening. It was delightful. Marci could not escape, and that made it even more maddening and delightful.
And then Marci felt a soothing massage. Master Tiim had set the fur-curry brush aside, and his hands no longer tickled where they touched her. He said, “Now you have had enough, my Marci-slave.”
“Yes master,” she answered. She felt wiped out. Yet as Master Tiim untied the clevercords, she still wished that he had given her just a little more. But it was his master’s privilege to say when she’d had enough.
Marci watched Master Tiim lock on her ankle cuff again. The proprieties had to be observed, after all. Then she could press against him, weakly. Because she didn’t have the strength to hug him as hard as she wanted. He returned her cuddle and she felt full of affection for the blue-furred bisnik who owned her.
Master Tiim was right. She had had enough. For now. Later – soon enough later – she would beg the tickle again. And he would give it to her.
(end)
Marci smiled up at her owner, waiting for his reply. They were both stripped down for this warm summer night, and the rumpling of Master Tiim’s blue fur made him look rather savage. He looked down at her smiling bisnik-style in return, and Marci knew that her pale bare skin and mouse-brown hair make her a desirably exotic female in his eyes.
“Kiss,” Master Tiim commanded, as he joined her in the bed.
Marci kissed. More, she licked his masculine horns, an act that bisnik considered particularly slutty. That she was completely nude, except for her slave collar and the ankle-cuff that leashed her to the bed, didn’t make it more so. Master Tiim’s smile turned into a bisnik grin, and he stroked her hair in return. That hair was much longer now than it had been when he purchased her. He had insisted on her growing it out, and she had been glad of an excuse to abandon the ‘practical’ style she’d worn before joining the Hostage Corps.
“I beg the tickle, master!” Marci repeated. Then she yawned.
Master Tiim considered that yawn. “No,” he said at last.
“As master wishes,” Marci said. She stifled another yawn and snuggled against him, the touch of his fur feeling familiar against her bare skin. He made a rumbling noise of approval and flopped an arm loosely over her. She pressed his hand against her chest.
They both fell asleep.
When Marci woke again, she found her wrists tied behind her. With clevercord, rather than traditional nylon. Master Tiim had unlocked the bed-cuff, and was now securing her ankles with another length of clevercord.
Marci could tell the difference between nylon and clevercord by feel. They both had advantages and drawbacks, and overall were equally effective for binding human slave women. One advantage of clevercord was that it didn’t need knots. That meant it didn’t leave knots potentially vulnerable to a captive’s fingers.
“Do you still beg the tickle, my Marci-slave?” Master Tiim asked.
“Yes, master!” Marci answered at once. “I beg the tickle, master!” Then, “Would it make any difference if I had said ‘no’? Heeheeheehee!” she added at the quick tease on her right sole.
“No it wouldn’t,” Master Tiim said. “You are not allowed to change your mind, my Marci-slave. That is a master’s privilege.”
“Yes, master.”
Marci could feel her large toes being tied together. With nylon rather than clevercord, and with ‘pea-cord’ rather than nylon rope. One drawback of clevercord was that it couldn’t be made as thin as nylon pea-cord. Despite its name, clevercord was limited to rope-like thicknesses.
A short length of clevercord connected wrist to ankles. Marci still thought of this as a ‘hogtie,’ despite hogs being alien Earth-animals here on Ustan. The Ustani term translated into something like ‘tie of the harem’ or ‘tie of the odalisque,’ derived from one of the bisnik’s dead languages. It was also a traditional tie for a tickle – here as well as on Earth.
“Tickle-tickle!” Master Tiim said, and Marci felt his fingers wiggle on her bare soles. They danced over her feet again and again, making her giggle. Occasionally, Master Tiim would reach out for a body-tickle along her sides or down her spine, or to tickle the tops of her feet. But most of the tickling came in through her soles.
Marci squirmed and giggled as Master Tiim kept the tickles coming. She loved it. She wanted it. But it was a good thing she was well-tied for it, because she could not possibly have held still for it. And that would have spoiled the experience. The excitement of being thoroughly helpless was a big part of it. Not being able to resist or escape made that delightful tickling effective.
“Tickle-tickle-tickle!” Master Tiim said, as Marci felt his tickling fingers shift to a different style. “Tickle-tickle!”
“Ah, ah, heeheehahaha!”
On Earth, bisnik slave women were notorious for their enjoyment of being tickled, and of course everyone knew that human slave women on Ustan were the same. When Marci joined the Hostage Corps, she had expected to be made to like being tickled, as part of her basic slave training. But that wasn’t how it worked. The secret was in the vaccination against Bhoorz Fever which, as a very common side effect, turned the recipient into a ‘lee who liked the tickle.
It had shocked Marci to discover how good it felt, the first time Master Tiim had tickled her. But this wasn’t the first time, or even the tenth or the hundredth, and now she could just enjoy the futile struggle and the pleasant vulnerability.
“Haha heeheeheehee!”
Master Tiim’s fingers moved in soft circles, on Marci’s soles, on her legs, and on her arms and backs and sides. They returned to her soles to apply more of that circular tickle tease. He sat on the bed, lights dim. She lay belly-down in the tie-of-the-harem, feet secured at the ankles and large toes, as his circling fingers tickled and tickled and tickled her.
It felt wonderful.
“Tickle-tickle!” Master Tiim said. “Tickle-tickle-tickle, my Marci-slave.” And he kept those tickles coming.
He would decide when Marci had had enough. Most of the time this would leave her wanting just a little bit more. Sometimes it would leave her feeling like she’d had just a little too much – but a little too much was just right. Right now, with the circling tickles sinking into her soles, Marci both wanted Master Tiim’s fingers to keep going, and for him to switch to something new.
The circling finger-tickle wiggled down Marci’s legs and sides, and back again. She felt special attention paid to the tops of her feet, and then her soles received those tickles once more.
That sole-tickling kept coming, and kept coming, and kept coming. “Have you had enough, my Marci-slave?” Master Tiim asked.
“No master! Heeheeheeheehee!” Marci answered. “Eeeek! Hahahaha!” as she felt a suddenly vigorous tickling. And then the slower tempo resumed.
Master Tiim chuckled. He didn’t ask that very often. Nor, as far as Marci could tell, did her answer make any difference. Once – just once – Marci had answered, “Yes master!” just to see what would happen. And had been caught in her lie. The delicious tickling had just kept coming, as Master Tiim had said, “No you haven’t.”
Now another finger-expedition teased Marci’s legs and sides before returning up her arms. Then she felt a soothing massage of her feet that didn’t tickle at all. She wiggled, knowing what this meant. Then she squealed at the touch of the fur-curry brush on her soles.
“Tickle-tickle!”
Master Tiim was in a talkative mood. In most of their sessions, he would tickle Marci in silence. Not tonight, however. Tonight he had chosen to add teasing words to his teasing touches. And that too was a master’s privilege.
“Tickle-tickle-tickle!”
“Heehehehee hahaheeheeheee!”
A fur-curry brush wasn’t quite like a hairbrush. It did come close, however, and it tickled just as well when repurposed to that task. Especially this one, with the soft puff glued to the back to provide an alternative tickle-tease.
Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke, the brush side tickle-scrubbed Marci’s soles. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke, the soft puff applied its own tease. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! And then the puff again – but this time ranging over the rest of Marci’s vulnerable skin. She then felt the tickle on her soles again: Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke. “Tickle-tickle-tickle my Marci-slave!”
Marci felt the tickle-pattern repeat. Then Master Tiim applied it again. And again. Exactly the same way each time. And despite – or because – Marci knew exactly what touch to expect next, each pass tickled just as much as last time.
“Heeheehahahahaa!” Marci felt herself melting under that wonderful tickle. Melting! Melting as the tickling came again and again and again. She could not resist. She could not escape. She had to accept that wonderful tickling for as long as Master Tiim chose to apply it.
Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! And each stroke tickled her helpless soles. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! came the soft tease of the puff. Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! Stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke! It was maddening. It was delightful. Marci could not escape, and that made it even more maddening and delightful.
And then Marci felt a soothing massage. Master Tiim had set the fur-curry brush aside, and his hands no longer tickled where they touched her. He said, “Now you have had enough, my Marci-slave.”
“Yes master,” she answered. She felt wiped out. Yet as Master Tiim untied the clevercords, she still wished that he had given her just a little more. But it was his master’s privilege to say when she’d had enough.
Marci watched Master Tiim lock on her ankle cuff again. The proprieties had to be observed, after all. Then she could press against him, weakly. Because she didn’t have the strength to hug him as hard as she wanted. He returned her cuddle and she felt full of affection for the blue-furred bisnik who owned her.
Master Tiim was right. She had had enough. For now. Later – soon enough later – she would beg the tickle again. And he would give it to her.
(end)
