Cybertickler
TMF Poster
- Joined
- May 27, 2003
- Messages
- 128
- Points
- 0
**NOTE** Mark is 18.
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Some teachers are very mean, without even knowing it. Mrs. Smith was one of these teachers. Nearly every day, she walked into class wearing a tight-fitting blouse, a knee length or shorter skirt, and oddly colored tights of pantyhose. A woman of about 5’6”, maybe 125 pounds, with short brown hair and dark eyes, she often would let a show slip from her nylon-covered foot and fall to the floor, exposing her shapely size 6 foot. Oh, how often Mark wondered how ticklish she was. It was rare that he fantasized about any of his teachers, but Mrs. Smith was one of the most attractive of the lot at his school. She was obviously in her mid-thirties by looking at her, though she’d never admit to being of that age. She’d be more likely to say late twenties.
One day, Mrs. Smith walked into her Algebra II Senior class wearing a tight, tan short skirt, and blue nylons. Her white blouse fit her body like a glove, accentuating her shapely breasts and toned abs. All period long, Mark stared at her legs and occasionally her feet, when she slipped them out of her clogs. When the bell rang it caught him by surprise, as he hadn’t anticipated it since he was staring longingly at her. The ringing bell snapped him out of his trance-like state and he vowed to himself that he would find out just how ticklish his math teacher was before the end of the night.
At 3:30, Mark stood outside the school building. Having left early to prepare, Mark had a moist cloth in one pocket and handcuffs in another. He knew that Mrs. Smith left the building through a door that was very rarely used, and that she would be alone when she did walk out.
As predicted, Mark’s teacher left by herself, and with no one watching, Mark crept up behind her and clamped his hand, with the cloth covering it, over Mrs. Smith’s mouth and nose tightly. His other arm wrapped around her slender body and held her still while the chloroform-soaked cloth took effect. Within seconds, before she could think to scream, Mrs. Smith was out cold, her unconscious body slumped in Mark’s arms. He quickly dragged her into his minivan, handcuffed her to the doorhandle, and blindfolded her with a bandanna he kept in the van. Then, he drove her back to his apartment.
Pulling up to the front stoop, Mark realized that there was another problem. How was he going to get her up to his apartment without tipping off the neighbors? In a moment he came up with another idea. Quickly, he uncuffed her and took the blindfold off, then let her inhale a little more of the chloroform fumes, before dragging her limp body into the apartment building like and unconscious drunk. He got a few sideways glances from his neighbors, but being normally a very kindhearted 18 year old, they quickly assumed he was just helping out a friend in need.
When he finally got her up to his third floor place, he set about to his work. He stripped Mrs. Smith naked except for her pantyhose (she hadn’t been wearing panties, naughty woman!) and tied her tightly, spread eagle, to his four-post bed using wide, silk neckties. He re-blindfolded her and found a clean sock in his drawers, and stuffed it into her mouth. He secured that in place with three strips of duct tape, effectively gagging her. He stood up and looked over his handy work: He had succeeded in capturing, stripping, and making helpless his tease of a teacher, and as soon as she woke up, she’d be in for a hell of a surprise.
Mrs. Smith awoke with a start, dazed and confused. She had been on her way home to get dinner ready for herself, but…
She panicked. She realized what had happened, how someone grabbed her from behind and held a sweet-smelling cloth to her face, the splitting headache and darkness that followed. She tugged wildly, realizing that she was tied down, apparently to a bed. She was cold, she couldn’t see, and when she tried to scream, only a muffled “MMMMMPH!” escaped her sock-gag. Her head thrashed wildly as she tried in vain to escape, but her captor had done a damn good job of tying her in place. After several minutes, she had begun to tire, and instead she laid there, on the verge of tears, at what might happen to her.
Mrs. Smith heard a shuffling noise to her right after she finally stopped thrashing. She instinctively turned her head towards the sound, and said, “Who’s there?!”…but all that could be heard was “Whmmp phmmr?”
Slowly, the sound approached her with heavy footsteps. She could at least tell that this was a man, but that terrified her even more. Was she going to be raped? Harassed? Questions raced through her head at a lightning speed, but soon they were cut off by an electric touch at her nipples.
The soft, fluffy touch made her scream into her gag at first, it surprised her so. It was cold in the room she was in, and her nipples were stiff and erect. Apparently her captor was caressing her nipple with a fluffy feather…after the initial shock, Mrs. Smith blushed and giggled. Quickly she cut off the giggles, not wanting to encourage her nameless assaulter. Too late.
Soon, she felt a second fluffy feather join the first, each one attending it’s own nipple, gliding over the stiff button and stroking it ever so gently. Mrs. Smith was becoming slightly aroused despite herself. Though she was terrified of what this man might do to her, the soft, light touch was quite sensual.
This didn’t last long though, as her captor had other plans. The feathers stopped, and she felt his weight on the bed. Soon, he was straddling her hips. She felt his warm crotch through his jeans against her lower belly, and soon also felt his fingers on her ribs. She squealed, arching her back slightly, as his fingertips slid over her sides. Up and down they spidered, gently pressing between and against each rib, from just under her armpits all the way down to her hips. She screamed into her gag, realizing that her captor had no intention of raping her, but instead, to torture her!
“MMMHMHMHMHMHMHMHHMPPPH!!!” she screamed into her gag, her assailant ignoring her laughter. She writhed and squirmed under his hands as they dug into her ribs, assaulting her senses with ticklish sensations she had never felt before. She arched her back high and pressed against him, thrashing her head from side to side. Her short hair became disheveled, and after only a few minutes, her blindfold had two small wet spots on it, as her tears of laughter were absorbed by the soft fabric.
Mrs. Smith had always feared being tickled. As a child, her brothers would often pin her down and cruelly tickle torture her for up to an hour, forcing her to laugh so hard she’d wet herself every time. For years she never let anyone tickle her, afraid of the same thing happening, and for a while had forgotten just how sensitive she really was.
After a few minutes, her assailant decided to play another game with her, and he grabbed her hips, pressing his thumbs down. Again, the bound, naked woman screamed into her gag and writhed violently, the electric shocks of sensation coursing through her. She gasped for breath through her nose, laughing her head off through her gag. After a few good presses, her tickler decided to give her a short break.
For a moment, there was not touch, and Mrs. Smith breathed heavily through her nose, nostrils flaring, still giggling softly. Soon, however, she felt a warm, wet pair of lips wrap around her left nipple, and she suddenly moaned, not even realizing it until afterwards. She blushed heavily, not yet willing to admit to her slight arousal. Her captor’s tongue slid and flicked across her hardened nipple, and she shivered.
The mouth moved away from her, and she felt cold again. She tugged, futilely, at her restraints. She knew she was not going anywhere…but she had to at least try.
She felt a soft touch on her armpit, and she squirmed away from it. She felt the same touch immediately on her other underarm, and squirmed the other way. Two long, stiff feathers were held near her underarms, and her squirming is what made it tickle. The feathers were held motionless against her pits, and she wiggles and squealed at their touch, making it tickle worse. For several minutes she giggled and squeaked under the feathers, essentially tickling herself with her wiggling.
Thankfully, this did not last long. The feathers disappeared and she laid there, panting into her gag softly, amazed at how good that actually felt. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad position to be in after all…
She immediately regretted thinking that, as she hears her torturer walking towards the end of the bed. She had forgotten about her nylon-encased feet…they were her worst spot! She started to thrash, drawing energy from her fear of having her helpless feet tickled. The fear she had of being hurt or raped had long since disappeared; her captor had no intention of harming her, obviously, instead he wanted to tease and tickle her. She tugged wildly at her restraints, but her efforts were in vain.
She was struggling so hard that the first stroke of his finger against her nyloned sole went unnoticed. At this, her captor stroked her sole a little harder, using two fingertips to run up and down her arch. Mrs. Smith jerked in her bonds and squealed in a higher pitch than earlier, feeling the teasingly ticklish touch glide over her foot. After a few strokes, her evil assailant brought down a tickling fury on her feet, wriggling all ten fingertips over her blue, nyloned, arches, heels, toes, and balls of her feet. Her toes wriggles maniacally and she helplessly cackled under her gag, her head thrashing from side to side, her disheveled hair beginning to mat to her brow with sweat. Her blindfold, after a few minutes, was soaking wet with her tears of laugher, and her sides were aching from laughing so hard.
“MMMHAHAHAHHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH!!!!!” she screamed helplessly. Her body glistened with a fine film of sweat and she wept with laughter as her feet were tortured. Under the nylons, her soles became a light shade of pink. The electric-like jolts of sensation that shot up her legs shook her whole body as her evil captor’s hands slid over her feet, pressing into her arches, gliding over her nyloned toes, and wiggling along her blue heels.
After half an hour of panting, laughing, screaming, and giggling into her gag, Mrs. Smith began to feel rather lightheaded. She could feel a kind of darkness closing in around her, and her only sense that functioned properly was the sense of touch, which let her feel the intense tickle torture jolting through her feet and legs. Her breath caught, and much to her relief, she fainted, the tickling becoming too much for her body to handle.
Mark watched her collapse back onto the bed after her back arched and she screamed one last time with ticklish abandon. He finally stopped, after more than 35 minutes of tickling her helpless, smooth, silky, nyloned soles. Gently, he rubbed her feet for a moment, before moving to phase two of his evil plan.
Mark untied the helpless, unconscious woman’s ankles, rolled her pantyhose down over her hips, down her legs, and off of her feet. His math teacher now lay there, knocked out and completely naked, in front of him. The crotch of the pantyhose that he held in his hand was warm and damp; at first, he thought she might have wet herself, but the smell was different: she was quite turned on. Had she even realized it? he wondered. No matter, he had every intention of arousing her in the end anyway.
Mark set about re-binding her ankles. An Eye-Hook was embedded in the ceiling, and, standing on the bed, Mark hooked a 12-gauge stainless-steel chain to it, and latched a d-ring over it to hold it in place. To the other end of the chain that hung down near Mrs. Smith, Mark attached a spreader bar he had made from a broomstick and two more eye-hooks. To the ends, he secured large ankle cuffs, padded with leather and soft, fuzzy material. Mark lifted Mrs. Smith’s ankles to these cuffs and secured them in, locking the cuffs snugly around them.
Mark stood on the floor next to the bed and looked over his nude teacher. She was on her back, with her arms secured over her head, blindfolded, gagged, and her legs spread widely out underneath her, hanging a foot off of the bed by the ceiling.
He thought for a moment about taking advantage of her, right there. Soon he rejected the thought, knowing that she would ask for it soon enough.
Mrs. Smith came to a while later, not realizing at first that her position had changed. Her throat was sore and her lungs burned, but she had been ungagged. She still couldn’t see, so the blindfold was still around her eyes.
“Please…” she whispered, in a raspy, hoarse voice. “…please, no more…I’ll do anything you want, please let me go…”
Her only answer came in the form of another fingerstroke along her left arch. She squealed again, hoarsely, and jerked her leg. She realized now that she had been moved, that her nylons had been taken off and that her legs were spread in the air. Her cheeks turned bright red when she felt the cool air on her naked womanhood. She would have cried, if not for her realizing how aroused she was.
She squeaked again, feeling the same light stroking on her right sole now. “Eeep! Please, whoever you are, hee hee hee, don’t tickle me anymore, I, I can’t taaaAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!” Mrs. Smith started to scream with laughter again as she felt ten fingertips dancing over her soft, naked soles. She wriggled her toes and yanked on her legs, but her tormentor’s fingers followed her every move expertly. “NOOOOHHOHOHOHHO PLEEEEHEE HEE HEEEEEASE I CAN’T TAKE IT, AHAHAHAHA!!!”
Mrs. Smith’s sensitive, soft soles were tickled like this for another half hour, her hoarse laughter soon turning silent. She was unable to muster the breath to scream anymore, only barely able to breathe for her life, so she shook helplessly on the bed, soon crying into her blindfold.
She was given a merciful break finally. She laid there, still shaking with soft giggles, her bare chest heaving with ever gasping breath she took. She tried to beg again for her release, but she couldn’t breathe well enough. She heard her captor walk across the room, shuffle through something, then walk back to her. The next thing she felt nearly made her jump out of her skin.
A soft yet stiff touch slid down her womanhood, from her lower belly, past her labia and over her opening. Mrs. Smith jerked so hard in her bonds she almost hurt her ankles. The touch slid back up her moist muscle, this time pressing a little bit harder. It took a moment to register what this touch was: a stiff feather!
This was the most intense thing she had ever felt. This feather shot incredible pulses of pleasure from her loins, but at the same time, it tickled worse than anything else had previously. The feather was dragged up and down over her crotch repeatedly, and she began to giggle and writhe again. “Oh no…no no no…hee hee hee hee…please, doooooooooohohohon’t, oh my God, please…” she begged.
Her tormentor paid no heed, instead he used one hand to spread her skin and he dipped the feather between the folds and let it touch her growing clitoris. Mrs. Smith arched her back, in both ecstasy and torment, and from her throat there came a squealing moan. She was so confused…this tickled so badly but it felt so, SO good…
It was not until then that she realized how horny she was become. She suddenly felt the fire that raged between her legs, her womanly juices slowly seeping out of her, making her crotch wet…
The feather’s journey never ended…it glides up and over her clit, around it’s head, then slowly back down, teasing her ultra-sensitive skin, sliding around her exposed opening, and dipping very slightly into it, then repeating this path. Mrs. Smith giggled non-stop, unsure of whether to beg for it to continue or to beg for it to end. She slowly gyrated her hips in sync with the feather, and after 15 minutes, she arched her back, her moment of passion oh so close.
Her torturer was smart, however. Just as her body language telegraphed her approaching climax, he pulled the feather away and slid his warm, wet tongue tip over her left arch. Mrs. Smith tensed, then jerked and laughed again, never having felt a tongue on her foot before. The tongue slid up and down her foot, gently tickling her soft, well taken care of skin, making her squeal and giggle. Soon, the tongue slid between her toes, and she screamed again, clenching her toes against the wriggling tongue.
This proved to be disastrous for the teacher. The mouth that the tongue lived in suddenly wrapped around her big toe and sucked gently, the tongue sliding over and around her toe. This didn’t tickle at all, instead, Mrs. Smith moaned in sudden pleasure, despite herself. Having her toes sucked was always a big fantasy of hers, and now that it finally was happening, she was hornier than she ever had been in her life. She found the composure to speak.
“Please, oh God please, whoever you are, get me off, I’ll suck your brains out through your dick if you let me cum, oh God, please!” she begged. She panted the words out with the desperation of someone who would genuinely do anything for relief.
Her begging fell on deaf ears, instead, the sucking continued, her toes being slowly and sensually assaulted by the tongue and mouth, one by one. After all ten toes had been teased, the captor began to torture her pussy with the feather again.
Like last time, Mrs. Smith’s hot love muscle was feather right to the point of orgasm, the soft, tickling tendrils sliding across her moist, overheated skin. This time was a little different though. Just as Mrs. Smith began to cry out in pleasure, just as her pussy began to spasm and clench, just as she grabbed the bedsheets, she felt a moist, sweet smelling cloth being pressed over her face. She screamed, but her scream faded quickly away as she fell into the world of the unconscious, being cruelly denied the release she so desperately needed.
When she awoke, Mrs. Smith immediately sat bolt upright. She looked around, dazed, confused, wondering where the hell she was. The sight she saw astounded her: Her own classroom.
Her breathing suddenly became heavy; she looked at the clock and realized that her classes would start in less than an hour. She was wearing the same set of clothes as yesterday, and all her materials she had planned to take home were laying on her desk in front of her, next to something that made her squeak with fright and excitement.
A long, stiff, red feather was on her desk, right next to her papers. Underneath it was a small, folded piece of paper, with her last name scrawled on it. She took the paper and unfolded it, twirling the feather in between her fingers.
“I hope you had fun last night. That was what you get for being such a tease in class, with your nylons and your sexy feet. If you don’t want it to happen again, I suggest you wear sneakers from now on.” It was not signed.
Mrs. Smith re-read the note again and again, grinning wider and wider each time. The feather still twirled between her fingers, and she realized that she would be wearing clogs and skimpy high heels to class every day from that moment on.
She looked at the clock…more than 45 minutes until classes started. She gazed at the bright red feather for a moment…then quickly slid out of her blue pantyhose. She spread her legs and touched the feather to her womanhood, eliciting a sharp giggle from herself. She had plenty of time, she thought, as a wide grin played across her face, and her crotch quickly moistened again…
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Some teachers are very mean, without even knowing it. Mrs. Smith was one of these teachers. Nearly every day, she walked into class wearing a tight-fitting blouse, a knee length or shorter skirt, and oddly colored tights of pantyhose. A woman of about 5’6”, maybe 125 pounds, with short brown hair and dark eyes, she often would let a show slip from her nylon-covered foot and fall to the floor, exposing her shapely size 6 foot. Oh, how often Mark wondered how ticklish she was. It was rare that he fantasized about any of his teachers, but Mrs. Smith was one of the most attractive of the lot at his school. She was obviously in her mid-thirties by looking at her, though she’d never admit to being of that age. She’d be more likely to say late twenties.
One day, Mrs. Smith walked into her Algebra II Senior class wearing a tight, tan short skirt, and blue nylons. Her white blouse fit her body like a glove, accentuating her shapely breasts and toned abs. All period long, Mark stared at her legs and occasionally her feet, when she slipped them out of her clogs. When the bell rang it caught him by surprise, as he hadn’t anticipated it since he was staring longingly at her. The ringing bell snapped him out of his trance-like state and he vowed to himself that he would find out just how ticklish his math teacher was before the end of the night.
At 3:30, Mark stood outside the school building. Having left early to prepare, Mark had a moist cloth in one pocket and handcuffs in another. He knew that Mrs. Smith left the building through a door that was very rarely used, and that she would be alone when she did walk out.
As predicted, Mark’s teacher left by herself, and with no one watching, Mark crept up behind her and clamped his hand, with the cloth covering it, over Mrs. Smith’s mouth and nose tightly. His other arm wrapped around her slender body and held her still while the chloroform-soaked cloth took effect. Within seconds, before she could think to scream, Mrs. Smith was out cold, her unconscious body slumped in Mark’s arms. He quickly dragged her into his minivan, handcuffed her to the doorhandle, and blindfolded her with a bandanna he kept in the van. Then, he drove her back to his apartment.
Pulling up to the front stoop, Mark realized that there was another problem. How was he going to get her up to his apartment without tipping off the neighbors? In a moment he came up with another idea. Quickly, he uncuffed her and took the blindfold off, then let her inhale a little more of the chloroform fumes, before dragging her limp body into the apartment building like and unconscious drunk. He got a few sideways glances from his neighbors, but being normally a very kindhearted 18 year old, they quickly assumed he was just helping out a friend in need.
When he finally got her up to his third floor place, he set about to his work. He stripped Mrs. Smith naked except for her pantyhose (she hadn’t been wearing panties, naughty woman!) and tied her tightly, spread eagle, to his four-post bed using wide, silk neckties. He re-blindfolded her and found a clean sock in his drawers, and stuffed it into her mouth. He secured that in place with three strips of duct tape, effectively gagging her. He stood up and looked over his handy work: He had succeeded in capturing, stripping, and making helpless his tease of a teacher, and as soon as she woke up, she’d be in for a hell of a surprise.
Mrs. Smith awoke with a start, dazed and confused. She had been on her way home to get dinner ready for herself, but…
She panicked. She realized what had happened, how someone grabbed her from behind and held a sweet-smelling cloth to her face, the splitting headache and darkness that followed. She tugged wildly, realizing that she was tied down, apparently to a bed. She was cold, she couldn’t see, and when she tried to scream, only a muffled “MMMMMPH!” escaped her sock-gag. Her head thrashed wildly as she tried in vain to escape, but her captor had done a damn good job of tying her in place. After several minutes, she had begun to tire, and instead she laid there, on the verge of tears, at what might happen to her.
Mrs. Smith heard a shuffling noise to her right after she finally stopped thrashing. She instinctively turned her head towards the sound, and said, “Who’s there?!”…but all that could be heard was “Whmmp phmmr?”
Slowly, the sound approached her with heavy footsteps. She could at least tell that this was a man, but that terrified her even more. Was she going to be raped? Harassed? Questions raced through her head at a lightning speed, but soon they were cut off by an electric touch at her nipples.
The soft, fluffy touch made her scream into her gag at first, it surprised her so. It was cold in the room she was in, and her nipples were stiff and erect. Apparently her captor was caressing her nipple with a fluffy feather…after the initial shock, Mrs. Smith blushed and giggled. Quickly she cut off the giggles, not wanting to encourage her nameless assaulter. Too late.
Soon, she felt a second fluffy feather join the first, each one attending it’s own nipple, gliding over the stiff button and stroking it ever so gently. Mrs. Smith was becoming slightly aroused despite herself. Though she was terrified of what this man might do to her, the soft, light touch was quite sensual.
This didn’t last long though, as her captor had other plans. The feathers stopped, and she felt his weight on the bed. Soon, he was straddling her hips. She felt his warm crotch through his jeans against her lower belly, and soon also felt his fingers on her ribs. She squealed, arching her back slightly, as his fingertips slid over her sides. Up and down they spidered, gently pressing between and against each rib, from just under her armpits all the way down to her hips. She screamed into her gag, realizing that her captor had no intention of raping her, but instead, to torture her!
“MMMHMHMHMHMHMHMHHMPPPH!!!” she screamed into her gag, her assailant ignoring her laughter. She writhed and squirmed under his hands as they dug into her ribs, assaulting her senses with ticklish sensations she had never felt before. She arched her back high and pressed against him, thrashing her head from side to side. Her short hair became disheveled, and after only a few minutes, her blindfold had two small wet spots on it, as her tears of laughter were absorbed by the soft fabric.
Mrs. Smith had always feared being tickled. As a child, her brothers would often pin her down and cruelly tickle torture her for up to an hour, forcing her to laugh so hard she’d wet herself every time. For years she never let anyone tickle her, afraid of the same thing happening, and for a while had forgotten just how sensitive she really was.
After a few minutes, her assailant decided to play another game with her, and he grabbed her hips, pressing his thumbs down. Again, the bound, naked woman screamed into her gag and writhed violently, the electric shocks of sensation coursing through her. She gasped for breath through her nose, laughing her head off through her gag. After a few good presses, her tickler decided to give her a short break.
For a moment, there was not touch, and Mrs. Smith breathed heavily through her nose, nostrils flaring, still giggling softly. Soon, however, she felt a warm, wet pair of lips wrap around her left nipple, and she suddenly moaned, not even realizing it until afterwards. She blushed heavily, not yet willing to admit to her slight arousal. Her captor’s tongue slid and flicked across her hardened nipple, and she shivered.
The mouth moved away from her, and she felt cold again. She tugged, futilely, at her restraints. She knew she was not going anywhere…but she had to at least try.
She felt a soft touch on her armpit, and she squirmed away from it. She felt the same touch immediately on her other underarm, and squirmed the other way. Two long, stiff feathers were held near her underarms, and her squirming is what made it tickle. The feathers were held motionless against her pits, and she wiggles and squealed at their touch, making it tickle worse. For several minutes she giggled and squeaked under the feathers, essentially tickling herself with her wiggling.
Thankfully, this did not last long. The feathers disappeared and she laid there, panting into her gag softly, amazed at how good that actually felt. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad position to be in after all…
She immediately regretted thinking that, as she hears her torturer walking towards the end of the bed. She had forgotten about her nylon-encased feet…they were her worst spot! She started to thrash, drawing energy from her fear of having her helpless feet tickled. The fear she had of being hurt or raped had long since disappeared; her captor had no intention of harming her, obviously, instead he wanted to tease and tickle her. She tugged wildly at her restraints, but her efforts were in vain.
She was struggling so hard that the first stroke of his finger against her nyloned sole went unnoticed. At this, her captor stroked her sole a little harder, using two fingertips to run up and down her arch. Mrs. Smith jerked in her bonds and squealed in a higher pitch than earlier, feeling the teasingly ticklish touch glide over her foot. After a few strokes, her evil assailant brought down a tickling fury on her feet, wriggling all ten fingertips over her blue, nyloned, arches, heels, toes, and balls of her feet. Her toes wriggles maniacally and she helplessly cackled under her gag, her head thrashing from side to side, her disheveled hair beginning to mat to her brow with sweat. Her blindfold, after a few minutes, was soaking wet with her tears of laugher, and her sides were aching from laughing so hard.
“MMMHAHAHAHHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH!!!!!” she screamed helplessly. Her body glistened with a fine film of sweat and she wept with laughter as her feet were tortured. Under the nylons, her soles became a light shade of pink. The electric-like jolts of sensation that shot up her legs shook her whole body as her evil captor’s hands slid over her feet, pressing into her arches, gliding over her nyloned toes, and wiggling along her blue heels.
After half an hour of panting, laughing, screaming, and giggling into her gag, Mrs. Smith began to feel rather lightheaded. She could feel a kind of darkness closing in around her, and her only sense that functioned properly was the sense of touch, which let her feel the intense tickle torture jolting through her feet and legs. Her breath caught, and much to her relief, she fainted, the tickling becoming too much for her body to handle.
Mark watched her collapse back onto the bed after her back arched and she screamed one last time with ticklish abandon. He finally stopped, after more than 35 minutes of tickling her helpless, smooth, silky, nyloned soles. Gently, he rubbed her feet for a moment, before moving to phase two of his evil plan.
Mark untied the helpless, unconscious woman’s ankles, rolled her pantyhose down over her hips, down her legs, and off of her feet. His math teacher now lay there, knocked out and completely naked, in front of him. The crotch of the pantyhose that he held in his hand was warm and damp; at first, he thought she might have wet herself, but the smell was different: she was quite turned on. Had she even realized it? he wondered. No matter, he had every intention of arousing her in the end anyway.
Mark set about re-binding her ankles. An Eye-Hook was embedded in the ceiling, and, standing on the bed, Mark hooked a 12-gauge stainless-steel chain to it, and latched a d-ring over it to hold it in place. To the other end of the chain that hung down near Mrs. Smith, Mark attached a spreader bar he had made from a broomstick and two more eye-hooks. To the ends, he secured large ankle cuffs, padded with leather and soft, fuzzy material. Mark lifted Mrs. Smith’s ankles to these cuffs and secured them in, locking the cuffs snugly around them.
Mark stood on the floor next to the bed and looked over his nude teacher. She was on her back, with her arms secured over her head, blindfolded, gagged, and her legs spread widely out underneath her, hanging a foot off of the bed by the ceiling.
He thought for a moment about taking advantage of her, right there. Soon he rejected the thought, knowing that she would ask for it soon enough.
Mrs. Smith came to a while later, not realizing at first that her position had changed. Her throat was sore and her lungs burned, but she had been ungagged. She still couldn’t see, so the blindfold was still around her eyes.
“Please…” she whispered, in a raspy, hoarse voice. “…please, no more…I’ll do anything you want, please let me go…”
Her only answer came in the form of another fingerstroke along her left arch. She squealed again, hoarsely, and jerked her leg. She realized now that she had been moved, that her nylons had been taken off and that her legs were spread in the air. Her cheeks turned bright red when she felt the cool air on her naked womanhood. She would have cried, if not for her realizing how aroused she was.
She squeaked again, feeling the same light stroking on her right sole now. “Eeep! Please, whoever you are, hee hee hee, don’t tickle me anymore, I, I can’t taaaAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!” Mrs. Smith started to scream with laughter again as she felt ten fingertips dancing over her soft, naked soles. She wriggled her toes and yanked on her legs, but her tormentor’s fingers followed her every move expertly. “NOOOOHHOHOHOHHO PLEEEEHEE HEE HEEEEEASE I CAN’T TAKE IT, AHAHAHAHA!!!”
Mrs. Smith’s sensitive, soft soles were tickled like this for another half hour, her hoarse laughter soon turning silent. She was unable to muster the breath to scream anymore, only barely able to breathe for her life, so she shook helplessly on the bed, soon crying into her blindfold.
She was given a merciful break finally. She laid there, still shaking with soft giggles, her bare chest heaving with ever gasping breath she took. She tried to beg again for her release, but she couldn’t breathe well enough. She heard her captor walk across the room, shuffle through something, then walk back to her. The next thing she felt nearly made her jump out of her skin.
A soft yet stiff touch slid down her womanhood, from her lower belly, past her labia and over her opening. Mrs. Smith jerked so hard in her bonds she almost hurt her ankles. The touch slid back up her moist muscle, this time pressing a little bit harder. It took a moment to register what this touch was: a stiff feather!
This was the most intense thing she had ever felt. This feather shot incredible pulses of pleasure from her loins, but at the same time, it tickled worse than anything else had previously. The feather was dragged up and down over her crotch repeatedly, and she began to giggle and writhe again. “Oh no…no no no…hee hee hee hee…please, doooooooooohohohon’t, oh my God, please…” she begged.
Her tormentor paid no heed, instead he used one hand to spread her skin and he dipped the feather between the folds and let it touch her growing clitoris. Mrs. Smith arched her back, in both ecstasy and torment, and from her throat there came a squealing moan. She was so confused…this tickled so badly but it felt so, SO good…
It was not until then that she realized how horny she was become. She suddenly felt the fire that raged between her legs, her womanly juices slowly seeping out of her, making her crotch wet…
The feather’s journey never ended…it glides up and over her clit, around it’s head, then slowly back down, teasing her ultra-sensitive skin, sliding around her exposed opening, and dipping very slightly into it, then repeating this path. Mrs. Smith giggled non-stop, unsure of whether to beg for it to continue or to beg for it to end. She slowly gyrated her hips in sync with the feather, and after 15 minutes, she arched her back, her moment of passion oh so close.
Her torturer was smart, however. Just as her body language telegraphed her approaching climax, he pulled the feather away and slid his warm, wet tongue tip over her left arch. Mrs. Smith tensed, then jerked and laughed again, never having felt a tongue on her foot before. The tongue slid up and down her foot, gently tickling her soft, well taken care of skin, making her squeal and giggle. Soon, the tongue slid between her toes, and she screamed again, clenching her toes against the wriggling tongue.
This proved to be disastrous for the teacher. The mouth that the tongue lived in suddenly wrapped around her big toe and sucked gently, the tongue sliding over and around her toe. This didn’t tickle at all, instead, Mrs. Smith moaned in sudden pleasure, despite herself. Having her toes sucked was always a big fantasy of hers, and now that it finally was happening, she was hornier than she ever had been in her life. She found the composure to speak.
“Please, oh God please, whoever you are, get me off, I’ll suck your brains out through your dick if you let me cum, oh God, please!” she begged. She panted the words out with the desperation of someone who would genuinely do anything for relief.
Her begging fell on deaf ears, instead, the sucking continued, her toes being slowly and sensually assaulted by the tongue and mouth, one by one. After all ten toes had been teased, the captor began to torture her pussy with the feather again.
Like last time, Mrs. Smith’s hot love muscle was feather right to the point of orgasm, the soft, tickling tendrils sliding across her moist, overheated skin. This time was a little different though. Just as Mrs. Smith began to cry out in pleasure, just as her pussy began to spasm and clench, just as she grabbed the bedsheets, she felt a moist, sweet smelling cloth being pressed over her face. She screamed, but her scream faded quickly away as she fell into the world of the unconscious, being cruelly denied the release she so desperately needed.
When she awoke, Mrs. Smith immediately sat bolt upright. She looked around, dazed, confused, wondering where the hell she was. The sight she saw astounded her: Her own classroom.
Her breathing suddenly became heavy; she looked at the clock and realized that her classes would start in less than an hour. She was wearing the same set of clothes as yesterday, and all her materials she had planned to take home were laying on her desk in front of her, next to something that made her squeak with fright and excitement.
A long, stiff, red feather was on her desk, right next to her papers. Underneath it was a small, folded piece of paper, with her last name scrawled on it. She took the paper and unfolded it, twirling the feather in between her fingers.
“I hope you had fun last night. That was what you get for being such a tease in class, with your nylons and your sexy feet. If you don’t want it to happen again, I suggest you wear sneakers from now on.” It was not signed.
Mrs. Smith re-read the note again and again, grinning wider and wider each time. The feather still twirled between her fingers, and she realized that she would be wearing clogs and skimpy high heels to class every day from that moment on.
She looked at the clock…more than 45 minutes until classes started. She gazed at the bright red feather for a moment…then quickly slid out of her blue pantyhose. She spread her legs and touched the feather to her womanhood, eliciting a sharp giggle from herself. She had plenty of time, she thought, as a wide grin played across her face, and her crotch quickly moistened again…
