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The Perfect Monster (M/F E-novel fantasy drama adult content intense)

jj82277

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Have you ever asked yourself... "what would I do if my greatest fear BECAME my greatest fantasy?" Have you ever
thought that one day you might just have to deal with what's lurking in the closet before you can ever really enjoy all the things
that may or may not be going on in that nice tidy little bed of yours... If you ever wanted the anwer to those simple little questions, then by all means please come on in...

This tale deals with serious themes, so please stay after the credits for the full plot of what is to come. I hope you like the special features. To old friends, and new acquaintances I would like to cordially welcome you, to my DYSFUNCTION...

******************************************************

The Perfect Monster

Written by: JJ82284

Glad to see that you could make it. I have been waiting for you. You’re just in time too; things were starting to become a bit boring. I can really use someone to help me pass the time. Don’t you just hate it when things aren’t ready when they are supposed to be? In case you hadn’t noticed, it really irritates me when things don’t go according to the plans I so meticulously put into place.

I came in to pick up my watch over half an hour ago and it’s still not ready. How long do you think it takes to put a new battery in anyway? Geez! Oh well. At least that gives us a nice chance to chat then huh? I’d rather spend a little time talking with you than be stuck here all alone watching the kid in the audio visual store stock shelves all day. Go ahead, have a seat. Judging by the events thus far I think we might be here a while so make yourself comfortable.

Soooooooooooooooo, what do you think we should discuss? The weather? The game this past Sunday? Would you like me to bore you with my career chronology? Or maybe you would actually like to talk about something real. (That certainly got your attention didn’t it?) You don’t have to feel awkward, I feel it’ a duty of mine to tutor the “aspiring.” I know that you have a lot of questions. (I remember I did when I first got that little itch that I might be “different” from all the other kids at school.) It’s just a matter of how best to answer them… Hmmmmmmmmmmmm Oh I know! Why don’t I tell you how I became what I call: The Perfect Monster... I’m sure that a person like you will find it quite enlightening.

“Monster!” It’s probably a little strange for you just to hear someone describe themselves that way isn’t it? Not something you hear everyday I know. I don’t blame you. To be honest, it took me a rather long time to get used to it myself. Allow me, if I may, to gently illuminate the insidious darkness that swims quietly behind these knowing eyes of mine.

Now, you might find what I have to say a little… DISTURBING. Don’t worry, though. I don’t bite. Trust me; there are much worse things to do to a person that prove to be lots more fun. HAHA.

In reality the world is full of people like me. There are people whose truest expression of love or caring is synonymous with almost inhuman cruelty: the likes of which is hard to fully articulate. There are people who use things like hate, anger, jealousy, fear, malice, panic, helplessness, despair, torment and sheer unadulterated EVIL to create a portrait of pleasure that most NORMAL people will never fully appreciate, let alone understand.

Does it frighten you to live in a world full of monsters? To know that the person you are talking to at any given moment might have some rather malicious intentions for the most vulnerable parts of you? Can you imagine someone literally feeding off of your deepest fears to feed their deepest desires? The very idea that some people fantasize about making you utterly helpless to the madness inside them. All those reprobate innovations swirling around their head while you are, regrettably, powerless to stop them from experimenting. Does that make you nervous… just a little? HAHAHA.

No worries though… Most of these people haven’t even come to grips with what they really are yet; let alone have the courage to share that level of depravity with this civilized world… (Take it from me I know…)But then there are people like me. People who finally have the strength to push past what other people expect us to do and finally embrace what we really want to do.

You see, it doesn’t take any real skill to be a Monster. It’s more or less the way people like me are born. The real skill begins when you master the art of boldly showing someone how truly “sick” you can be and create in them a nagging fervid hunger to suffer for your own pleasure. To create a willing eager little playmate longing to indulge in even the darkest parts of your insidious imagination (no matter how insufferable the consequences can be fore them). There is something so special about taking your time, slowly molding someone to crave your degenerate desires just as much as you do…

The first step that most of us miss is admitting to ourselves what those degenerate desires really are. Believe me, it can be a rather jarring experience, but you can never be strong enough to transform someone else if you are not first strong enough to be honest with yourself (remember that). No matter how hard you or how many times you try, any attempt at “connecting” with another person will always have those pesky little flies buzzing in the ointment unless you are fully in touch with that unique ruthless part of you.

That used to be me… but not anymore. I am going to tell you how that all changed. I am going to tell you how I took the power to teach someone how to experience their own deviant little frenzy in the wake of my unbridled malevolence. I’m going to tell you the story of how I became “Perfect!” Trust me it was a lot harder than you might think, but it was most definitely worth it.

Like most stories, this one has a princess- MY Princess. My sweet little Claire. But unlike most bedtime stories, this is the sordid little tale about how I finally mustered enough courage to leave the innocent little princess and all her attempts to control me behind. How I finally embraced the true creature of darkness that I am finding someone who loves all of me, not just the parts people see every day…

Don’t look so surprised. How often do both the Monster and the Princess both get to live happily ever after? Haha. Ironically enough, this is also the story of how I got this watch-and thus the reason that I am sitting here talking to you today. It’s funny how life works sometimes isn’t it?

Come on now… you must cheer up. It’s human nature to leave the princess behind for the Queen isn’t it? Can you really blame me? I’m sure that as you listen to the choice I had to make it will become very clear that I made the right decision. But don’t you worry though. In the interest of good storytelling, I will try to be as fair as possible to our recently departed little girl... (No matter how UNFAIR she was to me.)



“Mark Eddie Sadler” Whenever Mark comes to sit at his desk he always reads the entire name plate that she gave him. This brass ornament was one of many First Month anniversary presents from dear friend Claire in their numerous yet futile attempts at romance. After long days like today it always reminded Mark of the one great thing that he has in life, well almost has in life.

Thankfully for Mark, one of the many benefits to running the family business is: not having to change into more comfortable clothes when you get home. When your last name is on the sign outside then a pair of jeans and an un-tucked polo are good enough to spend extra hours making sure that all the trucking invoices for last month are in good order. That means that as soon as you get home you can just crash in your favorite chair, sit at your desk, turn on your computer, and see what has been going on in the world while you were swimming through the deep seas of commerce. You can just sit back comfortably and focus on all the latest news, forget about your long day, and be kindly reminded of your life’s greatest trudge: pinning for the girl next door as your favorite picture of her splashes delicately across your desktop.


Have you ever had that best friend of the opposite sex that always felt like more than a friend, but every attempt at fireworks would fizzle out when you tried to physically step outside the boundaries of just friends? You know the one who you always hang out with but somehow candle light and slow music never quite fit? Or the one that you always horse around with but every kiss just feels like a ritualistic greeting from your second cousin twice removed?

These are the plutonic doldrums that Claire and Mark have been stuck in for as long as either of them can remember. Best friends since they were in middle school, hopelessly asexual roommates in college, now horribly distant next door neighbors that spend almost every waking hour together.

The sad part for Mark is that he really honestly and truly loves Claire. He couldn’t imagine life without that little smile that she always has on her face. It’s not that they don’t have strong feelings for each other; it’s just that there has never been that spark that you need to take things to that next level (where the real magic happens.)

You know, you’d be surprised how hard it really is to make that kind of impression. When things have been so depressingly plutonic for so long it’s really hard to change the mood.

The only real comfort that Mark ever found was in time. By that I mean that Mark has always been of the opinion that it was only a matter of time before something would change between the two of them. One day he would magically be able to express to her what he had been feeling for so long but could never articulate through the touch of his hands or the kiss of his lips.

Unfortunately, change and comfort-oil and water.

Claire on the other hand was what you might call a Late Bloomer of sorts. She was always something of a tomboy. She never bothered with dresses or heels until well into her second year of college. She always found more comfort in watching a football game with her dearest friend than she ever did with the awkward staring of boys who she knew only had one thing on their mind. This was undoubtedly the source of Mark’s fervent belief that time was somehow on his side.

Claire had never really settled into her femininity. 5’8, very athletic, long silky jet black hair, long flowing legs, soft flowing contours that captured the gaze of every post adolescent male that she had come in contact with, firm ample breasts, slight neck, slender physique, pouting lips, and piercing hazel eyes that always seemed to look right into Mark’s soul whether he wanted them to or not. For some reason, she had never really been sensually expressive past her radiant appearance. There was always a quiet modesty that in truth only made her more alluring in Mark’s eyes. Naturally with every day that passes her every move became more elegant, delicate, graceful, and utterly intoxicating to Mark. It wasn’t that he was impatient, but even in their experiments with dating it always seemed that there was something a miss with her when their eyes closed and lips met.

Mark could never quite put his finger on it though… It always felt like there was some switch that needed to be flipped for all of Claire’s most intimate circuits to all fire in time. Mark thought that this was all just part of Claire’s natural development and that it wouldn’t be right to push her. After all, he is her best friend first. Whatever else happens will all come in due TIME, remember. As soon as she became more comfortable with her sensuality then the infant like romance that was always just beneath the surface would break through after all these years of unbearable waiting. Even within Mark’s patient demeanor, there was also a raging curiosity. Claire’s beauty only made the mystery of unlocking her hidden decadent desires an even more intense subject of Mark’s fervid imagination.

Little did poor Mark know, but his hourglass was finally starting to run out. All those long sleepless nights, lying in bed wide eyed staring at the ceiling bedeviled by his beautiful best friend, would all prove to be in vein with the events of the past few months. Mark had never stopped to think what would happen if someone else found sweet Claire’s secret little switch first…

Can you imagine the pain you feel when the person you love more than life itself finds someone else? Just imagine, the person who has been your greatest source of joy since you were a child, the person you feel safest around, the person who you always share your secrets with moving on and being that bedrock for another. How much do you think that would hurt someone? Trust me, in my Personal experience this is more intolerable than any form of physical torture that even my diabolical mind can think up. You can’t imagine what that does to a person. To have your heart ripped out day after day each time hurting worse than the one before. Then having to smile about it to the rest of the world and see that special someone every day you open your front door. That can drive a man to…. Well just use your imagination for now, that comes later… HAHAHA

As Mark logged into his MSN home page, that was the only thing that was on his mind. There was a time when there was nothing more thrilling than seeing the bold font of an unread message from his innocent little Princess. That wasn’t the case anymore. Not since she started talking to “Him.” Now the highlighted email only served to make his pulse rise with horrid anxiety of what damning new revelation might lurk inside.

Through the years of their frustrating friendship, Mark had from time to time had to deal with the reality of Claire dating (even a boyfriend or two here and there.) Usually though, she spent more time complaining to Mark that she wished her various suitors were more like him than speaking with any real reverence about them. (And truth be told, the relationships themselves were generally shorter than he and Claire’s romantic experiments.) As such, Mark usually took her occasional attempts at courting as an affirmation of their shared destiny more than a threat.

All that changed just a few days ago. That’s when Claire first told Mark that she had been chatting with someone new for the past few months (online of all places.) Much to Mark’s surprise, she made the revelation that now their interaction had progressed to the point of talking regularly on the telephone. Initially Mark thought it to be just another case of Claire experiment, but quickly her behavior began to suggest otherwise.

Even when Claire had been in committed relationships, there was always a certain part of her night that she reserved for Mark. She would share what had gone on in her day, how she was feeling, and just spend time chatting aimlessly with him (as usual). Now, with this new variable coming into play, the volume of their conversations has taken a steep decline and any communication past bedtime was completely out the window. Mark could not help but come to the realization that Claire must really be serious about this new person in her life. This is the first time in Mark’s life that he has ever actually had to consider what life would be like knowing in his heart that he and Claire wouldn’t be together.

The worst feeling in the world is finding out that safety is an illusion. Just imagine being on the top of the Empire State Building leaning against the railing and then all of a sudden it just up and disappears. Just imagine the state of unmitigated shock and terror you would experience in that one moment. Even if you don’t go over, just having it finally sink in that the fall is a reality it makes you look at the edge in a completely different way doesn’t it?

In some strange way, silence would probably have been bearable for Mark. Just being alone having to wonder what was being said or grappling with the idea of loosing his beloved might actually be something that Mark could stand, but that’s not the relationship that he has with Claire. Mark’s a much better friend than that (for now).

Ever since Claire experienced the cataclysmic tragedy of her first C in algebra class Mark has always been there to listen or in this case read. How could he abandon her when she was going through such an exciting new time in her life? That’s not what friends do, is it? As a reward for his unbending loyalty, Mark gets the grand prize of reading every one of Claire’s long emails raving on and on about this new person that she has brought into her life and this glorious new experience that he is leading her through. What else are friends for…?

“Come on Mark, you’ve been through this before. This isn’t any different than the others. A few months from now and things will be just like they were. This is nothing.”

Lying to someone else is bad enough, but you know that something is a little out of place when you have to start lying to yourself.

Mark was becoming of the opinion that putting “…” as a subject line should be outlawed. It leaves you with absolutely no idea what to expect. It forces you to brace yourself every time you see a message from a sender that has even a remote possibility of bad news. Even still, Mark had a sneaking suspicion as to the contents of his latest communicate from his gentle Claire (and for some strange reason, he opened it anyway.)

Hey Mark,

How are you? Hard at work I suppose. I stopped by earlier but you weren’t at home. Just remember, all work and no play makes Mark a dull BOY. Lol. Just teasing! I wish that I had half your determination. I think that my sales leads would probably double overnight. If you ever learn how to bottle some of it, then I think that there is an excellent business opportunity in it for both of us. Lol.

“Damn!” Mark couldn’t help but mutter to himself. The past few weeks he had been seeing less and less of Claire. Her absence just served to make his longing to be around her more and more intense. He always hates missing any opportunity to spend time with her, especially now. Every moment was precious… he didn’t know how many more he would have.

You’d never know that you were the one that inherited a family business and that I am the one paying off student loans as a young budding depressingly average financial planner. I think that we should switch work ethics for a day so that my life can catch up to yours. Lol. But don’t feel too bad for me. Who would have imagined there would be this much money on the table to teach remedial algebra to 40 year olds. I guess its more exciting than having to make sure that truck manifests get out on time and schedules are adhered to so I won’t complain too much.

I miss you : ) Maybe we should hang out and go to the game this weekend…

Always remember this; the cruelest thing that you can do to a dying man is to give him hope.

“Yesssssssssssss!” Maybe the positive affirmation was paying off after all. A long day at the ballpark, go shoot some pool, maybe see a movie. Things were looking up for Mark already… That is until:

I think some time around you will do me some good. I think that things are moving too fast with my “Master.”

Master: 1.) A person with the ability or power to use, control, or dispose of something: a master of six languages; to be master of one's fate.

2.) An owner of a slave, animal, etc.

3.) An employer of workers or servants.

4.) Being master; exercising mastery; dominant.

5.) The new bane of Mark’s entire fucking existence.

Just seeing that word used that way made Mark’s skin crawl. It symbolizes a fundamental level of familiarity with Claire that he was completely alien to. Mark had grown quite comfortable in the past few years knowing Claire better than just about anyone. Having that part of their relationship challenged with just a single word was too much to bear. From the first time that she used it referring to him the full weight of the emerging reality is beyond has been a terrible burden on Mark’s shoulders.

It’s all happening so fast. Things are changing, I am changing. Maybe I just need to vent… You’re such a good friend, Mark. I am so lucky… I really can’t hold all this in and you are the only person that I can talk to about this. It’s so nice to have someone that I can trust.

I mean. I have NEVER met anyone who makes me feel the way that he does. I mean with most guys I feel so awkward and out of place. I usually feel more like one of the guys than the girl guys take home with them. I’ve felt that way for so long, but something about him just makes things feel so different. Just something about the tone of his voice and the way that he speaks awakens feelings deep inside of me that I really never knew were there… It’s so strange.


“How could I have let this happen…” With every word this is the question that Mark kept asking himself over and over again. The very secrets that he so desperately wished to possess were finally being revealed to him, but not nearly in the way that he had envisioned. In the dream it was always Mark leading Claire through her precious final leg of self discovery. The idea of someone else taking her to that special place by appreciating her femininity in a way that he hadn’t (or maybe even couldn’t) was an assault on the very foundations of Mark’s manhood. Mark felt tragically helpless to stop it sitting alone at his desk just reading. The only force stronger than his mounting hatred for this enigmatic figure she simply referred to as her Master was the undying curiosity about what really aroused that special part of Claire that had lied dormant for so long…

In my line of work you gain a different appreciation for the laws of nature. One of the most fascinating things in the world is the Moth’s natural attraction to the flame…

Needless to say, we talked again last night. It still feels a little wrong. I am not used to talking to anyone but you that late and as you have probably noticed he has been taking up more and more of my bedtime.

I swear we can just talk for hours. And even though he lives really far away, there is just something about him that makes me feel like he is laying right next to me whispering in my ear, instead of talking through a phone from miles away. I’ve never had anyone but you take that much time to listen… I mean really listen to me before. I have to say that it feels really REALLY good. Lol.

Mark tried to tell himself to just be happy that Claire was finding happiness. As you might have guessed, he failed miserably. That is his time with her, his place lying next to her, and that was his ear to whisper into. Who was this guy to infringe on that?

Even when we started chatting, he helped me find out things about myself that I honestly hadn’t known before. The ways his mind works… It just speaks to me some way. It’s like He is the other side of my long lost coin. I wish I could make you understand what that’s like Mark, but I am having a hard time fully grasping it myself.

As a Man it is a melancholy truth when someone succeeds where you have failed. That pain is amplified with the intensity of a thousand suns when that failure is to understand the heart of a woman you love…

Mark had convinced himself. He was no longer reading just to be there for Claire. He wasn’t reading to understand. Whatever this person was showing her had to be something he could replicate (didn’t it?) Whatever discoveries that he makes, Mark would manifest in his own dealings with Claire. The idea of covertly spying on the enemy was a lot easier to contemplate than reading a series of his own death warrants.

I mean, I feel so embarrassed even typing these things here by myself, but I have to tell someone. Otherwise I might not think that it’s real. The things that he tells me. It’s like he knows me better than I know myself… I know that sounds weird, Mark, but it’s the best way that I can explain it.

I mean, you know that I am a little bit of a tough girl. (You know I hate that other word.) I guess that’s what growing up in a house with four brothers will do. Lol. Playing basketball in school, watching football since I can remember; it’s really hard for me to feel like a real Woman. But somehow he makes me feel more beautiful and feminine than I have ever felt in my life. I don’t know how or why but he just does.

Okay, well maybe I can venture a guess at how. I have never really been around someone who carries himself the way that he does. I guess there is just something in his presence that helps me get in touch with that sweet innocent little girl buried inside of this hardened shell that the rest of the world sees. It manifests itself in the most Interesting ways…

I mean, he makes me call him sir sometimes. I know that sounds silly: a grown woman calling a man she barely knows sir. I almost have to cover my face admitting it to myself. But the way it makes me feel Mark… It makes me feel wanted-needed in a way to be controlled like that. It makes me feel special just to be able to relax and exist inside of the space that he has laid out for me. He helped me learn that it can be a truly wonderful thing to have someone to look out for you, someone to give you direction, take care of you: a Master… I guess I always knew deep inside that’s kind of what I always wanted, but I guess that I never really thought anything like that was really possible. Then imagine my joyful surprise when a few months ago I meet this wonderful person in a sports chartroom no less. Looking back, even then he saw right through me. I think that I am just finally starting to see and come to terms with myself. Finally, after all this time right? Lol.

Mark Eddie Saddler
1982-2008
“The Nice Guy Who Finished Last”​

Mark knew that if he died today that is exactly the way his headstone would read (It is the tragic story of his life thus far after all.) Why deny it? All the attempts at being sensitive, listening, caring, sharing, respecting boundaries yada yada yada and now the strong independent young woman that he has been dreaming about since puberty is drooling over someone else because he takes CHARGE. All that’s left is for the Bears not to make the playoffs to finalize Mark’s violent divorce from all hope.

This hurts, dear god it hurts. It seems like every word digs a little deeper right in the center of his heart and for some reason the wounds won’t heal. But as much pain as he has to endure, he has to finish. At least there was nothing stopping him from that victory… he had to finish.

It’s amazing how much pain love can help a person endure. Usually, the body will out before the heart does. The flip side of the coin for people like me is how much pain love can sometimes help you inflict…

You’ve known me long enough, Mark. You know that I am not exactly the mushy type, but there’s just something special about this guy. He just puts a wonderful silly little smile on my face; it’s like a dream…

The things he tells me… Ohhhhhhhhhh the things he tells me. I must be crazy for liking them this much but I just can’t deny it. There is something inside of me that just reacts to his every stern word and even some of his very thinly veiled threats… Am I crazy?

OMG I can’t believe that I am going to say this. Sometimes… if I forget to call him Sir or Master he tells me that I am going to have to be punished. Gosh, I know this sounds silly but just hearing him say that word in that deep sinister voice that he has sends tingles trickling up and down y spine. Even though I know that it is woefully immodest, it feels so exciting, Mark… I catch myself doing little things on purpose just to hear the wicked little things that he would have in store for me if He were here.

Sometimes, the things that we want to hear and the things that we need to hear are two different things. The smart ones are the ones who can figure out which is which.

Mark couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen (no matter how much his heart was screaming for him to.) It didn’t make sense to him yet. Claire had always been so strong, independent, and self reliant. She never needed to ask anyone for anything. Just watching the attitude she has when she plays basketball or her football team looses always let Mark know that Claire is no push over. Why would a person like that have a need to be dominated… even punished?

Last night, he even told me that he was going to tie me up tightly in order to punish me properly. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Mark just hearing that literally made my entire body quiver with the delicious feeling of vulnerability.

I mean, I’ve even told you before about my curiosity with bondage, but I think that now it’s developing into an obsession I never really understood before. There is just something about the idea of being completely helpless to him that enthralls me to no end.

The last time that they were dating, Claire had casually mentioned in passing that she sometimes experienced a curiosity about being restrained while making love. At the time Mark thought that Claire had just read an article in “Cosmo” or something and had an idea for the two of them to try and spice things up. The thought had never occurred to him until just now that this could be a deep seeded fantasy of Claire’s that she wanted or even needed fulfilled. She never insisted, just casually hinted. What changed? Mark had to know.

And when I told you that, I was just thinking about a necktie to the head board, but now. Oh My God. He has introduced me to ideas and positions that I could have never conceived on my own. I really don’t know how he manages to think these things up. Rope, cuffs, blindfolds, even binding my toes. The level of thought that he gives to making me so defenseless has an eerily romantic quality to me… I must be going out of my mind.

Last night, my Master went into one of his more detailed depictions of what would happen to me if I was “naughty.” As sick as it sounds, I get a subtle flicker prurience just typing that simple word right now. Somehow, simply the thought of being his helpless naughty little girl makes me feel so sexy and alive, Mark. The fact that I can’t understand it doesn’t stop my growing gluttonous desire to experience more of it.

My Master told me that if I misbehaved, he would have to teach me a lesson. Knowing him, he probably won’t need a good reason, just a reason. That was nothing out of the normal for him, but then he began to bring me crashing into the true diabolical depths of his imagination with the elaborate scene that he painted with his beleaguering words.

He had me imagine that we were together, all alone, in his large home. He told me that he has a special place all made up for pretty little girls who need a lesson in proper manners. He told me to imagine a dim room, only lit with the roaring flicker of candle light. I can see the hundreds of candles burning brightly as glowing manifestations of my now ardent desire. In the middle of the room he sets a large bench. Not an ordinary bench, a special bench. A bench designed just so naughty little girls like me sit still (or relatively still while we are being corrected.) He tells me of the delicate black lining to protect my supple limbs. He helps me visualize the dark flowing grain of the deep cherry oak construct. I can feel the hours of time this will have taken him to build in anticipation of my inevitable misbehavior. That kind of effort only makes the prospect of being dismantled on it more appealing.

He then points me to the metal ring hanging from the ceiling. Just the thought of the stainless steel ring descending delicately from the stern black leather strap fastened to the sealing reminds me of my delicious imprisonment that is just moments away. Then he adds the final touch of my favorite nightmarish form of confinement. He skillfully draws my attention to the sturdy pair of foot stocks at the end of the bench closes to the wall. The mood of the room is more like that of a Victorian era dungeon than a house on the outskirts of the Hamptons. I can only hope that it translates that well in real life.

My Master has me take a few moments and just internalize what it will be like standing in the door way to his makeshift dungeon, holding his hand and waiting as my undeniable fate begins to violently sink in. After a few short moments when my breathing has reached an elevated enough pitch he begins the slow journey of leading me closer and closer to where I belong. He Just the thought of him leading me brings a smile to my face but being lead to his impassioned form of punishment for some minute transgression almost makes me dizzy with profound arousal. This can’t be normal…

He asks me what I wore to work that day. I always feel so embarrassed describing myself to him. I told him that I had worn a tight fitting silky metallic gray blouse with black buttons. I tell him about the fluent black dress pants with the pencil thin gray stripes. I also remind him that I am extremely fond of wearing heels and I can hear a slight moan of approval that brings a delicate smile to my face. (For the little time that I have known him, I think that I am overly addicted to making him happy.) Of course he has to remind me that he, as always, is wearing a menacing uniform of black pants and a silk black shirt just to make my fantasy complete. How does he know these things?

Then he instructs me to slowly remove my protective clothing. He says it so casually. Doesn’t he know how hard that is for me? Doesn’t he know how much I struggle with showing my body to anyone else? Doesn’t he know that it is a torture in itself to have to bear myself to him so immodestly? (Of course he does). He completely ignores my slow nervy stammers at his request. I am sure that he can hear my anxiety through the telephone, but he still wants his simple command to be followed. In a way I almost want to thank him for that subtle persistence.

He reminds me again to slowly remove my blouse, and dress pants. He tells me that I am to leave my black lace bra, my tiny pair of panties, and my black heels on for his enjoyment. Apparently, he has a fondness for taking those off himself…. You know how uncomfortable I am with showing parts of my body, but after the initial shock of the command I don’t feel that with him. Somehow just because he Told me to do it makes it feel less awkward and so much SAFER. I must be going crazy right?

“How could I be so stupid?” In all the years that he had known Claire, Mark had always more or less operated under the convenient illusion that things would just naturally take their course. He never really made the effort to MAKE things happen. Now his own self consciousness was an unwitting accomplice to the girl of his dreams being taken charge of by a complete stranger (that was beginning to haunt Mark’s nightmares.)

When I imagine turning to look at him I cannot help but tremble. I can feel myself standing there, so scantily clad and so much of my warm skin bared to him. It makes me feel so vulnerable. I can feel the cool night air of the mystical room kissing so gently against my sensitive olive skin as he looks at me with those piercing eyes. His gaze is almost more than I can take, but I can’t stand to look away. With my mounting anxiety over the pile of clothes he so neatly folds into a drawer of the bondage bench, the light goose bumps adorning my now tingling skin, and the hypnotic affect of his powerful star I can feel myself drifting off deeper and deeper into his domineering presence. Remarkably, I always seem to find a warm quiet peace. It almost feels like a second home.

He points to the now rather ominous apparatus and instructs me to kneel upon it. His every subtle command only serves to slowly draw me deeper and deeper into his comforting dominance. With each word that rolls off of his adept lips, I become more and more engulfed in a virtual manifestation of the fantasy that he is so skillfully placing before me. I can see the delicate candles flickering wildly in the background. The entire mood of the room has an alluring romantic flavor form the debaucheries medieval times long since past. With his every descriptive word I feel more and more like an unlucky barmaid being seductively coerced to serve the misguided whims of the evil innkeeper. He always leaves room for my long repressed deviant imagination to run wild as all the naughty little fantasies that I have ever had come crashing into the forefront of my reeling mind.

Like the true gentlemen that he is, he helps me to my knees on his special bench and the thought of even his most inconsequential touch brings all of me to full attention. He tells me that under my knees there is a very soft silky cushion to preserve my delicate nerve endings for his future devious exploits. My master insists that the only discomfort I ever experience is because of his wicked fingers and tools not lack of proper furnishing. He instructs me to turn away from him and I quickly obey without question. It’s weird, almost like I don’t even have a choice, or that maybe I don’t even want one.

Kneeling there in my growing nakedness feeling so much of my skin so horridly unprotected I feel wonderfully vulnerable, increasingly helpless, and immodestly exposed. Being there for him, all for him stirs yearning excitement deep within me that I can barely describe Mark. I don’t feel out of place. I don’t feel ashamed. I just feel myself swaying gently back and forth eyes shut so tight waiting patiently for whatever he might have in store for me.

Mark’s growing self hatred was only to be outdone by his racing pulse. As much as he hates the fact that another man is the cause of this whispered confession, he has been waiting his entire life to see Claire loose herself like this. To understand what excites her. To understand what gives her pleasure. To see her lost in carnal indulgence like she was in so many of his nighttime fantasies. To see her embrace how beautiful and intoxicating she truly is and let her sensuality flow like the living stream that it is. Just reading the way that she describes this forbidden fantasy made the blood race through Mark’s now pulsing veins. This was so wrong, but Mark couldn’t deny the growing conflict within him. Unable to bridle is carnal reactions to Claire’s titillating discoveries Mark tried to look on the Brightside: at least he was getting SOMETHING out of this subtle cruelty. Buried in the horrible words of this latest letter were the first real glimpses at Claire’s emotionally naked form and the sight was so engrossing that Mark dare not turn away and he would certainly never forget it.

To make things worse, he sweetly whispers as he gently slips the blindfold over my wandering eyes. Just hearing him say the word blindfold is so chilling. I can only imagine how his stripping away my ability to see will bring all my eager nerve endings screaming to new life. I can’t help it. My sense of touch will naturally hunger to compensate for my now absent sense of sight. Every cool molecule of air instead of a whisper, now feels like a cool feathery stroke across my burning skin. The wafting scent of the burning candles is cascading through my nostrils even in the confines of my own wrinkled covers. I can feel every stitch of lace in the suggestive undergarments that still adorn my undulating body, and the way that they rub against the most sensitive parts of me that he always saves for last. I can feel the tight warm leather caressing the sides of my lightly writhing feet and my toes curling delicately in the toe of my pointed heels. Even though my remaining apparel is my last shred of protection, with every second that passes it begins to feel more and more confining.

Then he gleefully instructs me to place my hands over my head. I know what’s coming. That’s why I misbehaved in the first place. More than eager to reply, I humbly place my slim wrists crossed over my head and let the reality of my impending predicament to take me to that special place of warmth. With each menacing whisper, I can feel the satin restraints being wrapped tightly around my wrists.

Ever since he led me to his special construct, a certain level of sensual fear and apprehension has always been a constant. Strangely the fist kiss of the satin tightly binding my slim wrists forces me to emit a sigh not of trepidation, but of corrupt amatory relief. I am not hiding anymore. I can’t hide anymore. In a way, I am at home (finally.) I am Right where I am supposed to be: Helpless before him. Feeling my strictly bound wrists being secured to the leather restraints hanging innocently from the ceiling relieves any tension that might have existed in my torso. I just allow myself to hang there being lost in my bondage unable to move away from whatever intolerable pleasures lie before me.

The next part is my favorite, and he knows it. I can hear his twisted sadistic grin dripping through his intimating breath even through my earpiece. He unlocks the intimidating set of foot stocks at the end of the bench taking enough time that I can almost hear the loud creek of the hinge as he opens them. I can feel him gently take hold of my ankles guiding my sultry writhing feet into place. I can imagine the light drumming of his nimble fingertips on the wooden soles of my seductive high heels just to remind me of all the things he has in store for the helpless soles trapped inside.

I dare not say a word. I fear that my tingling nerve endings will not be able to endure the penalty for another transgression, no matter how subtle. To make my challenge even worse he never forgets to verbally remind me just how much trouble my poor defenseless little feet are in as he closes the sturdy set of pillories on my now immobile ankles. I can feel myself lightly gyrating my ankles testing the wooden confines that now hold me captive. I receive an exquisite jolt of pleasure reminding myself that finally, after all this time, I am trapped to the desires that I have had so long. I point my toes in my shiny pair of heels just to invite his avid imagination to run wild with dreadful ideas.

You know me Mark. You know how sensitive my feet are. I barely even let you touch them. There is something about having the most vulnerable part of you forcibly restrained specifically to be tormented in the worst way that you can imagine.

Now this was just unfair. Claire has very beautiful feet. Whether it is sandals, barefoot on the beach, or later in her professional life with an unending supply of open toed heels this was always the one part of her body that Claire made sure everyone could see. The curse for Mark, who always had a special fondness for her silky soles and twitching toes, was that she never allowed anyone including him to touch them in the slightest way.

You see, this was my fault, all my fault. I had always been too afraid to take control of what I really wanted. My stubborn childish fears almost cost me my last shreds of sanity… almost.


To make things worse, Claire always made sure that they were perfectly taken care of. All of her toes were perfectly painted with an intoxicating rainbow of color depending on her mood. Every cell of olive skin was always dripping with alluring moisture from hours of attentive care. The idea that she had secretly always desired him to have those boundaries forcefully torn down and take control of such a tremendous vulnerability was yet another nail being driven into Mark’s coffin. This is what he gets for trying to respect his best friends BOUNDARIES.

I guess people are right when they say, “no god deed goes unpunished!”

“Specifically to be tormented in the worst way that you can imagine.” That was a line that Mark’s mind couldn’t keep from chewing on over and over again. What could she possibly mean? There are so many interesting things that you can do with a helplessly bound pair of highly sensitive soles. There could be ice cubes, drizzling hot wax from one of the lightly roaring candles, Claire might have a secret desire for a little playful (or not so playful) bastinado when her shoes came off. The possibilities were endless. The one that stuck out from all the rest brought an ironic chuckle to Mark’s face as a brief respite from his mounting desperation. She couldn’t possibly mean…

It’s perfectly normal for other people to express doubt concerning your most intimate desires. It’s perfectly sad when you doubt your own.

I am beginning to think that control is over rated. I have spent far too much time trying to control things in my life. I can now say without a doubt that there is a certain special part of me that doesn’t really feel alive unless I have all my illusions of control taken away from me… Master is almost terrifying in his undeniable mastery of the one art form that is most efficient at rendering me totally powerless to his mercy.

As he has me fully bound before him he traces a single fingertip from the small of my back to the clasp of my lace undergarment just to remind me that I am his, all his. My body cannot help but shiver in response to his gentle touch. I know what is about to happen. I know that I can’t take it, but that’s what excites me. I truly can’t wait for the intolerable punishment to being, a duality I am still getting comfortable with to tell you the truth. It’s kind of hard with someone who takes his sadistic pride in keeping you off balance.

He never forgets to whisper gently, “You’ve been a Very bad girl, Claire… do you know that? You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you Claire?” He knows what that does to me. How could he forget? I always make sure to remind him. (As if he needed my encouragement.) The subtle reminders of how naughty I am for indulging in such debaucheries only adds to the allure of being seduced by someone who can practice them all too well.

She can never know. She can never know what this does to him. She can never know the hurt that she made him feel. That would be too much for her. She wasn’t trying to hurt him. She just needed someone to talk to. She met someone new. She was learning things about herself. She was growing into a beautiful woman right in front of his eyes. He is her best friend. This is what friends do. They listen to what is going on in other friends lives. Mark promised himself that he would never burden Claire with the sea of emotions that her new relationship was plunging him into. No matter how bad it got, he had to be strong. He could be strong for Claire.

The worst thing in life is when a person stops really believing. Everyone has goals, dreams, aspirations, etc. Sadly, the reason that most people never reach those heights has nothing to do with lack of talent or knowledge. At a certain point, the adversity becomes too much. At a certain point, the star off in the distance fades to nothing and the belief that fuels those special little dreams dies. Then people start reasoning with themselves how much better their life is now that they are being Realistic. Is there any greater tragedy that can befall a person…?

Now Mark, I have never told anyone this so you have to promise to keep this between us. The last thing that I want is for this to get around… but there is this thing about me. It’s something that I have kept secret for a really long time, even from you and it’s really embarrassing. I guess that’s par for the course these days for our conversations huh. Please don’t judge me. Ok, here goes…

Mark, I like to be Tickled… really Tickled… I know that you have given me the occasional poke here. It’s always fun when you “get me” while we are horsing around sometimes, but there is… there is just this whole other aspect that has always fascinated me. I have always thought about being tickled to the point that I am going crazy out of my mind, kicking, screaming, even begging for it to stop but there’s nothing I can do about it. I know it sounds sick, Mark. It took me a while to come to grips with it myself, but it’s the truth. I LIKE TO BE TICKLED… A lot.

The scary thing about human limitations is that sometimes, the only way you find them is to be faced with them. But by then, it is far too late to compensate.

Nothing in the world could have prepared Mark for that. Now it wasn’t about communication. It wasn’t about Claire growing up. It wasn’t even about this new guy, whoever he was. It was about him. No matter how he tried to slice it, he was a coward. This was his fault. He did it. He let his own fear get in the way of any shot he may have had at true happiness.

You see, most people go through their entire lives taking the easy way out. That’s blaming other people. When you take that option away from them, people show you who they really are. It’s not easy going through life on your own two feet, but real victories aren’t supposed to be.


Mark just sat at the computer stunned. He read that one line over and over again in his mind... slowly. He wanted it to sink in. He needed it to sink in. Ever since their first horseplay in his families pool all those years ago there was something about Claire’s smile, her laugh, feeling her squirming in his arms playfully fighting against him.

This was something Mark kept even from himself. He dare not tell Claire about it or heaven forbid act it out. Secretly, Mark had always fantasized about tickling and teasing his sweet Claire for hours on end wrestling around on the sofa letting her kick and fight helpless in his strong arms as she poured all the life she could into his growing love for her with every sweet unbridled peel of hysterical laughter. She always looked so beautiful when she smiled. He always wanted to be that source of uncontrolled joy that just made her smile for him like that perfect little princess that he knew she was… Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t he been brave? Could he have been brave?

Just imagine realizing the long lost map to Camelot had been hidden on the back of your own hand. Now just imagine finding it just in time to watch the horror of another knight ascending the bell tower to whisk your fairy princess off to his own dark castle. What could anyone do to deserve a curse such as this?

The first of what would be many tears stained the oak desk in front of him at the revelation of his latest demise. His most cherished fantasy for the woman he loved would have been the mystical key to unlocking her deepest desires and he had been too afraid to use it all this time. Mark turned down the picture of Claire that he had on his desk next to his computer. In the feigning light he could see his reflection like a ghost in the dark glass. Mark couldn’t bear to look at himself right now…


I know I know, how silly right. Tickling! It’s so silly, so innocent, kids do it, but it’s always been something a little different with me. For some odd reason, like I said, it just takes me so far out of control that I feel like I can finally breathe … when I’m not laughing my head off of course. Lol.

I mean my body just reacts. I can’t tell it how to react. I can’t hold in the laughter. I can’t do anything but laugh, and be silly, and be happy-really happy. There is nothing to worry about, no one to follow up with, no sales forms to check, there is nothing in the world at that long series of explosive moments except for me, the unbearable tingly sensations and the wicked person Tickling me. Even at the thought of being so helplessly bound to endure it, it is the purest form of freedom that I can possibly imagine.

And I know this sounds wrong, but I really want it to tickle A LOT. It really excites me to fantasize about having my boundaries pushed. I want to see how TOUGH I really am. I want it to almost be torture. “Torture,” that’s another word that is beginning to take on a wonderfully erotic dual meaning. I want a constant reminder that I am not even in control of my own body, and my Master knows how to do that. Just hearing his voice describe the things that he will do makes me squirm as though he were right hear teasing and stimulating my soft trembling skin in all of his powerful majesty. Is it magic? Is he some sensual wizard? Am I crazy?

I want to feel every part of me begging for mercy. I want to be completely unable to stand another torturous caress of his fingertips or long dreadful stroke of the demented feather against my yielding supple skin. I want to be left there, struggling against my tight stringent bondage literally forced to endure as much glorious torment as he sees fit to give me.

To be honest, I have always had secret little fantasies about being held down and tickled, but my Master has taken the idea of my own helpless titillating torture to heights that I never could have reached on m own. It feels good Mark… really good.

You know really there is a thin line between love and hate. When you think about it, they are both just manifestations of a strong burning passion to do something. What that something is actually has very little consequence to the raw intensity of the sensations. The emotions themselves are both sides of the same coin. And the body, as it seems, doesn’t care which one of them put the coin into the slot.

Shame. That is the best way to describe what Mark was feeling right now. This was something that terrified him more than anything that he could ever imagine. Loosing Claire was something he never even allowed his male friends to joke about. Being confronted with the stark reality is something that he never prepared for. Yet, there was something else. No matter what aggravating circumstances surrounded Claire’s lucid sensual revelations Mark could not control the way his body was reacting to the intriguing news.

The reality of the Master was present in his mind, Mark couldn’t deny that. Even still, every line as Claire explained her need to be teased and tickled even more than Mark had dreamed began to manifest itself in Mark’s swelling loins. He felt himself becoming quite lightheaded just imagining her melodious laughter in response to his menacing touches. He felt the blood being reallocated to other parts of his body that were, despite his best efforts, being stirred to life by Claire’s every seductive word. Just reading the word Tickle had an affect that Mark never thought he would have to deal with from Claire and the intensity of the scene being set in front of him was too much to ignore.

Mark wished more than anything that this was a depiction of an evening that Claire had planned for the two of them than a conversation with the man who was taking all of this away from him one phone conversation at a time. He wanted desperately to be the one standing behind his bound lover while she was so utterly helpless. He wanted desperately to have the unmitigated power to explore every square inch of Claire’s sensitive tanned skin while she squirmed uselessly in a state of involuntary protest and squealed delightfully in sweet girlish laughter. The realization that it was not to be, sent Mark’s conscious mind into even greater depression in spite of the enthusiasm between his strong legs.

As we all move through life’s intricate maze we inevitably begin to loose things. That’s just part of life. With every day that passes, some men somewhere have to deal with the loosing the girl of their dreams. It’s another sad part of reality. But how many other men do you know that have to loose the girl and the dream all at the same time? Even to a self professed Monster like me that’s cold. No one deserves that, do they?

“Where should I Start… Hmmmmm?” He always asks silly little questions like that. He is such a ruthless tease. He knows just how to make me all giddy inside with nervous anxiety. The sheer anticipation wraps me in a blissful cloud of mysterious wonder. Even though I am imagining the blindfold over my eyes, I know that I would have them closed so tight under the dark fabric of the sleeping mask. With no visible clues and the anticipation building with every passing second I can already feel the tension beginning to manifest itself in my overly sensitive nipples stiffening shamefully against my now straining lace bra. I can already feel subtle moisture of arousals delicate dew drops forming between my quivering legs. My baited breathing becomes more and more ragged as his grows more and more foreboding.

I don’t think that anything could prepare me as he whispers the path of his feathering fingertips capriciously over my bare shoulder blades. Even in the confined safety of my own bedroom in an apartment so far away from him I feel my entire body shudder in response to the intensely perceived intrusion. I am taken quite by surprise at the empathy my real ticklish nerve endings have for their imaginary counterparts…

I finally release the breath I didn’t realized that I had been holding in the form of a giggle that I am far too late to stifle as my arms tense in the dream and as I clasp the phone so tightly between my now dreadfully trembling hands.

He makes me listen in lurid detail as he outlines the gleefully erratic patterns or lack there of that his evil fingers will make back and forth across the top of my acute naked back as I begin to squirm helplessly before him. The feeling is so maddening… I can imagine the wonderful feeling of futility beginning to consume me as I tug lightly at the satin bindings that hold me, hold me in my rightful place before him. I want to get away. I want it to stop. I want the tingly tickly sensations that are beginning to invade my torso to go away, but deep down he knows that I need them to continue…

Through his watery eyes, Mark can imagine the smile on Claire’s face: that sweet smile, the one that always gives him comfort. No matter how hard things had gotten, no matter how depressed he was, no matter what tragedy had befallen him, no matter what parent he was saying his final goodbyes to in a dark hospital room, no matter the sibling that had abandoned his family and cursed his namesake, he could always count on Claire being right there holding his hand and comforting him with that smile. It was his eternal opiate.

The one thing he could always count on was Claire’s beautiful smile to rescue him, rescue him from whatever atrocities that life had placed before him. But now with someone else causing that smile, being that person that made her happy, that glorious ray of light itself has transformed into the atrocity racking Mark’s tortured mind endlessly without pity. Having his one symbol of safe refuge stripped away from him made Mark feel as though he was completely alone in the midst of the entire world buzzing past and leaving him desolate in his searing desert of utter despair.

More depressing than the reality of her new found affection for her, “Master” was Marks insatiable need to keep reading. Even though every word tore another piece of his aching heart to shreds, the grief alone was not enough to stop that dark part of him that hungered to read more and more about his sweet innocent princess being mercilessly tormented in his favorite way. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a part of him glad that Claire was sharing her new found awakening with him.

The only thing worse than having to see the woman that you have spent your whole life yearning for happy with someone else is to be excited by what you’re forced to watch.

“Can you feel it Claire? Can you feel my fingertips lightly skittering all over your sensitive back… that doesn’t bother you does it? Can you feel me making the little circles right below the base of your neck? Why are you scrunching up Claire? Does it tickle? Can you feel me whispering little streaks lightly across those trembling little shoulders of yours?” Just hearing the sinister tone in his voice makes those ten torturous digits come to life even in the safety of my own Bed… No matter how much I squirm, twitch, or curl into a defensive ball under the covers I can’t seem to get the strange little itches to go away. Maybe I don’t even want to?

“Yesssssssssssssssssssss…” I can tell that he truly relishes my whispered confessions. It makes him feel powerful. I think that he knows there is a real physical manifestation of his evil teasing words on my quivering skin. My intermittent giggles and severely troubled breathing should be evidence enough. With every pointed detail, my back is not the only part of me that begins to quiver in spite of me.

“Can you feel my fingernails Claire? Can you feel them lightly skittering into those wonderfully helpless smooth bare hollows?”

“Ohhhhhhh God… not that! Ahhhhh mmmmmm please not there!” Even from a distance I have to stifle the little giggles that are building at the back of my throat. Having my back lightly stroked is more of a teasing massage but the thought of sharp fingernails mercilessly scampering in the recesses of my exposed under arms makes the electrically ticklish sensations slam home with a fair amount of authority.

As I squeeze my own arms together in front of me, clasping the telephone to my ear I have the luxury of keeping my dreadfully ticklish armpits safe, but I can’t stop the thought of my supple limbs still bound tightly over my head in my Masters sick little fantasy from running wildly through my corrupt mind. I can feel myself pulling in vein to stop the maddening torment of my impressionable naked flesh. I can hear his insidious laughter through the electronic device I am holding so tightly against my ear roaring as the demented anthem of my continued helpless torment.

“What’s wrong Claire… that doesn’t tickle does it?” I swear, sometimes I think those sick little questions are an even more effective weapon than those malicious little fingers of his. “Awwwwwwwwwwww… Are poor little Claire’s exposed little hollows TICKLISH… come on Claire. You can tell me1”

“Hehehe Yesssssss yesssss Oh God yesssssssss hehehe ahhhhhhh hehehe mmmmmmmm!” I swear to you Mark, his teasing is the worst. The thought of the unstoppable tickling is bad enough, but the pitiless taunting just pushes it so far over the edge. I find myself lost between gasping for the cool air to penetrate deep into my waiting lungs, trying to stifle the giggles produced by the real tingling under my tightly closed arms at the thought of his cruel caress, and unable to control the earthy moans that his peccant desires have become so adept at creating deep within me.

Mark could not help but imagine what his sweet little girl would look like at this very moment. The one part of Claire that always eluded him was her fervent indulgence of the secret desires almost lewdly on display before him. He longed to see her mouth gaping open as her body struggled to endure the conflicting sensations of torment and pleasure beseeching her defenseless nervous system. He wanted to watch her slender fingers and curling toes fidget frantically in response to his cruel tickling torment. He wanted to hear her breath tremble as the blissful sensations caused her hips to lightly sinuate into him lost in her own world of erotic glee. He wanted to see her smiling at him drifting behind her blindfold wondering where his next attack would come from, but all that he was left with was the image of someone else living out his fantasy through the looking-glass of his computer screen.

He wanted to be there next to her. He wanted to hold her tightly while he whispered his evil promises in her ears. He wanted to hear her squeal in delight as his fingers lightly skittered along her exposed sides while he held her tightly in place. He wanted to feel her squirming against him while they cuddled tightly in his bed just enjoying the feeling of their bodies so close together. Mark wanted to be the one causing the light dew drops to form between Claire’s thighs but he had to confront the horrid actuality that his place at her side had been taken by someone else and that there was nothing he could do about it. Nor could he do anything about the physical sorrow that was variably streaming down his cheek.

Does it depress you, to know how frail hope is? It’s kind of like a butterfly’s wings: once touched it never really able to get off the ground again. Don’t feel too bad. If someone like me can have their hope smashed to pieces it can happen to anyone. In life it’s just a matter of time before you get knocked down. The real question is, “how many times are you going to keep dragging yourself off the mat and keep fighting for what you want.” I don’t mean to brag, but I have gotten up a LOT.

There’s going to come a point in life when you are going to have to decide to take what’s yours. I’ll never tell you it’s easy. I’ll just tell you that looking in the mirror gets a lot harder if you don’t.


“Your sides aren’t ticklish are they Claire? I think that I should make sure that all these pretty little ribs are in proper order, what about you? Are you going to count with me?” He can be so intimidating sometimes… I can’t get enough of it.

“No no no please no! no no no not the ribs please not the ribs please, sir not the ribs!” You just don’t understand Mark. My ribs are insanely ticklish. It makes me nervous just thinking about someone massaging my supple skin against the firm bone and sending me kicking and screaming into the deep abyss of ticklish agony.

“Oh all right Claire… not your ribs. I suppose you want me to massage these sweet little hips of yours instead then… hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?” Oh no… my poor pocket points. I can feel his hands poised for attack on my hyper ticklish hipbones even under my wrinkled covers. My sleek lace panties will offer me absolutely no protection from his diabolical form of massage…

“No sir… no. Not the pockets, please not the pockets!” I can feel his hands resting there but at an insidious pause. I can’t take the anticipation. My head sways back and forth behind the blindfold and I can hear him breathing so heavily through the phone. I try my best to gain any kind of inference as to where the next ticklish attack will land but all my efforts quickly prove futile.

“You seem confused… I think I will let you sample both and then make a more INFORMED…” With his turbulent intonation I can feel both of his ruthless hands exploding onto my vulnerable ticklish form. The feeling of my ribs being pitilessly titillated causes my entire upper body to cave in on itself as I violently jerk against my stringent bonds to no avail. The feeling of his other hand mercilessly massaging my quivering hips has my legs violently jerking against the padded stocks and held fast to my terrified delight in my sensual confinement. “DECISOINnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn” Master lets his evil promise linger almost forever in the crisp night air. I can feel the insatiable ticklish imp dancing in my belly and the river of flowing laughter begins to purge my lips like streams of water quenching the insatiable malignant thirst of the torturous demon behind me.

“Oh shit shit shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiheheheheheheeheheeheheehe oh it tickles… oh god it tickles, please sir it tickles heheheheheheeheheh haaaaaaaa haaaaaaaaa mmmmmmm!” If I am this much of a wreck through thousands of miles of phone line, I can’t imagine what it will be like when my tiny limbs are actually hanging over my head leaving me powerless to stop his ticklish invasion.

As it is I can barely stop giggling and I don’t think that I even want to stop moaning. There is just something about the helplessness. It’s like a warm tangible blanket of pure joy that He wraps me up in. Hearing his building peccant desire dripping from his paralyzing voice only assures me that he fully intends to push me as far into the warm bath of vulnerability as my delicate senses will go… and hopefully just a tad bit further.

I need to be pushed, I need to be challenged, I need to be tormented, I need to be punished! Just for having these disturbed little thoughts I feel the undeniable need to be taught a lesson. Strangely the concept of my correction is what gives our little night time rendezvous their greatest since of flavor. It’s a vicious cycle that keeps me inescapably trapped in the maze of my own twisted mind and with every warm tingle in my ear from his vicious teasing I am convinced that this is exactly the way I want it. What’s the point in knowing what is about to happen if it spoils all the fun?

I just lay back in my bed still feebly clinging to the last fictitious shred of safety in the form of the crinkled sheets I wrap myself in so tightly as he takes his sweet time illustrating to me that when we are finally together, not even the silky beddings that adorn me now will keep him from imparting his own sensual cruelty on the delicate susceptible skin that he dreams about so often.

“Finally together…” That was one of many lines from this haunting letter that would stick with Mark for a long time after his home screen faded to black. As much as he tried, he couldn’t block “him” out to focus on Claire in all her enraptured glory. At every turn, when Mark found the slightest bit of conscious joy reading about her mirthful torment he would be reminded that he was not the author of this romantic foray.

Worse yet, now Mark sees Claire’s clear intentions to meet this person at some point and consummate the dark fantasies that they have been sharing together since god knows when. Maybe she really was gone? Maybe he was too late? One thing was sure; this was certainly not like the others. If Mark wanted any chance he knew that this would be the fight of his life and right now it looked to have all the makings of an early round knock out. Now more than ever Mark knew that his TIME was running out…

Winning at anything is simple really, once you understand the rules. Thankfully, the controlling rule of life is a fairly predictable one. Life, more often than not, will give you one of two choices: what you are willing to fight for, or what you are willing to accept. The winners simply understand that the choice is ultimately up to them. The losers are the ones who hide behind the excuse that they just never seem to have the LUCK that other people do. The only real question is, “Which one are you?”

Mark just gave himself over to his raging emotions. He no longer tried to hold back the salty tears from flowing down his sullen cheek, or the urge to feed more and more on the idea of his Blushing Beauty suffering the ticklish fate that he never imagined she could desire. The duality was strange, but Mark couldn’t fight it right now. Somewhere those conflicting emotions would meet in the recesses of his now tormented mind, but the final mix was beyond his control now. He was finally starting to let go. He was finally being honest.

It’s funny, but sitting here typing this, the thing that fascinates me the most is the struggling, oh dear God the struggling. As curious as I have been for however long, I have never had anyone TIE ME UP BEFORE. And certainly no one has made it as ominous a proposition as he has.

Just thinking about both of his hands freely roaming over my agonizingly ticklish upperbody tormenting me more and more with every unbearable second forces me to imagine just how wildly I will be pulling against my tight satin bondage as futile as it may be. I can’t wait to just let out life’s entire frustration thrashing with all my might to escape a sweet torture that I secretly never want to end. The feeling of being so helpless to stop him from doing whatever he wants to me. Not being able to push him away because he gets too close. Letting him get to me no matter how tough I think I am, just having to sit there and endure all the sadistic pleasures that he has in store for me no matter how much I can’t stand it.

Then it started to happen. Part of it became too much. The grimace now contorting Mark’s now sinister face was evidence that the one thing that he didn’t want to happen was becoming inevitable. ANGER. The pleasure from her fantasized predicament and the horror of the Master’s intentions with his sweet delicate princess were beginning to manifest in the one emotion that he had always kept from Claire, his anger. Right now he was furious at her. How could she keep this from him for so long? How could she share this with someone else? How could she let a stranger come between them? How could she be so selfish? Right now Mark began to focus almost solely on the prospect of Claire’s limbs hanging tightly above her head as well. The only difference is that right now Mark wasn’t really thinking about anything resembling Claire’s pleasure.

You see for me, this is when the light finally turned on. Once you begin to accept the fact that a part of you just wants to watch that special someone suffer while they are helpless to stop you then you’ve taken your first real step to being honest about who you really are. The hard part is finally acting on that dark impulse and actually making the decision to force someone you love endure PAIN. But don’t worry. That gets a lot Easier over time… HAHAHA

“I can only imagine how silky those tight little thighs of yours are Claire. Can you feel my fingertips lightly tracing from the base of those cute little panties to those quaking little knee caps. Can you feel me stroking your warm toned thighs up and down Claire? Do you like it? Tell me you like it Claire!” God…. I think he sees it as his own little game to take my breath away.

“Yessssssssssssss mmmmmmmm!” Speaking of breathing, whenever he talks about lightly caressing my tender thighs it becomes very VERY hard to do. I am usually so guarded. You know that Mark. I try with all my might to keep that intimate part of me private and all to myself. But not with him, he won’t have any of that. He has my hands firmly secured far away from any chance to make trouble for the sensual gifts that I need his hands to give...

My entire body begins to shiver as my own hand mimics his fairy tale trek up and down my smooth yearning legs. I can feel the greasy warmth beginning to stir gently in the base of my tummy as the burning little tingles pound harder and harder into the little rose bud that he always brings roaring to new life.

“Yesssssssssssss what Claire?” Oh god… he has to make me say it. He always makes me say it. For him it’s not enough just to have me. He always wants me to verbally affirm that I am his. I can feel his strong hands cupping my quivering buns and massaging the backs of my legs as I undulate swimming lightly in his loving grasp and his third hand reaching through the phone line to massage my very heart as with every passing moment it becomes more and more his personal possession.

“Huuuuuuuu Huuuuuuu Yes sirrrrrrrrrrr oh mmmmmmmmm!” Sometimes, surrender can be so sweet. When someone gives you this much pleasure why fight it? There is no one to impress, no points to score, no ball to fight for. There is just what I desperately need and am finally strong enough to allow… thanks to him.

A tiny part of Mark was truly glad for Claire’s breakthrough. This is something that Mark knew was inevitable, just like the gentle blossoming of the radiant flowers with the first signs of the new spring. The vast majority of him however was being besieged with wave after wave of grief that it was another shinning star instead of his rays of devoted sunshine that was lighting the path for Claire’s emerging vernal equinox.

Now just like Claire, Mark was working on his own breakthrough; even though the details were still hard to make out. Who does he hate more at this very moment: Claire, Her Master, or Himself? Somehow the answer to that question seemed extremely pertinent as the fires behind his broiling eyes and between his strong legs burned hotter and hotter with every lustful detail of his naughty neighbors little bedtime story.

You know I think that things like Anger and Hatred get a bad wrap. I mean look at all the good things that have made. I mean, people hate war right? Teams get angry because they loose so they play better the next time don’t they? Some people hate their job, so you know what-they go out and start their own business. Then they create more jobs, goods and services for everyone right? If I ever had to go in for surgery, I would want a Doctor who absolutely HATES to loose a patient. Anger… Hatred…. They’re not the problem. It’s all about how you use them. Even though that is rather tricky I will admit. But trust me, it can be done… Ask me how I know. You’ll see. One day they will make a museum or a monument just for the accomplishments from all mankind authored by normal people who just finally took ownership of how truly enraged they were.

“I can’t believe that you keep forgetting Claire. I think that we are really going to have to work on that… tell me. When was the last time that these pretty feet received a pedicure….” Just hearing that I know without being told that if he were here, with my ankles bound before him, I would feel the maddening progression of his devilish digits working lower and lower on my sensitive calves inching closer and closer to my utter demise.

“Please sir please. I promise that I won’t forget again… Anything but that! Oh dear god anything but that sir.” I dig the bottoms of my feet as far as I can into the mattress thinking that somehow I will be offered some protection, but even from such a great distance I feel the first tingly inches on my sensitive soles just at the mere thought of his evil caress.

“First… You didn’t answer my question. Second… that’s what you said last time. Isn’t it Claire?” I can hear that evil smile even through the telephone. He is so proud of himself when he exposes my depraved little schemes.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm Yes sirrrrrrrrrrrrr!” There is no more denying it. The sad truth is that he was right. I had been dreaming about the mindless ordeal to come the entire day. Ever since I put on that special pair of patent leather heels, that he told me he is so fond of. All day long I couldn’t pry my mind away from the idea of having them slowly taken off to give my delicate feet the villainous attention that they so richly deserve.

Even in the midst of his growing despair Mark couldn’t help but laugh to himself as his own personal bottomless pit just kept getting deeper and deeper. Those are his shoes. They are the ones that HE is so fond of. First the girl, then the dream, now his shoes. What could possibly be next? At this rate he was a dead dog away from becoming a horrible reincarnation of a misguided country song.

Claire was a sight to see in her favorite pair of four inch heels. She was naturally a tall girl, but with her added elevation she could almost look Mark right in the eyes even though he was a very impressive 6’2. The thought of taking those perfect leather pumps off after Claire’s long days had crossed Mark’s mind on more than a few occasions. He always wanted the privilege of taking her beautiful soft soles in the palms of his strong hands and massage any tension or worry that she might have far away from her conscious mind.

Mark always relished the idea of lightly, ever so lightly, teasing and tickling Claire’s perfectly sensitized soles so that she could be that sweet little princess for him just one more time. So that he could see that smile that he craved more than anything, hear here musical laughter that always lifted his very soul to unimaginable heights, and look deeply into her piercing eyes while she bit her lip in delicious anticipation of all the wonderful things that he had in store for her and her pretty peds.

Those hazel eyes peering deeply into him seemed like such a distant wonderland in the midst of his current plight. The idea of someone else tasting Claire’s ticklish cherry tipped toes before he did was simply too much to contemplate. But the very idea of that most delicate skin being teased, tickled, and tormented in the way that it screamed out for so dearly still had the subconscious effect of making mark dizzy at the very thought. Despite himself, he still needed to read more. Now more than ever, anything to do with his beautiful princess being made to suffer had much added appeal in Mark’s ever twisting mind.

“You still didn’t answer my question young lady. When was the last time that you had my pretty little feet professionally looked after?” I can sense that right now his cheek would be right next to mine. Whenever he knows that I am tittering on the edge of utter ticklish madness he wants to be as close as possible to drink in even the slightest of my reactions like a fine wine, only increasing his insatiable thirst for my bare helplessness.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm Today sir… I had a pedicure today. I had them painted your favorite color sir. Just for you!” It feels so good to finally give yourself to someone who takes your breath away Mark. I never thought that letting go this completely could ever feel this good.

“Well well well… We’ll just have to inspect the craftsmanship… won’t we Calire?” He knows that I can’t answer. It’s always an intense experience when he describes baring my sensitive feet. I can imagine that he will draw it out as much as possible: letting his nails lightly scratch at the leather of my tight high heels just to remind me that my last bit of protection is about to be taken from me. Taken… I like that word.

I can feel myself hold my breath as his hand takes a firm grip of my right heel. I can feel the first light tug of my warm shoe as I am powerless to stop him. I can feel the first rush of cool air cascade over my warm soles in stark contrast to their previous confines. The shock of the conflicting sensations brings a subtle jolt to my system as more and more of my flexing sole is bared to the world for all to see. I can feel my toes begin to flex freely as my shoe is lightly plucked from my lightly writhing digits. I can also imagine him taking a prurient delight in gliding the rim of y freshly removed shoe along the wrinkly defenseless sole held captive by the sturdy foot stocks that have me imprisoned. I take a long hard sigh as the jolt of ticklish electricity crashes through all the nerves in the back of my legs. I am brought back to reality by the loud clacking of my freshly removed shoe as he so casually allows it to fall to the ground like the very pit of my trembling stomach.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm that’s my good little Girl Claire. That probably explains why they look so soft, and moist doesn’t it.” The removal of my second shoe doesn’t have nearly the romance of the first. Just in the interest of ever growing contrast I can feel it ripped violently from my writhing sole just to give me a wonderful dose of even more erotic fear to make my senses dreadfully peaked for the insidious torment to come. “Gosh Claire, I bet they are so *TICKLISH* right now aren’t they? Come on Claire, you can tell me!” Just by the way that he utters the word ticklish I can tell that it would be punctuated by the first graze of my bare bound sole with a delicate fingertip from the heel of my quivering foot to right below my desperately curling toes.

“Hehehehehee yes yes yes yes sir… yes My feet are Very Ticklish for you Master. Hahahaahahaha I want everything to be perfect for you. hehehehe” I can feel his strong hands return to my swaying torso and my pulse begins to rage. Feeling his hands traveling freely caressing every inch of my warm bare skin begins to make me dizzy with salacious arousal. I can feel the moistening of my pretty lace panties becoming more and more desperate with every masterful pass of his gentle fingertips. The horrible images of my deathly sensitive feet being pitilessly tormented soaring through my mind do nothing to quiet the fires beginning to rage deep within my sweltering loins.

“See, you are behaving so much better already and we have only just begun. I think that you deserve a reward. I can tell that this has been far too confining for you…” He doesn’t have to say a word. I know without being told that now is the time for the delicate lace fabric straining to contain my ample breasts to be given the merciful release of removal from my ever hardening peaks.

If it’s possible, I close my eyes even tighter as I bare my own breasts allowing myself to sink deeper and deeper into the rapturous dream world that my Master has taken so much time to construct. I cup my own supple bare breasts just as he would bringing all of the once forsaken nerve endings screaming to life as all the ridges of each individual fingerprint can be felt as I gently caress the wonderfully adept skin. My breath becomes more beleaguered with each passing second and the thought of actually being able to form words is beginning to fade slowly into the back of my mind but there is one thing that I have to say.

“Thank you sir… ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” It’s amazing what it’s like just to exhale around him. To feel no shame as all of these wonderful new sensations continue their relentless assault on my young incisive nervous system.

My poor stiff nipples aren’t used to this much attention. They are far too often neglected; I guess that’s a little bit of my fault. Lightly scratching their perceptive rims with my long sharp fingernails really helps make up for all the lost time. I can feel my body beginning to slither in time with my probing hands and my hips starting to grind shamefully as I am more and more entranced by my loving tormentor.

Mark really couldn’t grasp what was sicker: how much Claire was enjoying herself with someone she barely knew or the voyeuristic thrills that were shooting sharply through his strong body with Claire’s every word. Either way, he had long since come to the gruesome realization that there was little he could do to stop either one right now.

Everyone wants to fly, but so few are willing to let go of the rail. I know that it’s scary letting go for the first time… but you learn.

“You’re more than welcome, Claire. You know that nothing gives me more pleasure than pleasing you.” Just hearing his gentle words soothing me is like feeling him wipe the loose hair away from my now sweat sparkled face with his strong hands.

“Now, Claire, back to your lesson at hand!” Strangely this brings such a corrupt little grin to my immodest lips. He always knows exactly what I want. “Can you feel the stiff feather beginning to lightly tease your right ankle Claire? Can you feel the whispery tip caressing your smooth sensitive skin? You know where it’s going… Don’t you Claire? Can you feel it…?”

“No no… not there… please sir not there…. No no no!” He is such a conscienceless tease. I swear I never tire of his deviant bedeviling.

“Oh I see. Well we can’t have that. If you can’t feel it then I think that I should use another feather on your left ankle so that it doesn’t feel left out. HAHAHA!” I swear that wicked demonic laugh is going to be the end of me. “Can you feel it now Calire?”

“Yes yes yes sir hehe oh God yes… I can feel it. Hehe I can feel it I swear!” I dare not respond incorrectly again. He never misses an opportunity to worsen my plight. I know that I am in enough trouble as it is (even for me). And as strange as it sounds, Mark, I really can fee it... Even lying her underneath my comforter buried against the sheets covering my mattress, there is nothing I can do keep my impressionable ankles and feet from being devoured with sympathetic tickly sensations reminiscent of their imaginary counterparts.

“How does it feel Claire? Tell me, what do my naughty little feathers feel like on those cute little ankles of yours?” It’s never enough for him to see my obvious physical reactions or listen intently to my unstoppable flow of giggles. He always wants me to admit how much his cruel ministrations are literally destroying me as I hang there helplessly in my bondage.

“Ohhhhhhhhh It tickles It tickles…. Hehehe It tickles sir it tickles!” The light whispery tickles on my quivering ankles are just a cruel appetizer and I know it. He just wants to watch my calves strain in hopeless futility as my legs lightly jerk against the massive foot stocks that hold me fast to receive my much deserved punishment. The burning sensation in my calves and thighs from the useless straining against my strict bondage slams home in the urgent smoldering between my now desperately quaking legs.

“No, Claire. That doesn’t tickle… THIS TICKLES!”

“Oh Godddddddd Oh Godddddddddddd haaaaaaaaaaa haaaaaaaaaa! Hehehe haaaaaaaaaa haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa hehe!” Just the thought of the thousands of tendrils on the two evil feathers lightly teasing and stroking my bound quivering soles makes me almost incoherent. I can feel the dreadful itching on the bottoms of my feet, I can smell the burning candles, I can feel the cool air of the room ruthlessly caressing my turgid nipples bringing me closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy and in reality I haven’t even been touched yet. How can a Man’s voice alone be this devastating?

“Can you feel my feathers tracing neat little patterns all over those beautifully trembling soles Claire? Doe is tickle…. Are your arches sensitive today Claire? What about the balls of your feet Claire, the pink meaty centers? Can you feel me twirling the delicate feather right in the center of your desperately writhing feet young lady? Your cute little arches don’t feel left out do they Claire? We can’t have that. I know how we can fix it. Can you feel the stiff edges of my naughty little feathers sawing in those sensitive little arches Claire? Can you feel it Claire. Can you feel it? Does it tickle? Does it TICKLE

“Yesssssssssss ohhhhhhhhhh hehehe yess sir yessssssssssssssssssss hehe It tickles ohhhhhhhhhh it tickles!” Now all I can do is lay there and writhe madly as the imaginary sensations take me hostage. No matter how much I may want to, there is nothing that I can do to subdue the earthy moans of mounting ecstasy from sneaking past my quiveinr lips. Right now I am off in my own little world of erotic torment and for some disturbed reason my predicament is bringing me closer and closer to crashing home in a way I never imagined.

“How many Tendrils do you think there are Claire?” As if I needed to smile any bigger.

“Oh God I don’t know sir…. I have no idea…!” As if torturing my writhing ticklish feet wasn’t enough, he never lets me get away without teasing and taunting my perversely receptive mind.

“Thousands Claire, THOUSANDS!” Why does he have to say these things? Doesn’t he know what this does to me? (Of course he does!)

“Oh God Oh God Oh God… Shitttttttttttttt!” As if I needed any reminder of the tens of thousands of individual little tickles I am going to have to endure as he pitilessly rakes his evil implements up and down my defenseless ticklish bare skin in wonderfully capricious patterns… Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“Let’s see if your wiggly little toes can count Claire! Maybe they can do a better job than your soles. Let’s give them a chance, Claire, shall we.” No matter how much he can feel me suffering, he always has the undying urge to make my horrendous lot even worse. Sometimes I feel so lucky…

“Heee heheheheheheeheh Oh God no no not the toes please not the toes their so ticklish oh please sir please not under the toes ehhhehehheheeheheheh Ohhhh Godddddddd.” All that’s left for me to do is beg and giggle into the telephone like the bubbly little princess that he always tell me I am. I don’t know which is harder to fight, my desperate panting, the real mirror image of the atrocious tickly sensations besetting my tightly curled toes as though the feathers were much more than harassing words, or the insatiable mounting arousal that threatens to rip all my nerve endings apart at the same time never to be put back together again. The real question that plagues me right now, Mark, is if I really want to fight any of them.

With every word from Claire’s scintillating midnight conversation, Mark’s naturally tame fantasies of playful teasing his Best friend began to take on a much more sinister tone. Now, Mark wanted nothing more in the world than to be the dark figure standing behind his Bound Beauty cruelly wielding the torturous implement of her ticklish demise. He could almost see Claire’s cherry tipped digits dancing aimlessly in fervent response to the malicious tantalizing touch of his feral feather. He could almost hear her high pitched squeals of forced glee. He could hear the violent ruffling as she struggled so mightily in her strict bondage unable to escape his mindless ticklish torture of her sweet trembling toes (the same toes that have teased him for so many long springs past.) The same set of wiggling digits that he has had the chance to tease and torment himself but was never brave enough to try. Two virulent strains of emotions were beginning to rage deep inside of Marks blackening heart, both threatening to destroy all that he was and transform him into something he had tried to hide for so long.

In this world, no one is going to give you anything. You have to stand up one day, make a decision and take it-sometimes very forcefully. Now sometimes, this may tack DRASTIC measures, but that’s a lot better than seeing someone else walking around with something that belongs to you. That’s the decision that I had to make, and one day so will you.

“Awwwwwwwwwwwww… does that tickle? Do you want me to give these cute little toe bottoms a rest, Claire? Have they had enough of my treacherous little feathers?” It’s amazing the level of anxiety that he can throw me into with something as simple as a whisper.

“Pleasssssssssssssssssse Sir hehehehehee!” Mark, I am rubbing my feet into the backs of my calves in rapid succession and there is still nothing that I can do to make that tingly itching stop. I am starting to feel it again just typing this. I can’t believe that he can make me so tickle-sensitized by just telling me all the evil things that he has in store for my poor ticklish little feet.

“Okay, Sweetie Okay…. Then I will just saw my stiff little feather between those wriggling little toes… how about that Claire? Is that better?” How does he come up with these things? Memo to self: listen to every word and choose responses very CAREFULLY. Lol.

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo Oh shit oh god no no no no sir no ohhhhhhhh please not there… not between my toes… that is so ticklish please stop hehe heheheheheh I can’t take it please stop heheheheheheheheheheheheh stop stop stop please sir stop mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” You don’t understand Mark. I can barely touch myself there. I have to be careful painting my toes. Having them helplessly tied and mercilessly tormented with stiff feathers would just kill me, Mark. You can’t possibly imagine… But yet, he taps into this unexplainable craving I guess that I have always had to undergo that abject torture for much longer than any human being can stand. I must be going out of my mind.

“Oh come on Claire… I thought that you were a tough girl? Don’t tell me that I can get to you with just a little tickling!” Now he is going in for the kill. He knows just how to break me down. Just the way that I like it…

“Hehehehehehehehe nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn heheheeheh!” I can’t hold back anymore. It just gets to me when he takes that away from me: that stupid tough girl title. I would trade all my stature, strength, power, and athleticism for just one day of being his helpless tlittle girl. It’s amazing that he understands that so well. It’s even more amazing how much I respond to it. With every elevated pulse of my throbbing heart that special little rose bud grows bigger and bigger along with the shamelessly indulgent smile smeared across face.

“Come on, be tough for me Claire. I know that you can take it. The little tendrils torturing those unprotected little toes don’t even bother you, do they Claire? I bet you can block it out can’t you? Just forget about it Claire. Forget about how evilly I am destroying your bare defenseless ticklish feet!”

“Oh God… You know I Can’t. hehehe It tickles so bad… it tickles too much. I can’t get it out of my head… please… I can’t take anymore! hehehe” The more I give myself the more I always seem to get in return.

“Oh I know that Claire, I just want to make sure that you do.” He knows just how to drive me to that special place where I am fully in the arms of his cruel brand of mercy. “But don’t worry Claire. I think that you’re poor feet are done with the feather. I think that my strong nimble fingers will do just fine.” He says the most damning things with an eerie type of calm that always seems to tragically draw me in.

“No no… Please don’t sir… please don’t.” I can pretend all that I want… a certain part of me can’t wait to have his nimble fingers torturously roaming over my tightly bound soles. Just because it’s hard to say out loud doesn’t mean that it’s not there.

“Oh I see… I guess that you have grown quite attached to my diabolical little implements then, huh? I should have known… Just look at those pink ripening little peaks. Don’t worry, Claire. I think that I can find a way for the two to stay acquainted while my fingers explore these perfectly pampered feet of yours.” My heart stops… He can’t do that. No one ever touches my bare vulnerable nipples. They are way too sensitive to be touched or teased, let alone ruthlessly tickled with stiff feathers sawing their hard edges making me mad with raging lust. He can’t do that… Can he? I can only hope so. My curiosity for his cruelty is really going to get me into trouble one of these days.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Thank you sir… Thank you!” Truth be told, there is a part of me that is just grateful for the opportunity to struggle with it. I wonder what it would feel like to really be overwhelmed with that much pleasure. If my fingernails teasing my real turgid nipples are any indication I am sure I will find it quite irresistible. I swear, Mark, if I had feathers with me here in my apartment I would have teased myself with them just to have a glimpse at what it will actually be like. I guess for now my sharp fingernails are going to have to do.

“Can you feel the feather raking back and forth across your bare breasts, Claire? Back and forth, first your left then your right. I bet that feels good doesn’t it Clare. Tell me it feels good, Claire” Now every time that he says my name I am taken just a little bit out of the comfort of my bedroom and placed more and more on the bench in his romantic little dungeon to endure his carnal pleasures.

“Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!” The reality is exquisite. I lightly caress my now very puffy areolas with the edge of my nails and intermittently trace evil little circles around the edges of my pulsing nipples flicking lightly tormenting my own nerves for his sick pleasure. Every time that I rake my sharp nails over the tips of my pulsing nubbins my entire body shudders violently and I can hear his breath quicken with mine to my desperate reactions. It feels much too good for me to tolerate. Of course, that just means that I am lost in the deep sea of forced self torment. I just let my audible cringes leak into the telephone letting him know that I am eagerly playing his sick little game and becoming the quivering mess of ticklish arousal that he has dreamed of for so long.

“Now, which foot would you like my other hand to tickle while you are Enjoying yourself? Hmmmmmmmmmmmm you’re ticklish left… or your sensitive right? Come now Claire… you must make up your mind. Tracing my stiff little feather all over your supple little breasts and pouting little nipples isn’t disturbing your concentration is it?” He had no idea… or did he?

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” I have finally been pushed past the point of being able to respond. All that I can do is moan deeply into the telephone affirming his omnipotence as it washes over my entire body from the tips of my tingling toes to the very tips of my flowing main. It feels so good just to be lost in the little world that he has created for me Mark. No one has ever taken the time to strip me down and make me this emotionally bare before.

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww I think that she is confused again. Don’t worry. I think I will just switch back and forth so that I make sure I get the right one, Claire! Is that all right with you?” How many perfect answers can one man have, Mark?

“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM huhhhhhhh huuuuuuuuuuuuuuh huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh huuuuuuuuuh” Even in our relatively few phone conversations, I can already tell that he takes my unbridled ragged breathing in the throws of my mounting rapturous bliss that he creates as yet another sign of his victory over me.

The wicked feather bringing me closer and closer to screaming climax as it ruthlessly teases and tickles my pert breasts and throbbing nipples is enough to drive me crazy. Now I have to deal with the conflicting sensation of his horridly nimble fingertips and dreadfully sharp fingernails raking up and down alternating between each of my quaking ticklish feet while I am bound and helpless to stop it.

Now there would be no subtle struggling, there would only be violent thrashing. The two sensations are far too different to be allowed to exist at the same time. I would do anything; agree to anything to have some type of resolution. With the sharp electric sensations being forced on my wrinkling writhing soles and the merciless sawing of the feather on my delicate yearning nipples I fear that as the sensations rack all the muscles of my body in between the erogenous points of origin that my poor innocent smoldering womanhood will prove ultimately to be the worse for wear.

Since high school, just hearing the word tickle was enough to take my attention. Now being forced to endure the concept of having two of my most perceptive erogenous zones mercilessly tormented at the same time brings the sensation of desperate arousal breaking out of my corrupt subconscious and splashing violently into my now very damp panties as the physical manifestation of my intense excitement continues to drip from my now glistening lips.

I let him hear everything. I let him hear what he is doing to me. I let him hear how much he is destroying me. I let him here the turbulent struggle that he causing in my now maligned cerebellum. I want him to hear how much I desperately wish that he will never stop the insidious cruelty that I am beginning to truly crave. I let him hear every violent fleshly grunt as my hips take on a life of their own thirsty for as much stimulation and pressure on my stiff moistening clit as can be found here all alone in bed at the mercy of my Master’s enigmatic imagination. He just laughs maniacally deepening my feeling of sheer unmitigated helplessness to whatever inauspicious whims befall his sadistic mind. Even from this far away, he unconsciously has forced me to tremble before him in fervent exhalation that I had never imagined in my wildest daydreams.

I can imagine the scraping, oh dear God the scraping. My arches are so sensitive, Mark. A tiny piece of sand left in my shoe from the beach can make me giddy. The pumice stone becomes its own unique form of torment when the nice little oriental lady tends to my sensitive soles. I honestly can’t understand this sick obsession with having those fingernails, his sharp fingernails raking my hyper-ticklish arches up and down endlessly...

I want so badly to feel the padding of the stocks holding me tightly in place. I want to feel my leg muscles burning desperately trying fruitlessly to give me the slightest respite from the insane mistreatment that I have so shamefully earned myself. I want to know that no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I struggle, no matter how strong I think I am, or how tough I used to be that right now in this instance there is absolutely nothing that can stop him from giving me what I know I need more than anything even I can’t bear the very thought of it.

Even here rubbing them furiously together trying to forget the fantasies consuming my mind I can feel my feet flinching and flexing just at the hint of their imprisonment to come. My toes flex, my soles strain, my ankles flex instinctively no matter how much I try to block it. He has invaded my head with the kind of precision that belongs to him and him alone. I don’t know he does it Mark, I just know that it is far more intense than anything I have ever experienced.

“Do you want me to stop? Do you want me to stop tickling your cute little feet, Claire? Is it too much? Is it getting to you? Does my little tough girl want to ask me for mercy?” Mind body and soul, he never gives me a moments rest, Mark.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hehehehe yes yes yes yes sir yes… please sir, hehehehe just tease my nipples sir, please… oh God...! Please sir… have mercy on me… hehehehe please have mercy sir… please.” I think that this is my opening. I think that the explosion that I have needed for so long is right around the corner. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind not to get so comfortable, but the prospect of erupting so turbulently for him was too much to resist…

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww… She’s lying to me. You are so cute when you fib Claire. Don’t you understand that I know you by now…” As usual, my whimpers of frustration only push him to new heights of dire iniquity. “If you really wanted me to stop then those cute little panties of yours wouldn’t be getting so wet then would they?” My life has been plagued with sensual awkwardness, but somehow being so helpless in front of him and being exposed and teased about my growing desire was a different kind of embarrassment that only added to the ferocious elation building between my violently trembling thighs.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm hmmmmmmmm heheheheheehe nooooooo they wouldn’t. Heheheheheheheh and it’s all your fault! You know that I can’t help myself around you. You know what your evil, sadistic tickling does to me. It’s not fair! hehehehehe” He loves knowing that I am so defenseless against the suggestive effect that he has on me, even in the safety of my own home.

“I never said it was going to be fair young lady, I just said that it was going to be fun. Well… for me anyway. Hhahahahahahahahaha. Now… let me ask you Claire, what happens to fibbers? Hmmmmmmm… do you remember. As I recall we have had this conversation a few times before?” I swear he gets off the most when he can get me to say it…

“They get punished sir….” I honestly feel as though if I say it in a low enough whisper that it will somehow be less true.

Mark could not help the deviant fascination that he was developing every time he read that one simple word: “Punished.” That’s all that he could think about to keep himself sane while reading the devastating e-mail before him. Even though he had to deal with the stark reality that it took the catalyst another man’s intrusion, he was quickly developing an iniquitous addiction to the carnal idea of erotically disciplining his pretty little princess while she was helpless to stop him. It wasn’t just about making Claire smile anymore. His secret fantasy of subjecting her to hours of prolonged ticking has taken on a much more merciless meaning in the back of his darkening mind.

Now, Mark wants to see a part of Claire suffer. He wants to make her feel the way that he feels at this very second. He wants to punish her. Punish her for being so beautiful, punish her for being so caring, so loving, so intoxicating, so comforting, being such a good friend, and causing the intense love that is now the foundation for his greatest sorrow. He wants to watch her ticklish toes strain, her toned muscles tense, her slender limbs thrashing against their bonds, and her beautiful svelte tummy burst with hysterical laughter flowing through her sweet cherry lips as physical manifestations of the unbearable anguish that he feels right now.

It can be a very scary experience the first time you REALLY take a good hard look in life’s mirror. You might not like what you see starring back through the glass. Believe me; it was especially tough in my case. To realize that there is this dark part of you that wants to watch the person you love squirm in intolerable anguish as punishment for being so distant from you-denying you what you have wanted for so long… The horrifying fantasies that you never knew you had bleeding through into your conscious mind. Your head filling with all kinds of questions: “Am I normal? Am I going out of my mind? Am I a…” Trust me… it’s a hard pill to swallow. But then again, the ones that really help to heal you usually are…


“I’m sorry Claire, I can’t hear you young lady… What happens to naughty little fibbers?” It’s like he knows the little games I like to play better than I do.

“Hehehehehehe They get PUNISHED!” I shout it so boldly, so defiantly, so invitingly.

“Can you feel me softly brushing your long hair young lady…”

-SILENCE-

Mark, have you ever been trying to say something, but all the breath that you thought was in your lungs has suddenly been taken from you and you don’t know where it went.

“I said, ‘can you feel me softly brushing your long, pretty, Dark, silky hair?’ Answer me Young Lady!” Why does he have to be stern? He knows that I love that. He already has me. Why does he need to have all of me? His greed for my suffering is the foundation for our aberrant affections.

“Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss… Oh God yessssssssssssssssss!” Mark you like scary movies. You know that part, the part where you already know what’s coming. Something so terrifying that you want so badly to look away but you can’t. You can’t because there is a part of you that wants to see it, no matter how horrible it is. That’s what looking at a hairbrush does to me. He knows it. He fucking knows it. And he never forgets to use it against me in the worst kind of ways.

After one of our chats online, I actually wanted to know what it would feel like. I took one of mine out of the top drawer from the dresser right next to my bed. I took a few long moments and thoroughly surveyed the hundreds of little ball tipped points that augmented the brushes head. I tried to imagine what they would feel like rubbing gently against my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes and I ran it along the palm of my hand and internalized every benign caress to imagine what the more sensitive parts of me might experience.

Then I took a deep breath. I put both of my feet up on the bed tucking my legs under me and leaving my socked feet sticking out. I reached out my right hand, and I slowly peeled back my white ankle socks from my freshly washed and still tingling bare feet. I just had to know what the evil tool would feel like against the hyper-perceptive skin of my naked bare feet. I flexed my toes and let the cool air of the room waft over them as I prepared for my little experiment.

I delicately bit my bottom lip in curious anticipation. I was so nervous that I knew I had to get this over with quickly, so I pressed both of my exposed feet together with the insteps lining up so that I could feel the ominous brush slowly rake over both of them at the same time. I just placed the brush carefully at the base of both my heels. I just sat there gathering courage for a few fleeting seconds and started the trek of the horrible hairbrush up the lengths of my naked pink soles. Just one pass forced me to jerk back my own feet and shriek in ticklish abandon.

I couldn’t believe how receptive the nerves on my delicate foot bottoms were to something that I did to myself, let alone how horribly it tickled. Just looking at the brush I gained such a reverence for the absolute terrors that it could visit upon me if it was ever in the wrong/right hands. Even in the face of the shocking reality, for the next ten minutes I repeated the ritual of gaining courage to spontaneously torture myself with the dreadful sensations until I could finally take it no more. I had to sneak off into my bathroom to relieve all the decadent tension that my self inflicted agony had caused.

Since then the very sight of a hairbrush has become the symbol of my deepest erotic terror and he knows it. I don’t know why I confessed it. I even volunteered it. He has been cruelly using it as my ultimate ticklish punishment and I have been doing twisted little misdeeds just to give him an excuse to plunge me even deeper into the abyss of ticklish despair. What’s happening to me Mark? This is sick, this is depraved, this is wrong. But it just feels so right. Does that make any sense?

“Are you going to be a naughty little fibber again young lady...?” No matter how excited my predicament makes him, he never looses control.

“No… no sir. I promise!”

“Oh come now Claire, you know I have heard that before. Don’t worry; I am going to do all that I can to make sure that you mean it this time! Can you feel me holding your supple big toes back with my strong fingers, Claire? Can you feel the EVIL brush being placed on your pink little heels young lady? Can you feel your soles stretched out nice and taught, helpless to stop me from TORTURING THEM as much as I want Claire? Do you feel helpless? Do you want to get away? Is it going to tickle? Is it going to Fucking tickle young lady? Can you feel it start, Claire? Can you feel the endless scrapping and raking of your trapped defenseless soles Claire? Can you feel the maddening circles and figure eights all over your soles as they strain against my strong grasp? Can you take it, Claire? Can you take it? Can my naughty little tough girl take it?”

“Ohhhhhhh God Oh god huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu shit shit shit ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh huuuuuuuuuuuuu huuuuuuuuuuuu mmmmmm!” I wish that he could see me right now Mark. I wish he could see what this does to me. All that I can do is writhe here between my sheets as he takes me home. I know that it will be terrible. I know that the atrocious fiery tickles on the bottoms of my feet will be too much for me to take. I know I will laugh. I know that I will scream, scream desperately for mercy. I know that it will be the worst kind of abject torture that I have ever had to endure… but I want more. I still want to hear more. His every heartless word of my impending ticklish doom takes me closer to that place of lustful rapture.

I want him to be here, right now. I want to feel the maddening brush torturing every nerve ending of my poor defenseless ticklish feet. I want them to be tied so tight. I want him to hold them even tighter. I want to suffer, oh god I want to suffer. I want to suffer for him. As sick as that sounds I want to suffer for him. I want it to be torture. I want to have to endure every malicious pass of the atrocious hairbrush as the feeling of inescapable terror devours me making my now aching clit pulse faster and faster thirsting desperately for release.

I just want him to make it worse. I have given up all hope for any form of mercy. I don’t even think I really wanted any to begin with. I just want to be left coldly in my bondage struggling for dear life while he torturously ravages the most intimate parts of me. My feet are so ticklish Mark. If I can barely tease myself with a hairbrush I can barely imagine what this will feel like. I can only hope and pray that it is horrid enough to drag all the illusions of my irrelevant control kicking and screaming from even the deepest parts of my mind so that I can be left to receive the pleasure of true vulnerability that I now crave so dearly.

He stays there with me the entire time. He would never leave me alone in the little dream worlds that he creates for me. I can always rely on his steady hand guiding me through the ambience of my own radiant sexuality. He is always right there before me driving me closer and closer to my virtual ticklish insanity with his every menacing word. He ever so softly whispers right into me Mark… “Faster… Faster… Faster, Claire… Faster!” forever besetting me with the bestial articulation of the ferociously quickening torturous tickles. He lets me know that even though he can sense that I am on the verge of my utter destruction that he will only work rack my horrendously agonized senses even further as I come into the painful realization of the glorious pleasures behind the curtain of his all consuming malice.

His teasing words, imagining my bare helpless skin being slowly dismantled by his evil hands and insidious instruments, literally feeling the kiss of my tight bonds on my yearning flesh striving for a freedom that is so sweetly denied to me; all the wonderful emotions now coursing through my veins fuel the raging wildfire building in my erotic subconscious. I can feel every rhythmic beat of my thunderous heart as the fiery blood throbs in my aching stiff nipples and torments my horridly pulsing clit. My hands wander back and forth on my own yielding form trying desperately to match the feverish pace of my imaginary torment and continually stoke the fires of my mounting euphoric eruption.

The growing insufferable tension stresses every muscle in my writhing body deliciously as I feel the sweet contrast of the cool crisp sheets rubbing deliciously against my hot naked skin. I can feel my now greasy thighs rubbing together despite myself relishing in every new wave of decadent blissful sensations that even the lightest involuntary pressure on my violently pulsing nubbin sends crashing over my undulating form. I cannot decide if I want the building pressure to continue the maddening torture of my conscious mind or if I want to finally slip into the final level of hellacious ecstasy that my Master’s skillful regard has in store for me. Thankfully for my tormented psyche, that choice is not up to me.

“Claire…!” He takes a new tone in his caring address that, if only for a moment, stirs me gently from his devilish trance…

“Yesssssssssssssss….” Maybe just maybe… This has been racing through my mind since he first picked up the phone, but I dare not say it…

“It’s time.” Just hearing those words sends my carnal frenzy screaming into overdrive as my sweet shameful release feels only inches away…

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh thank you sir… thank you…” I have never been more grateful for anything in my entire life as I am to see the light at the end of the torturous journey my Master has so carefully lead me through.

“I want you to touch yourself… You’ve earned it. I want you to touch yourself for me, Claire.” He has been so generous with me… I have to be honest with him…

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Goooooooooooood huuuuuuuuuuhuuuuuuuu I already am Sir... I’m so sorry. I couldn’t resist. When you first mentioned wrapping the satin bindings around my wrists over my head I just felt so overwhelmed. I could feel myself getting so wet, just thinking about being helpless to you. I tried to fight it… but I couldn’t. I needed it so badly Master. I’m sorry. Then the stocks, Oh God the stocks. I couldn’t take it anymore when you locked my feet so helplessly in the stocks. I have been sliding my fingers in and out of my moist panties: lightly teasing my slippery lips and pulsing opening ever since. I’m sorry sir. I couldn’t help it!” I knew full that there would be repercussions, but I did it anyway. What does that say about me Mark?

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…. That’s my naughty little girl. You never disappoint me, do you know that Claire? Now, what should I do with my bad little princess who has a problem keeping her from to herself? Hmmmmmmm. Now, since you are already so focused on those cute little wrists tied over your head and those pretty ankles hopelessly trapped in my evil set of stocks, I think that you should have to bear the image of the sharp quill of my sadistic feather teasing up and down those flexing and tightening hamstrings and thighs while my other hand slithers into those moist little panties of yours. Is your delicate little rose bud nice and hard for me Claire? Is it moist? Is it pulsing? Isn’t it just ACHING to be played with…”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeahhhhh uuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!” That’s when I knew it was time. I finally let one of my fingers lightly and slowly begin caressing my hard moist clit while I pressed my legs so tightly together making the sharply electric sensations as utterly unbearable as possible. I used two other fingers to slip deep inside of my dripping wet essence searching desperately for that special little place that is so hard to find. There is just something intoxicating about being this naughty while your panties are still on Mark. It just makes it seem so base, so impure, like you are forsaking your own innocence. It makes the stars shooting behind my eyes even brighter letting it sink in just how licentious it is to so freely indulge in my amatory gluttony…

The feeling of my hand buried so deep inside of me teasing and stroking every sensitive fold of delicate moist skin in maddening concert is appallingly amplified by the deviant little thoughts racing through my mind. I can still feel myself violently tweaking and massaging my poor turgid nipples producing wave after wave of sinful pleasure coursing through every muscle in my desperately writhing form. I can even feel the sharp quill teasing my toned thighs forcing my muscles to dance in rapid fire succession amplifying the pool of raging lust at my very core that is quickly approaching the level of critical mass… He just kept whispering… “Can you feel it Claire… Can you feel it?” I know that he didn’t expect me to respond. He just wanted me to know that I was not alone. He wanted me to know that he would be there to catch me when I was finally able to utter the only thing that had any importance to me right now. With every caress of the special band of nerves deep inside of me and every maddening stroke of my overly sensitive clit I was left with no choice but to give in…

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeasse.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Goddddddddddddddddddddddddddd huhhhhhhhhhhhhhh huhhhhhhhhhhhhh Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” The intensity of Mark’s climax was only bested by the ferocity of his new found self loathing. How could he be so pathetic? How could he bring himself to orgasm reading about Claire’s inordinate sexual fascination with another man? How could he be that poor soul looking through the key hole at a life that he couldn’t have and be foolish enough to express gratitude for the privilege?

You know, a great man once said: “You have to walk through life’s deepest valley’s to appreciate the majesty of life’s greatest mountain tops.” I believe that. The problem is that when you are walking through the valley, that you can’t see the mountain top, just the rocks to climb.

Needless to say, the explosions were catastrophic. I felt like every molecule in my body ascended to this higher plain of existence where there was nothing but intense pleasure circulated by my rapidly beating heart as it pounded deeply in my heaving chest. It was something… special. Something no one had ever helped me experience, but something that is becoming far too much of a habit when I am around him-and this is just his voice. I just can’t seem to stop myself from getting lost in any one of his delightful little dream worlds even when he says something as simple as my name.

Thank you so much for listening to me Mark. I really needed to get this off my chest. This is so personal, so intimate. I couldn’t tell this to anyone else. It’s so nice to have someone I can trust that is always willing to listen to me no matter what new obstacles or pleasures life has in store for me.

I think that we should really hang out this weekend-after all it is Packers week! I hope that you can find it in your heart to take a small break from making sure can goods are being delivered on time and just help me relax for a Sunday. Maybe a nice long ball game and spending time in reality with my dear old friend can help neutralize this mysterious spell that he is casting on me. No matter what scatterbrained ideas I have come up with in the past, you always know how to put my feet back on solid ground.

Thank you for always being there for me Mark. It’s hard to find people that loyal in a world like this. No matter what, I know that we will always be there when I need you… I know that we will always be friends…

Hope to see you this weekend, have a great night. XOXO

Claire

“I know that we will always be friends…!” This is now the anthem of Mark’s suffering. Somehow, in the temporal maze of Mark’s relationship with Claire he had taken so many wrong turns, missed so many opportunities, been so blind that this was the only destination left to him. Even at the end of her scintillating soliloquy one last reminder that the source of her pleasure couldn’t be any more an antithesis to the teary eyed young man sitting shamefully at his computer screen still quaking from his glorious moment of weakness.

It’s bad enough to realize that you will never reach the Promised Land. It’s bad enough to realize that all your life’s dreams are currently tracing their inevitable way down life’s proverbial drain. But to have a life sentence of being caged just inches away from what you have wanted for so long to be reminded every day that you will never be able to possess it is just too much for anyone to take… regrettably, even for me. That’s when I knew that was it. As much as I loved her, as much time as I had spent with her through my life, I had to leave my sweet innocent little princess behind. There is no way that I was going to allow her to be the warden of my imprisonment just inches away from what I knew I wanted, what I NEEDED. That would be too much. Cheer up. As you can see, she will be well taken care of. She just won’t be My burden to bear anymore...

Mark just sat there. His body still shaking from the eruption of his manhood (inspired no less by the single greatest message of his life’s inescapable futility.) His heart was pounding in his chest. His hands trembling, his eyes are still reddened with the tears caused by Claire’s sensual journey with her new enigmatic figure. The knot in the back of Mark’s throat grew to the size of a watermelon. Holding back his free flowing sobs chokes all the air that he would normally use to breathe air into his now burning lungs. His entire body aches, not from physical pain, but from the pain of life’s great disappointment.

You see, the spasms in Marks hardened loins only relieved the pressure building in his aching scrotum from the sheer sensuousness of Claire’s detailed confession. The unbearable pressure caused by the depth of his sinking depression could not be quelled by even the most pleasurable of explosions. That relief would have to take on a different form.

Over the many years past, Claire’s beautiful smile had become his greatest sense of escape when life became far too great for MArk to handle. The euphoria that he found in the slightest pleasurable twinge of her perfect lips had helped guide him past the greatest tragedies of his adult life and shaped the man that he had become in ways that few would believe.

But now, in this dark moment, that symbol that had represented his deepest joy has been transformed into the immortal portrait of his insurmountable inadequacy. In that single moment having no option but to turn from Claire’s radiance Mark’s subconscious made a horrible promise that Mark’s conscience had no power over: Claire would be sorry… sorry that she didn’t have Mark around to listen so intently anymore.

Deprived of his greatest source of respite from the doldrums of painful despair Mark was forced to turn to an old friend that even Claire didn’t know about. This was someone who Mark had always kept with him ever since they met when he was a small boy. This was the first real friend that Mark ever had who really knew how to take his dreadful pain away. They met for the first time just after one of Mark’s father’s many tirades about how careless and forgetful Mark was. No matter how badly things became when he was a child this was the one friend who always knew how to make things feel so much better. Even through his long friendship with Claire, Mark made sure to keep this special friend at arms reach just in case something like this happened. After all, you never know what the future holds, do you? He even had a special place reserved for his special friend so that he would never forget…

Mark slowly opened the top drawer on the right side of his desk trying to imagine the merciful release to come. He took out the little black box that he had bought in secret all those many years ago. He took a deep breath. Just a few more minutes and all the pain from this hellacious actuality would be gone, gone from the tortured mind that right now could take now more. He wouldn’t have to feel ashamed anymore. His friend would take it all away.

He opened the shiny case to find his old companion, right where he had left it. He picked up the artists knife very carefully with a special reverence for the powers of healing that he knew it possessed. He studied it to make sure that it was still in good order. That was the one thing he was still capable of doing, making sure that things are in good order. Mark held his breath as he removed the transparent cap to expose the familiar sharp blade that had brought him so much comfort all those years before.

Mark held the blade in mid air with his right hand as he took the alcohol and cotton swab out of his special case with his left. He thought about pulling down his pants to adorn his thigh just like before, but then he thought to himself “what’s the point anymore?” He would never have to worry about his Mother seeing it in plain site again. There was no one else that he cared about right now. Besides, there was no way that he would ever be able to hide from this THING that had been set in motion, so why even try.

Mark placed his left hand on the desk and braced himself for the tragic euphoria that he knew was only seconds away now. Holding the handle between his trembling sweaty fingers, Mark brought the knife slowly to his wri……………… ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

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The hardest decision that you can make is to leave behind someone that you love. It’s never easy, but often necessary. This is the burden that I had to carry when I decided to leave behind the princess that I had known so well and blaze my own path into life’s tomorrows. The only thing that you can do to keep yourself sane when you choose to do something this unthinkable is to assure yourself that there is something truly worthwhile on the other side of the painful choice even if you can’t see it yet. That’s the only way that you can make yourself strong enough, even if just a moment, to survive the teary “So Long…”

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But don’t worry. As I will illustrate so clearly, we are very lucky to live in a world where fortune truly favors the bold. Imagine all the four leaf clovers it must have taken to allow this evil “monster” the rapturous duality of becoming the “Hero!”

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I wouldn’t go anywhere if I were you. You’ll miss the best part… HAHAHAHHAHA…

To be continued…



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I would like to thank you all for taking the time to read my gentle work. As a writer, our work dies to us the moment that we hit the send key and post for your enjoyment. We are the architects of the suspense or mystery and after we finish crafting we are only left with the percieved mistakes and questionable wordings. We are given new life when we get a chance to glimpse into the emotional journey that we were able to help you through with the magic of our written words. So please, even if it is short and in an instance, post a comment of what you think so that I can better understand the things that I helped you experience. Thank you again for reading...

And also, the concept of cutting is real and not a joke. I did not write this to disperage anyone who has experienced or maybe even is experiencing this affliction. In reality, it is to show awarness that there are people out there like this. I know for a fact that there are people on this board who have had to deal with it in the past or present. It is our job as people in a realm lending itself to sadomasochism that we are aware of the mental health as well as physical well being of the people that we play with. After care is great, but it doesn't stop 30 minutes after they drink a bottle of water. Take care of yourselves, learn to take care of eachother. Because in the real world, eachother is all we are going to have. Have a great night everyone.
 
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awesome

JJ,

To put it simple what you do with words simply cannot be matched...you are extremely talented on so many levels that its not to imagine you writing a novel of m/f tickle torture...i believe in you and your work....congrats on your amazing talents it was a joy to read this wonderful tale that is far from over!
 
You have done it again

That was amazing. More then anything else because you described a point in my life. I use to be that nice guy...then an incident just like this happened and I changed into "The Monster"

I can't wait to hear more from you

DJ Tickler
 
:rowfull: That was worth all the time and effort you put in to produce a great tale of sensual tickling...You must write another soon!
 
Astonishing!

Holy shit JJ...

That was an incredible piece of writing. To be honest the tickling wasn't what I enjoyed most. We all know you can write insanely tortuous, erotic and sensual tickling scenes.

The formatting with different texts, email quotes was wonderfully innovative and raises the bar for using the full spectrum of options for presenting works of fiction online. The time taken to accomplish this in addition to the writing is greatly appreciated.

What I loved were the insights into Mark's psyche as he realised that "he who hesitates is last", (to mangle a popular saying.)

The true greatness here for me were the bold red sections of the story, the incisive jabs at the soft pink underbelly of the human psyche. (Does the human psyche have an underbelly? I dunno but it seems to fit here.) Those barbs were pure crystals of thought and enlightenment that you only earn from embracing the abyss and surviving. How Nietzschean is that? lol.

The ending left me cold but I did as instructed and read on until the end credits. I eagerly anticipate the next installment and to see what lies in store for Mark, Claire and Him.

Lastly, I appreciate your comments about the personal nature of this story. I should imagine every guy here has at some point in their lives been able to relate to Mark on some level. Thank you for sharing both your talent and yourself. This forum is all the richer for it.

Yet another virtuouso performance. Bravo!
 
Oh My God.

I.. I don't even know what to say. This. That. The whole thing.

You.. it's.. you're.. that..

Okay.

Wow.

Does it frighten you to live in a world full of monsters? To know that the person you are talking to at any given moment might have some rather malicious intentions for the most vulnerable parts of you? Can you imagine someone literally feeding off of your deepest fears to feed their deepest desires? The very idea that some people fantasize about making you utterly helpless to the madness inside them. All those reprobate innovations swirling around their head while you are, regrettably, powerless to stop them from experimenting. Does that make you nervous… just a little? HAHAHA.

FUCKING AMAZING.

Absolutely... stunning. The word play.. the dynamics.. the music.. the.. whole.. fucking.. thing.
 
JJ,

To put it simple what you do with words simply cannot be matched...you are extremely talented on so many levels that its not to imagine you writing a novel of m/f tickle torture...i believe in you and your work....congrats on your amazing talents it was a joy to read this wonderful tale that is far from over!

thanks sadis. i have really appreciatedyour continued support of my work and i really look forward to hearing what you think of the next part...
 
JJ, this is easily the greatest piece you have ever produced.

Welcome

to

the

fucking

Club.

Just talking aobut the final keystroke, the "send" button, proved it more than anything you could ever write.

The triple assault of literary input is a genius device, honed to a fine edge... no pun intended. The emotions you brought forth are real, in every sense of the word. I always saw this kind of a story in you...and it's the most beautiful thing to see it come out. Once that veil of self-censorship comes down, once that inner-most demon is summoned and once that deepest hurt is brought forth...writing becomes something so much more than a simple expression. It becomes a living thing that consumes you.

This isn't writing. This is art. This is life. This is real.

Thank you so much.

Always,
Dave
 
You have done it again

That was amazing. More then anything else because you described a point in my life. I use to be that nice guy...then an incident just like this happened and I changed into "The Monster"

I can't wait to hear more from you

DJ Tickler


When i wrote this i was hoping beyond hope that there would be one or two people who read it and have the ability to identify with it. i tried to be as real as possible. I am glad that there was something in there that you found familiar. thank you so much for taking the time to read and for the wonderful comment.

JJ.
 
:rowfull: That was worth all the time and effort you put in to produce a great tale of sensual tickling...You must write another soon!

thank you for the nod ice. it did take a long time, but kind words like this always make it worth it. and don't worry. the next part should be up next friday or so....
 
Chairman of the Board...

Holy shit JJ...

That was an incredible piece of writing. To be honest the tickling wasn't what I enjoyed most. We all know you can write insanely tortuous, erotic and sensual tickling scenes.

The formatting with different texts, email quotes was wonderfully innovative and raises the bar for using the full spectrum of options for presenting works of fiction online. The time taken to accomplish this in addition to the writing is greatly appreciated.

What I loved were the insights into Mark's psyche as he realised that "he who hesitates is last", (to mangle a popular saying.)

The true greatness here for me were the bold red sections of the story, the incisive jabs at the soft pink underbelly of the human psyche. (Does the human psyche have an underbelly? I dunno but it seems to fit here.) Those barbs were pure crystals of thought and enlightenment that you only earn from embracing the abyss and surviving. How Nietzschean is that? lol.

The ending left me cold but I did as instructed and read on until the end credits. I eagerly anticipate the next installment and to see what lies in store for Mark, Claire and Him.

Lastly, I appreciate your comments about the personal nature of this story. I should imagine every guy here has at some point in their lives been able to relate to Mark on some level. Thank you for sharing both your talent and yourself. This forum is all the richer for it.

Yet another virtuouso performance. Bravo!

thank you so much for all the time that you have invested in encouraging my literary voice suikoden. I still remember the first time that you rushed to comment on one of my stories. this forum owes you a deep debt of gratitude. i can't believe that in the midst of all the coaching and advising that you do you were able to come up with something like THE TAMING. It is nice to have found such dear friends here. thank you again for taking the time and i look forward to talking with you in the future.
 
DAMN!!! This was a very creative, well written, exciting, hold you on the edge of your seat, masterpiece!

I like the "email" excerpts and you wrote this story so well, I felt like "Mark" at times. I could feel his pain.

Well done my friend....
 
Oh My God.

I.. I don't even know what to say. This. That. The whole thing.

You.. it's.. you're.. that..

Okay.

Wow.



FUCKING AMAZING.

Absolutely... stunning. The word play.. the dynamics.. the music.. the.. whole.. fucking.. thing.

thank you Crystal. that means a lot coming from you. i think that everyone who has taken the time to put a piece together has a different kind of appreciation... thank you for taking the time to let me know what you think.

and thank you so much for introducing me to Dave2112. He has really been a great influence on my writing. i was always a little cautious to approach him even though i was intitially inspired by his work. thank you for letting me know he was so approachable and eager to help. some of the things that you guys put out together are epic...

I will definately let you know when the next part comes out, thank you for the comment and thank god SOMEONE listened to the music.
 
Amazing!

That was simply fantastic! I think there are a number of us who, each in our own way, came to embrace our monster, tame it, and use it to give ourselves and our partners such grand pleasure. This is a beautiful little journey you are taking us on, a journey of mutual discovery, and I thank you for it. I usually avoid the more outlandish smileys but...

:man:
 
That was simply fantastic! I think there are a number of us who, each in our own way, came to embrace our monster, tame it, and use it to give ourselves and our partners such grand pleasure.

My sentiments exactly. That monster is in all of us, whether we like it or not. Most don't know it, fewer admit it...and fewer still embrace it.

This is bold, breathtaking and more honest than many can handle. Thank God I'm already insane or this story might seriously trouble me. :triangle:
 
JJ/Son.. I don't know what words to put to how I am feeling..
It was an amazing story and the way you did it with the emails was unreal.
The ending touched me so deeply, I never saw it coming and the video's they brought several tears to my eyes..

What is sad is this is true, so many ppl cry out for help silently by cutting themselves and death can and does often happen.


HUGSSS/Mom
 
JJ, this is easily the greatest piece you have ever produced.

Welcome

to

the

fucking

Club.

Just talking aobut the final keystroke, the "send" button, proved it more than anything you could ever write.

The triple assault of literary input is a genius device, honed to a fine edge... no pun intended. The emotions you brought forth are real, in every sense of the word. I always saw this kind of a story in you...and it's the most beautiful thing to see it come out. Once that veil of self-censorship comes down, once that inner-most demon is summoned and once that deepest hurt is brought forth...writing becomes something so much more than a simple expression. It becomes a living thing that consumes you.

This isn't writing. This is art. This is life. This is real.

Thank you so much.

Always,
Dave

what can i say Master Jin? Your mentorship has meant so much to me on the creative front. you work has helped me expand my ideas on story telling and shared the depths to which we as authors can venture on this gentle medium. thank YOU for all the kind attention that you have paid my work and all the time that you have invested in my. i am glad that you enjoyed my work as much as i do yours.

Kyle of Nork
 
Well then...



JJ, here it is man. THIS is your Gone With the Wind. I'm so happy I made time for this piece this morning (finally - my apologies for not getting to it sooner), but it's left me more than satisfied. This was epic. The whole thing from start to finish - the story, the set-up, the devices you used to glue the whole thing together and I love, loooove the narrative insights you give us into their minds and our own.

This is about as honest with one's self as you can get IMO. The depths to which you must've gone within your own psyche alone are a feat in itself.

Kudos to you for having the courage to go there, wrestle with your inner demons and control them enough to have them aid you in writing something this moving.

Excellent work.
 
DAMN!!! This was a very creative, well written, exciting, hold you on the edge of your seat, masterpiece!

I like the "email" excerpts and you wrote this story so well, I felt like "Mark" at times. I could feel his pain.

Well done my friend....

thank you so much Prime. I have enjoyed your coments and support since i first started writing. thank you so much for your large investment of time and all the contributions that you have made to the forum. you are still one of my favorite authors. thanks man i look forward to talking with you in the future...

JJ82277
 
Well DAYUM lol that was one hell of a piece of work. I'm sorry it's been so long since I've read your writing, someone has been practicing 🙂 As others have said, it is an unbelievable story unmatched by any other I've read thus far but I suppose there are many more here on the forum I have yet to read. sheesh, cold shower anyone?
 
I have to say JJ, once again you've done it. Once again you've written a great story and given all of those who have read it something to take away with them.

I meant to read this story earlier, but do to the length of the story and my own time constraints, I was unable to. However, I was glad that I was able to finally sit down and take the time to give this story the effort in reading it that it deserved.

I think one of the things I enjoy about your stories is that tickling truelly does take a backseat to the story. Your first story,"the death of friendship"(I admit I could be slightly off with the name, sorry) and this story work so well, because not only do they protray charactors that are easily and readibly indentifiable with, they give us a story where if we took out the tickling and substituted it with anything else, the story would work just as well. Hell, you could take the tickling out completely, and it would still work. The story itself transcends tickling, and asside from the fact that both of these stories cover area's that i'm trying to write, I find that the most apealing aspect of your writing.
 
That was simply fantastic! I think there are a number of us who, each in our own way, came to embrace our monster, tame it, and use it to give ourselves and our partners such grand pleasure. This is a beautiful little journey you are taking us on, a journey of mutual discovery, and I thank you for it. I usually avoid the more outlandish smileys but...

:man:

Thank you so much for the enthusiastic feedback, and the journey takes a few interesting turns from here. I hope that you enjoy it as much as the first few steps illustrated here. thank you for taking the time to read my gentle work.

JJ.
 
My sentiments exactly. That monster is in all of us, whether we like it or not. Most don't know it, fewer admit it...and fewer still embrace it.

This is bold, breathtaking and more honest than many can handle. Thank God I'm already insane or this story might seriously trouble me. :triangle:

strangely... i know exactly what you mean... lol. here's to living out the rest of our days in this quiet asylum...
 
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