Dave2112
Level of Cherry Feather
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2001
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A bed. It has so many uses other than the obvious, and inspires a cornicopia of mental images in those who find themselves thinking of one for whatever reason. It is a place of rest and comfort. It can keep the pressures of the world at bay. It can be an artistic centerpiece to a luxurious room, or a haven for weary travellers. A bed can also instill cerebral flashes of passionate nights, spent with a beloved partner or a forbidden desire. It can be the source of love, betrayal, relaxation and even the creation of life.
Mine had become a prison.
Not for me, of course, but for the lovely young woman who found herself tied to it. It had become an inescapable trap, an iron fist free of the velvet glove. It had also become the ornate frame to the priceless work of art that was the perfect body of said captive. I'm not sure actually if the real work of art was the woman's form, or the almost DaVinci-esque bondage that held it.
The fact that she was even there took me several minutes to truly comprehend. Decades of fantasies, years of planning for events that were unrealistically outrageous, and untold hours picking imaginary victims out of crowds had finally come to this. A gorgeous young woman with a body reserved for lingerie catalogs and beer commercials was actually tied to my bed. And not just tied, but trapped in a way bordering on insanity. Not that it was all that elaborate or even painful, but it was piano-string tight and insane for what I had in mind for the unfortunate young lady.
Her legs were pulled far apart, her slim ankles passing through the framework at the foot of the bed, and lashed in place with many passes of white rope. Her long, thin legs left the bed slightly as they became her hips, the many pillows under her back propping up the deliciously trim midriff and forcing her ribs to protrude from the return back to the bed's surface. Her wrists were tied together with more of the same white rope. Another rope ran from the wrist-tie to the center frame of the headboard. This was actually run through several times, creating a makeshift pulley that I worked to perfection. I allowed her to shift and settle, shift and settle again as I pulled her arms tight over her head. Only when I was convinced that I had her body as tighlty tied as was possible did I form the last knots of the hapless woman's bondage. A blindfold and large ball-gag completed the "trappings", if you will.
Note that I didn't just throw her on the bed and quickly render her immobile. A struggling woman is no joy to bind. However, I was able to take my time and make sure that this was done right. I didn't want her thrashing around, I wanted her in S/M-style bondage, proper and good. I had something on my side that afforded me the luxury of enjoying every minute of tying up a beautiful female.
An utter lack of regard for consequences.
I just didn't care. I was living in the moment, as I had finally decided. The real freedom in evil is its short-sightedness, like walking through an inferno with blinders. Here. Now. Screw later. I got caught, I got caught. I'd deal with it then. To attempt to describe the exhiliration in breaking all social and legal boundaries would be like trying to explain a rainbow to a blind man. I was finally alive. And that's what made this the perfect crime. The act itself, with no thought of consequence or empathy. Why go this far and not savor your victory? I looked my captive up and down, and snapped the last tether I had with the righteous...this was for me. This wasn't about her.
So, how did I get her here, you ask? To be completely honest, I can't remember now. I might have jumped her as she was getting into her car late at night. I think she may have come to my door to sell me something...that seems a bit familiar. I was in such a distinctly defined moment that all else fell to the side. I may get away with it, I thought, but in reality I knew I'd probably never get this chance again. Nothing else mattered. But there she was, writhing on my bed, God-knows-what going through her mind. My usual concern for others was nowhere to be felt as I fed off of her fear. It was like a drug and I wanted more. I wanted her to know how truly screwed she was, how completely helpless.
In all of the millions of scenes I played in my mind, and all the stories I'd read, this would be the part where I'd tell my victim that she wouldn't be hurt or raped. But once immersed in the surreality of the situation, I found myself not wanting her to know that. Truthfully, because I didn't know that. I wasn't sure what I would be capable of anymore. And I didn't care. Let her think what she wants, I decided...she'll find out soon enough. And in the meantime...
...there's all that delicious fear to be tasted.
She flinched and squealed at my first touch, a slowly trailing finger tracing a light path up her leg. It stopped at the thin fabric of the one thing I allowed her to wear, the tiny black thong that accentuated her hips and gave an even more deviant air to the festivities.
"So", I said calmly, "You must be dying to know what you're doing here by now, aren't you?"
She mumbled something into the gag and started to shake her head. As my finger continued up the side of her body, she tried to struggle. The bonds held tight, pinning her into submission. I was pleased. As she continued making pitiful sounds, I relished every moment of the small contact with her skin. I could see and sense how badly she wanted to get away, and the ropes still held. I was satisfied that I could do anything to her and she would be able to do nothing but accept her fate. The desire to just do what I planned right then and there was overwhelming, but I fought it. She wasn't ready yet.
And niether was I.
Reluctantly breaking contact, I climbed onto the bed, straddling her hips. The view was magnificent, the arch of her body accentuating her gorgeous tits. I reached down and lifted up the blindfold. I wanted her to see this.
"Are you ready to play?" I asked, not really concerning myself with an answer. I hadn't planned anthing out in advance, so I was basically winging it, saying whatever popped into my mind. The expression in her eyes was something I'd only dreamed I'd ever see. She was pleading with them, begging with them and ultimatly questioning my intentions with them. "You must be dying to know what I plan to do to you by now," I continued, "and I guess it could be anything, couldn't it? All that bare skin, so helpless, so exposed..." I let the words trail off.
"I could use anything I wanted on this tight skin, couldn't I?" I bore my eyes into hers as her tension mounted. "I could use a soldering iron..." Her eyes widened more, if possible. "I could use jumper cables..." she started to scream into the gag. "I could even use a scalpel if I wanted to." By now, she was tearing up, begging for release, so I decided to play my trump now before she completely lost it.
"Or I could use these."
I picked up the two small feathers that I'd laid on the bed and slowly waved them in front of her face. For a brief moment, she paused. I think I caught a glimpse of confusion, but it was soon replaced by understanding. Much to my great enjoyment, she started struggling almost as fiercely as before.
"How much can these really hurt, right?" I teased. Her eyes followed the tips of the feathers down as I lowered them to lightly touch her bare nipples. "Might even feel good," I continued to taunt as I traced small circles around her nipples. She was tugging at the ropes and thrashing, only succeeding in making her breasts shake, adding to the experience for both of us, albeit in different ways. As the feathers began fluttering over her breasts, her gagged protests became forceful, as if by sheer will she could get me to understand the words "Get off me you fucking asshole!". I started playing the feathers along the sides of her tits, slowly coming closer to my intended target. As they trailed lightly over her bare armits for the first time, her gagged threats were interrupted by something else.
A giggle.
I stopped, looked in her eyes quizzically and said nothing as she shot me the cutest "Oh God, No" face. I passes the feathers over her armpits again, this time with more direction and purpose. By my fifth trip over the sensitive skin, she was giggling non-stop.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, mock realization dawning on me, "You're ticklish?" She shook her head up and down quickly. "So, with you all tied up like that...it would really suck if I did this?" I dropped the two feathers and started to tickle under her arms with my index fingers. It felt so good to have that ticklish skin under my fingers that it wasn't long before all of my fingers were scrabbling over the taut skin. My captive was in fits of hysterics, her eyes squeezed shut, her gag barely containing the laughter. Running my fingertips up and down the soft skin of her bare arms, tickling her pits, teasing her until she didn't know what to expect...it was becoming quite enjoyable and pushed me further into my debauchery.
She was hitching for breath when I stopped at last. Fixing her with a wicked grin, I showed her mock concern. "So, we're going to have to watch the ticklish spots, then?" I quipped as she tried to communicate something to me. It was probably of great importance, at least to her, but I was ready to let the hammer fall. I reached up to stroke her face, listening to the muffled cries, and pulled the blindfold back down over her eyes.
"I'm sorry love," I whispered into her ear, "but I'm afraid that's what you're hear for. To be tickled. Plain and simple." She resembled a fish out of water as she strained against the ropes that held her. A staccato of muted syllables and squeals leaked out from around the large ball in her mouth. I'd been over this enough times in my mind to know what those words might have been. I could choose from any number of phrases or protests. As I continued to taunt the bound woman with threats of intense tickling, I afforded myself the luxury of imagining her responses. It was all up to me...
"So," I proceeded, "You like to be tickled then?"
"MMnnnpphh!!!" (Noooo!) (OhYesssss...) (Wh-What?)
"That's good, I'd hate to cause you any distress."
MMnnpphh!! MMnngghh!! (Please let me go!) (Oh Shit No!) (No Again!!!)
"Hey, you know what else feathers are good for?"
"MMNNPPHH!!! MMNNGG!!! MMnnMMPPhh.." ( No more PLEASE!!!) (Not My FEET!!!) (Get
off me, you fucking bastard!!)
"I'll bet these would be great to tickle your feet with!"
"MMNNGGHH!!!!MMNNPPHHMNPHMNPH-MNNGG-MMNNGGG!!"
(OHGODNOTTHATNOOO!) (NOPLEASE, I'm So TICKLISH!!!) (Anything but THAT!!!)
As she continued her cacaphony of gagged pleading, I got off the bed and slowly circled her. I knew what I was going to do, and so did the writhing young lady. The difference was subtle but astounding...I knew when, she didn't. The mystery of my location was driving her nuts. I relished in the sight of her body from the vantage point between her tied feet. I soaked up the image of the two feathers slowly approaching the helpless soles, knowing what she was feeling and fearing. Not being able to stand it myself any longer, I started. It was better than I'd ever dreamed...
Her small feet flinched at the first touch of the feathers. Light strokes around the center of her soles, quick brushes against the skin, one after the other. There was something so basically and classically erotic about a naked, bound woman having her feet tickled with feathers that I was becoming completely lost in it. I started humming some unrecognizable tune as I ran the feathers slowly up and down her ticklish soles. I loved the sight of her body trying like hell to pull away, while her feet remained in place, helpless against the tickling plumes. The pace quickened and soon I was feathering her feet from toes to heels. She caught her breath sharp as I stopped long enough to grab the toes of her left foot, bending her arch tight and immobilizing her foot.
"Wonder what's next, sweetie?" I audibly grinned.
Even the gag couldn't mask her hysteria. I let the moment hang for several ticks and then did the unthinkable. I'd flipped the feather over and touched the skin of her sole with the pointed end of the quill. One more second for personal effect, and I traced it up the length of the helpless foot. Her screams reached a higher pitch as the tiny point of the quill played on every nerve it touched. And it touched many. I traced intricate designs over the smooth ticklish skin, over and over. After several minutes taking in the wonderful sight of her torment, I dropped the feather altogether and gave in to my cruelty. I attacked both of her soles with my wriggling fingertips, tickling her feet like a madman. I could feel my involuntary smile threatening to rip my face in half as I tickle-tortured my captive's feet, losing all track of time. I'd like to tell you it was minutes or hours, but I honestly lost my very place in the continuum. I saw my fingers, her tied feet and heard only the incredible sound of a gagged woman's pleas. That was all for as long as it lasted. There was no future, there was only the moment...however long that moment actually was.
When I'd finally sated myself, I stepped back. The young woman was a wreck, sweat forming on her brow, her breath coming ragged and rapid. Another reality vs. fantasy moment occured within me and I bent down to unhook the ball-gag still stuffed in her mouth. She seemed to be having a hard time breathing, and we couldn't have that. Not with so much more fun to be had.
"P-Please..." she started between breaths, "let me go? N-No...More....You're....crazy!!! PLEASE!!!!"
"Crazy?" I queried, "You think I'm crazy? You could get in a lot of trouble insulting me, young lady..." I let the words trail off ominously.
"I'm Sorry!" she quickly corrected, as I'd always imagined one in her predicament would, "Please just let me go! I won't tell anyone! No more tickling PLEASE!!!"
They actually did say shit like that! I thought it was all crap! Oh, this was going to be good.
"But honey," I dripped fake concern, "there's so much more to play with! Don't you want that gorgeous body of yours tickled?"
"NOPLEASE!" she squealed as one word, "I can't take anymore...nnoooo-oo-oooo..." she started to lightly sob.
"Awwww, so sad," I quipped, "I know what will make you laugh again..."
"Nooooooo....."
I reached down with one hand and started fluttering two fingers over her waist. I let the tickling fingertips travel up and down her side and then explored the area over her very low panty-line. I played them around her deep cute navel. Finally reaching her other side, I used all five fingers in a maddeningly light but effective tickle-attack. Sucking her tight belly in, her laughter was a glorious counterpart to the tickling that danced along her stomach.
"N-N-NOOO!!! HAAHAAAA....OOoooohhh....c'monnooooOOOOO!!!! OhcrapshitpleasePLEEEAASSEE!!! HEEEHEEEEEHAAAA...."
"Boy, you really are ticklish, aren't you?" I teased as my other hand joined in the assault. As they made their way to her ribs, the pressure increased and I could feel her body resisting under her stretched skin. I'd clawed my fingers and started massaging the protruding ribs slowly but steadily.
"OHSHITNOO!!!!PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!! HAAA HAAAAHAA...AAAIIGGHHHHHIIIII!!!"
"Are you ready to fully experience real torture now?" I asked in a surprisingly steady voice. "Are you ready for Hell?"
"NOOOOOOO!!!!...haahaa...P-PLEEEAASEEEEEGOD....haaaHHAAAA...AAAIIIIIIGGHH!!!"
She started to really scream as I fully gave into my long-caged desire to tickle the living crap out of a tied-up woman. Without warning for either of us, my hands dug into her tender flesh. Her body wriggled in bondage as my fingers probed her belly. She was almost vibrating as I pinched her sides and tickled hard over a soft spot. Her screams and hysterical laughter started to include moments of silent horror as her need for air overtook her involuntary hilarity.
I played these bouts of silent laughter like a violin. I dug into her ribcage, tickling her deep and hard. When she went silent, I backed off until the first sound again escaped her lips. Then I'd tickle faster. As she became more and more stressed, I stopped for a few seconds...
...only to slowly lower my ten wriggling fingers over her armpits.
"It's commmming..." I teased.
The blindfold covering her eyes, she had no idea what was coming, and I loved every second of it.
"Wh-What areyougonnadoooo?" she stuttered, "Pleasestoppleasestopnomore....n-n-nomorepleaaassee....c'monplea--AAAIIGGHHHH!!!!"
The tickled scream erupted from her throat as I hit my target, tickling her all over her smooth bare arms. I got an even better response when I poked a single finger into each pit and tickled the tiniest target hard. Digging into her soft armpits dragged the laughing wails out of her.
"NOOOHAHAAAAHAAAAA!!!! OJGODOHGODOHGODNNOO!!!!!"
I couldn't take any more. I exploded into action, using her tied body as a canvas and my fingers as brushes. I painted a picture of unmitigated torture. I travelled up and down her body, tickling her everywhere. I massaged her ribs, poked into her belly, squeezed her sides and even spent some time tickling a very tender spot right above her bikini line. I thought I detected a subtle but noticable shift in her protests, but at first shrugged it off. I was in the zone, dog. I tickled up her tight body, its every wiggle and thrash only fueling my desire. I used one hand to tickle under her arms while tickling her tummy with the other. I threw it all at the helpless female and she was powerless to do anything but suffer. She was beyond words, reduced to hysterical laughter and tortured gasping. When I again reached the smooth skin around her tiny thong, I swore I heard that shift again. She was screaming in tickled agaony, but there were distinct moans in there when I tickled her private area. I fluttered my fingers on the tender insides of her thighs, over her hips and through the thin material.
My mind broke the final link it once had to sanity. I had crossed every line but one. I knew the truth at that point. If this were to be the Perfect Crime, it had to be outrageous. If I got away with it, so be it. But if I got caught, so be it as well. At least I'd be infamous. I would be every Tickle Bandit ever written about, every Cruel Torturer, every Demented Pervert. The tabloids would probably even create a new name for me.
But I'd be real.
All morality shot to the skies as I tore the thin strap of her thong. I don't remember how I got undressed or precisely when, it was all a blur. However, I quickly found myself in the position that usually ended my twisted fantasies. I was going to take her, become the Thing in the Dark.
As I entered her, I knew that I wouldn't let her off this easy. She needed to be tickled more. I needed her to be tickled more. Her belly was my playground as I had my way with her. The sounds escaping her mouth were mixed screams, giggles and moans. I never expected it, I thought it the realm of fiction, but I could swear she was enjoying at least some part of this. Maybe my mind was just creating that illusion to spare me the shock of full compehension of my sadism. Who knew? Who cared? I tickled her harder, zeroing in on her tender sides, squeezing the tight muscle under the tender skin and sending her into spasms.
"NOOO!!!!AAAIIGGGHHH!!!....AAhhhh...OOohhhh...AAIIGGHHPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!!.....NONONONO....Ohgod...OOohhhh....aaahhhHHAHAAAAHAAAAAAAOHGODOHGOOOOOOODDDD...."
As I exploded on a level heretofore unimagined, I swore that my captive did as well. I dropped down onto her and caught my breath. Her heart was pounding in her lovely chest. I could smell her on me. She had become something I never anticipated. Something I needed.
I pulled off the blindfold and took her beautiful face in my hands. I looked her in the eyes and slowly brought her face to mine, kissing her deeply. She kissed me back passionately.
"I love you." she whispered. It started to shatter the illusion. Something had changed. I was coming back...
"Anytime..." I joked.
"That was fantastic!" she breathed out, "but..."
"What?" I whipered as I played with her hair.
"Could we do something different next time? Like, maybe I could be a captured spy and you're going to interrogate me? I've always had a thing for that kinda stuff..."
"Whatever you'd like, dear...whatever you'd like." I replied, starting to untie her.
"Now," she said sternly, "we gotta get some sleep, big day tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah," I answered, reality seeping back. Tomorrow. Something about a birthday party or a concert, something pressing. Oh well, that was tomorrow. Tonight was something else. I'd become something I could never be before. She'd let me accomplish that, and I loved her for it. Oh, I'm sure she was into her own created world as well, or else she wouldn't get so fully involved in these fantasy nights we have. It seems to work out well for the both of us.
And that's the real secret to pulling off the Perfect Crime. You need the Perfect Partner.
Captured Spy?
I like the sound of that.
Mine had become a prison.
Not for me, of course, but for the lovely young woman who found herself tied to it. It had become an inescapable trap, an iron fist free of the velvet glove. It had also become the ornate frame to the priceless work of art that was the perfect body of said captive. I'm not sure actually if the real work of art was the woman's form, or the almost DaVinci-esque bondage that held it.
The fact that she was even there took me several minutes to truly comprehend. Decades of fantasies, years of planning for events that were unrealistically outrageous, and untold hours picking imaginary victims out of crowds had finally come to this. A gorgeous young woman with a body reserved for lingerie catalogs and beer commercials was actually tied to my bed. And not just tied, but trapped in a way bordering on insanity. Not that it was all that elaborate or even painful, but it was piano-string tight and insane for what I had in mind for the unfortunate young lady.
Her legs were pulled far apart, her slim ankles passing through the framework at the foot of the bed, and lashed in place with many passes of white rope. Her long, thin legs left the bed slightly as they became her hips, the many pillows under her back propping up the deliciously trim midriff and forcing her ribs to protrude from the return back to the bed's surface. Her wrists were tied together with more of the same white rope. Another rope ran from the wrist-tie to the center frame of the headboard. This was actually run through several times, creating a makeshift pulley that I worked to perfection. I allowed her to shift and settle, shift and settle again as I pulled her arms tight over her head. Only when I was convinced that I had her body as tighlty tied as was possible did I form the last knots of the hapless woman's bondage. A blindfold and large ball-gag completed the "trappings", if you will.
Note that I didn't just throw her on the bed and quickly render her immobile. A struggling woman is no joy to bind. However, I was able to take my time and make sure that this was done right. I didn't want her thrashing around, I wanted her in S/M-style bondage, proper and good. I had something on my side that afforded me the luxury of enjoying every minute of tying up a beautiful female.
An utter lack of regard for consequences.
I just didn't care. I was living in the moment, as I had finally decided. The real freedom in evil is its short-sightedness, like walking through an inferno with blinders. Here. Now. Screw later. I got caught, I got caught. I'd deal with it then. To attempt to describe the exhiliration in breaking all social and legal boundaries would be like trying to explain a rainbow to a blind man. I was finally alive. And that's what made this the perfect crime. The act itself, with no thought of consequence or empathy. Why go this far and not savor your victory? I looked my captive up and down, and snapped the last tether I had with the righteous...this was for me. This wasn't about her.
So, how did I get her here, you ask? To be completely honest, I can't remember now. I might have jumped her as she was getting into her car late at night. I think she may have come to my door to sell me something...that seems a bit familiar. I was in such a distinctly defined moment that all else fell to the side. I may get away with it, I thought, but in reality I knew I'd probably never get this chance again. Nothing else mattered. But there she was, writhing on my bed, God-knows-what going through her mind. My usual concern for others was nowhere to be felt as I fed off of her fear. It was like a drug and I wanted more. I wanted her to know how truly screwed she was, how completely helpless.
In all of the millions of scenes I played in my mind, and all the stories I'd read, this would be the part where I'd tell my victim that she wouldn't be hurt or raped. But once immersed in the surreality of the situation, I found myself not wanting her to know that. Truthfully, because I didn't know that. I wasn't sure what I would be capable of anymore. And I didn't care. Let her think what she wants, I decided...she'll find out soon enough. And in the meantime...
...there's all that delicious fear to be tasted.
She flinched and squealed at my first touch, a slowly trailing finger tracing a light path up her leg. It stopped at the thin fabric of the one thing I allowed her to wear, the tiny black thong that accentuated her hips and gave an even more deviant air to the festivities.
"So", I said calmly, "You must be dying to know what you're doing here by now, aren't you?"
She mumbled something into the gag and started to shake her head. As my finger continued up the side of her body, she tried to struggle. The bonds held tight, pinning her into submission. I was pleased. As she continued making pitiful sounds, I relished every moment of the small contact with her skin. I could see and sense how badly she wanted to get away, and the ropes still held. I was satisfied that I could do anything to her and she would be able to do nothing but accept her fate. The desire to just do what I planned right then and there was overwhelming, but I fought it. She wasn't ready yet.
And niether was I.
Reluctantly breaking contact, I climbed onto the bed, straddling her hips. The view was magnificent, the arch of her body accentuating her gorgeous tits. I reached down and lifted up the blindfold. I wanted her to see this.
"Are you ready to play?" I asked, not really concerning myself with an answer. I hadn't planned anthing out in advance, so I was basically winging it, saying whatever popped into my mind. The expression in her eyes was something I'd only dreamed I'd ever see. She was pleading with them, begging with them and ultimatly questioning my intentions with them. "You must be dying to know what I plan to do to you by now," I continued, "and I guess it could be anything, couldn't it? All that bare skin, so helpless, so exposed..." I let the words trail off.
"I could use anything I wanted on this tight skin, couldn't I?" I bore my eyes into hers as her tension mounted. "I could use a soldering iron..." Her eyes widened more, if possible. "I could use jumper cables..." she started to scream into the gag. "I could even use a scalpel if I wanted to." By now, she was tearing up, begging for release, so I decided to play my trump now before she completely lost it.
"Or I could use these."
I picked up the two small feathers that I'd laid on the bed and slowly waved them in front of her face. For a brief moment, she paused. I think I caught a glimpse of confusion, but it was soon replaced by understanding. Much to my great enjoyment, she started struggling almost as fiercely as before.
"How much can these really hurt, right?" I teased. Her eyes followed the tips of the feathers down as I lowered them to lightly touch her bare nipples. "Might even feel good," I continued to taunt as I traced small circles around her nipples. She was tugging at the ropes and thrashing, only succeeding in making her breasts shake, adding to the experience for both of us, albeit in different ways. As the feathers began fluttering over her breasts, her gagged protests became forceful, as if by sheer will she could get me to understand the words "Get off me you fucking asshole!". I started playing the feathers along the sides of her tits, slowly coming closer to my intended target. As they trailed lightly over her bare armits for the first time, her gagged threats were interrupted by something else.
A giggle.
I stopped, looked in her eyes quizzically and said nothing as she shot me the cutest "Oh God, No" face. I passes the feathers over her armpits again, this time with more direction and purpose. By my fifth trip over the sensitive skin, she was giggling non-stop.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, mock realization dawning on me, "You're ticklish?" She shook her head up and down quickly. "So, with you all tied up like that...it would really suck if I did this?" I dropped the two feathers and started to tickle under her arms with my index fingers. It felt so good to have that ticklish skin under my fingers that it wasn't long before all of my fingers were scrabbling over the taut skin. My captive was in fits of hysterics, her eyes squeezed shut, her gag barely containing the laughter. Running my fingertips up and down the soft skin of her bare arms, tickling her pits, teasing her until she didn't know what to expect...it was becoming quite enjoyable and pushed me further into my debauchery.
She was hitching for breath when I stopped at last. Fixing her with a wicked grin, I showed her mock concern. "So, we're going to have to watch the ticklish spots, then?" I quipped as she tried to communicate something to me. It was probably of great importance, at least to her, but I was ready to let the hammer fall. I reached up to stroke her face, listening to the muffled cries, and pulled the blindfold back down over her eyes.
"I'm sorry love," I whispered into her ear, "but I'm afraid that's what you're hear for. To be tickled. Plain and simple." She resembled a fish out of water as she strained against the ropes that held her. A staccato of muted syllables and squeals leaked out from around the large ball in her mouth. I'd been over this enough times in my mind to know what those words might have been. I could choose from any number of phrases or protests. As I continued to taunt the bound woman with threats of intense tickling, I afforded myself the luxury of imagining her responses. It was all up to me...
"So," I proceeded, "You like to be tickled then?"
"MMnnnpphh!!!" (Noooo!) (OhYesssss...) (Wh-What?)
"That's good, I'd hate to cause you any distress."
MMnnpphh!! MMnngghh!! (Please let me go!) (Oh Shit No!) (No Again!!!)
"Hey, you know what else feathers are good for?"
"MMNNPPHH!!! MMNNGG!!! MMnnMMPPhh.." ( No more PLEASE!!!) (Not My FEET!!!) (Get
off me, you fucking bastard!!)
"I'll bet these would be great to tickle your feet with!"
"MMNNGGHH!!!!MMNNPPHHMNPHMNPH-MNNGG-MMNNGGG!!"
(OHGODNOTTHATNOOO!) (NOPLEASE, I'm So TICKLISH!!!) (Anything but THAT!!!)
As she continued her cacaphony of gagged pleading, I got off the bed and slowly circled her. I knew what I was going to do, and so did the writhing young lady. The difference was subtle but astounding...I knew when, she didn't. The mystery of my location was driving her nuts. I relished in the sight of her body from the vantage point between her tied feet. I soaked up the image of the two feathers slowly approaching the helpless soles, knowing what she was feeling and fearing. Not being able to stand it myself any longer, I started. It was better than I'd ever dreamed...
Her small feet flinched at the first touch of the feathers. Light strokes around the center of her soles, quick brushes against the skin, one after the other. There was something so basically and classically erotic about a naked, bound woman having her feet tickled with feathers that I was becoming completely lost in it. I started humming some unrecognizable tune as I ran the feathers slowly up and down her ticklish soles. I loved the sight of her body trying like hell to pull away, while her feet remained in place, helpless against the tickling plumes. The pace quickened and soon I was feathering her feet from toes to heels. She caught her breath sharp as I stopped long enough to grab the toes of her left foot, bending her arch tight and immobilizing her foot.
"Wonder what's next, sweetie?" I audibly grinned.
Even the gag couldn't mask her hysteria. I let the moment hang for several ticks and then did the unthinkable. I'd flipped the feather over and touched the skin of her sole with the pointed end of the quill. One more second for personal effect, and I traced it up the length of the helpless foot. Her screams reached a higher pitch as the tiny point of the quill played on every nerve it touched. And it touched many. I traced intricate designs over the smooth ticklish skin, over and over. After several minutes taking in the wonderful sight of her torment, I dropped the feather altogether and gave in to my cruelty. I attacked both of her soles with my wriggling fingertips, tickling her feet like a madman. I could feel my involuntary smile threatening to rip my face in half as I tickle-tortured my captive's feet, losing all track of time. I'd like to tell you it was minutes or hours, but I honestly lost my very place in the continuum. I saw my fingers, her tied feet and heard only the incredible sound of a gagged woman's pleas. That was all for as long as it lasted. There was no future, there was only the moment...however long that moment actually was.
When I'd finally sated myself, I stepped back. The young woman was a wreck, sweat forming on her brow, her breath coming ragged and rapid. Another reality vs. fantasy moment occured within me and I bent down to unhook the ball-gag still stuffed in her mouth. She seemed to be having a hard time breathing, and we couldn't have that. Not with so much more fun to be had.
"P-Please..." she started between breaths, "let me go? N-No...More....You're....crazy!!! PLEASE!!!!"
"Crazy?" I queried, "You think I'm crazy? You could get in a lot of trouble insulting me, young lady..." I let the words trail off ominously.
"I'm Sorry!" she quickly corrected, as I'd always imagined one in her predicament would, "Please just let me go! I won't tell anyone! No more tickling PLEASE!!!"
They actually did say shit like that! I thought it was all crap! Oh, this was going to be good.
"But honey," I dripped fake concern, "there's so much more to play with! Don't you want that gorgeous body of yours tickled?"
"NOPLEASE!" she squealed as one word, "I can't take anymore...nnoooo-oo-oooo..." she started to lightly sob.
"Awwww, so sad," I quipped, "I know what will make you laugh again..."
"Nooooooo....."
I reached down with one hand and started fluttering two fingers over her waist. I let the tickling fingertips travel up and down her side and then explored the area over her very low panty-line. I played them around her deep cute navel. Finally reaching her other side, I used all five fingers in a maddeningly light but effective tickle-attack. Sucking her tight belly in, her laughter was a glorious counterpart to the tickling that danced along her stomach.
"N-N-NOOO!!! HAAHAAAA....OOoooohhh....c'monnooooOOOOO!!!! OhcrapshitpleasePLEEEAASSEE!!! HEEEHEEEEEHAAAA...."
"Boy, you really are ticklish, aren't you?" I teased as my other hand joined in the assault. As they made their way to her ribs, the pressure increased and I could feel her body resisting under her stretched skin. I'd clawed my fingers and started massaging the protruding ribs slowly but steadily.
"OHSHITNOO!!!!PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!! HAAA HAAAAHAA...AAAIIGGHHHHHIIIII!!!"
"Are you ready to fully experience real torture now?" I asked in a surprisingly steady voice. "Are you ready for Hell?"
"NOOOOOOO!!!!...haahaa...P-PLEEEAASEEEEEGOD....haaaHHAAAA...AAAIIIIIIGGHH!!!"
She started to really scream as I fully gave into my long-caged desire to tickle the living crap out of a tied-up woman. Without warning for either of us, my hands dug into her tender flesh. Her body wriggled in bondage as my fingers probed her belly. She was almost vibrating as I pinched her sides and tickled hard over a soft spot. Her screams and hysterical laughter started to include moments of silent horror as her need for air overtook her involuntary hilarity.
I played these bouts of silent laughter like a violin. I dug into her ribcage, tickling her deep and hard. When she went silent, I backed off until the first sound again escaped her lips. Then I'd tickle faster. As she became more and more stressed, I stopped for a few seconds...
...only to slowly lower my ten wriggling fingers over her armpits.
"It's commmming..." I teased.
The blindfold covering her eyes, she had no idea what was coming, and I loved every second of it.
"Wh-What areyougonnadoooo?" she stuttered, "Pleasestoppleasestopnomore....n-n-nomorepleaaassee....c'monplea--AAAIIGGHHHH!!!!"
The tickled scream erupted from her throat as I hit my target, tickling her all over her smooth bare arms. I got an even better response when I poked a single finger into each pit and tickled the tiniest target hard. Digging into her soft armpits dragged the laughing wails out of her.
"NOOOHAHAAAAHAAAAA!!!! OJGODOHGODOHGODNNOO!!!!!"
I couldn't take any more. I exploded into action, using her tied body as a canvas and my fingers as brushes. I painted a picture of unmitigated torture. I travelled up and down her body, tickling her everywhere. I massaged her ribs, poked into her belly, squeezed her sides and even spent some time tickling a very tender spot right above her bikini line. I thought I detected a subtle but noticable shift in her protests, but at first shrugged it off. I was in the zone, dog. I tickled up her tight body, its every wiggle and thrash only fueling my desire. I used one hand to tickle under her arms while tickling her tummy with the other. I threw it all at the helpless female and she was powerless to do anything but suffer. She was beyond words, reduced to hysterical laughter and tortured gasping. When I again reached the smooth skin around her tiny thong, I swore I heard that shift again. She was screaming in tickled agaony, but there were distinct moans in there when I tickled her private area. I fluttered my fingers on the tender insides of her thighs, over her hips and through the thin material.
My mind broke the final link it once had to sanity. I had crossed every line but one. I knew the truth at that point. If this were to be the Perfect Crime, it had to be outrageous. If I got away with it, so be it. But if I got caught, so be it as well. At least I'd be infamous. I would be every Tickle Bandit ever written about, every Cruel Torturer, every Demented Pervert. The tabloids would probably even create a new name for me.
But I'd be real.
All morality shot to the skies as I tore the thin strap of her thong. I don't remember how I got undressed or precisely when, it was all a blur. However, I quickly found myself in the position that usually ended my twisted fantasies. I was going to take her, become the Thing in the Dark.
As I entered her, I knew that I wouldn't let her off this easy. She needed to be tickled more. I needed her to be tickled more. Her belly was my playground as I had my way with her. The sounds escaping her mouth were mixed screams, giggles and moans. I never expected it, I thought it the realm of fiction, but I could swear she was enjoying at least some part of this. Maybe my mind was just creating that illusion to spare me the shock of full compehension of my sadism. Who knew? Who cared? I tickled her harder, zeroing in on her tender sides, squeezing the tight muscle under the tender skin and sending her into spasms.
"NOOO!!!!AAAIIGGGHHH!!!....AAhhhh...OOohhhh...AAIIGGHHPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!!.....NONONONO....Ohgod...OOohhhh....aaahhhHHAHAAAAHAAAAAAAOHGODOHGOOOOOOODDDD...."
As I exploded on a level heretofore unimagined, I swore that my captive did as well. I dropped down onto her and caught my breath. Her heart was pounding in her lovely chest. I could smell her on me. She had become something I never anticipated. Something I needed.
I pulled off the blindfold and took her beautiful face in my hands. I looked her in the eyes and slowly brought her face to mine, kissing her deeply. She kissed me back passionately.
"I love you." she whispered. It started to shatter the illusion. Something had changed. I was coming back...
"Anytime..." I joked.
"That was fantastic!" she breathed out, "but..."
"What?" I whipered as I played with her hair.
"Could we do something different next time? Like, maybe I could be a captured spy and you're going to interrogate me? I've always had a thing for that kinda stuff..."
"Whatever you'd like, dear...whatever you'd like." I replied, starting to untie her.
"Now," she said sternly, "we gotta get some sleep, big day tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah," I answered, reality seeping back. Tomorrow. Something about a birthday party or a concert, something pressing. Oh well, that was tomorrow. Tonight was something else. I'd become something I could never be before. She'd let me accomplish that, and I loved her for it. Oh, I'm sure she was into her own created world as well, or else she wouldn't get so fully involved in these fantasy nights we have. It seems to work out well for the both of us.
And that's the real secret to pulling off the Perfect Crime. You need the Perfect Partner.
Captured Spy?
I like the sound of that.
