Here's a cautionary tale for all husbands who may be tempted to stray from the straight and narrow path of fidelity. Read how the lovely and dominant Marsha disciplined her misbehaving hubby Roger—and be warned!
This one's a personal favorite. Hope you enjoy!
THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN
by
T.T. Gore
“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Roger screamed. He wiggled his upthrust ass with desperate vigor in an attempt to ameliorate the horrific effects of his wife’s excruciating ministrations. It was a futile effort. There was nothing—absolutely NOTHING—he could do to relieve or even lessen the unbearably hilarious torment that was driving him out of his fucking MIND—!
“Heavens, I wonder what your GIRLFRIEND would say if she saw you now?” Marsha inquired in a voice that positively dripped with malice. “Somehow I doubt that she’d be very impressed, Roger!”
“HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” Roger shrieked. He’d have begged for mercy if he’d had the breath to spare for mere words. But he needed every molecule of oxygen that he could suck into his laboring lungs to fuel the manic, nonstop LAUGHTER that was turning his stupid fucking BRAINS into absolute fucking MUSH—!
“I can’t imagine how you thought you’d ever get away with it,” Marsha commented as she stroked Roger’s swaying balls with the long, stiff, pointed feather she held in her right hand. “Perhaps I made a mistake in marrying you, darling—I’ve always had a fatal weakness for generously endowed young men with muscles and chest hair. And your type does tend to stray. But once I HAD married you I wasn’t about to tolerate unfaithfulness! The stud stays in MY stable—or ELSE!”
“GAAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR-HAR!!!” Roger bellowed. Oh GOD! Would this unendurable torment never END?! It seemed to him that Marsha had been tickling his balls for HOURS! In fact a mere ten minutes had passed since the moment when Marsha first dipped the feather down between his thighs to ever so gently stroke the ultra-sensitive sac that dangled there. But poor Roger had lost all sense of time. The indescribable sensation that swept over his naked body at the feather’s first caress drove every thought from his head except a desperate, despairing conviction that he wouldn’t be able to bear thirty SECONDS of this torture—!
But actually a man in his position had no choice but to grin—or rather laugh like a loon!—and bear it.
And it was an interesting position—to say the least! After showing him the incriminating photos—and reminding him of who paid the bills—Marsha had commanded him to take his clothes off. “All of them,” she snapped when he hesitated over his briefs. “I want you stark naked, darling!”
The house was an old one, with ancient radiators in every room. In this upstairs back bedroom a pipe ran along the wall, under a window that overlooked the large back yard. Marsha produced a roll of duct tape and taped his wrists together in front of him. Then she made him stand facing the window and ordered him to spread his legs. When he hesitated again, she gave him a hard slap on the butt. “That’s better,” she said when he hastened to comply. “Now hold still.” Working quickly, she secured his ankles to the pipe with duct tape. “That should keep your feet where I want them,” she said. Now bend over.”
This time Roger didn’t hesitate. He bent double, and wedging himself against the wall. Marsha secured him in position by taping his wrists to the pipe.
Thus Roger found himself almost complete immobilized, with a disorienting upside-down view of the bedroom, framed by his quivering thighs. And he was suddenly, uncomfortably, conscious of the way in which a certain VERY delicate portion of his masculine anatomy was exposed to attack from the rear!
Marsha stepped back to admire her handiwork. She gave Roger an affectionate pat on the ass. “I’m not sure that you’re going to enjoy this, darling,” she whispered. “But I know that I will!”
And with that, Marsha produced the feather from her handbag—and commenced her excruciating ministrations!
After a year of marriage, Roger had grown used to his wife’s peculiarities. Marsha was fortysomething, nine years older than he, and undoubtedly attractive. She had cropped dark hair, a narrow straight-featured face with provocatively arched eyebrows, a sensuous, slender figure, and enticingly long legs. That she was also a filthy rich widow only enhanced her allure in Roger’s eyes. Theirs was a whirlwind courtship, and it was not until the wedding night that he learned about his bride’s somewhat exotic sexual preferences.
The perverted little games that she made him play were sometimes enjoyable, sometimes disgusting—and occasionally painful. However (as she frequently reminded him), Marsha paid the bills. So Roger resigned himself to performing as required on those two or three nights a week when Marsha was feeling randy. And until the day he met Jill, he’d been reasonably content with his lot.
“BWAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” he howled now, doing his level best to jerk free of the confining duct tape and climb the fucking WALL! He was laughing his stupid HEAD off—but Marsha merely smiled coldly and went right on with her ticklish assault! She was sitting cross-legged behind him, and Roger’s upside-down view lent her face a fiendish, leering aspect. And only now did he notice that she’d also taken her clothes off and was wearing nothing but a pair of royal blue silk panties that clung to her shapely hips!
But soon such details ceased to interest Roger, for Marsha was utterly relentless. The non-stop, hilarious assault on his swaying scrotum went on and on and fucking ON! Roger writhed. He wiggled. He got goose bumps all over. He squealed and shrieked. In short order, he was reduced to a condition of sweating, trembling, wheezing exhaustion. But he laughed for many additional minutes before his sadistic wife finally took pity on him.
“Perhaps I’d better let you get your breath back,” she said, withdrawing the hellish feather and laying it aside. “It’s going to be a LONG night, darling, and I wouldn’t want you to poop OUT on me!”
Roger all but sobbed with relief when the terrible tickling stopped. He spent several moments gasping for air before trusting himself to speak. And when he did speak, his words came in a plaintive wail.
“Marsha…please…oh please…don’t TICKLE me any more!” he begged. “I’m sorry! I'm REALLY sorry!”
“Oh, are you?” Marsha smiled. She gave her captive husband’s curvacious bare behind an affectionate pat. “Do you have any idea, Roger, how absolutely RIDICULOUS you look? That’s almost the best part. When I found out what you were up to, darling, I spent a lot of time thinking up a proper punishment for you. It had to be something particularly humiliating. Something you’d never forget. And I don’t think you’ll ever forget THIS evening!”
“I’ve learned my LESSON!” Roger sobbed. “I’ll be GOOD from now on! I WILL!”
“But Roger,” she cooed. “Don’t you think I’m entitled to have a little FUN with you, hmmm?” She patted his fanny again. “I’m prepared to forgive you, of course—but if you play, my virile stud, you have to pay. And as you well know, darling, I rather enjoy lording it over attractive younger men of your type. So if you want to continue to enjoy the benefits of marriage to a rich BITCH, you’ll just have to LAUGH for her!”
“But you’re driving me CRAZY!” Roger cried.
“No, I’m driving you NUTS!” Marsha replied as she snatched up the feather and thrust it once more between his quivering thighs!
“EEEEEE-HEE!!! EEEEEE-HEE!! EEEEEE-HEE!!!” Roger screeched as a fresh thrill of ticklish torment shot from his swaying balls to convulse every muscle in his body! “EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“Goodness gracious!” Marsha snickered. “Are you WINKING at me, you naughty, naughty boy?”
Roger had no idea what she meant by THAT—until the feather darted up to stroke his puckered ORIFICE—!
“OH-HO-HO-OH-NO-OH-HO-HO-OH-NO-HO-HO-HO!!!” Roger bellowed. This horrific new caress was sending unbearably intense shocks of ticklish sensation straight up his fucking ASSHOLE! It made him CRINGE all over—it made the dark hairs on his arms and legs stick out like tiny QUILLS—it made his GUTS churn—it made him wish he could turn himself inside the fuck OUT—!
“Poor BABY!” Marsha cooed in mock sympathy. “Does it TICKLE too much?”
“OH-HO-HO-OH-HO-OH-HO-HO-NO MOOOOOORE-HORE-HOOOORE!!!” Roger screamed. He wiggled his naked ass with desperate energy. “PLEEEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEEEESE!!!”
“Please what?” Marsha inquired. “Please tickle you MORE? Why certainly!”
For what seemed like a substantial chunk of eternity, she subjected Roger to the feather’s unendurable caress, alternating between his anal orifice and his dangling balls. This time she didn’t relent until the sweat was dripping from his body and his laughter had faded to a throaty croak. When the tickling finally stopped, Roger continued to tremble. He couldn’t help it. Had it not been for the duct tape which held him firmly in position, he’d have collapsed in a heap.
“Well,” Marsha observed. “I can see that you’ve had enough for one evening, darling!” She rose to her feet to stand beside him, with one hand resting lightly on his squirming derriere. “The thing is, though, I haven’t!”
“No…more…” Roger managed to wheeze. “Can’t take any…more…”
“But darling!” she replied. “I was just beginning to enjoy myself!”
“I’m…begging you…” Roger wheezed.
“And I DO like hearing you beg, Roger. Truly I do.” She dug her well-honed nails into his butt cheek. This made Roger grunt—whether in pain or pleasure he couldn’t have said. “Keep doing it, won’t you? Just keep begging for my mercy. Who knows? Perhaps eventually I’ll even take pity on you. But for now—!”
CRACK! “EEEEEEYAAAAAA!!!”
“Perhaps a SPANKING will pep you up, darling!” Marsha sneered as she drew back her arm to deliver a second slap to Roger’s defenseless buttocks.
CRACK! “AAAARRRRGH!!!”
CRACK! “HIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Twelve stinging slaps proved more than sufficient to restore Roger’s energy. Indeed, by the eighth one he was yelping and wiggling his behind with considerable energy. “Now that’s a VERY pretty shade of pink,” Marsha chuckled after delivering her final stroke. “Of course, after another bout of tickling, you’ll be pink all OVER!”
And before Roger could protest, the torment began anew!
“AAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR!!!” he howled. “YAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA!!!” Now Marsha was stroking the backs of his LEGS, from heels to hips, across his tenderized ass, up one side and down the other, and the sensation was absolutely fucking UNBEARABLE—!
“Really, darling,” Marsha trilled. “I think you actually LIKE being tickled! You do, don’t you? Tell me that you do!”
“OH-HO-HO-OH-HO-OH-NO-HO-HO-HO-OH-HO-HO-HO!!!” Roger protested. It was not, alas, a very coherent protest. Roger wiggled and writhed and trembled and struggled madly to jerk free of the duct tape—all to no avail. His laughter rose in pitch to a shrill, girlish shriek. And little by little, he could feel his sanity trickling away...
Marsha’s face, which he glimpsed occasionally in upside-down perspective, had taken on a fixed, intent expression. Gradually she ceased to taunt him. Even in the throes of his hilarious anguish, it was clear to Roger that she was enjoying herself far too much to stop any time soon. So he squirmed and sweated and raised fresh crops of goose bumps—and laughed and laughed and fucking LAUGHED—until his fucking BRAIN felt like it was bouncing off the inside of his fucking SKULL—and when Marsha finally DID stop he never even noticed because mercifully he’d passed out just a moment before…
When he awoke, Roger found that he was still naked and bound to the pipe. His skin was still covered with sweat. A fierce itch, the residue of the feather’s caress, afflicted his balls and his asshole. And—he realized with a shock of horror—he now had a fucking ERECTION—!
“All EXCITED are we?” Marsha inquired. Once more she was standing beside him with one hand resting on his butt. “Does being tickled turn you ON? Or is it just that you need to go POTTY, darling?”
Her mocking question drew Roger’s attention on his bladder. Shit, the bitch was right! He had to pee! Oh, FUCK, he had to pee real BAD—!
“Sorry, darling,” Marsha snickered. She gave him a stinging slap on the ass. “No potty break for you, I’m afraid. You’ll simply have to hold your liquid until I’m quite finished with you. If you can. Which I rather doubt.”
“Oh no!” Roger blubbered. “Marsha—please! No more! I can’t fucking TAKE any more! You’re driving me out of my fucking MIND! Oh please please PLEASE I’m BEGGING you!”
“And how I LOVE to make you beg,” Marsha replied with a malicious chuckle. “Do go on,” she continued, resuming her cross-legged tickling position behind her frantic, helpless husband. “Beg for mercy, Roger. Beg me not to do what I’m about to do,” she said as she raised the feather. “Please, darling, beg me not to tickle you to BITS—!”
“No!” Roger screamed. “Omygod NO!”
“And you’d better not have an ACCIDENT, darling,” Marsha added as she thrust the feather between his thighs. “For if you do, your punishment will be DOUBLED!”
Roger did his very best to heed his wife’s warning—but as you may have guessed already, he eventually disgraced himself with a complete loss of control. And Marsha was much amused!
This one's a personal favorite. Hope you enjoy!
THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN
by
T.T. Gore
“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Roger screamed. He wiggled his upthrust ass with desperate vigor in an attempt to ameliorate the horrific effects of his wife’s excruciating ministrations. It was a futile effort. There was nothing—absolutely NOTHING—he could do to relieve or even lessen the unbearably hilarious torment that was driving him out of his fucking MIND—!
“Heavens, I wonder what your GIRLFRIEND would say if she saw you now?” Marsha inquired in a voice that positively dripped with malice. “Somehow I doubt that she’d be very impressed, Roger!”
“HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” Roger shrieked. He’d have begged for mercy if he’d had the breath to spare for mere words. But he needed every molecule of oxygen that he could suck into his laboring lungs to fuel the manic, nonstop LAUGHTER that was turning his stupid fucking BRAINS into absolute fucking MUSH—!
“I can’t imagine how you thought you’d ever get away with it,” Marsha commented as she stroked Roger’s swaying balls with the long, stiff, pointed feather she held in her right hand. “Perhaps I made a mistake in marrying you, darling—I’ve always had a fatal weakness for generously endowed young men with muscles and chest hair. And your type does tend to stray. But once I HAD married you I wasn’t about to tolerate unfaithfulness! The stud stays in MY stable—or ELSE!”
“GAAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR-HAR!!!” Roger bellowed. Oh GOD! Would this unendurable torment never END?! It seemed to him that Marsha had been tickling his balls for HOURS! In fact a mere ten minutes had passed since the moment when Marsha first dipped the feather down between his thighs to ever so gently stroke the ultra-sensitive sac that dangled there. But poor Roger had lost all sense of time. The indescribable sensation that swept over his naked body at the feather’s first caress drove every thought from his head except a desperate, despairing conviction that he wouldn’t be able to bear thirty SECONDS of this torture—!
But actually a man in his position had no choice but to grin—or rather laugh like a loon!—and bear it.
And it was an interesting position—to say the least! After showing him the incriminating photos—and reminding him of who paid the bills—Marsha had commanded him to take his clothes off. “All of them,” she snapped when he hesitated over his briefs. “I want you stark naked, darling!”
The house was an old one, with ancient radiators in every room. In this upstairs back bedroom a pipe ran along the wall, under a window that overlooked the large back yard. Marsha produced a roll of duct tape and taped his wrists together in front of him. Then she made him stand facing the window and ordered him to spread his legs. When he hesitated again, she gave him a hard slap on the butt. “That’s better,” she said when he hastened to comply. “Now hold still.” Working quickly, she secured his ankles to the pipe with duct tape. “That should keep your feet where I want them,” she said. Now bend over.”
This time Roger didn’t hesitate. He bent double, and wedging himself against the wall. Marsha secured him in position by taping his wrists to the pipe.
Thus Roger found himself almost complete immobilized, with a disorienting upside-down view of the bedroom, framed by his quivering thighs. And he was suddenly, uncomfortably, conscious of the way in which a certain VERY delicate portion of his masculine anatomy was exposed to attack from the rear!
Marsha stepped back to admire her handiwork. She gave Roger an affectionate pat on the ass. “I’m not sure that you’re going to enjoy this, darling,” she whispered. “But I know that I will!”
And with that, Marsha produced the feather from her handbag—and commenced her excruciating ministrations!
After a year of marriage, Roger had grown used to his wife’s peculiarities. Marsha was fortysomething, nine years older than he, and undoubtedly attractive. She had cropped dark hair, a narrow straight-featured face with provocatively arched eyebrows, a sensuous, slender figure, and enticingly long legs. That she was also a filthy rich widow only enhanced her allure in Roger’s eyes. Theirs was a whirlwind courtship, and it was not until the wedding night that he learned about his bride’s somewhat exotic sexual preferences.
The perverted little games that she made him play were sometimes enjoyable, sometimes disgusting—and occasionally painful. However (as she frequently reminded him), Marsha paid the bills. So Roger resigned himself to performing as required on those two or three nights a week when Marsha was feeling randy. And until the day he met Jill, he’d been reasonably content with his lot.
“BWAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” he howled now, doing his level best to jerk free of the confining duct tape and climb the fucking WALL! He was laughing his stupid HEAD off—but Marsha merely smiled coldly and went right on with her ticklish assault! She was sitting cross-legged behind him, and Roger’s upside-down view lent her face a fiendish, leering aspect. And only now did he notice that she’d also taken her clothes off and was wearing nothing but a pair of royal blue silk panties that clung to her shapely hips!
But soon such details ceased to interest Roger, for Marsha was utterly relentless. The non-stop, hilarious assault on his swaying scrotum went on and on and fucking ON! Roger writhed. He wiggled. He got goose bumps all over. He squealed and shrieked. In short order, he was reduced to a condition of sweating, trembling, wheezing exhaustion. But he laughed for many additional minutes before his sadistic wife finally took pity on him.
“Perhaps I’d better let you get your breath back,” she said, withdrawing the hellish feather and laying it aside. “It’s going to be a LONG night, darling, and I wouldn’t want you to poop OUT on me!”
Roger all but sobbed with relief when the terrible tickling stopped. He spent several moments gasping for air before trusting himself to speak. And when he did speak, his words came in a plaintive wail.
“Marsha…please…oh please…don’t TICKLE me any more!” he begged. “I’m sorry! I'm REALLY sorry!”
“Oh, are you?” Marsha smiled. She gave her captive husband’s curvacious bare behind an affectionate pat. “Do you have any idea, Roger, how absolutely RIDICULOUS you look? That’s almost the best part. When I found out what you were up to, darling, I spent a lot of time thinking up a proper punishment for you. It had to be something particularly humiliating. Something you’d never forget. And I don’t think you’ll ever forget THIS evening!”
“I’ve learned my LESSON!” Roger sobbed. “I’ll be GOOD from now on! I WILL!”
“But Roger,” she cooed. “Don’t you think I’m entitled to have a little FUN with you, hmmm?” She patted his fanny again. “I’m prepared to forgive you, of course—but if you play, my virile stud, you have to pay. And as you well know, darling, I rather enjoy lording it over attractive younger men of your type. So if you want to continue to enjoy the benefits of marriage to a rich BITCH, you’ll just have to LAUGH for her!”
“But you’re driving me CRAZY!” Roger cried.
“No, I’m driving you NUTS!” Marsha replied as she snatched up the feather and thrust it once more between his quivering thighs!
“EEEEEE-HEE!!! EEEEEE-HEE!! EEEEEE-HEE!!!” Roger screeched as a fresh thrill of ticklish torment shot from his swaying balls to convulse every muscle in his body! “EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“Goodness gracious!” Marsha snickered. “Are you WINKING at me, you naughty, naughty boy?”
Roger had no idea what she meant by THAT—until the feather darted up to stroke his puckered ORIFICE—!
“OH-HO-HO-OH-NO-OH-HO-HO-OH-NO-HO-HO-HO!!!” Roger bellowed. This horrific new caress was sending unbearably intense shocks of ticklish sensation straight up his fucking ASSHOLE! It made him CRINGE all over—it made the dark hairs on his arms and legs stick out like tiny QUILLS—it made his GUTS churn—it made him wish he could turn himself inside the fuck OUT—!
“Poor BABY!” Marsha cooed in mock sympathy. “Does it TICKLE too much?”
“OH-HO-HO-OH-HO-OH-HO-HO-NO MOOOOOORE-HORE-HOOOORE!!!” Roger screamed. He wiggled his naked ass with desperate energy. “PLEEEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEEEESE!!!”
“Please what?” Marsha inquired. “Please tickle you MORE? Why certainly!”
For what seemed like a substantial chunk of eternity, she subjected Roger to the feather’s unendurable caress, alternating between his anal orifice and his dangling balls. This time she didn’t relent until the sweat was dripping from his body and his laughter had faded to a throaty croak. When the tickling finally stopped, Roger continued to tremble. He couldn’t help it. Had it not been for the duct tape which held him firmly in position, he’d have collapsed in a heap.
“Well,” Marsha observed. “I can see that you’ve had enough for one evening, darling!” She rose to her feet to stand beside him, with one hand resting lightly on his squirming derriere. “The thing is, though, I haven’t!”
“No…more…” Roger managed to wheeze. “Can’t take any…more…”
“But darling!” she replied. “I was just beginning to enjoy myself!”
“I’m…begging you…” Roger wheezed.
“And I DO like hearing you beg, Roger. Truly I do.” She dug her well-honed nails into his butt cheek. This made Roger grunt—whether in pain or pleasure he couldn’t have said. “Keep doing it, won’t you? Just keep begging for my mercy. Who knows? Perhaps eventually I’ll even take pity on you. But for now—!”
CRACK! “EEEEEEYAAAAAA!!!”
“Perhaps a SPANKING will pep you up, darling!” Marsha sneered as she drew back her arm to deliver a second slap to Roger’s defenseless buttocks.
CRACK! “AAAARRRRGH!!!”
CRACK! “HIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Twelve stinging slaps proved more than sufficient to restore Roger’s energy. Indeed, by the eighth one he was yelping and wiggling his behind with considerable energy. “Now that’s a VERY pretty shade of pink,” Marsha chuckled after delivering her final stroke. “Of course, after another bout of tickling, you’ll be pink all OVER!”
And before Roger could protest, the torment began anew!
“AAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR!!!” he howled. “YAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA!!!” Now Marsha was stroking the backs of his LEGS, from heels to hips, across his tenderized ass, up one side and down the other, and the sensation was absolutely fucking UNBEARABLE—!
“Really, darling,” Marsha trilled. “I think you actually LIKE being tickled! You do, don’t you? Tell me that you do!”
“OH-HO-HO-OH-HO-OH-NO-HO-HO-HO-OH-HO-HO-HO!!!” Roger protested. It was not, alas, a very coherent protest. Roger wiggled and writhed and trembled and struggled madly to jerk free of the duct tape—all to no avail. His laughter rose in pitch to a shrill, girlish shriek. And little by little, he could feel his sanity trickling away...
Marsha’s face, which he glimpsed occasionally in upside-down perspective, had taken on a fixed, intent expression. Gradually she ceased to taunt him. Even in the throes of his hilarious anguish, it was clear to Roger that she was enjoying herself far too much to stop any time soon. So he squirmed and sweated and raised fresh crops of goose bumps—and laughed and laughed and fucking LAUGHED—until his fucking BRAIN felt like it was bouncing off the inside of his fucking SKULL—and when Marsha finally DID stop he never even noticed because mercifully he’d passed out just a moment before…
When he awoke, Roger found that he was still naked and bound to the pipe. His skin was still covered with sweat. A fierce itch, the residue of the feather’s caress, afflicted his balls and his asshole. And—he realized with a shock of horror—he now had a fucking ERECTION—!
“All EXCITED are we?” Marsha inquired. Once more she was standing beside him with one hand resting on his butt. “Does being tickled turn you ON? Or is it just that you need to go POTTY, darling?”
Her mocking question drew Roger’s attention on his bladder. Shit, the bitch was right! He had to pee! Oh, FUCK, he had to pee real BAD—!
“Sorry, darling,” Marsha snickered. She gave him a stinging slap on the ass. “No potty break for you, I’m afraid. You’ll simply have to hold your liquid until I’m quite finished with you. If you can. Which I rather doubt.”
“Oh no!” Roger blubbered. “Marsha—please! No more! I can’t fucking TAKE any more! You’re driving me out of my fucking MIND! Oh please please PLEASE I’m BEGGING you!”
“And how I LOVE to make you beg,” Marsha replied with a malicious chuckle. “Do go on,” she continued, resuming her cross-legged tickling position behind her frantic, helpless husband. “Beg for mercy, Roger. Beg me not to do what I’m about to do,” she said as she raised the feather. “Please, darling, beg me not to tickle you to BITS—!”
“No!” Roger screamed. “Omygod NO!”
“And you’d better not have an ACCIDENT, darling,” Marsha added as she thrust the feather between his thighs. “For if you do, your punishment will be DOUBLED!”
Roger did his very best to heed his wife’s warning—but as you may have guessed already, he eventually disgraced himself with a complete loss of control. And Marsha was much amused!
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