Made to Order: Tickling Anne

[Foreword:]

Dear Reader,

My name is not important. Most people call me Mistress, or Master, or just 'M', depending on their preferences. They pay me money, not because I demand it, but because they want to. I think the transactional nature of our encounters makes them feel safer, like they can indulge to their heart's content without the baggage of a relationship or mutual encounter. I am bought. I serve their needs. Their release. Their experience. That was important to them, because I was giving them something they couldn't find anywhere else. It had to be perfect.

I don't mind that my scenes were built around my customers. I always got what I wanted.

You don't need to know my real name, but I still think you should understand what I am: a sponge. I loved everything about the game. If a partner came in that wanted to be spanked; I loved it. If they wanted rope; I loved it. If they wanted pain-- well, you get the picture. That was because it wasn't any particular sensation or visual that stimulated me. It was their faces. The endless catalog of expressions a person makes when their body and mind start to break. The smiles, the screams-- that twisted expression when the pleasure is too much. The simple colors of desire and fear can be combined to form any number of beautiful shades.

I suppose I was an artist, and my customers were my canvas.

I'll stop rambling-- let me give you an example.

Here is a story. It is one of many that I will write and share. If you enjoy it, or have different suggestions; please let me know. I have a lifetime of experiences for you. If the themes of this story do not interest you, leave a comment, or you can check the other entries of this series. Each will be unique, and order does not matter, except for in the case of a returning character.

Remember that the character's in these stories are adults, they have consented to every action and word that I conduct, and they are made fully aware of any risks and dangers inherent in the activities we perform. Lastly, they are always given the option to end a scene with a single word or signal. Those are the brick and mortar walls that support the palace of BDSM.

I hope you enjoy,

M

Chapter 1:

Anne knocked.

I was expecting her, so I opened the door quickly. Cold air rushed inside.

Anne was standing with her arms crossed and legs pressed together. She was wearing a thin, low-cut blouse tucked into a short skirt. Sheer stockings ran down her legs. It was a beautiful look, but not at all appropriate for the wintery evening. Her thin figure had the appearance of a popsicle, with unmelted snowflakes all over her red hair and rosy cheeks. She seemed taller than usual, her eyes level with mine-- I realized I had never seen her in heels before.

I hurried the shivering girl inside.

"Oh, Anne. Where is your coat?" I asked, half-concerned and half-scolding. I brought her over to the kitchen. She walked a bit awkwardly in her stilettos.

I sat her down at my dining table and started heating up a warm beverage. She usually wore thick sweaters and pants, even on a hot day. She was a naturally reserved person and wore clothes that matched her personality. I was surprised and impressed by the sudden change in attire.

"Sorry. I wanted to try a new look today. I didn't think about the weather."

"Here, drink this. It will warm you up."

She eagerly grabbed the warm cup of tea. Its herbal aroma was pleasant in the small kitchen area.

She nodded her head. Her hands fidgeted slightly up and down the mug. She was switching frequently between gazing around the room and sneaking glances at me. I forgot what I was wearing that day... I'll let you decide, but it was clearly having an effect on her. She was biting her lip and avoiding eye contact.

I asked her about her week. She answered evasively, which was normal.

I asked about her new look. "I just wanted to feel confident today," she answered quietly.

I asked about what she wanted to try during our session. Her face seemed to brighten, her eyes widened over a half-smile. "I had a few ideas for how to start--"

We negotiated details about the scene. I paid close attention to her posture and expression, more than her words. I needed to be careful with Anne. She was sensitive, which was fine, but she sometimes pushed herself too hard. I thought back to early in our relationship, when she had started crying in the middle of a session.

It had been a relatively mild spanking, testing her tolerance, and she had refused to use her safeword although the pain was too much for her. I was careful to avoid a repeat of that, so I learned her body language. I used that knowledge now to observe her-- the subtle movements of her hands, the way she crossed her legs under her skirt, the way she handpicked each word.

It all told me that it had been a long week for Anne. That she was eager to relieve stress. I was afraid that she wanted to push herself too hard. I stopped worrying, though, because I didn't need to. She told me what she wanted, and it wasn't anything like that.

"I want to leave here feeling confident. I want to accomplish something," she declared.

"Oh. Thank you for telling me that, Anne. Do you want to do service-play? I can make you do tasks, and praise you for it. Was that what you were thinking?"

We did that often, because it made her feel valued, which was a big kink for her. I thought it was a good place to start.

"Not quite that... I guess I just want to win at something. To overcome a challenge, to... I don't know. Win, like I said."

She looked me in the eye as she spoke, but eventually glanced away from embarrassment.

"Like the games we sometimes play? The challenges?"

"Um, yeah. Except, I always lose those. I want to win at a game... you know. Beat you at something. Maybe we can come up with something I can win at?" Her arms had dropped down to her sides and she grabbed the wooden seat of her chair. She was blushing, and her face was turned all the way to the side.

She seemed extra nervous today. It made sense that she wanted to win a challenge, she was trying to build herself up. I was determined to help her.

"Okay," I replied. I started thinking hard about her request.

Anne liked to have challenges and predicaments-- something to focus on before she invariably lost control, but it was hard to think of a game she could actually 'beat' me at. She had a low tolerance for pain, and had horrible mental fortitude when it came to orgasm play. If I told her not to cum, she would still cum. If I told her not to beg, she would still beg. We enjoyed that, but I wasn't sure that would make her feel like a 'confident winner'. I only had the beginning of a few ideas.

"Let me think, Anne. Maybe you can overcome something uncomfortable? Something in your yellow zone? "

That was a part of our initial negotiation-- breaking various activities into red, yellow, and green, depending on if they were hard limits, punishments, or fun. For Anne, anything related to pain was in the red zone, after that early incident. Anything in the yellow zone was an acceptable activity, but should be used with caution.

"Tickling, maybe?" she offered.

That was surprising to me. Most people I worked with had tickle-torture in the red zone. A lot of them had bad experiences growing up with overzealous ticklers. It was the kind of torment that was instantly overwhelming. Your mind couldn't even pretend to enjoy it. Pure panic. Escape! Paired with restraint it was a recipe for an instant safeword unless you were dealing with the type of submissive who enjoyed the deceptively-playful form of torture. Anne had 'tickling' in her yellow zone, but we had never tried it. Barring any alternatives, I decided to run with it.

"Sure. Have you been tickled before?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I know I am really ticklish, but I still want to try it."

"Thank you for letting me know, Anne. I think it's worth a shot."

We finished a few final details about payment and when she needed to leave, and then we started. I affected my dominant personality with ease, projecting bravado and playful disdain that made most people laugh at the silliness, but made people like Anne need to change their panties.

"Did you dress like that for me, Anne, or just to feel like a little slut?"

I walked behind her chair, placing both hands on it. She gasped as she tilted back. She gripped onto her chair tightly for balance as I propped her backwards to drag her chair on two legs to the middle of the room. She turned to look up at me when I dropped her seat back on all fours. She was on display, with full access from all sides.

"Eyes forward," I commanded.

She turned her head forward obediently. I didn't want her to see me, I wanted her to hear me and feel me. I started running my fingers across her shoulders, exploring the soft fabric that hugged her skin. I traced a line around her collar, following the cut of her blouse down to her chest. I watched her perky chest rise and fall. From my vantage point, I could see down her top.

"Your outfit is so sexy... yet, I couldn't help but notice you aren't wearing a bra today. Were you in a rush out the door?"

"No..." she said breathlessly.

"... a sexy blouse... a tight skirt... stockings... what else should we check?" I walked around her, plucking or stroking the tight fabric of her outfit as I ran down the list.

I slowly walked around in front of her. She closed her legs reflexively, hiding some secret. I knelt down in front of her. She looked at me nervously.

"Spread your legs, Anne," I commanded.

She shook her head, lips pursed and eyes wide with fear. The first signs of an embarrassed grimace were creeping across her face.

I placed my hands between her knees, and gently pried them apart. She offered only a token resistance. Anne's face went beet red. I could see up her skirt now; her trimmed bush was plainly visible.

"Liar," I scolded her. "I'll have to punish you twice-over now, for being a slut and for trying to hide it."

"I'm sorry..." she whined apologetically.

I gave one last glance between her legs. She was clearly enjoying my dominant display, based on her visible wetness, but I wanted to transition eventually to a scene that made her feel confident, like she had asked. While continuing my instinctual choreography, I thought about my plan. I had a few pieces of dungeon furniture that were perfect for tickling. But, I had to do a bit of strategic foreplay so I could buy time to finalize the details in my mind.

"Alright, Anne. If you want to dress up like that, you'll need to practice in those heels."

I had her stand up. I grabbed a nearby bag of restraints, which I threw onto the now-vacant seat. It was full of ropes, straps, and toys. She turned her head to stare at it nervously.

I rummaged through it, finding some rope and a ball gag. The hemp rope was tough and scratchy. It was the perfect texture for when you wanted someone to be constantly reminded of the restraint. I looped it around her neck, tying it in a loose lasso-shape that would not constrict. I gave the leash a little tug, causing Anne to stumble forward. I thought about tying her hands, but I needed to be careful with her balance.

I grabbed the ball gag, and held it in front of her face. "Lying slut don't get to speak."

She opened her mouth slowly, allowing me to place the rubber ball behind her teeth and strap it around her head.

I loved the way the ball matched her red lipstick, the perfect blend of red rubber, white teeth, and dark straps. Even more, I enjoyed her pouting expression and the way she flexed her lips around the intruder. She kept one hand around the rope in front of her neck, and the other at her side. She tried to reach a hand up to pull out the gag, but I gave her a fierce glare and she put her hand back down.

"Not yet. If you want it out, listen closely, and obey."

She nodded. She still looked uncomfortable in her heels. I enjoyed the way they brought her to eye-level, but she was struggling just to stand in them. I gave her some tips, telling her to spread her legs a bit and to rotate her toes outwards.

"Better, Anne."

I pulled gently on her rope. I led her around my living room, around couches and coffee tables. The rope was held low around my waist, so if I got too far ahead of her she would be pulled downwards by her neck. When I pulled on it, she stooped forward awkwardly to relieve the pressure.

Increasing my pace caused her to shift her feet hurriedly to keep up. She whined for me to slow down, but I ignored her muffled pleas. She was a little wobbly in her heels, but seemed to be managing.

I reminded myself that I was trying to humiliate her like she always wanted, but also give her the chance to feel more confident. It was no easy task to do both, but I had a few ideas for that second part. It would be an interesting challenge for me.

"Stop," I ordered. I walked up to her, face-to-face. She held her head low, intimidated and submissive. She stared at my feet. A line of drool was running out the corner of her mouth.

"Good job, Anne. You are starting to wear those heels quite well. I knew you were a natural."

She glanced up at me, still nervous.

"Did you wear those clothes to feel more confident, Anne?"

She contemplated for a moment, locking eyes before subtly nodding her head. I took my time, circling around her, before asking another question.

"They make you feel powerful, Anne-- but are you powerful?"

She paused to consider the odd question, before shaking her head and glancing down in embarrassment.

"Wrong answer, Anne. You are powerful. Just because you are wearing a gag, and have a leash around your neck, does not mean you are weak."

She turned her head to look at me, listening intently.

"You don't just look sexy and powerful. You are sexy and powerful. You have freely given me the right to dominate you, and can take it away at any moment. Really, that means you are in charge. You are tough, and brave, and confident. Nod your head."

Anne nodded her head obediently.

"Good. Now that you know you are sexy and powerful, I'll have way more fun breaking you!"

I laughed playfully, and that caused her to giggle. A tiny bit of a smile formed around her gag, a cheek rising up just a little. I hoped my words had an effect on her. 'Praise' wasn't exactly my forte, but it seemed to be working.

"I'm going to take you downstairs. There, we will see how powerful you really are. Anne, sexy, proud and defiant-- we'll see how long that lasts, when you are strapped down and tickled!" Anne's eyes widened in fear and eagerness.

"Does that sound fun to you?" I asked. She nodded her head.

Taking her gag out, I stepped closer to her and reached behind her head to loosen the buckle. She swallowed hard as the ball popped out of her mouth.

I grabbed her chin and forced her to make eye contact with me. "What are you, Anne?"

"Powerful and sexy..." she replied hesitantly.

"And what am I going to do to you?"

"You are going to try and break me..."

"And are you going to let me do that?"

She shook her head. For just a moment, she matched my eyes and I saw a flicker behind those pupils-- a spark of confidence; belief that she could win. That look in her eyes made me hesitate a bit. I guess going easy on her was out of the question!

I led her by the leash to the staircase. It took a turn halfway down, plunging into a basement that I had retrofitted into a comfortable sex dungeon. I went slow, ensuring Anne was safe on the staircase. They creaked softly beneath our weight as we stepped down.

The room was dark shades of gray and red, with mood lighting. The walls were soft fabrics and lined with tall mirrors and panels for equipment. Throughout the room were crosses and benches and other various furnishings. Some might have called it grim; but for me and my customers it was comfortable.

I watched Anne, while she looked around the familiar room. She always did that, scanning the furniture and walls with wide eyes, just the same as did the first time I welcomed her here. Her ball gag was resting loosely, like an odd piece of jewelry at the base of her neck. Her button-down blouse had come a bit loose where it was tucked into her dark skirt. I noticed her calves beginning to tremble slightly.

"Do you want to take those heels off, Anne?"

She looked at me and shook her head. "No, I'm fine for now... I like them." I admired her fortitude.

I went to the minifridge in the corner and got her a bottle of water. While she drank it, I loosened the rope leash around her neck and let it fall to the floor. She wiped water from her mouth with the sleeve of her blouse, then asked, "do you need me to undress?"

"No, Anne. Keep those clothes on, we'll see the limits of how confident they make you feel in a minute." She needed every advantage she could get-- and I had to admit I was enjoying the new style.

I grabbed her hand, and walked her over to an elaborate 'chair'. It was shaped like an X, with a bend in the middle so that its 'legs' were raised up into the air. It was made of black metal and dark red cushions. Anyone in it would have each of their limbs in a different direction. Armpits, feet, pussy, and stomach: all exposed.

That was the position I placed Anne in. Her stockinged legs were spread widely. Her tight skirt had been forced up around her waist by the position of her spread legs, exposing her pussy. Anne was looking at me nervously as I walked around, belting her limbs to the dark red cushions of the rack with wide straps. "It's so exposing..."

"I know," I had already tightened the straps around her ankles, and I was now adjusting the belts around her knees.

Her mouth hung open as she focused intently on the sensation of me tightening the straps around her limbs. She was already testing the restraints, pulling on her hands and trying to bring her legs together. That was a futile effort, her legs remained widely spread and her hands did not budge. She could still manage to twist her arms around and bring her back off the cushions of the rack.

That changed quickly when I brought straps around her biceps. These prevented her from twisting her arms for leverage, and also kept her nicely pinned down to the chair-rack. Now her movement was limited to less than an inch side-to-side, and rotating her head.

She looked nervous-- glancing around at each of her spread limbs and testing their movement. She would occasionally glance fearfully at me. I let her stew for a bit, eyeing her until she settled down. I stood between her legs, reaching forward with both hands to start unbuttoning her blouse from the bottom.

"All right, Anne. You wanted a game, so here are the rules. I'm going to tickle you, and you have to go five minutes without saying 'mercy'."

I continued unbuttoning her blouse, revealing her flat stomach.

"If you do say it, I'll stop immediately and give you a break. Remember, that is different from your safeword, which would let you end or change the scene immediately. Understand?"

By the end of my speech, there was just a single button holding the blouse over her breasts. She nodded her head, biting her lip and squirming anxiously. "Five minutes... that's not too long... I can do that."

"Sure. If you win, I'll reward you."

"Is there a punishment if I say 'mercy'?" she asked.

"I'll let you catch your breath every time, but that doesn't mean I have to be nice." I teased. I had a vibrating wand and a few other toys nearby, just in case.

"And what if I say it too many times?"

"You'll be there all night."

She laughed as if it were a joke, but I gave her a glare that twisted her face in fear. I saw her swallow nervously. Of course, logically I would let her out at some point, but the logical part of her brain was not in control right now. I'm sure she was imagining herself hours from now, still screaming and crying for mercy.