The Ticklish Trials of Taleena - Part 001

Discussion in 'Stories' started by tkl-pen, May 22, 2010.

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  1. tkl-pen

    tkl-pen Member

    THE TICKLISH TRIALS OF TALEENA
    PART ONE

    Taleena was fast asleep. She had been in class at college all day and then
    worked in the supermarket until closing time at eleven. It had been a busy
    Friday evening and she was very tired by the time she arrived at home. As
    soon as she saw her bed, she took off her jeans, her t-shirt, her bra and her
    socks, leaving only her panty. She was asleep almost at once. It had been a
    long day for the pretty five-foot-seven 21-year old. A long day, indeed.

    Although she wasn’t one to toss and turn in bed all night, she normally did
    change her position from time to time. Taleena liked to sleep on her side,
    turned half-way onto her stomach, facing to the right. After a few hours,
    she would turn into a similar position on the other side, facing to the left.
    She rarely slept on her back, a position she didn’t find at all comfortable, for
    more than a minute or two. It was no surprise, then, that she tried to turn
    onto her right sideas soon as she sensed that she was sleeping on her back.
    The funny thing, though, was that she couldn’t do it.

    She tried to turn, but something wasn’t right - something was holding her.
    Taleena’s eyes flashed open and she was instantly awake. She immediately
    realized that she was no longer in her bed, or even her bedroom. She tried
    to move but even that was impossible. She looked up at her arms and saw
    that there were straps holding her wrists and upper arms. Then, she lifted
    her head and saw similar straps holding her legs widely apart, securing them
    at the ankles and thighs. She was naked and helpless.

    As she looked about the room, she noticed various cabinets, tables, trolleys,
    control panels, computer terminals and lights. All of the fixtures in the
    room were either stainless steel or baby blue, reminding her very much of
    the operating room in a hospital, bright and spotlessly clean.

    She could see herself and the device on which she was confined in the
    gleaming stainless steel doors of the cabinets along the wall to her left. It
    was a large table made of light blue metal with a soft padded baby-blue
    leatherette top perhaps three inches thick. It was clearly designed to
    helplessly secure a woman in the most compromising position imaginable,
    spread eagled with her arms high above her head and her legs held widely
    apart. She had no idea how she had come to this place, remembering only
    that she had dropped into her bed and gone to sleep almost immediately.
    She started to get scared, very scared.

    Some time after she had awakened, probably twenty minutes or so of futile
    struggling and squirming against her bonds, a man entered the room. She
    recognized him immediately. He was a regular customer at the supermarket
    in which she worked several evenings each week. She always thought it
    was nice that he would come to her till. A handsome, articulate, educated
    and kind older gentleman, he always complemented her on her eyes or the
    unique little blonde streak in her otherwise auburn-brown hair. She had a
    blonde streak in her long har just in front of her ears which almost framed
    her face.

    “What the hell is this,†she started, “how did I get here?â€

    “All in due time, little one,†he answered, softly and kindly, as he picked up
    a large, stiff feather from one of the little wheeled tables along the wall and
    approached her.

    “Let me go, please,†she pleaded, trying desperately to move against the
    restraints that held her arms and legs.

    “You know, I have loved you since the moment I first saw you,†he told her,
    “I was deeply affected by the very unique beauty that I saw in you, not only
    your physical beauty but also the inner beauty that I saw in your eyes.â€

    As he spoke, he started to stroke the big feather across her stomach and
    along her sides, working the entire front of her torso from below her breasts
    to the creases where it met her thighs and her sides from below her armpits
    to her hips, carefully avoiding her breast, her armpits and her genitals. He
    was stroking her soft and flawless skin more to intimidate her than to tickle
    her, demonstrating to her subconscious mind that she was very, very
    vulnerable and he was totally in control of her.

    “No,†she pleaded, “please don’t. That tickles!â€

    “I knew then that I wanted you for myself. Of course, I also realized that a
    beautiful young college girl would not be likely to have a great deal of
    interest in a man of my age. College girls normally want to go with the boys
    they associate with in their schools, and, therefore, I could only proceed
    with my desires by taking you rather than asking you. I hope you
    understand.â€

    Taleena squirmed and fidgeted on the x-shaped table holding her as the man
    drew the terrible stiff feather across the soft skin of her stomach and sides,
    slowly and purposefully, in long, agonizing strokes as he spoke. She tried
    everything she could think of to ease the intensity of the sensations - she
    stiffened her body, bit into her lip, squeezed her eyes, clenched her fists and
    flexed her toes. Nothing seemed to help. She felt her nipples start to swell
    and harden, her sexual arousal begin deep inside of her belly. Unknown to
    her, that was the sign he was looking for - waiting for. Unknown to her, it
    had already been forty minutes of the incessant stroking at this point.

    “In China, one of history’s most terrible tortures was the ling-che, the death
    of a thousand cuts,†he told her, as he turned his attention to her breasts,
    “which would begin with one hundred cuts of a very sharp knife across each
    of a woman’s breasts, each cut a little longer and a little deeper than the one
    before, building up into a level of pain in which each cut would continue to
    contribute to the pain that she would feel, starting at the top of each breast
    by making fifty cuts in the top half of each breast, then another fifty cuts
    starting at the bottom, slowly working toward the nipple but never touching
    it. Can you imagine, Taleena, how that would feel?â€

    As he spoke, agonizingly taunting her with his detailed description, he
    began to draw the edge of the large, stiff feather across the top help of her
    right breast, mimicking the movements of the knife he was describing. The
    anguish and the agony building in Taleena’s mind and body built with each
    successive stroke as she squirmed and mewled and pleaded. Slowly, ever so
    slowly, he drew the feather across the top half of her right breast fifty times,
    then the top of her left breast fifty times, then the lower half of her right
    breast fifty times, and finally the lower half of her left breast fifty times,
    coming painfully close to her nipples but never actually touching them.

    “It took many hours to complete the thousand cuts, using a razor-sharp
    knife, and the pain was indescribably, sometimes lasting the entire night
    before the woman would die from shock and loss of blood.â€

    Taleena’s nipples had become painfully engorged with blood, so big and
    hard she thought they were going to burst, and she had become sexually
    aroused beyond imagining. She felt herself become very, very wet inside as
    she imagined each stroke of the knife with each stoke of the feather. Even
    so, the strokes, countless to her, continued to drive her further and further
    into both agony and ecstasy at the same time.

    “It was a terrible torture, Taleena,†he explained, “as the next cuts of the
    razor sharp knife would move to the rest of the torso. The first cut to be
    made was a long cut from the breastbone to the pantyline.â€

    He slowly drew the stiff feather, which had started out as a regular large
    feather but was stiffened by cutting off the soft edges and applying some
    expoxy cement to the newly created edges, down the midline of her body
    from her neck to her genitals, stopping painfully short of her private parts.

    “This long cut divided the front of the body into two symmetrical halves,â€
    he told her, “which would then serve as a guideline for several hundred cuts
    to come.â€

    He began to trace the feather along her ribs, carefully following the contour
    of each bone and the soft, sensitive space between every two bones, first the
    right side and then the left. It tickled, of course, especially on the little
    fleshy spaces between her ribs, and Taleena tried to twist her body from side
    to side. It was a wasted effort being strapped down as she was.

    “When they finished with her ribs, they would move down to her stomach
    and sides,†he said, “as they would make long cuts from the center of her
    torso across her belly to her sides.â€

    While he was explaining this to her, he made dozens of strokes of the stiff
    feather from the center of her stomach to the right side and down to the top
    of the table. Each stroke was a few millimeters from its predecessor. First,
    the right side and then the left.

    “Please, stop torturing me like this,†pleaded Taleena, painfully aroused and
    in agony, “it tickles so bad I can’t even laugh. It’s so terrible.â€

    “Your body appears to disagree,†he told her, as he looked at her genitals,
    “as you are becoming very aroused sexually. Your nipples are hard and
    firm and you are sopping wet down here.â€

    “Please, I’m in agony,†she pleaded, “I can’t stand it anymore!â€

    “I think you’ll be fine,†he said, as he started stroking her right leg, “after
    they were done with the stomach and sides, they would move on to the
    woman’s legs, making spiral cuts around each leg from her ankles to the
    tops of her thighs.â€
     
  2. tkl-pen

    tkl-pen Member

    He started to stroke the terrible feather in circles around her right ankle and
    slowly, every so slowly, worked his way up her right leg, making perfect
    circles only millimeters apart. Taleena bit her lip, squeezed her eyes and
    clenched her fists every time the feather approached the very sensitive
    inside of her thighs, stiffening her body and flexing her toes as the feather
    crossed that very delicate part of each leg. When he finished with her right
    leg, he moved onto the left and repeated his work.

    When he finished with her legs, having spent nearly an hour on them, he
    moved to her arms. He drew the same spiral pattern on each arm, slowly
    working from her wrists to her armpits. Taleena didn’t even realize that the
    inside of her upper arms was as sensitive as the inside of her thighs.

    Next, he moved the very tip of the terrible feather into her armpits, stroking
    so lightly and so softly that it made her agonizingly uncomfortable but kept
    her just short of bursting out in laughter. The man was an absolute expert in
    the art of sexual tickle torture, keeping her from laughing, driving her
    deeper and deeper into agony and higher and higher into sexual arousal. He
    didn’t even look at the tears flowing down her face or take notice of her
    terrible anguish and suffering.

    All over her body, he had traced each stroke of the knife he described with
    the sharp, stiff edge of the feather. Her sexual arousal had continued to
    build and build. But he had been very careful not to touch any part of her
    that would take her all the way to an orgasm.

    Taleena was close, so terribly close, but this man was an expert. He was
    thoroughly familiar with the female anatomy - the female body and its
    nervous system. She was so close, and yet she could not climax. The agony
    was indescribable. If only she could touch her genitals. ‘Oh God,’ she
    though, ‘if only he would touch her genitals.’

    “After the woman’s legs and arms,” he explained, as he stroked the awful
    feather across her nose and mouth, “they would move on to her feet. Did
    you know that the soles of the feet are one of the most sensitive parts of a
    woman’s body?”

    “Please,” she pleaded, “don’t touch my feet. Haven’t you done enough to
    me already?”

    Her pleas, understandably, fell on deaf ears, so to speak. The man brought a
    wheeled stool from the side of the room and seated himself at the foot end
    of the table. Taleena’s whole skin tingled from the stroking of the feather
    and she flexed her toes over and over, sensing his presence so close to her
    feet with terror. Like the rest of her, Taleena’s feet were very pretty, size 8
    1/2 and in perfect proportion, beautifully cleaned and pedicured with no
    dead tissue or callouses of any kind. They were prefectly kissable and it
    was all he could do to restrain himself from kissing and licking her feet.

    As he was talking, he began to stroke the feather across the instep of her left
    foot, drawing it from one side to the other slowly and carefully, between the
    folds of skin on her soft instep while she flexed her toes as far as she could
    to prevent the sensation of the feather on his skin. Suddenly, she felt
    another feather on the top of her foot drawn across the same way and
    causing her to bring her toes back up. He anticipated that, of course, and as
    the skin of her instep tightened, he drew the first feather across once again,
    leading her to flex her toes again.

    “Please sto-ho-ho-hop,” she laughed, squirming and moving her foot about
    as best she could, “I can’t stand to be tickled there!”

    After some twenty minutes of tickling her left foot this way, with Taleena
    squirming, laughing and pleading, he repeated the process on her right foot.
    Then he put the feather that he had used on the tops of her feet down and
    simply took hold of her left foot, between his thumb and forefingers,
    preventing her from flexing her toes. He bagan to draw the feather across
    the instep of her foot, over and over, as she howled with laughter, laughing
    so hard she couldn’t even plead for him to stop. Every few minutes, he
    would draw the feather across the groove below her toes and in between
    each of her toes, driving her to new heights of laughter.

    By the time he had finished with her feet some two hours after he started,
    Taleena was a sweating, straining end exhausted mess. She had pissed a
    number of times, once even hitting him with the stream while he was on the
    stool between her legs. Moving to the very tender flesh of her inner thighs,
    he began to stroke from her knees to her genitals with the feather, in very
    delicate but purposeful upward strokes. Her nipples were painfully stiff and
    gorged with blood, her clitoris was more painfully erect than it had ever
    been and her vagina was sopping wet with the fluids of sexual arousal - no,
    excitement.

    “Aah! Ooh!,” she panted, clenching her fists and squeezing her eyes, “Why
    are you doing this to me?”

    “Because I love you,” he explained, getting up, moving to her side, and very
    lightly kissing her nipples, “and I want you to experience all that it is to be
    female. Not like the schoolboys who want to get in, jump up and down a
    few times and then simply leave you behind as another conquest. The
    female body was designed for pleasure; it was made to experience intense
    sexual pleasure, and I want to take you to heights of ecstasy that you never
    dreamed possible, pleasures that few women today can ever even imagine,
    let alone experience.”

    “Please let me go,” she pleaded, as he continued again to stroke the insides
    of her thighs, “I’m so aroused right now I can’t stand it. It’s going to kill
    me if I can’t touch myself and finish it. Please, please let me come!”

    The stroking of the feather on the insides of her thighs was maddening. She
    was so close to an orgasm and yet she couldn’t reach it. ‘Oh, the agony and
    the ecstasy,’ she thought, ‘oh, God, please let me come.’

    “I can’t release you quite yet, Taleena, because you haven’t climaxed,” he
    said, “but if you like I can kiss and lick your genitals, and bring you to the
    end. All you have to do is ask me.”

    “Oh God! Oh, please, please finish it!” she begged, “I can’t stand it. I’m so
    close. Please do it!”

    He went back to his stool and seated himself between her legs. He kissed
    her genitals, and brought her to the throes of an unbelievable orgasm by
    kissing and licking her most sensitive parts, delicately licking her clitoris,
    gently forcing his tongue into her vagina, savoring the juices of her arousal,
    the exceptional sweet taste and the delicate aroma of her very essence.

    It wasn’t long before she arched her back and stiffened her entire body,
    uncontrollably trembling with the throes of an intense sexual climax within
    the bonds that held her. When she came down from the heights of ecstasy,
    she lay on the table, panting, sweaty and exhausted.

    “Is that all you have, Taleena,” he taunted, as he started to lick and suck on
    he clitoris again, “surely you have more than that.”

    “No,” she screamed, “my God, you’ll kill me!”

    In this way, he brought the girl, physically and mentally exhaused, to sexual
    climax seven times. After that, he unfastened her straps and carried her to a
    Japanese style bath which had been filled with the loveliest of warm water.
    Carefully holding the exhausted girl, on the verge of unconsciousness, he
    gently washed her long hair and every part of her body, softly massaging as
    he did so. Taleena purred like a kitten and drifted off to sleep in his arms,
    still in the soothing, warm water of the bath.

    “Good night, sweet one,” the man said, as he gently kissed the top of her
    head, savoring the smell of her wet hair, “we will share another adventure
    soon.”

    Suddenly, remembering her adventure, Taleena’s eyes flashed open. She
    was in her bed. It was past noon on Saturday.

    “Wow,” she said to herself, “was that only a dream? Even my muscles are
    sore. And where is my panty? I had a panty on when I went to sleep.”

    And so she drifted back to sleep - naked - and she slept better than ever -
    and slept the entire day.
     
  3. tkl-pen

    tkl-pen Member

    Please tell me what should happen next - this to me is one of the best stories I have ever written and it is actually a revision of the original story - I wonder what other people think should happen from here - I would also love to know what women think of this story and where they think it should go.
     
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