Sablesword
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2001
- Messages
- 787
- Points
- 18
Surprise Time (M/F)
It's been a while since I've written a short story. This one is in the same alt-history setting as my novel Tickle Witch and features a couple of minor characters from that novel.
April, dressed in a gray pencil-skirt and blue blouse, set out the casserole to thaw. The calendar on the kitchen wall read November 1959, and the thin rayon wraps of the summer had long since been packed away. No clock in the kitchen, however, except for the oven timer – and that was awkward. April had to send it a mental probe to get it to display the time. She did so, setting it to start heating the oven in an hour, before turning to check over the rest of the dinner. The faint sound of a cold rain came through the windows, with a louder rattle of the hobble-chain bouncing off the linoleum.
Slave women normally went barefoot in the home. Hobbles went with shoes, worn outside the home. Built in, usually, as with hobble-heels. Barefoot hobbles were only inflicted as a tease or, as in April’s case, a light punishment.
Two days ago, April had dropped a plate. Master William, with a temper frayed from weeks of long hours at work had said something he shouldn’t have. April had then said something she really shouldn’t have, and her master decreed the hobbles. In this Age of Psychology, it was a punishment only because it had been intended as such, and even then Master William had mitigated its effect with his unspoken apology for having lost his temper.
April accepted both the hobbles and the apology. It wasn’t as if she could escape, after all. All women were slaves, these days: The Demancipation Amendment had been passed back in 1920, over a decade before April had been born. April did still want to see certain reforms – not all women were as lucky in their owners as she was – but in all she didn’t see what else could have been done. Too many women these days needed their collars, or they’d go mad, and not just the bond witches, either. Given that, it was best to treat all women as equally as possible. April touched her own collar of plain steel. On a purely selfish level, she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t go mad herself, if her collar were removed. In that case, she’d have to be locked up anyway. This way, she could at least keep her mind and her sanity.
The front door opened and closed. “April! I’m home!” Master William called. Two hours earlier than expected. April hurried – or hobble-hurried, rather – to prepare his martini. A few minutes later she knelt before him, as he sat sprawled on the couch, with an anonymous package on the side table. He took the martini and looked her over. Inspecting her, April realized. He’d be seeing a dark-haired woman of average height. Barefoot, hobbled, and collared, of course. Glasses in front of her face and brains behind them. Master William had brains and glasses himself, and had insisted on buying a smart woman, to the confusion of the rather dull-minded slave dealer who had sold her.
“I’m sorry dinner isn’t ready yet, master,” April said at last.
Master William waved that away. “You didn’t expect me until seven. But we finally got that– well, we fixed the problem we were having at work, so I’ll be coming home at five, again. You can plan for that starting tomorrow.”
“Yes, master.”
“And you’re curious about this package.”
“Well, yes master.” April had been glancing at it; curiosity went along with having brains.
Master William smiled. “It’s a surprise for you. You can’t guess what it is?”
“I’m not a bond witch, master.”
“No, you’re not.” Another gesture brushed away his teasing. “Well. If you’d like, you may fix yourself a drink, while we wait for dinner to thaw. Or,” he patted the cushion, “you can join me here, now that I’m no longer a beast with a sore tooth.”
April shook her head, and looked Master William right in the eye. “Master,” she said. “I beg the tickle.”
She expected him to smile at that. She was wrong: He laughed. “I can’t have been that much of a monster, then.”
April grinned back. “You never were really mean, master.”
“Thank you! Now you can sit here and wait.” Master fished his keys out and unlocked April’s left ankle. A moment later he locked it again, this time around the couch’s center leg. Leaving the package beyond her reach, as he left to fetch supplies. April looked at it, but saw no clue to its possible contents. She tried a mental probe. Nothing. As she had said, she wasn’t a bond witch. Her Rhine score was respectable for a house slave (and well above almost any man’s) but still well short of bond-witch level.
Five minutes later, April was out of the hobbles and well trussed, lying belly down on the couch. Ankles crossed and bound, wrists crossed and bound, a rope harness around her upper body, and tethers between her wrists, her ankles, and her harness. A tickle-tie, and as soon as the last knot was tightened, Master William began the tickle.
He started with his fingers. April could feel them lightly tapping her soles, rather than stroking. Lightly. And after a dozen taps, the touch began to tickle.
April giggled. The tickle-taps kept coming, a gentle tease raining on her soles. All over her soles: On the balls of her feet and the heels, on the arches and the toes. A constant tickle sinking into her bare skin, making her want to squirm. A tickle that her master could keep up for the longest time.
April loved it. It felt sweet, like honey. It felt exciting! It made her feel helpless, even more so than the tight trussing Master William had put her in. It made her feel like a woman. She laughed, unable to stop even if she wanted. She wanted to throw herself into her owner’s arms, so that she might melt there like butter. That he might do whatever he wanted. But not if that would stop those wonderful tickle-sensations soaking through her, raining in through the bare skin of her bare feet.
On and on the tickle-tapping continued. After an hour, April sent out a mental probe. On the second attempt – distracted by the teasing on her soles – the oven timer reported that ten minutes had passed.
Master William had sensed the probe. “Ready to quit?” he asked, as he kept the tickle-sensations coming in all over her soles.
“Heeheehee! No master!” April gasped.
“Well then.” Master William stopped, and began to rub her feet instead. Not quitting, but to prepare them for another round. “Well then,” he repeated, and then April felt the feather.
It was an ordinary feather, except that no feather was ordinary when Master William applied it. Instead of a steady tickle sinking in all over her bare feet, April felt lines of tease. Straight lines, brushing and softly sawing, across the sole of her right foot, and then across the naked sole of her left. Her feet were bare, April realized absurdly. Of course they were: Slave women normally went barefoot in the home, only wearing shoes (and hobbles) when they ventured outside. But now her feet felt really bare as the feathery tickle-lines ran across them. April laugh and laughed as she felt the lines climb slowly up from her heels to her toes, and then back down again. Alternating between her feet with each stroke.
Then Master William applied the feather to the tops of her feet. To her right foot first, making her laugh and laugh. Then to her left foot, making her squirm and giggle. Then once more to the nude skin of her naked soles, concentrating the delicious lines on her left sole before switching back to her right.
April was ready to start crying with laughter. But despite this – or because of it – she wanted more. More and more and more. More tickling! She made a small noise of disappointment when Master William stopped. But he just smiled gently and lifted her up to kneel on the couch. “Catch your breath,” he told her with a kiss on her forehead.
He rose and took the package. April turned her head to see him disappear into the kitchen. Through the doorway came the sound of unwrapping paper, and then April sensed something electric. A new appliance of some sort. But April couldn’t tell what. Maybe a real bond witch, like her friend Susanna, could sense what it was without looking, but she couldn’t. She’d have to see it, maybe even touch it, before she could read or control it.
Master William returned. “Still curious?” he teased her.
“Yes, master,” April admitted. She sent out another probe, and again got back only that it was something plugged in.
“Let’s distract you then.” Master William gave her belly a quick tickle, through her blouse, before tilting her down again so that her bare feet stuck up in the air once more. She started yet another mental probe – and abandoned it as a pair of raking tickles tore through her soles. Master was using that new nylon thing! Two of them! Raking rapidly from her heels to her toes! On both feet at once!
April couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand it and it was wonderful! She wanted to get away, and she couldn’t, and she was glad she couldn’t. Getting away would have ended the tickle. But she couldn’t. Master William had tied her well, and his knee now pinned her legs against the back of the couch so that she couldn’t even try to roll away. The tickle-rake didn’t just tease the bare skin of her bare feet, but rather her whole foot, solidly. Both feet at once, filled with solid tickle. And April could do nothing but pull uselessly at the ties on her wrists and laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh.
It couldn’t last long, and it didn’t. Soon enough, Master William paused, and changed the tempo. Now his wicked implement was teasing April’s bare legs. With a slower, softer touch than on her soles. A lighter, more teasing tickle. A tickle that left room for curiosity. April wanted to see what the new appliance was. She couldn’t, however, until the tickle ended. And she didn’t want the tickle to end yet. But as long as the tickle lasted, she couldn’t see what the new appliance was.
April squirmed with frustration – and found that the frustration was making her more sensitive. That was one solution: Enough tickling would drive all curiosity from her mind.
Master William was humming ‘The Pink-Toed Girl,’ and April knew what that meant. He had set aside the nylon things and was using his fingers now. Wiggling them, rather than tapping with the tips. Seeking out all the tickle spots he knew about, and he knew about all of them.
“Heeheeheehaheeheeheeheeeeeeeee!” April howled. Her master’s fingers were tickling her all over: Sides and belly and neck and arms and legs. And on her feet. Wonderful delicious tickles all over the bare soles and bare skin of her tied and helpless bare feet.
April’s wrists were free now, and she found herself clutching Master William. Her owner held her snuggly in return, stroking her hair. Grinning at her, glasses to glasses as he so often did. Kissing her, checking her for steadiness while indulging himself. “Yes, master,” she answered the unspoken question, and allowed him to help her to her feet. Chain rattled; he had put the barefoot hobbles back on her.
Curiosity blossomed again, and April hobble-hurried into the kitchen, Master William following. The new appliance sat on a shelf: A clock radio. A modern psi-active design, and now that April could see it, her mental probe revealed all its functions.
“Thank you, master!” Another hug and kiss. Master William really was a wonderful owner, and April was lucky to belong to him.
“You’re welcome,” he answered, and then gave her a grin. “About those hobbles: They’ll stay on for tonight, but depending on how well you do dinner, I’ll either take them off tomorrow or wait until Thursday.”
April grinned back. Tomorrow was Thursday. The oven came on, set by its timer, and April washed her hands at the sink. She had a dinner to prepare.
(end)
It's been a while since I've written a short story. This one is in the same alt-history setting as my novel Tickle Witch and features a couple of minor characters from that novel.
Surprise Time
by Sablesword
by Sablesword
April, dressed in a gray pencil-skirt and blue blouse, set out the casserole to thaw. The calendar on the kitchen wall read November 1959, and the thin rayon wraps of the summer had long since been packed away. No clock in the kitchen, however, except for the oven timer – and that was awkward. April had to send it a mental probe to get it to display the time. She did so, setting it to start heating the oven in an hour, before turning to check over the rest of the dinner. The faint sound of a cold rain came through the windows, with a louder rattle of the hobble-chain bouncing off the linoleum.
Slave women normally went barefoot in the home. Hobbles went with shoes, worn outside the home. Built in, usually, as with hobble-heels. Barefoot hobbles were only inflicted as a tease or, as in April’s case, a light punishment.
Two days ago, April had dropped a plate. Master William, with a temper frayed from weeks of long hours at work had said something he shouldn’t have. April had then said something she really shouldn’t have, and her master decreed the hobbles. In this Age of Psychology, it was a punishment only because it had been intended as such, and even then Master William had mitigated its effect with his unspoken apology for having lost his temper.
April accepted both the hobbles and the apology. It wasn’t as if she could escape, after all. All women were slaves, these days: The Demancipation Amendment had been passed back in 1920, over a decade before April had been born. April did still want to see certain reforms – not all women were as lucky in their owners as she was – but in all she didn’t see what else could have been done. Too many women these days needed their collars, or they’d go mad, and not just the bond witches, either. Given that, it was best to treat all women as equally as possible. April touched her own collar of plain steel. On a purely selfish level, she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t go mad herself, if her collar were removed. In that case, she’d have to be locked up anyway. This way, she could at least keep her mind and her sanity.
The front door opened and closed. “April! I’m home!” Master William called. Two hours earlier than expected. April hurried – or hobble-hurried, rather – to prepare his martini. A few minutes later she knelt before him, as he sat sprawled on the couch, with an anonymous package on the side table. He took the martini and looked her over. Inspecting her, April realized. He’d be seeing a dark-haired woman of average height. Barefoot, hobbled, and collared, of course. Glasses in front of her face and brains behind them. Master William had brains and glasses himself, and had insisted on buying a smart woman, to the confusion of the rather dull-minded slave dealer who had sold her.
“I’m sorry dinner isn’t ready yet, master,” April said at last.
Master William waved that away. “You didn’t expect me until seven. But we finally got that– well, we fixed the problem we were having at work, so I’ll be coming home at five, again. You can plan for that starting tomorrow.”
“Yes, master.”
“And you’re curious about this package.”
“Well, yes master.” April had been glancing at it; curiosity went along with having brains.
Master William smiled. “It’s a surprise for you. You can’t guess what it is?”
“I’m not a bond witch, master.”
“No, you’re not.” Another gesture brushed away his teasing. “Well. If you’d like, you may fix yourself a drink, while we wait for dinner to thaw. Or,” he patted the cushion, “you can join me here, now that I’m no longer a beast with a sore tooth.”
April shook her head, and looked Master William right in the eye. “Master,” she said. “I beg the tickle.”
She expected him to smile at that. She was wrong: He laughed. “I can’t have been that much of a monster, then.”
April grinned back. “You never were really mean, master.”
“Thank you! Now you can sit here and wait.” Master fished his keys out and unlocked April’s left ankle. A moment later he locked it again, this time around the couch’s center leg. Leaving the package beyond her reach, as he left to fetch supplies. April looked at it, but saw no clue to its possible contents. She tried a mental probe. Nothing. As she had said, she wasn’t a bond witch. Her Rhine score was respectable for a house slave (and well above almost any man’s) but still well short of bond-witch level.
#
Five minutes later, April was out of the hobbles and well trussed, lying belly down on the couch. Ankles crossed and bound, wrists crossed and bound, a rope harness around her upper body, and tethers between her wrists, her ankles, and her harness. A tickle-tie, and as soon as the last knot was tightened, Master William began the tickle.
He started with his fingers. April could feel them lightly tapping her soles, rather than stroking. Lightly. And after a dozen taps, the touch began to tickle.
April giggled. The tickle-taps kept coming, a gentle tease raining on her soles. All over her soles: On the balls of her feet and the heels, on the arches and the toes. A constant tickle sinking into her bare skin, making her want to squirm. A tickle that her master could keep up for the longest time.
April loved it. It felt sweet, like honey. It felt exciting! It made her feel helpless, even more so than the tight trussing Master William had put her in. It made her feel like a woman. She laughed, unable to stop even if she wanted. She wanted to throw herself into her owner’s arms, so that she might melt there like butter. That he might do whatever he wanted. But not if that would stop those wonderful tickle-sensations soaking through her, raining in through the bare skin of her bare feet.
On and on the tickle-tapping continued. After an hour, April sent out a mental probe. On the second attempt – distracted by the teasing on her soles – the oven timer reported that ten minutes had passed.
Master William had sensed the probe. “Ready to quit?” he asked, as he kept the tickle-sensations coming in all over her soles.
“Heeheehee! No master!” April gasped.
“Well then.” Master William stopped, and began to rub her feet instead. Not quitting, but to prepare them for another round. “Well then,” he repeated, and then April felt the feather.
It was an ordinary feather, except that no feather was ordinary when Master William applied it. Instead of a steady tickle sinking in all over her bare feet, April felt lines of tease. Straight lines, brushing and softly sawing, across the sole of her right foot, and then across the naked sole of her left. Her feet were bare, April realized absurdly. Of course they were: Slave women normally went barefoot in the home, only wearing shoes (and hobbles) when they ventured outside. But now her feet felt really bare as the feathery tickle-lines ran across them. April laugh and laughed as she felt the lines climb slowly up from her heels to her toes, and then back down again. Alternating between her feet with each stroke.
Then Master William applied the feather to the tops of her feet. To her right foot first, making her laugh and laugh. Then to her left foot, making her squirm and giggle. Then once more to the nude skin of her naked soles, concentrating the delicious lines on her left sole before switching back to her right.
April was ready to start crying with laughter. But despite this – or because of it – she wanted more. More and more and more. More tickling! She made a small noise of disappointment when Master William stopped. But he just smiled gently and lifted her up to kneel on the couch. “Catch your breath,” he told her with a kiss on her forehead.
He rose and took the package. April turned her head to see him disappear into the kitchen. Through the doorway came the sound of unwrapping paper, and then April sensed something electric. A new appliance of some sort. But April couldn’t tell what. Maybe a real bond witch, like her friend Susanna, could sense what it was without looking, but she couldn’t. She’d have to see it, maybe even touch it, before she could read or control it.
Master William returned. “Still curious?” he teased her.
“Yes, master,” April admitted. She sent out another probe, and again got back only that it was something plugged in.
“Let’s distract you then.” Master William gave her belly a quick tickle, through her blouse, before tilting her down again so that her bare feet stuck up in the air once more. She started yet another mental probe – and abandoned it as a pair of raking tickles tore through her soles. Master was using that new nylon thing! Two of them! Raking rapidly from her heels to her toes! On both feet at once!
April couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand it and it was wonderful! She wanted to get away, and she couldn’t, and she was glad she couldn’t. Getting away would have ended the tickle. But she couldn’t. Master William had tied her well, and his knee now pinned her legs against the back of the couch so that she couldn’t even try to roll away. The tickle-rake didn’t just tease the bare skin of her bare feet, but rather her whole foot, solidly. Both feet at once, filled with solid tickle. And April could do nothing but pull uselessly at the ties on her wrists and laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh.
It couldn’t last long, and it didn’t. Soon enough, Master William paused, and changed the tempo. Now his wicked implement was teasing April’s bare legs. With a slower, softer touch than on her soles. A lighter, more teasing tickle. A tickle that left room for curiosity. April wanted to see what the new appliance was. She couldn’t, however, until the tickle ended. And she didn’t want the tickle to end yet. But as long as the tickle lasted, she couldn’t see what the new appliance was.
April squirmed with frustration – and found that the frustration was making her more sensitive. That was one solution: Enough tickling would drive all curiosity from her mind.
Master William was humming ‘The Pink-Toed Girl,’ and April knew what that meant. He had set aside the nylon things and was using his fingers now. Wiggling them, rather than tapping with the tips. Seeking out all the tickle spots he knew about, and he knew about all of them.
“Heeheeheehaheeheeheeheeeeeeeee!” April howled. Her master’s fingers were tickling her all over: Sides and belly and neck and arms and legs. And on her feet. Wonderful delicious tickles all over the bare soles and bare skin of her tied and helpless bare feet.
#
April’s wrists were free now, and she found herself clutching Master William. Her owner held her snuggly in return, stroking her hair. Grinning at her, glasses to glasses as he so often did. Kissing her, checking her for steadiness while indulging himself. “Yes, master,” she answered the unspoken question, and allowed him to help her to her feet. Chain rattled; he had put the barefoot hobbles back on her.
Curiosity blossomed again, and April hobble-hurried into the kitchen, Master William following. The new appliance sat on a shelf: A clock radio. A modern psi-active design, and now that April could see it, her mental probe revealed all its functions.
“Thank you, master!” Another hug and kiss. Master William really was a wonderful owner, and April was lucky to belong to him.
“You’re welcome,” he answered, and then gave her a grin. “About those hobbles: They’ll stay on for tonight, but depending on how well you do dinner, I’ll either take them off tomorrow or wait until Thursday.”
April grinned back. Tomorrow was Thursday. The oven came on, set by its timer, and April washed her hands at the sink. She had a dinner to prepare.
(end)
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