blackmagicjack1
3rd Level Red Feather
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- Aug 22, 2003
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There isn't any actual tickling in this story, only the suggestion of. If it is more appropriate to the non-tk section, then would the moderators please move it there. Now on with the story.
The room was filled with guttering light and smoke. The light was from the candles placed in a random fashion on the crates filling the room. The smoke was not only from the candles, but in the room were three large tripod braziers, each belching out incense into the room. To any that might breathe of the incense, a feeling of giddiness would overcome them. Much like being tickled from the inside out.
In a back corner of the room, behind a row of crates, was a young woman shackled to the wall. She was a voluptuous red head, just barely over five feet in height. The only thing covering her vulnerable form was the sheen of sweat upon her body. A moan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open. Seeing that no one was in the room, the first unforced smile in days lit her face. A moment of rest, thought Jezebel, and maybe escape.
Jezebel did not know how many days she had been here, only that this was the first time she had been alone. They had promised that they would break her, that their customers liked submissive products. Well after their ministrations she could do nothing but to break. She took a sharp inhale of breath just remembering the attention they gave her body. The way they touched her. What they did to her. Nipples stiffened at her thoughts and she caught herself licking her lips. I have to get out of here, she thought. If they come back again I'll be lost.
The incense was still working it's damnable magic upon her. She needed to keep her concentration. She needed her hands free, but not for the task that the giddy vapors were making her think of.
“Christ! You would think I'd have had enough of being pleasured silly!”
She regretted the outburst immediately. What if someone heard her? She didn't think her poor body could take their tortures anymore, let alone her mind. Listening quietly with a hardly a breath coming from her, Jezebel waited. She heard nothing but the snapping of embers from the brazier. As her mind thought of the brazier and it's gaseous playmate, she grinned lazily. She squirmed in her bounds. Grazing her back against the wall sent a delicious rush through the pit of her stomach. Okay, she thought. I must get loose. Then I can take care of myself and then I can escape from this room.
Were there keys? She spied no keys. Were the shackles loose? She rattled and pulled on the bands around her wrists? With some diligence she pulled her right hand a quarter of the way through. Could she get more? Jezebel continued to twist and pull her hand through, at times putting her whole body into the movement. With each twist of her body her thighs would graze each other, exciting her. At the same time it was obvious that her hand would not escape unscathed. As she pulled on her bound a thin layer of skin was scraped from her. Once again she was caught in the torment of pleasure and pain. With each effort her breath came faster, her nostrils flared and her flesh flushed.
“Come on, come on,” she growled.
Then with half gasp, half muffled scream she pulled her hand from the shackle. Moments later, her hand was between her legs delivering the sweetest of pleasures to herself.
“No!” she snarled. “First I must get the rest of the way loose, then I can a little bitty break.”
Twisting herself so that her head rested above her left hand, she spat upon her wrist several times. Then she reached over with her free hand and began rotating the shackle back and forth, while pulling her trapped hand loose. With both her hands free, she quickly collapsed to the ground. Closing her eyes in rest for few moments, she let her hands run across the floor. Her left hand came upon something sharp. With a muffled cry, her eyes flashed open to look at what had pricked her hand. It was a long sewing needle. They must have accidentally dropped it. It was one of the instruments that had been used upon her. She grabbed up the sewing needle and quickly went to work on the locks of the shackles holding her feet. In some ways she was quiet the accomplished burglar, having many opportunities to practice by sneaking by Daddy's ever watchful eye. Click! Went one lock and soon after the other followed. Jezebel flung the needle across the room, then stretched her body out on the floor resting her shoulders against the wall. She gave an exultant sigh. Now, she thought, to business.
With that silent permission, her hands took on a life of their own. Her left hand simply roamed her body, taking delight in the feel of thigh, stomach, breast and nipple. But her right hand was more sinister. It wanted to give Jezebel the bliss of release. First it made light circles around the edge of her vagina. Jezebel squirmed and opened her thighs wider. Having the palace gates opened to it, the evil hand made it's attack. A finger slipped in out and out of Jezebel. There were sighs, there were moans, there words “more, more.” Jezebel hand, being an obedient servant, did just that. Soon with each thrust a thumb was grazing the woman's clitoris. The smoke had done it's job well and Jezebel was well ready for such treatment. Her moans were no longer sighs. Her cries of delight no longer moans. Jezebel felt that at any moment she was going to explode.
Then without warning rough hands grabbed her from the floor. Before she could open her eyes a blind fold was wrapped around her head. The men then held her between them. Lips and stubble grazed her ear.
“Seems you started playing without us,” whispered a coarse voice. “That will cost you, Red.”
The room was no longer filled with sounds of pleasure. Not unless one counts laughter as pleasure.
The room was filled with guttering light and smoke. The light was from the candles placed in a random fashion on the crates filling the room. The smoke was not only from the candles, but in the room were three large tripod braziers, each belching out incense into the room. To any that might breathe of the incense, a feeling of giddiness would overcome them. Much like being tickled from the inside out.
In a back corner of the room, behind a row of crates, was a young woman shackled to the wall. She was a voluptuous red head, just barely over five feet in height. The only thing covering her vulnerable form was the sheen of sweat upon her body. A moan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open. Seeing that no one was in the room, the first unforced smile in days lit her face. A moment of rest, thought Jezebel, and maybe escape.
Jezebel did not know how many days she had been here, only that this was the first time she had been alone. They had promised that they would break her, that their customers liked submissive products. Well after their ministrations she could do nothing but to break. She took a sharp inhale of breath just remembering the attention they gave her body. The way they touched her. What they did to her. Nipples stiffened at her thoughts and she caught herself licking her lips. I have to get out of here, she thought. If they come back again I'll be lost.
The incense was still working it's damnable magic upon her. She needed to keep her concentration. She needed her hands free, but not for the task that the giddy vapors were making her think of.
“Christ! You would think I'd have had enough of being pleasured silly!”
She regretted the outburst immediately. What if someone heard her? She didn't think her poor body could take their tortures anymore, let alone her mind. Listening quietly with a hardly a breath coming from her, Jezebel waited. She heard nothing but the snapping of embers from the brazier. As her mind thought of the brazier and it's gaseous playmate, she grinned lazily. She squirmed in her bounds. Grazing her back against the wall sent a delicious rush through the pit of her stomach. Okay, she thought. I must get loose. Then I can take care of myself and then I can escape from this room.
Were there keys? She spied no keys. Were the shackles loose? She rattled and pulled on the bands around her wrists? With some diligence she pulled her right hand a quarter of the way through. Could she get more? Jezebel continued to twist and pull her hand through, at times putting her whole body into the movement. With each twist of her body her thighs would graze each other, exciting her. At the same time it was obvious that her hand would not escape unscathed. As she pulled on her bound a thin layer of skin was scraped from her. Once again she was caught in the torment of pleasure and pain. With each effort her breath came faster, her nostrils flared and her flesh flushed.
“Come on, come on,” she growled.
Then with half gasp, half muffled scream she pulled her hand from the shackle. Moments later, her hand was between her legs delivering the sweetest of pleasures to herself.
“No!” she snarled. “First I must get the rest of the way loose, then I can a little bitty break.”
Twisting herself so that her head rested above her left hand, she spat upon her wrist several times. Then she reached over with her free hand and began rotating the shackle back and forth, while pulling her trapped hand loose. With both her hands free, she quickly collapsed to the ground. Closing her eyes in rest for few moments, she let her hands run across the floor. Her left hand came upon something sharp. With a muffled cry, her eyes flashed open to look at what had pricked her hand. It was a long sewing needle. They must have accidentally dropped it. It was one of the instruments that had been used upon her. She grabbed up the sewing needle and quickly went to work on the locks of the shackles holding her feet. In some ways she was quiet the accomplished burglar, having many opportunities to practice by sneaking by Daddy's ever watchful eye. Click! Went one lock and soon after the other followed. Jezebel flung the needle across the room, then stretched her body out on the floor resting her shoulders against the wall. She gave an exultant sigh. Now, she thought, to business.
With that silent permission, her hands took on a life of their own. Her left hand simply roamed her body, taking delight in the feel of thigh, stomach, breast and nipple. But her right hand was more sinister. It wanted to give Jezebel the bliss of release. First it made light circles around the edge of her vagina. Jezebel squirmed and opened her thighs wider. Having the palace gates opened to it, the evil hand made it's attack. A finger slipped in out and out of Jezebel. There were sighs, there were moans, there words “more, more.” Jezebel hand, being an obedient servant, did just that. Soon with each thrust a thumb was grazing the woman's clitoris. The smoke had done it's job well and Jezebel was well ready for such treatment. Her moans were no longer sighs. Her cries of delight no longer moans. Jezebel felt that at any moment she was going to explode.
Then without warning rough hands grabbed her from the floor. Before she could open her eyes a blind fold was wrapped around her head. The men then held her between them. Lips and stubble grazed her ear.
“Seems you started playing without us,” whispered a coarse voice. “That will cost you, Red.”
The room was no longer filled with sounds of pleasure. Not unless one counts laughter as pleasure.
