How To Tickle A Girl Insane

Giselle bowed her head and began mock-weeping, not far from the real thing. Sandra went back to the tote box.

"All right, now, I'm not always wild about using these, but for purposes of demonstration, I'm going to," she said, showing the crowd the objects she'd just retrieved, a pair of genital clips, which resembled bent scissors. "These are gonna be a bit uncomfy—on our victim, that is to say—but a few minutes later, comfort is going to be the last thing on her mind."

Giselle whipped a worried expression on Sandra. Sandy crossed to the model's other side, leaving Giselle looking in the direction of nothing, and again clicked on the laptop. The screen went back to the full-on camera shot of Giselle sitting on the desk. The next Sandy took from the tote was a spool of thin but sturdy string, which she threaded around the handles of the genital clips.

"'Kay, Giselle, my gal, try not to be alarmed by what I'm about to do," warned Sandy, which uneased Giselle already.

"Wh—...what are you about to do?"

Sandy reached between the girl's legs, gently began to pull apart her delicately groomed labia and applied the clips.

Giselle gasped. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "OW! Stop zat!"

"Oh, now, don't be a baby, sweetheart. It's just gonna be a teensy bit painful."

"WHAT?!" cried out Giselle. "You never said anysing about pain!"

"Didn't I?" Sandra evasively sidestepped. "Anyway, don't worry, dollface. The tickling's gonna be way worse than the pain."

Giselle gulped. If this was true, Madame Burton was right; she should be scared.

Ten minutes later, Giselle was wincing as the string around her legs pulled the clips which were attached to her pussy lips with just enough force to keep them in their grips, holding her exposed cunt wide open. The audience was through applauding the revelation of her soft pink vagina, which now sat ajar on its own.

"Madame, zis hurts," Giselle complained. "I don't like it."

"Well, I notice you punctuated those statements with periods, not exclamation points, so it can't hurt quite that much," Sandy remarked, unloading more items from the tote box.

Giselle nodded. "Okay, zen, let me rephrase. Zis hurts! I don't like it!"

Sandra chuckled. "I appreciate you maintaining your sense of humor, Giselle. Now, ladies and gents, I'm going to need a volunteer. Giselle, do you have a preference between a male or female volunteer?"

"Um, non," she grumbled, her sarcastic side emerging.

"All righty. Hang in there, sweetie. That frown'll turn upside-down soon enough. So, anyone down front like to volunteer for us?"

Several very fascinated attendees began to literally jump at the chance, but were beaten to it by an eager young woman near the middle of the front row, who promptly raised her hand and stood. She leapt in front of Sandy before any of her neighbors had a chance to get there. "I'd love to!" she smiled.

"Fantastic!" said Sandy, holding out her hand. "Your name then, please, Miss?"

"Violet Daniels."

"Well, lovely to meet you, Violet. Why don't you come around to the back here and shake Giselle's hand?"

"Pleasure, Miss Giselle," said Violet, as the immobile model felt her indeed shaking her hand behind her back.

"Pleasure is mine," Giselle rejoined a bit sourly.

"Right. Now Violet, the first thing I'd like you to do is choose your weapon—ER, your tool of choice," quipped Sandy, prompting some laughter from the crowd. She'd laid out the array of tickle toys from the box beforehand. "We've got a variety of feathers, some of which you've already seen put to use, a couple hair clips, few nail files and letter openers, a set of stick-on fingernails, a fork, a backscratcher, a bobble hairbrush...few other odds and ends here...what do you like?"

"Ooh, I really like the look of the hairbrush," Giselle heard Violet's icy voice coo. She shivered.

"Very good!" praised Sandy. "Now, my friends, upon actually engaging in this yourself, you might not have a friend to help you tickle your girl, and you might not be able to locate some of these items, in which case you can simply improvise. Lots of different things can effectively tickle someone if you simply use them properly.

"So! Our friend Violet has chosen her implement—I, meanwhile..." She put a finger to her lips again, discouraging the audience from making any sound immediately. "...Will be using this."

Sandra had been saving this particular item since the inception of the presentation, which she retrieved from behind the desk. This item she was now breaking out to show the crowd was an ostrich feather: an entire foot long, whose plumage resembled the droops of a weeping willow tree. It too was extra fluffy but retained some sure tangibility. She waved it over Giselle's back between her arms.

"How's that feel, mademoiselle?"

A chill rode up Giselle's body. "Eeeeeeee!" she squeaked.

"Wonderful!" celebrated Sandy. "Now push up on the desk and lift your ass for me."

Giselle turned her head around as far as she could reach. "Huh??"

Sandy lifted her hands by the wrists and gave her a light spank on the left ass cheek. "You heard me."

Giselle reluctantly leaned back, clenched her fists, pressed her carpals on the desk and fulcrumed up her bum.

"Good girl," said Sandy. She slipped the feather beneath Giselle's bottom, perineum and pussy, turned it 90° on its side, so that its plume was now perpendicular to the desk, and gave her permission to let herself down.

"Aaaaaand, sit."

Giselle obeyed, and Sandra whipped the ostrich feather through her from the back, snaking it through all the girl's most vulnerable regions betwixt her thighs, viciously tickle-sawing her from the cunt to the asshole.

Giselle shrieked her lungs out, to the voyeuristic delight of the crowd.

"Whoo-hoo!" Sandra whooped from behind her. "Enjoy that, did ya??"

"What ze hell was zat?!" the model screeched.

"What ze hell did it feel like?" Sandy teased her, holding up her wrists and waggling the ostrich feather under her anus.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!" Giselle screamed once more. "STOPPIT!!"

"Oh, I do believe we're reaching our goal, ladies and gents; she's going crazy on us!" announced Sandy.

A considerable wave of applause followed.

"OH mon foutu DIEU, I hate you!" Giselle declared.

"Aw, thank you!" Sandra graciously returned. "How sweet!" She gently spanked her again.

"All right, come on, lift 'er on up!"

"WHAT?!"

"Once more, you heard me, doll. Do it."

Giselle groaned. "Oh, I can't believe zis," she muttered under her breath, leaning back.

"Care to join me this time, Violet?" Sandra proposed sadistically.

"Okay, can I do her feet??" Violet asked eagerly.

"Oh, you bohs so cruel!" Giselle shouted.

"Aw, ain't she adorable?" gushed Sandy, fondling Giselle's facial cheek. "Okay, so, Giselle, my friend, our volunteer Violet is going to be tickling your feet, and I'm going to handle your, eh...between the legs situation here, front to back. Cool?"

"Oh, let's just get it over wis," Giselle groused.

"Okay, then, my dear..." Sandra silently clicked over to the next slide, put her finger to her lips once more and pointed up. A new set of words floated onto the screen—

VOLUNTEER: I WILL BEGIN TO COUNT DOWN FROM 4, SO THE VICTIM WILL THINK WE WILL BEGIN TICKLING AFTER 1. BUT WE WILL ACTUALLY START ON 3. THIS IS ANOTHER EXTREMELY EFFECTIVE TECHNIQUE ON A BLINDFOLDED VICTIM, TAKING ANY AND ALL FEELING OF SECURITY AWAY FROM HER, AND REMINDING HER THAT SHE CAN NO LONGER TRUST EVEN HER OWN MIND. ARE YOU READY?

Sandy waited for Violet to finish reading, and once again held her finger to her lips. Violet nodded enthusiastically.

"Okay, let's count down to it," called Sandy deliberately. "Four...three—"

As planned, they attacked prematurely. Violet took the hairbrush in her left hand, devilishly torturing Giselle's right foot with it, and used her right hand on the left foot. And Sandra repeated the saw technique, slithering the ostrich feather from between Giselle's pussy lips back to the posterior. The sound that came out of her was utterly indescribable.

"GOTCHA!" Sandra laughed at her wickedly.

"AAAHHHHH! AAHHAAAAA! HAAAHAAAAAAAHHH!! PLEA...PLEASE...STOP!!" Giselle erupted. "I...I CAN'T...BREAZE!!"

"Ah—" Sandy held up a hand. "Okay, Vi? Hold off for just a moment, please."

Violet let up. Giselle was about to start sobbing her eyes out for real.

"Giselle has just brought up another valuable piece of information I must pass along to you, in the name of science and accuracy," Sandra said to the crowd. "If your victim claims she can't breathe, don't listen. She is fibbing. We halted for now, but just so I could bring this to your attention. If she's able to tell you she can't breathe, she's still breathing. If you can talk, you can breathe. Audibly saying the words 'I can't breathe'...is a lie."

She turned back to Giselle with a malevolent sneer. "And we do know what happens to liars, now don't we, Madem-Giselle?"

Giselle hung her head and cried, dampening the blindfold. This evil woman was heartless and merciless.

"Oh, ple-e-e-ease," she begged tearfully.

"Liars..." Sandy paused for effect. "...Must be punished."

She forced Giselle to lift her butt for the third time, and snaked the ostrich feather beneath once more.

"Violet, if you would, please, take the mallard feather there, the—yes, that's it, the white one. Very good—and, eh, if, this time, you would be so kind as to, uh...'clickle' her 'tit' with it, please?" She winked at Violet, reaching around Giselle's body and pointing to her exposed, erect clit. "You can continue on her foot with the brush too. Ooh, yes, and this will help as well." She removed from the box and handed Violet a small bottle of slippery baby oil, which Violet knew what to do with. She winked back at Sandy.

"Yes, it's a shame you don't have a third hand so you can get both her feet and the, eh...other area there at the same time."

"I could tickle her other foot with my mouth," Violet suggested.

"Oh! That's good thinking! Great, good girl!" congratulated Sandra. "And I will carry on from back here. Remember—no mercy."

"No-o-o-o-o..." Giselle wept, tears spilling down her red cheeks. "Please don't, zis is tortu-u-u-ure!"

"I'm sorry, Giselle," Sandra shrugged matter-of-factly. "You agreed to be our model for this evening. You knew what you were getting yourself into."

"But-but...no, I didn't! Not zis!" Giselle contradicted.

"I beg to differ. We asked you if you would be willing to take absolutely anything we could dish out, and you expressly said yes."

"But...b-but I-I didn't expect—"

"All set, Violet??" called Sandy, cutting off Giselle's desperate protests.

"Yep!" Violet called back, lubing up the bottom of Giselle's right foot with the baby oil.

"Wh—?? What is zat now?!" Giselle demanded to know, feeling the warm wetness on her sole.

"Dynamite!" said Sandy. "Well, then, what the hell're we waiting for, right? Get her!"

"NOOOOO—" Giselle once again began to screamingly implore before she was chopped off by the latest wave of tickle torture. Uncaged laughter stabbed at her larynx and lungs, accompanied by shrieks of the evening's sought-after insanity at the sensation of the mallard feather's blade brushing over her pulsing clit, which she had not been expecting. She'd misunderstood Sandra's instructional disguised phrase 'clickle her tit,' and so had been anticipating her breast being attacked—but which too was now also happening, courtesy of Sandra's free hand. Giselle'd been waiting for that, but not having her clit tickled.

The hairbrush was flying back and forth over her now oiled up right sole, and Violet was indeed putting her mouth to work on the left foot, nibbling and licking on and between the toes, the ball and the arch. Sandy's previously dormant five fingers and nails were working her boobs equally as hard, jumping over and around her torso to get at her armpits and ribs as well. She also altered the activity of the ostrich feather under Giselle's taint with the other hand, keeping it in place and maliciously twirling it, instead of straight-sawing it back. The next thing unfortunate Giselle knew, she was...officially...out of her mind. And so was the audience.

"DON'T FORGET TO SWITCH IT UP ON HER!" Sandra yelled to the crowd, again to be heard over Giselle's hyena-like laughter, as she randomly grabbed, pinched, squeezed, prodded and dug her nails into patternless points on the poor girl's flesh. "DON'T LET HER BE ABLE TO PREDICT WHAT'S COMING! KEEP HER ON HER TOES!...SO TO SPEAK!" she added with a laugh.

There was no doubt about it, Professor Sandra Burton was well aware what she was doing on her this evening. She knew her stuff.

For all Giselle knew right now, she could have been having a humongous orgasm, but she couldn't discern it in the slightest, because her brain no longer worked. She started feeling as if it were all a great big nightmarish O.O.B.E., watching herself from outside, in slow motion. Eventually, she was going numb, and the sounds she was making were no longer human.

This horrifically hellish latest span of torturous teasing and vindictive vellication could have been lasting a few minutes, it could have been lasting two hours. There was no way to tell. Giselle was on the verge of turning purple. And she was no longer laughing. She was hacking, wheezing and spitting. If she could only speak, she had a pretty good idea of what she would scream right now.

"OKAY!! GODDAMMIT, OKAY, MADAME!! MISSION A-FREAKING-CCOMPLISHED!! I'M CRAZY!!"

The situation had gone way too far beyond ridiculous. Giselle was past the point of having lost her mind. Her body was all but vibrating like she was being electrocuted.

But finally...at some indefinite, indeterminable later point, finally...

...It was over.

When she could merely begin to catch her breath back, Giselle's face was already buried in tears. Her head was spinning, and her eyes would need a moment to correctly reorient themselves. Sandra's voice echoed in her ears.

"Hooray!" she cheered. "Let's give a nice big hand to our volunteer, Miss Violet Daniels, and our model, Miss Giselle Boudreaux!"

The audience about blew up in applause. Several of them proceeded to give standing ovations.

Giselle tried to collect her bearings and assess what was going on. She was no longer being tormented. It looked as if the evening's entertainment had at last come to an end. It seemed surreal, almost as if, ...Did that really all just happen? Part of her felt a little wounded inside that the crowd apparently didn't care if she died down here, but just wanted to see her being inexorably tortured. Of course, the presentation of the evening was how to tickle a girl insane, and she had been aware of that beforehand, but...she guessed this just seemed like it'd be a bit more fun in her mind. Instead, she was dizzied, red in the face, cried out, and now had a headache.

"And that, my friends, is how you tickle a woman crazy!"

Sandra gave Violet permission to return to her seat, and began untying Giselle. Giselle wasn't totally sure how to react now that she was actually being released. Part of her felt like hauling off and serving Sandy up a hearty knuckle sandwich, right in the nose, knocking her out cold, tying her up and giving her a taste of her own medicine. But most of her was so happy to be freed from this prison of torture, she wanted to hug her instead. Besides, with her lingering vertigo, she had a much better chance of getting a hug than a hit. But she didn't think she even had the leftover energy to achieve this. When Sandy finally let her out of the ropes and removed the drenched blindfold from her face, she collapsed on the desk lengthwise and began recuping on her back.

"Let's let our dear model recover a bit, shall we?" suggested Sandy. "Don't fret, she'll be all right. When you've put as many folks through this particular treatment as I have, you eventually sense when you're going to go too far, and when and if your victim will end up physically harmed or damaged by it. A little rest, a nice glass of water, some nourishment, she'll be good as new. Promise.

"In the meantime, shall we open up to a little Q and A? I'll be delighted to answer any questions you may have that are pertinent to tonight's subject material." She looked around for curious hands, and spotted one. "Yes?"

A young man in the sixth row lowered his hand. "What if someone's not ticklish enough to be driven crazy by this?" he asked.

"Well, everyone's got a little 'ticklish' to them," said Sandy. "Hypothetically speaking, most people are going to be ticklish enough in one locale or another, but certainly there are exceptions. My advice is to track down that bit of ticklish in your victim, threaten her—or him—with authority, for intimidation—exploit it for all it's worth and see what kind of results you can whip up.

"Remember, just the threat or idea of being tickled is automatically pretty scary for most of us. And even if your victim isn't actually that ticklish her—or him—self, just the power of suggestion alone can be a pretty effective tool in instilling fear. Look at it psychologically. We're taught from an early age that innocent tickling is just playful fun, but shortly past that can get really out of hand. And we all love to laugh, but we don't always enjoy being forced to laugh, or...being forced to behave in any given way. It's pretty logical; as adults, outside of work, we don't usually love or appreciate being told what to do. Or what to feel, you see? That in mind, seeing an evil smile and those 'I'm-gonna-GETcha' fingers coming their way usually plays pretty well in your favor. You may still encounter someone who knows proof-positive they're not very ticklish, and won't be scared by it. And if you can't achieve results with them...you can still always bring them my way, if you see fit; I love a good challenge. Does that answer your question?"

The sixth-row young man nodded affirmatively. Sandra solicited for other questions, and took one from someone in the upper left.

"How did you get started in the tickling business?" this attendee wanted to know.

"Ah, well, together with my husband Lou. He's a cinematographer, so we turned one of the rooms in our home into a studio and started making all kinds of fetish videos, not just tickling-related. We've got a whole range of BDSM covered. We call it The Fetish Buffet. We performed in them just by ourselves some years ago, then we started getting a collection of models onboard. We do just about anything bondage-related, but tickling remains one of our shared passions and deepest loves. It was even one of my favorite things in the world as a child, and back in my college sorority days, before he and I even met. Good times. Anyone else?"

A person just about halfway back in the middle had the next question.

"Hi, Mrs. Burton. Do you personally prefer to tickle men or women more?"

"Both," Sandra answered immediately and definitively. "Both absolutely equally. My hubby and I are both bisexual, and we both love shooting and working with our male and female friends and models mutually. We don't discriminate in the slightest on basis of gender," she smiled. "If you're bisexual, of course, men and women can both be exciting in their ways, and on different levels. So neither of us have a preference there. We also openly embrace the opportunity to work with individuals of different ethnicities and such, incidentally, and we do have to have a minimum age limit, which is 18, but anyone 18 and up is welcome to come work-slash-play with us." She saw another hand go up and pointed. "Yes?"