Nylon Goth
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2005
- Messages
- 50
- Points
- 8
Ok so here it is - part 2 where it really gets going (link to part 1 below) - wall to wall nylon tickling of multiple stockinged F’s in all sorts of precarious tickling situations- one for the nylon tickling fans out there. All feedback gratefully received 🪶🪶🦇🦇
Part one
Part 2 - Pleasures of the Bat Cave Club
“Please! Please!! Not my toes! Not my toooeees!!!” Exclaimed the blonde occupant of the stocks set up in one of the Bat Caves playrooms. Lawrence Stephenson was having the time of his life and not for the fist time congratulated himself on the best £10,000 a month he had ever spent. A corporate lawyer by trade he was almost breathless with excitement which was very apparent from the large bulge in his silk kimono. The scenario had been set up exactly as he had wanted. Nelleka, the object of his ticklish ministrations, was exactly what he had ordered. 25, lithe and dressed in very sheer black reinforced heel and toe Cervin stockings with red seams. The exquisite hosiery was teamed with a bodice of fishnet material which only heightened his excitement. A pink garter on her left thigh made it very clear that only tickling of non errogenous zones was allowed, but that suited Lawrence just fine. There were always the upstairs apartments and the “ladies in red” as he liked to think of them, for later.
Nelleka’s ankles had been set in the sturdy but fur lined stocks and her wrists chained over her head allowing him access to her upper body if he ever tired of her feet. All of his favourite tickling tools had been laid out for him on a table next to the base of the stocks. Madame Cholet was nothing if not thorough.
Lawrence gently held back the toes of her left foot and repeatedly grazed his nails over Nelleka’s high, nylon sheathed, arch. “How much does this tickle my darling?” he asked gleefully. “EEeeee!!!! It tickles really bad! Reeeeeaaallyy baaad!!!” Pleaded his blonde victim. Her pleas went up an octave as he traced the seams of her stocking down her taught arch to her heels and swirled his manicured finger nails around her nylon covered Achilles’ tendon.
Nelleka had been an employee of the Bat Cave for 3 months and in her opinion it was also one the best decisions she had ever made. She had chosen the pink garter of a “lee” reasoning the doubling of her salary over that of an untouchable “black garter” was more than compensated by enduring a little tickling. To her surprise in the assessment conducted as part of her application process she had found out she was very ticklish, especially on the soles of her feet. Madame Cholet had thoroughly appraised every tickle spot on her body before agreeing she would make an excellent ‘lee. Her giggling responses to the tickling were real and unusually she did not seem to desensitise particularly quickly. So whilst her reactions to the torture that Lawrence was inflicting on her nylon soles did not need to be faked she was schooled enough to play into his specific “ler needs” of asking her questions as to “how bad” or “how much” a particular technique tickled her. All of her ‘lers were different. Some wanted you to beg, some just wanted you to laugh and giggle and some even wanted you gagged and silent. Lawrence was a “talker”.
“Well my dear, now we have warmed you up I think it’s time to tie back your beautiful toes and see how you like a back scratcher dragged up and down your helpless soles!” He slipped the bungee cords over her big toes, stretching her black nyloned soles taut and selected a solid silver back scratcher from his table of torture implements. “No!!! Mr Stephenson please! You know I can’t stand the back scratcher! Not when you tie my toes back, it tickles so badly especially in these sheer stockings you have put me in!” She knew she was pressing all of her clients buttons. Lawrence let out a contented sigh, “Unfortunately my dear you are just going to have to grin and bear it as they say!” With that he began to slowly trace the metal tines down the side of Nelleka’s immobilised left sole. For a moment the only sound in the room was the delicious “scritching” of metal playing over nylon before a wave of giggles bubbled from his victims lips. “This iiiiissssss tooooortuuuure!!!!” She panted. “We are only just starting!” he delightedly informed her as he began to gently rake the back scratcher up and down the arch of her left foot. “Plee he he he heeeze!!! Thaaaat ti hi hi hi hickles much worse than your fi hi hi hi heeee hingers!!!!” This was indeed true for Nelleka and whilst her reactions were genuine so to was the thought that in a few more weeks she would have saved enough to put down a deposit on her own apartment. All thanks to her mostly polite and largely charming “nylon footmen”.
“Now for some real tickle torture!” Lawrence excitedly exclaimed. “Let’s see how you like my scratcher on the base of your toes!” With one hand he held back her toes and teased the scratcher up and down the nylon encased, hyper sensitive area of skin at the base of her toes. “Scritch, scritch, scritch” went the back scratcher as it was dragged repeatedly over the thin layer of black nylon which was all that was separating it from the masses of nerve endings just below Nelleka’s toes. “Oooooh myyyy gaaaaaaaad that tiiiiiiiiccccckkklllleeeeees soooo muuuh muuuh muuuh muuuch!!!! Not there anyyyywhere but theeeere!!” Lawrence Stephenson was in heaven and if the truth be told Nelleka, despite the fiendish tickling being visited on her nylon soles was far from hating this evening either “better than a gym work out” she liked to think. There were still 60 minutes of Lawrence’s allotted session to go and there were many, many more implements of tickling torture that he planned to use on the restrained stockinged feet he had at his mercy.
Meanwhile business was brisk down in the bar. An assortment of members chatted amiably over the chink of glasses either standing at the expansive cocktail bar or relaxing in in the supple leather high backed chairs. Black stockinged waitresses flitted between tables ensuring glasses never ran dry. The majority sported the “off limits” black garter on their thighs which was a convention religiously enforced by the establishment. Though the more enterprising had come to realise that if they occasionally slipped their nyloned feet from their high heeled pumps or teasingly dangled their shoes then their table tips from members increased exponentially.
Simon Baxter, millionaire proprietor of the Bat Cave, surveyed the scene happily. He recognised the heady feeling of excitement in the room as members waited for their allotted sessions, all laid out to their own precise nylon tickling requirements. He caught the eye of Madame Cholet, his indomitable front of house matron. “So Madame C, how is business in the basement level tonight?” The buxom, corseted madam consulted her ledger, “Well Monsieur Baxter, we are currently providing one witch trial, one themed interrogation and a multi member tickling tournament .” He sighed contentedly, “Oh to be a fly on those walls,” he smiled, knowing full well that if he had the inclination he could review the Closed Circuit TV footage from each and every room in the Bat Cave at his leisure. Giving, what he had now begin to think of as “his people”, the safe space to indulge (albeit at a hefty price) their every nylon tickling desire gave him great pleasure. Knowing his almost insatiable love for his passion, Madame Cholet gave him a lascivious wink and suggested he take a tour of the basement “just in the interests of ensuring good customer service.” He drained his champagne and readily agreed.
A stone spiral staircase led from the ground floor to the ancient but heavily modernised stone walled floor below that had previously been a series of mercantile storage rooms. Flaming torches in sconces lined the walls and gave a wonderful gothic glow to this part of the Bat Cave. As he descended deeper the sounds of delicious laughter and giggling met his delighted ears. Chambers I, II and IV were in use currently. Whilst each was screened off behind a heavy black wooden door an observation flap, similar to those in prisons, had been built into each. Used primarily on regular security sweeps, the members knew whilst their sessions were private they were not secret.
Simon dropped the flap of Room I and peered inside. A fully functioning medieval rack had been set in the centre of the room. On it and fully outstretched lay a thirty something raven haired beauty in a white shift and nude coloured lace topped hold ups. Her nyloned ankles restrained in heavy wooden stocks and a red garter on her thigh. To the left of the rack sat a man, the very image of Matthew Hopkins, the 17th century Witch Finder general. He was infact the fifty-something Trevor Percival, high ranking and respected member of the Church of England. Standing near the foot of the rack were two nubile blonde women both dressed in sheer black body stockings with cat masks covering their faces and both clutching long stiff turkey feathers.
“This is your last chance witch!” Bellowed the inquisitor. “Recant the ways of Satan and save your soul from eternal damnation!”
“Go to hell you monster!” Spat the accused. “I am neither witch nor wh@re yet you would seek to make me both! I see the lust in your eyes as you stare at my shapely legs!” Simon silently commended the acting performance that Patricia, one of his star “anything goes” ‘lees was giving her client. Heavily rewarded for her services she was an enthusiastic, increasingly wealthy and most importantly incredibly ticklish member of the Bat Cave staff.
“You dare tempt me sorceress?! I give you one last chance to recant and save yourself!”
“Never!” Patricia said starring directly at her accuser.
“You leave me no choice but to resort to the torture! Apply the feathers to her feet!”
The two Cat Girls took up positions next to Patricia’s restrained ankles, gently held back her toes and began stroking their feathers up and down her nude nylon covered soles.
Patricia screwed her eyes shut, set her pretty lips in a grimace but as the feathers repeatedly did their fiendish work, giggles began to escape from the corner of her mouth.
“You cannot resist the feathering of your feet! Recant woman! Recant!” Exclaimed the Witch Finder, the excitement and lust palpable in his voice. The Cat torturesses continued their tickling, covering their victims feet in feathery caresses. When they reached their victims nylon covered toes, Patricia’s stifled giggles turned to gales of desperate laughter. Patricia, as Simon well knew, was one of those rare women who were genuinely feather ticklish even through nylons. So whilst she was acting her part as an accused witch, her ticklish reactions were far from staged. The Cats used their feathers to prod and stoke at their victims nylon sheathed toe stems and cleavage causing Patricia to shake her head from side to side, “Haaa haa heee hee aaahhh hee I’ll neveeeer hheeeee confeeeeeessss he haa ha haaa!” The feathering of her soles continued relentlessly.
“I see the demon that has possessed you has given you some strength witch! Let’s see if you can withstand the quill ends being played across your stockinged soles!” At that the two Cat girls reversed their feathers and began to trace the pointed ends of their implements up and down the arches of their victim.
“Noooooooo!!!! Heeee eeeee eeeeaaaak haaaaaa you fieeeeendssss!!!!” The Cat torturing her left foot circled her quill tip relentlessly around the ball of Patricia’s foot whilst the Cat tickling her right hosed sole traced intricate patterns in the centre of her high arch. The Witch Finder General’s breathing had become more hoarse as he became increasingly aroused. Simon closed the flap leaving him to his fun. He knew that before the session was over Patricia would feel the tickling caresses of the feathers on her knees, tummy, breasts and under arms. She would indeed finally confess to being a witch but only after the Cat girls had slowly and tortuously tickled her sex to the point of near insanity. Patricia was a lady who loved her work and was even more loved by her clients.
Simon moved on to room II and lowered the flap. The tableaux laid out was very different. The room had been decked out in a futuristic monochrome. A modified dentists chair dominated the centre of the room. Strapped into it was the very vision of Princess Leia, had Carrie Fisher ever dressed in a white neglige, suspenders, very sheer white stockings and white high heels. Complete with the requisite hair buns the “Princess’s” arms were pinioned at her sides by thick padded straps. Her legs were stretched out in front of her,slightly splayed and elevated, displaying the red soles of her white stilettos. Her ankles were secured with the same thick padded cuffs.
A 30 something man in a very realistic grey Star Wars Galactic Empire uniform was standing over her,
“And now Princess we will discuss the location of your rebel base.” Daniel Cartwright, engineering professor at London University, could not believe just how good or exciting it was to say those words.
“This is a diplomatic mission!” Exclaimed the Princess who was infact 23 year old Fleur Simms, drama graduate and pink garter level ‘lee. She had rehearsed her lines for this session and was getting a kick out of giving her very best indignant Carrie Fisher impersonation.
“You are a member of the rebel alliance and a traitor! And we have ways of making you talk!”
“Do your worst you fiend I’ll never betray the rebellion!”
With that Daniel selected two Pursonic tooth brushes with wishbone head attachments and buzzed them into life. He began by gently playing the buzzing tips over the Princess’s right nyloned kneecap whilst using the other to tickle the back of her knee. The cunning design of the chair gave him all the access he needed.
“Nggghhh! Th-Th-The more you tickle me the more of my secrets will slip through your fingers!” Fleur exclaimed through gritted teeth. Smiling, her Imperial torturer replied, “Perhaps you would prefer another target? A more ticklish target??” He glanced down hungrily at her feet and she followed his gaze. “Not there! You wouldn’t dare!” Discarding the tooth brushes for a moment he seated himself comfortably in the swivel chair at her feet. He slowly slipped off her shoes, revealing her perfect nylon covered feet inch by inch. Her shapely soles,slightly pink gleamed through the sheer white nylon material and her red nail polish was visible through the shadow toes of her stockings. Fleur attempted to struggle but the ankle bonds held her fast and all she could do was flex and scrunch her toes nervously. Like many of her co-workers she had been selected for work at the Bat Cave based on having remarkably ticklish feet and also just like them, the view that a little tickling was more than compensated for by her significant monthly pay check.
Daniel gazed at her helpless white nylon covered soles, his heart beating faster in his chest. Unlike some of his fellow members, Daniel’s passion was not for feather or finger tickling but for using gadgets and machines on nylon covered soles so this particular fantasy was his idea of heaven. He buzzed the toothbrushes to life, “Last chance to talk your highness….” She manufactured a stoically silent hateful stare.
“So be it. Let’s see if these tickling droids loosen your tongue!” He lowered the buzzing tines of both brushes to her left foot and dragged them down the length of her arch. The results were electric. “YNNNNAAAARGGGHHHH!!!” Squealed the Princess. The combination of the tips tickling her soles and the buzzing that seemed to set all her nerves on fire which was then further amplified by the sheer nylon was torture. “STTTAAAAAAP!!!!” She wailed theatrically. “The location of your base then”, replied Daniel stonily. “NEHEHEVVEEEER!!!” She managed to pant. He continued his sweeps of her stockinged arches before beginning to explore the sensitive sides of her foot. This resulted in more shrieks and Fleur repeatedly banging her head in desperate frustration against the back of the padded chair. Stimulating the nylon covered skin on the tops of her foot had an equally delightful or dreadful effect depending on whose point of view you were taking. But it was when he began to explore and poke at the tops and undersides of her toes that Fleur knew she was in real trouble. “Nooot my tooooess!!! Not my ticklish tooooeehohoes!!!”
“This can all stop if you give up your friends!” Daniel declared with evil meanace. Without warning he attacked the stocking clad toes of both feet simultaneously sending the “Princess” into forced hysterics. Simon Baxter closed the viewing flap content that his employee was giving a top class performance and that his client was loving every second of it. He also knew the Pursonic brushes were only the first of the buzzing tools that would be applied to Fleurs white stockinged feet and that by the end of the two hour session she would indeed have given away the Echo Base location of the Rebellion on the ice planet of Hoth.
Simon sauntered to his final destination - Room IV. The sounds of giggling and laughter were audible even before he opened the flap to look inside. The scene inside was again different. This was what the Bat Cave liked to call “The Monthly tournament”. Or more precisely one of the early rounds. In essence it was a knock out competition between all the members who signed up for it and agreed to the £1000 wager that was required. For that stake a member was paired, via a lottery, with a random ‘lee.
The rules were simple. Each pair went head to head with another par, the victor being the first to make their ‘lee submit and say the safeword “Bat Cave”. The twist being the club member never tickled the ‘lee he/she was paired with rather the ‘lee of his opponent which prevented any cheating and encouraged ‘lee/‘ler teamwork. Each session was conducted over 4 rounds of 5 minutes of foot tickling in between which the ‘lees were to change into a different pair of stockings, pre-selected by their opponents ler. This also gave some time for their feet to re-sensitise as well as adding to the members overall visual enjoyment.
Any form of tickling or tickling tools were permitted. The ‘lees were simultaneously tickled side by side in stocks so the result was clear. The winner of each round would progress till eventually only one ler and lee were left - the former pocketing the entire stake and the latter a substantial bonus. It was universally very popular.
Simon loved watching tournament matches. Two sets of sturdy but very padded stocks had been set up in the centre of the room. On the left sat Daisy, a 25 year old brunette sporting a pair of Secrets In lace off white black seamed stockings and pink garter. To the right sat Sally a 32 year old Welsh platinum blonde dressed in sheer Speerise shiny suntan tights. Both were having the soles of their feet tickled relentlessly. Daisy had been paired with Brian, an architect from Surrey whilst Sally with David, an up and coming member of the Conservative Party.
Consequently Brian was doing all he could to make his opponents ‘lee, Sally, submit. He was scrabbling his fingers up and down her suntanned hosed soles, “Haaa! Ha! Heee! EeeAaah!! I ca ha ha can’t ta hae hae take much moooore Daviiiiddd! Get Daisy!!! Get heeerrrr!!” She giggled and wailed to her partner. David needed no encouragement and redoubled his tickling attack of Daisy’s seamed white soles. “Hang in there Sally! I’ll get her toes and the match will be ours!” He bent back the toes of Daisy’s right foot and played a hairbrush over the nylon encased skin. “Nooo!! Not there!!! Anywhere but th-th-the-theeere!!!” Begged Daisy, close to breaking, she was saved by the bell.
An alarm sounded that marked the end of round three. Brian and David released their ‘lees from the stocks, helping their respective partners to their feet offering words of congratulations and encouragement like “we’ll win this yet” and “I’ll really get her toes next round”. Brian and David were treated to watching the ladies slip out of their current hose and change into fresh stockings for the final round. For Daisy, David had chosen a personal favourite, Geo Bronze Cuban heel fully fashioned nylons. For Sally Brian had opted for Leg Avenue lace topped fishnet stockings. The ladies made a show and tease of seductively donning their hosiery, heightening the arousal of the men. David turned to Brian, “Fishnets! You rank amateur. They are terrible for tickling! Your fingers get caught and they provide to much protection! This game is as good as mine!” Daniel just smiled and winked at his partner Daisy whilst the fishnet bedecked Sally suddenly got a sinking feeling in her stomach.
The ladies resumed their seats in the stocks which were locked shut about their ankles. Smug at the thought of an easy victory, David attached toe ties to Daisy’s bronze rht stockinged feet and selected an evil looking pair of black grooming mittens from the table of tickling tools. He menacingly wiggled his fingers at Daisy, “These are going to be murder on your nylon soles! You might as well just say the safe word now!” Daisy blanched and Sally sniggered in agreement at her partners cunning. Brian meanwhile settled himself calmly at Sally’s fishnet covered soles admiring her pale skin visible through the always sexy meshed material.
The bell sounded. David did not waste a second. He ran the grooming mittens up and down Daisy’s bronze coloured arches. “GAAAAGHHH!!!! THHHaaaatss SO ho ho Heee tickleeeeeeey heee hee he!!!” The multiple plastic bristles tickled like mad. He changed tactics to swirling both mittens of the top and bottom of her left stockinged foot simultaneously. “AEEEIIII! I ca he can’t tAAaeeeke much mooooore Briaaaaaaan!!! Help meeeee PLEEEEAZEEEE!!!” As the relentless grooming of his partners nylon feet continued, Brian calmly withdrew a black fibre tipped pen from his jacket packet. Holding back Sally’s fishnet covered toes he enacted his master plan. He began colouring in the bare skin visible between the meshed fishnet material. Small diamond by tortuous small diamond. Sally went crazy at the feeling of the fibre tip stimulating her bare skin. “NNNNOOOOOO!!! NOTTTT THAAAAT!!!! GOOOOD!!! BAT CAVE! BAT CAAAAAAVEEEEE!!!” Sally shrieked, submitting. Brian had only had to colour in 4 small squares of flesh before she broke. Sally sat there panting, Daisy breathed a huge sigh of relief as she herself had only been seconds away from resorting to the safe word. “Dammit Brian! By god that was a clever tickling tactic! Within the rules too. Congratulations and the very best of luck to you and Daisy in the next round though I almost had you Daisy didn’t I?” A smiling Daisy nodded and wiggled her reinforced heel and toe soles at him cheekily.
Simon Baxter closed the flap to room IV again more than satisfied with his amazing staff and happy customers. Tomorrow would be another day of infinitely different tickling scenarios with the common thread being lots sheer beautiful nylon and ticklish laughter. But right now he had the urge to find some nylon soles to tickle himself and he was in about as perfect as place as there was in the world to do so. The Bat Cave was his enjoy.
To be continued…..
Part one
Part 2 - Pleasures of the Bat Cave Club
“Please! Please!! Not my toes! Not my toooeees!!!” Exclaimed the blonde occupant of the stocks set up in one of the Bat Caves playrooms. Lawrence Stephenson was having the time of his life and not for the fist time congratulated himself on the best £10,000 a month he had ever spent. A corporate lawyer by trade he was almost breathless with excitement which was very apparent from the large bulge in his silk kimono. The scenario had been set up exactly as he had wanted. Nelleka, the object of his ticklish ministrations, was exactly what he had ordered. 25, lithe and dressed in very sheer black reinforced heel and toe Cervin stockings with red seams. The exquisite hosiery was teamed with a bodice of fishnet material which only heightened his excitement. A pink garter on her left thigh made it very clear that only tickling of non errogenous zones was allowed, but that suited Lawrence just fine. There were always the upstairs apartments and the “ladies in red” as he liked to think of them, for later.
Nelleka’s ankles had been set in the sturdy but fur lined stocks and her wrists chained over her head allowing him access to her upper body if he ever tired of her feet. All of his favourite tickling tools had been laid out for him on a table next to the base of the stocks. Madame Cholet was nothing if not thorough.
Lawrence gently held back the toes of her left foot and repeatedly grazed his nails over Nelleka’s high, nylon sheathed, arch. “How much does this tickle my darling?” he asked gleefully. “EEeeee!!!! It tickles really bad! Reeeeeaaallyy baaad!!!” Pleaded his blonde victim. Her pleas went up an octave as he traced the seams of her stocking down her taught arch to her heels and swirled his manicured finger nails around her nylon covered Achilles’ tendon.
Nelleka had been an employee of the Bat Cave for 3 months and in her opinion it was also one the best decisions she had ever made. She had chosen the pink garter of a “lee” reasoning the doubling of her salary over that of an untouchable “black garter” was more than compensated by enduring a little tickling. To her surprise in the assessment conducted as part of her application process she had found out she was very ticklish, especially on the soles of her feet. Madame Cholet had thoroughly appraised every tickle spot on her body before agreeing she would make an excellent ‘lee. Her giggling responses to the tickling were real and unusually she did not seem to desensitise particularly quickly. So whilst her reactions to the torture that Lawrence was inflicting on her nylon soles did not need to be faked she was schooled enough to play into his specific “ler needs” of asking her questions as to “how bad” or “how much” a particular technique tickled her. All of her ‘lers were different. Some wanted you to beg, some just wanted you to laugh and giggle and some even wanted you gagged and silent. Lawrence was a “talker”.
“Well my dear, now we have warmed you up I think it’s time to tie back your beautiful toes and see how you like a back scratcher dragged up and down your helpless soles!” He slipped the bungee cords over her big toes, stretching her black nyloned soles taut and selected a solid silver back scratcher from his table of torture implements. “No!!! Mr Stephenson please! You know I can’t stand the back scratcher! Not when you tie my toes back, it tickles so badly especially in these sheer stockings you have put me in!” She knew she was pressing all of her clients buttons. Lawrence let out a contented sigh, “Unfortunately my dear you are just going to have to grin and bear it as they say!” With that he began to slowly trace the metal tines down the side of Nelleka’s immobilised left sole. For a moment the only sound in the room was the delicious “scritching” of metal playing over nylon before a wave of giggles bubbled from his victims lips. “This iiiiissssss tooooortuuuure!!!!” She panted. “We are only just starting!” he delightedly informed her as he began to gently rake the back scratcher up and down the arch of her left foot. “Plee he he he heeeze!!! Thaaaat ti hi hi hi hickles much worse than your fi hi hi hi heeee hingers!!!!” This was indeed true for Nelleka and whilst her reactions were genuine so to was the thought that in a few more weeks she would have saved enough to put down a deposit on her own apartment. All thanks to her mostly polite and largely charming “nylon footmen”.
“Now for some real tickle torture!” Lawrence excitedly exclaimed. “Let’s see how you like my scratcher on the base of your toes!” With one hand he held back her toes and teased the scratcher up and down the nylon encased, hyper sensitive area of skin at the base of her toes. “Scritch, scritch, scritch” went the back scratcher as it was dragged repeatedly over the thin layer of black nylon which was all that was separating it from the masses of nerve endings just below Nelleka’s toes. “Oooooh myyyy gaaaaaaaad that tiiiiiiiiccccckkklllleeeeees soooo muuuh muuuh muuuh muuuch!!!! Not there anyyyywhere but theeeere!!” Lawrence Stephenson was in heaven and if the truth be told Nelleka, despite the fiendish tickling being visited on her nylon soles was far from hating this evening either “better than a gym work out” she liked to think. There were still 60 minutes of Lawrence’s allotted session to go and there were many, many more implements of tickling torture that he planned to use on the restrained stockinged feet he had at his mercy.
Meanwhile business was brisk down in the bar. An assortment of members chatted amiably over the chink of glasses either standing at the expansive cocktail bar or relaxing in in the supple leather high backed chairs. Black stockinged waitresses flitted between tables ensuring glasses never ran dry. The majority sported the “off limits” black garter on their thighs which was a convention religiously enforced by the establishment. Though the more enterprising had come to realise that if they occasionally slipped their nyloned feet from their high heeled pumps or teasingly dangled their shoes then their table tips from members increased exponentially.
Simon Baxter, millionaire proprietor of the Bat Cave, surveyed the scene happily. He recognised the heady feeling of excitement in the room as members waited for their allotted sessions, all laid out to their own precise nylon tickling requirements. He caught the eye of Madame Cholet, his indomitable front of house matron. “So Madame C, how is business in the basement level tonight?” The buxom, corseted madam consulted her ledger, “Well Monsieur Baxter, we are currently providing one witch trial, one themed interrogation and a multi member tickling tournament .” He sighed contentedly, “Oh to be a fly on those walls,” he smiled, knowing full well that if he had the inclination he could review the Closed Circuit TV footage from each and every room in the Bat Cave at his leisure. Giving, what he had now begin to think of as “his people”, the safe space to indulge (albeit at a hefty price) their every nylon tickling desire gave him great pleasure. Knowing his almost insatiable love for his passion, Madame Cholet gave him a lascivious wink and suggested he take a tour of the basement “just in the interests of ensuring good customer service.” He drained his champagne and readily agreed.
A stone spiral staircase led from the ground floor to the ancient but heavily modernised stone walled floor below that had previously been a series of mercantile storage rooms. Flaming torches in sconces lined the walls and gave a wonderful gothic glow to this part of the Bat Cave. As he descended deeper the sounds of delicious laughter and giggling met his delighted ears. Chambers I, II and IV were in use currently. Whilst each was screened off behind a heavy black wooden door an observation flap, similar to those in prisons, had been built into each. Used primarily on regular security sweeps, the members knew whilst their sessions were private they were not secret.
Simon dropped the flap of Room I and peered inside. A fully functioning medieval rack had been set in the centre of the room. On it and fully outstretched lay a thirty something raven haired beauty in a white shift and nude coloured lace topped hold ups. Her nyloned ankles restrained in heavy wooden stocks and a red garter on her thigh. To the left of the rack sat a man, the very image of Matthew Hopkins, the 17th century Witch Finder general. He was infact the fifty-something Trevor Percival, high ranking and respected member of the Church of England. Standing near the foot of the rack were two nubile blonde women both dressed in sheer black body stockings with cat masks covering their faces and both clutching long stiff turkey feathers.
“This is your last chance witch!” Bellowed the inquisitor. “Recant the ways of Satan and save your soul from eternal damnation!”
“Go to hell you monster!” Spat the accused. “I am neither witch nor wh@re yet you would seek to make me both! I see the lust in your eyes as you stare at my shapely legs!” Simon silently commended the acting performance that Patricia, one of his star “anything goes” ‘lees was giving her client. Heavily rewarded for her services she was an enthusiastic, increasingly wealthy and most importantly incredibly ticklish member of the Bat Cave staff.
“You dare tempt me sorceress?! I give you one last chance to recant and save yourself!”
“Never!” Patricia said starring directly at her accuser.
“You leave me no choice but to resort to the torture! Apply the feathers to her feet!”
The two Cat Girls took up positions next to Patricia’s restrained ankles, gently held back her toes and began stroking their feathers up and down her nude nylon covered soles.
Patricia screwed her eyes shut, set her pretty lips in a grimace but as the feathers repeatedly did their fiendish work, giggles began to escape from the corner of her mouth.
“You cannot resist the feathering of your feet! Recant woman! Recant!” Exclaimed the Witch Finder, the excitement and lust palpable in his voice. The Cat torturesses continued their tickling, covering their victims feet in feathery caresses. When they reached their victims nylon covered toes, Patricia’s stifled giggles turned to gales of desperate laughter. Patricia, as Simon well knew, was one of those rare women who were genuinely feather ticklish even through nylons. So whilst she was acting her part as an accused witch, her ticklish reactions were far from staged. The Cats used their feathers to prod and stoke at their victims nylon sheathed toe stems and cleavage causing Patricia to shake her head from side to side, “Haaa haa heee hee aaahhh hee I’ll neveeeer hheeeee confeeeeeessss he haa ha haaa!” The feathering of her soles continued relentlessly.
“I see the demon that has possessed you has given you some strength witch! Let’s see if you can withstand the quill ends being played across your stockinged soles!” At that the two Cat girls reversed their feathers and began to trace the pointed ends of their implements up and down the arches of their victim.
“Noooooooo!!!! Heeee eeeee eeeeaaaak haaaaaa you fieeeeendssss!!!!” The Cat torturing her left foot circled her quill tip relentlessly around the ball of Patricia’s foot whilst the Cat tickling her right hosed sole traced intricate patterns in the centre of her high arch. The Witch Finder General’s breathing had become more hoarse as he became increasingly aroused. Simon closed the flap leaving him to his fun. He knew that before the session was over Patricia would feel the tickling caresses of the feathers on her knees, tummy, breasts and under arms. She would indeed finally confess to being a witch but only after the Cat girls had slowly and tortuously tickled her sex to the point of near insanity. Patricia was a lady who loved her work and was even more loved by her clients.
Simon moved on to room II and lowered the flap. The tableaux laid out was very different. The room had been decked out in a futuristic monochrome. A modified dentists chair dominated the centre of the room. Strapped into it was the very vision of Princess Leia, had Carrie Fisher ever dressed in a white neglige, suspenders, very sheer white stockings and white high heels. Complete with the requisite hair buns the “Princess’s” arms were pinioned at her sides by thick padded straps. Her legs were stretched out in front of her,slightly splayed and elevated, displaying the red soles of her white stilettos. Her ankles were secured with the same thick padded cuffs.
A 30 something man in a very realistic grey Star Wars Galactic Empire uniform was standing over her,
“And now Princess we will discuss the location of your rebel base.” Daniel Cartwright, engineering professor at London University, could not believe just how good or exciting it was to say those words.
“This is a diplomatic mission!” Exclaimed the Princess who was infact 23 year old Fleur Simms, drama graduate and pink garter level ‘lee. She had rehearsed her lines for this session and was getting a kick out of giving her very best indignant Carrie Fisher impersonation.
“You are a member of the rebel alliance and a traitor! And we have ways of making you talk!”
“Do your worst you fiend I’ll never betray the rebellion!”
With that Daniel selected two Pursonic tooth brushes with wishbone head attachments and buzzed them into life. He began by gently playing the buzzing tips over the Princess’s right nyloned kneecap whilst using the other to tickle the back of her knee. The cunning design of the chair gave him all the access he needed.
“Nggghhh! Th-Th-The more you tickle me the more of my secrets will slip through your fingers!” Fleur exclaimed through gritted teeth. Smiling, her Imperial torturer replied, “Perhaps you would prefer another target? A more ticklish target??” He glanced down hungrily at her feet and she followed his gaze. “Not there! You wouldn’t dare!” Discarding the tooth brushes for a moment he seated himself comfortably in the swivel chair at her feet. He slowly slipped off her shoes, revealing her perfect nylon covered feet inch by inch. Her shapely soles,slightly pink gleamed through the sheer white nylon material and her red nail polish was visible through the shadow toes of her stockings. Fleur attempted to struggle but the ankle bonds held her fast and all she could do was flex and scrunch her toes nervously. Like many of her co-workers she had been selected for work at the Bat Cave based on having remarkably ticklish feet and also just like them, the view that a little tickling was more than compensated for by her significant monthly pay check.
Daniel gazed at her helpless white nylon covered soles, his heart beating faster in his chest. Unlike some of his fellow members, Daniel’s passion was not for feather or finger tickling but for using gadgets and machines on nylon covered soles so this particular fantasy was his idea of heaven. He buzzed the toothbrushes to life, “Last chance to talk your highness….” She manufactured a stoically silent hateful stare.
“So be it. Let’s see if these tickling droids loosen your tongue!” He lowered the buzzing tines of both brushes to her left foot and dragged them down the length of her arch. The results were electric. “YNNNNAAAARGGGHHHH!!!” Squealed the Princess. The combination of the tips tickling her soles and the buzzing that seemed to set all her nerves on fire which was then further amplified by the sheer nylon was torture. “STTTAAAAAAP!!!!” She wailed theatrically. “The location of your base then”, replied Daniel stonily. “NEHEHEVVEEEER!!!” She managed to pant. He continued his sweeps of her stockinged arches before beginning to explore the sensitive sides of her foot. This resulted in more shrieks and Fleur repeatedly banging her head in desperate frustration against the back of the padded chair. Stimulating the nylon covered skin on the tops of her foot had an equally delightful or dreadful effect depending on whose point of view you were taking. But it was when he began to explore and poke at the tops and undersides of her toes that Fleur knew she was in real trouble. “Nooot my tooooess!!! Not my ticklish tooooeehohoes!!!”
“This can all stop if you give up your friends!” Daniel declared with evil meanace. Without warning he attacked the stocking clad toes of both feet simultaneously sending the “Princess” into forced hysterics. Simon Baxter closed the viewing flap content that his employee was giving a top class performance and that his client was loving every second of it. He also knew the Pursonic brushes were only the first of the buzzing tools that would be applied to Fleurs white stockinged feet and that by the end of the two hour session she would indeed have given away the Echo Base location of the Rebellion on the ice planet of Hoth.
Simon sauntered to his final destination - Room IV. The sounds of giggling and laughter were audible even before he opened the flap to look inside. The scene inside was again different. This was what the Bat Cave liked to call “The Monthly tournament”. Or more precisely one of the early rounds. In essence it was a knock out competition between all the members who signed up for it and agreed to the £1000 wager that was required. For that stake a member was paired, via a lottery, with a random ‘lee.
The rules were simple. Each pair went head to head with another par, the victor being the first to make their ‘lee submit and say the safeword “Bat Cave”. The twist being the club member never tickled the ‘lee he/she was paired with rather the ‘lee of his opponent which prevented any cheating and encouraged ‘lee/‘ler teamwork. Each session was conducted over 4 rounds of 5 minutes of foot tickling in between which the ‘lees were to change into a different pair of stockings, pre-selected by their opponents ler. This also gave some time for their feet to re-sensitise as well as adding to the members overall visual enjoyment.
Any form of tickling or tickling tools were permitted. The ‘lees were simultaneously tickled side by side in stocks so the result was clear. The winner of each round would progress till eventually only one ler and lee were left - the former pocketing the entire stake and the latter a substantial bonus. It was universally very popular.
Simon loved watching tournament matches. Two sets of sturdy but very padded stocks had been set up in the centre of the room. On the left sat Daisy, a 25 year old brunette sporting a pair of Secrets In lace off white black seamed stockings and pink garter. To the right sat Sally a 32 year old Welsh platinum blonde dressed in sheer Speerise shiny suntan tights. Both were having the soles of their feet tickled relentlessly. Daisy had been paired with Brian, an architect from Surrey whilst Sally with David, an up and coming member of the Conservative Party.
Consequently Brian was doing all he could to make his opponents ‘lee, Sally, submit. He was scrabbling his fingers up and down her suntanned hosed soles, “Haaa! Ha! Heee! EeeAaah!! I ca ha ha can’t ta hae hae take much moooore Daviiiiddd! Get Daisy!!! Get heeerrrr!!” She giggled and wailed to her partner. David needed no encouragement and redoubled his tickling attack of Daisy’s seamed white soles. “Hang in there Sally! I’ll get her toes and the match will be ours!” He bent back the toes of Daisy’s right foot and played a hairbrush over the nylon encased skin. “Nooo!! Not there!!! Anywhere but th-th-the-theeere!!!” Begged Daisy, close to breaking, she was saved by the bell.
An alarm sounded that marked the end of round three. Brian and David released their ‘lees from the stocks, helping their respective partners to their feet offering words of congratulations and encouragement like “we’ll win this yet” and “I’ll really get her toes next round”. Brian and David were treated to watching the ladies slip out of their current hose and change into fresh stockings for the final round. For Daisy, David had chosen a personal favourite, Geo Bronze Cuban heel fully fashioned nylons. For Sally Brian had opted for Leg Avenue lace topped fishnet stockings. The ladies made a show and tease of seductively donning their hosiery, heightening the arousal of the men. David turned to Brian, “Fishnets! You rank amateur. They are terrible for tickling! Your fingers get caught and they provide to much protection! This game is as good as mine!” Daniel just smiled and winked at his partner Daisy whilst the fishnet bedecked Sally suddenly got a sinking feeling in her stomach.
The ladies resumed their seats in the stocks which were locked shut about their ankles. Smug at the thought of an easy victory, David attached toe ties to Daisy’s bronze rht stockinged feet and selected an evil looking pair of black grooming mittens from the table of tickling tools. He menacingly wiggled his fingers at Daisy, “These are going to be murder on your nylon soles! You might as well just say the safe word now!” Daisy blanched and Sally sniggered in agreement at her partners cunning. Brian meanwhile settled himself calmly at Sally’s fishnet covered soles admiring her pale skin visible through the always sexy meshed material.
The bell sounded. David did not waste a second. He ran the grooming mittens up and down Daisy’s bronze coloured arches. “GAAAAGHHH!!!! THHHaaaatss SO ho ho Heee tickleeeeeeey heee hee he!!!” The multiple plastic bristles tickled like mad. He changed tactics to swirling both mittens of the top and bottom of her left stockinged foot simultaneously. “AEEEIIII! I ca he can’t tAAaeeeke much mooooore Briaaaaaaan!!! Help meeeee PLEEEEAZEEEE!!!” As the relentless grooming of his partners nylon feet continued, Brian calmly withdrew a black fibre tipped pen from his jacket packet. Holding back Sally’s fishnet covered toes he enacted his master plan. He began colouring in the bare skin visible between the meshed fishnet material. Small diamond by tortuous small diamond. Sally went crazy at the feeling of the fibre tip stimulating her bare skin. “NNNNOOOOOO!!! NOTTTT THAAAAT!!!! GOOOOD!!! BAT CAVE! BAT CAAAAAAVEEEEE!!!” Sally shrieked, submitting. Brian had only had to colour in 4 small squares of flesh before she broke. Sally sat there panting, Daisy breathed a huge sigh of relief as she herself had only been seconds away from resorting to the safe word. “Dammit Brian! By god that was a clever tickling tactic! Within the rules too. Congratulations and the very best of luck to you and Daisy in the next round though I almost had you Daisy didn’t I?” A smiling Daisy nodded and wiggled her reinforced heel and toe soles at him cheekily.
Simon Baxter closed the flap to room IV again more than satisfied with his amazing staff and happy customers. Tomorrow would be another day of infinitely different tickling scenarios with the common thread being lots sheer beautiful nylon and ticklish laughter. But right now he had the urge to find some nylon soles to tickle himself and he was in about as perfect as place as there was in the world to do so. The Bat Cave was his enjoy.
To be continued…..
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