greenfeather77
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2002
- Messages
- 117
- Points
- 18
Four Feather Falls
By Greenfeather
(This story reflects the author’s fantasy and not a real life situation. Real life involves mutual consent, safety and commonsense. The characters portrayed and the scenario is entirely fictional and written for the fantasy pleasure of adults only)
It had been six days since Mrs Kelly and her dancin’ girls had escaped the tickle tortures of the Redfoot tribe. They had travelled long and hard to get as far away as possible. None of the women wanted to be captured by the Indian squaws again. Bonita, who had been cruelly tormented by being tickled and teased but without being allowed to come, spent much of her time sleeping or masturbating, bringing herself off over and over again as if she was trying to catch up on what orgasms she’d have had if the Indian women had allowed her.
“You’ll wear your clit away the way yer’ goin’” said Mrs K , and the other girls laughed and gradually they came round from their ordeal. They were all free and unharmed and in many ways, they had learned a lot about their bodies at the teasing tickling hands of the Indian maids.
But supplies were running low and they would need to get to a town and start working again or they would run out of money and vittles pretty damned quick.
And so it was that they pulled their wagon into the small mining town of Four Feather Falls, as dusk was falling. They pitched the wagon on the outskirts of town and Suki and Alice got the tents ready whilst Mrs K took Mary ,Bonita and Maud into town to find the saloon and drum up some business. Now Mrs K was a professional and it really didn’t take long before there was a constant stream of men heading to the outskirts of town and paying for the delights of Mrs Kelly and her girls of the night. Alice and Mary kept their slits shaven after their last adventure, the same as Suki and Bonita always had been. This proved a great success, including Mrs K’s Pussy Tickling contest which she would organise during the evening as a form of attraction. This involved all the shaved girls lining up with their legs apart , lifting their skirts then a selected number of men were pulled out of the audience and given long pointed tickly goose feathers and had to see if they could make the girls giggle by tickling their shaved slits. Now in these circumstances, without being tied down a woman can wriggle and squirm and generally control the tickling, and it becomes one of the most enjoyable sensations a woman can have. Knowing that she can pull away, and it stops if she giggles, makes it a great game.
Once one giggled she would strip down whilst the rest were whittled down to the last one who would then do a strip (for more money of course) and finally the men would queue for a turn at pokin’ the women at $2 a time (plus tips of course). It was also a nice way for the girls to ‘get wetted up’ as Mrs K would say.
Another attraction was a little show that the girls put on called “Captured by Indian Maidens” which tells the (abbreviated) story of a group of dancin’ girls captured and tortured by Indian women. Usually Mary got dragged over to the girls own version of a torture pole where, kicking and screaming she would be stripped and tied out on a frame which held her arms over her head, whilst spreading her legs out wide exposing her tender slim torso and her hairless quim. Then the rest of the girls would troop out of the wagon dressed in short Indian leather skirts with their Redfoot feathers in their hair and take positions around Mary in much the same way as Bonita had been tickled and tortured. One girl sitting behind Mary would run her fingers up and down Mary’s sides and armpits, playing at spiders , sometimes running fast sometimes creeping slowly, while another two sat at her feet running their feathers slowly over her wrinkly soles. Mrs K would indulge her passion for slit tickling by stroking her feather up and down Mary’s long and lovely milky creamy pink slit, and Bonita would languish long sucking kisses on Mary’s lips whilst gently tickling her breasts and belly with her fingers. And Mary would scream and writhe and dribble at her torment and her pussy juices just flowed out of her as she kept coming and coming at each stroke of the feather as it stroked past her clit, backwards and forwards. And the men sat or stood in awe slightly embarrassed at their hard stalks bulging from their trousers, as some came in their pants simply from watching the spectacle, while others would jerk themselves off in front of the others not caring. Others managed to hold on and would pay double just to get their dicks into a soaking wet pussy before exploding in orgasm.
Meanwhile in the bushes a few yards back in the darkness of the Arizona night a group of wives sat watching in silence.
By the end of the week the girls had made plenty of money draining the towns men of all their spare cash , and they figured it was time to move on. They planned to leave late at night after seeing the last customer. They knew the wives would only stand so much and there was likely to be trouble in the morning.
So it was that at 2am on a warm Arizona night the girls packed up their belongings onto the wagon and headed out West. their purses loaded with money and the wagon and horses groaning with extra food and supplies.
They were totally taken by surprise when two horse riders sprang up in front of them, their faces masked, pointing two nasty looking guns at Mrs K. “Stop” one yelled in quite a high voice. “Git down from the wagon with your hands in the air” it was a woman’s voice. A strong voice , one not to be messed with. Other women on horseback emerged from the shadows.
One by one the girls were taken down from the wagon, their hands tied behind their backs and then they were roped together , one behind the other, then the rope was tossed to a woman on a tall stallion and the girls were rudely jerked forward into the night half walking half running. It was difficult to keep up but they could not stop, despite yelling and pleading the women kept up the pace. Somewhere behind, another group of women had taken the wagon and were following somewhere in the distance. The women were taken several miles, with the ground rising slowly upwards. After about two hours they arrived at what appeared to be a deserted mining camp way up in the hills several miles from the town. A derelict sign hanging from a post announced ‘ FFF Mining Camp No.3’.
There were lots of old sheds and pit works, large pieces of rusting machinery, together with lots of timber posts and ropes, sufficient to construct any number of frames to display the female form, draped across and roped tight. In the dim half light of early morning they could see the gaping hole of the disused mine shaft disappearing into the hill which towered above them. The wagon was pulled into an old shed whilst Mrs K and her girls were dragged into the mine entrance and the ropes tied to the old pit props some way inside the mine.
The women of the town dismounted, there were about eight of them. They took off their dust masks and laughed at the state of their catch, a bedraggled group of prisoners, sweating from running behind the horses, their clothes all torn from being pulled or dragged through the bushes. “Ok girls , strip’em”. there was a whooping and a shouting as the town’s women fell on the bound women as they ripped and tore the clothes from the girls . The clothes were taken outside and put in a big pile, then burned.
“now you little naked hens don’t look quite so pleased with yerselves” said a large burly woman with a long southern drawl.
“What are you going to do to us” said Mrs Kelly trying to hide the fear in her voice.
“Well, first we gonna git back our men’s money what you girlies stole from them durin’ yer ticklin’ shows an’ all” Drawled the Southerner. Several women were already scavenging in the wagon and soon one shouted that she’d found the money.
“So we got us back our cash, now we gonna teach you some lessons , and learn you not to come back to our town. Now you know why it’s called Four Feather Falls don’t you ?”
“No” said Jenny Kelly “I don’t”
“Well you will” and with that the big woman put her head back and laughed and all the other women laughed too.
“I got an idea” shouted one of the women.
The girls hands and feet were tied then they were dragged feet first across the rough sand floor to a large piece of old machinery just outside the mine entrance which looked like a large set of circular winding gear that had been dumped on its side. One spoked wheel lay on the ground and one was up in the air standing on the column which would have been the axle housing.
The girls were made to lie on their backs on the bottom wheel with their feet in the air, then their feet were pushed through the gaps in the spokes of the upper wheel and their big toes were then fastened together with some thin rope which was fastened to a convenient ring around the outside of the wheel. Soon all the young women were secured to the wheel, their hands tied back to the outer rim of the bottom wheel and their bare feet sticking out through the solid spokes at the top, their butts pressed up against the cold iron of the central column.
“ain’t that a pretty sort of Catherine wheel !” exclaimed one of the women, and they all laughed.
“Check the wagon and see if you can find some good old feathers” said the leader of the wives, “I think we got us some ticklin’ to do”
The girls began to beg and plead knowing how ticklish they all were, particularly on their feet, and now their bare soles were cruelly exposed and vulnerable to the tickling torment that was about to be inflicted on their upturned feet.
Two of the women climbed up onto the flat surface of the top wheel. “well look at these dainty little flowers growing up out of this here machine,” she giggled as she gently brushed her hand over the six pairs of soft feet tied through the wheel. The girls shuddered and some wriggled quickly and fearfully at the torment that was to come. Suki and Mary tried to stifle their giggles , but Jenny Kelly, Maud, Alice and Bonita laughed and squirmed as the soft pads of the young wives fingers danced over their upturned bare soles.
“It’s like playin’ the piano,” said one of the women on top of the wheel “ticklin’ the ivories takes on a whole new meaning” laughed another and they proceeded to tickle individual feet like they were playing the piano with the tied and tickled girls letting out a high pitched squeak or a laugh or a shriek as the fingers passed across their ticklish soles. Another girl stepped up and began twirling a handful of feathers around the feet , but this didn’t seem to be enough so she went back and got a bristly scrubbing brush which was lying in the sand. As soon as the girls feet were brushed it was clear that this really tickled as they began to shriek and to writhe and scream to stop. which of course they didn’t and within minutes the tickled girls were sweating and shaking unable to speak due to the terrible tickling sensations from the bristles as they scrubbed their soles, spasming every muscle in their bodies, they couldn’t even pee properly, though by now one or two couldn’t control their bladders and little sprays of pee kept squirting up the iron column as the muscles allowed the occasional leak.
The feathers were much more effective on the girls armpits which were laid bare as their hands were tied back to the outer rim of the big wheel. Two of the women knelt down and began gently stroking the feathers and fingers across each girls bare shaven stretched soft armpit. If the girls could laugh or scream any louder they did. The white women were as equally effective as the Indian maids when it came to administering tickling torture. It seemed that women were just good at torturing other women, and they seemed to take some pleasure out of it too.
As daylight flickered over the disused camp the hills and valleys echoed to the distinctive hysterical and maniacal sound of young women being tickled by fiendish hands.
“This is makin’ me horny as hell” said one of the wives, “I gotta get something up me before I go crazy”
At that moment a group of men from the village emerged from around the short bend and came up to the women.
“We’ve bin’ watchin’ you gals since sun up” said one.
“Never mind that” shouted another “git your pants down and get in me quick!” and with that the wives gave a collective laugh as they grabbed a man and ripped off each others clothes in a frenzy of frustrated passion. The ground was wet with spendings by the time the townsfolk were satisfied.
Mrs Kelly and her girls had kept quiet as the distraction meant that at least the terrible tickling had stopped for now. She was now aware of the townsfolk gathering round the wheel again as their lust was satisfied.” what are we gonna do with these harlots” asked one of the women.
“I got an idea” said another. “I’ve had so much fun an’ I’ve never felt so horny, and my man here has never been so hard, I reckon we should keep em’ for a while longer so we can come again”
Everyone agreed and so it was that Mrs K and her girls were held captive in the disused mine, fed but kept naked, like wild animals, and tied to either the pit props or at night to the wheel where they were continuously tickled by the women whilst the men watched , then left unsatisfied whilst the women of the town had the most prolonged mighty orgasms.
Eventually , after four days and nights the girls were released and given some food and water and released into the desert never again to venture any where near Four Feather Falls.
The End.
Greenfeather
By Greenfeather
(This story reflects the author’s fantasy and not a real life situation. Real life involves mutual consent, safety and commonsense. The characters portrayed and the scenario is entirely fictional and written for the fantasy pleasure of adults only)
It had been six days since Mrs Kelly and her dancin’ girls had escaped the tickle tortures of the Redfoot tribe. They had travelled long and hard to get as far away as possible. None of the women wanted to be captured by the Indian squaws again. Bonita, who had been cruelly tormented by being tickled and teased but without being allowed to come, spent much of her time sleeping or masturbating, bringing herself off over and over again as if she was trying to catch up on what orgasms she’d have had if the Indian women had allowed her.
“You’ll wear your clit away the way yer’ goin’” said Mrs K , and the other girls laughed and gradually they came round from their ordeal. They were all free and unharmed and in many ways, they had learned a lot about their bodies at the teasing tickling hands of the Indian maids.
But supplies were running low and they would need to get to a town and start working again or they would run out of money and vittles pretty damned quick.
And so it was that they pulled their wagon into the small mining town of Four Feather Falls, as dusk was falling. They pitched the wagon on the outskirts of town and Suki and Alice got the tents ready whilst Mrs K took Mary ,Bonita and Maud into town to find the saloon and drum up some business. Now Mrs K was a professional and it really didn’t take long before there was a constant stream of men heading to the outskirts of town and paying for the delights of Mrs Kelly and her girls of the night. Alice and Mary kept their slits shaven after their last adventure, the same as Suki and Bonita always had been. This proved a great success, including Mrs K’s Pussy Tickling contest which she would organise during the evening as a form of attraction. This involved all the shaved girls lining up with their legs apart , lifting their skirts then a selected number of men were pulled out of the audience and given long pointed tickly goose feathers and had to see if they could make the girls giggle by tickling their shaved slits. Now in these circumstances, without being tied down a woman can wriggle and squirm and generally control the tickling, and it becomes one of the most enjoyable sensations a woman can have. Knowing that she can pull away, and it stops if she giggles, makes it a great game.
Once one giggled she would strip down whilst the rest were whittled down to the last one who would then do a strip (for more money of course) and finally the men would queue for a turn at pokin’ the women at $2 a time (plus tips of course). It was also a nice way for the girls to ‘get wetted up’ as Mrs K would say.
Another attraction was a little show that the girls put on called “Captured by Indian Maidens” which tells the (abbreviated) story of a group of dancin’ girls captured and tortured by Indian women. Usually Mary got dragged over to the girls own version of a torture pole where, kicking and screaming she would be stripped and tied out on a frame which held her arms over her head, whilst spreading her legs out wide exposing her tender slim torso and her hairless quim. Then the rest of the girls would troop out of the wagon dressed in short Indian leather skirts with their Redfoot feathers in their hair and take positions around Mary in much the same way as Bonita had been tickled and tortured. One girl sitting behind Mary would run her fingers up and down Mary’s sides and armpits, playing at spiders , sometimes running fast sometimes creeping slowly, while another two sat at her feet running their feathers slowly over her wrinkly soles. Mrs K would indulge her passion for slit tickling by stroking her feather up and down Mary’s long and lovely milky creamy pink slit, and Bonita would languish long sucking kisses on Mary’s lips whilst gently tickling her breasts and belly with her fingers. And Mary would scream and writhe and dribble at her torment and her pussy juices just flowed out of her as she kept coming and coming at each stroke of the feather as it stroked past her clit, backwards and forwards. And the men sat or stood in awe slightly embarrassed at their hard stalks bulging from their trousers, as some came in their pants simply from watching the spectacle, while others would jerk themselves off in front of the others not caring. Others managed to hold on and would pay double just to get their dicks into a soaking wet pussy before exploding in orgasm.
Meanwhile in the bushes a few yards back in the darkness of the Arizona night a group of wives sat watching in silence.
By the end of the week the girls had made plenty of money draining the towns men of all their spare cash , and they figured it was time to move on. They planned to leave late at night after seeing the last customer. They knew the wives would only stand so much and there was likely to be trouble in the morning.
So it was that at 2am on a warm Arizona night the girls packed up their belongings onto the wagon and headed out West. their purses loaded with money and the wagon and horses groaning with extra food and supplies.
They were totally taken by surprise when two horse riders sprang up in front of them, their faces masked, pointing two nasty looking guns at Mrs K. “Stop” one yelled in quite a high voice. “Git down from the wagon with your hands in the air” it was a woman’s voice. A strong voice , one not to be messed with. Other women on horseback emerged from the shadows.
One by one the girls were taken down from the wagon, their hands tied behind their backs and then they were roped together , one behind the other, then the rope was tossed to a woman on a tall stallion and the girls were rudely jerked forward into the night half walking half running. It was difficult to keep up but they could not stop, despite yelling and pleading the women kept up the pace. Somewhere behind, another group of women had taken the wagon and were following somewhere in the distance. The women were taken several miles, with the ground rising slowly upwards. After about two hours they arrived at what appeared to be a deserted mining camp way up in the hills several miles from the town. A derelict sign hanging from a post announced ‘ FFF Mining Camp No.3’.
There were lots of old sheds and pit works, large pieces of rusting machinery, together with lots of timber posts and ropes, sufficient to construct any number of frames to display the female form, draped across and roped tight. In the dim half light of early morning they could see the gaping hole of the disused mine shaft disappearing into the hill which towered above them. The wagon was pulled into an old shed whilst Mrs K and her girls were dragged into the mine entrance and the ropes tied to the old pit props some way inside the mine.
The women of the town dismounted, there were about eight of them. They took off their dust masks and laughed at the state of their catch, a bedraggled group of prisoners, sweating from running behind the horses, their clothes all torn from being pulled or dragged through the bushes. “Ok girls , strip’em”. there was a whooping and a shouting as the town’s women fell on the bound women as they ripped and tore the clothes from the girls . The clothes were taken outside and put in a big pile, then burned.
“now you little naked hens don’t look quite so pleased with yerselves” said a large burly woman with a long southern drawl.
“What are you going to do to us” said Mrs Kelly trying to hide the fear in her voice.
“Well, first we gonna git back our men’s money what you girlies stole from them durin’ yer ticklin’ shows an’ all” Drawled the Southerner. Several women were already scavenging in the wagon and soon one shouted that she’d found the money.
“So we got us back our cash, now we gonna teach you some lessons , and learn you not to come back to our town. Now you know why it’s called Four Feather Falls don’t you ?”
“No” said Jenny Kelly “I don’t”
“Well you will” and with that the big woman put her head back and laughed and all the other women laughed too.
“I got an idea” shouted one of the women.
The girls hands and feet were tied then they were dragged feet first across the rough sand floor to a large piece of old machinery just outside the mine entrance which looked like a large set of circular winding gear that had been dumped on its side. One spoked wheel lay on the ground and one was up in the air standing on the column which would have been the axle housing.
The girls were made to lie on their backs on the bottom wheel with their feet in the air, then their feet were pushed through the gaps in the spokes of the upper wheel and their big toes were then fastened together with some thin rope which was fastened to a convenient ring around the outside of the wheel. Soon all the young women were secured to the wheel, their hands tied back to the outer rim of the bottom wheel and their bare feet sticking out through the solid spokes at the top, their butts pressed up against the cold iron of the central column.
“ain’t that a pretty sort of Catherine wheel !” exclaimed one of the women, and they all laughed.
“Check the wagon and see if you can find some good old feathers” said the leader of the wives, “I think we got us some ticklin’ to do”
The girls began to beg and plead knowing how ticklish they all were, particularly on their feet, and now their bare soles were cruelly exposed and vulnerable to the tickling torment that was about to be inflicted on their upturned feet.
Two of the women climbed up onto the flat surface of the top wheel. “well look at these dainty little flowers growing up out of this here machine,” she giggled as she gently brushed her hand over the six pairs of soft feet tied through the wheel. The girls shuddered and some wriggled quickly and fearfully at the torment that was to come. Suki and Mary tried to stifle their giggles , but Jenny Kelly, Maud, Alice and Bonita laughed and squirmed as the soft pads of the young wives fingers danced over their upturned bare soles.
“It’s like playin’ the piano,” said one of the women on top of the wheel “ticklin’ the ivories takes on a whole new meaning” laughed another and they proceeded to tickle individual feet like they were playing the piano with the tied and tickled girls letting out a high pitched squeak or a laugh or a shriek as the fingers passed across their ticklish soles. Another girl stepped up and began twirling a handful of feathers around the feet , but this didn’t seem to be enough so she went back and got a bristly scrubbing brush which was lying in the sand. As soon as the girls feet were brushed it was clear that this really tickled as they began to shriek and to writhe and scream to stop. which of course they didn’t and within minutes the tickled girls were sweating and shaking unable to speak due to the terrible tickling sensations from the bristles as they scrubbed their soles, spasming every muscle in their bodies, they couldn’t even pee properly, though by now one or two couldn’t control their bladders and little sprays of pee kept squirting up the iron column as the muscles allowed the occasional leak.
The feathers were much more effective on the girls armpits which were laid bare as their hands were tied back to the outer rim of the big wheel. Two of the women knelt down and began gently stroking the feathers and fingers across each girls bare shaven stretched soft armpit. If the girls could laugh or scream any louder they did. The white women were as equally effective as the Indian maids when it came to administering tickling torture. It seemed that women were just good at torturing other women, and they seemed to take some pleasure out of it too.
As daylight flickered over the disused camp the hills and valleys echoed to the distinctive hysterical and maniacal sound of young women being tickled by fiendish hands.
“This is makin’ me horny as hell” said one of the wives, “I gotta get something up me before I go crazy”
At that moment a group of men from the village emerged from around the short bend and came up to the women.
“We’ve bin’ watchin’ you gals since sun up” said one.
“Never mind that” shouted another “git your pants down and get in me quick!” and with that the wives gave a collective laugh as they grabbed a man and ripped off each others clothes in a frenzy of frustrated passion. The ground was wet with spendings by the time the townsfolk were satisfied.
Mrs Kelly and her girls had kept quiet as the distraction meant that at least the terrible tickling had stopped for now. She was now aware of the townsfolk gathering round the wheel again as their lust was satisfied.” what are we gonna do with these harlots” asked one of the women.
“I got an idea” said another. “I’ve had so much fun an’ I’ve never felt so horny, and my man here has never been so hard, I reckon we should keep em’ for a while longer so we can come again”
Everyone agreed and so it was that Mrs K and her girls were held captive in the disused mine, fed but kept naked, like wild animals, and tied to either the pit props or at night to the wheel where they were continuously tickled by the women whilst the men watched , then left unsatisfied whilst the women of the town had the most prolonged mighty orgasms.
Eventually , after four days and nights the girls were released and given some food and water and released into the desert never again to venture any where near Four Feather Falls.
The End.
Greenfeather
