The Arrangement Ch. 03

This next session with her was going to be very taxing, and he was not planning to allow her any breaks once he started.

When the man was ready, he told her to follow him downstairs into his playroom. She did as she was told, and followed him closely down the stairs, feeling the coolness of the polished steps on her bare feet. There was a dimly lit hallway in front of them, with two doors on the left, and another on the right. There was also a larger set of double doors straight ahead, which is where he was taking her.

After he opened the doors, she was struck immediately by the size of the room. It seemed huge, but it was filled with furniture and equipment, the likes of which she had never seen before. A king size poster bed was at the far end of the room; to her left she saw a pillory that would hold a person bent over, secured by the neck and wrists. There were other devices she did not recognize, and she glanced around the room, taking it all in. The walls were decorated with various lengths of rope and chains, and part of the right wall had some sort of implement rack that housed crops, whips, straps and canes. A table nearby displayed an assortment of vibrators and dildos, along with a variety of oils and lubricants. It seemed like there were metal rings fitted all over the room, on the floor, ceiling, and walls, which she could only assume were used for tying victims in various humiliating and compromising positions.

He noticed her looking around the room and smiled. She was wide-eyed, taken aback by all the bondage devices and equipment present. He decided to show her some of it before they got started.

He went to the bench she was looking at. "This is the whipping bench I mentioned to you," he explained, patting the leather padded top. "Come here, I'll show you how it works."

"Stand here and lean over the top," he ordered. She slowly approached the bench, and heart pounding, leaned forward until her hips lay on the padding. She had to stand on her tiptoes in order to get in the right position.

"See those cuffs below you?"

"Yes Sir."

"Your wrists would be fastened in there, while your ankles," he said, pausing to bend down and grab one, "would be secured here," he finished, pushing her leg over to where the ankle cuff was tethered. Standing, he placed one hand on the small of her back, holding her in place, while he explored her magnificent ass with the other.

"Thus bound, your pretty behind would then be in an excellent position for whatever might be on the discipline menu," he said, gently slapping her cheek.

She swallowed nervously, starting to tremble again.

"But we aren't using this bench right now," he explained, helping her upright again.

"And this over here," he continued, "is a St. Andrew's cross. My willing victim is tied to the cross members with arms and legs spread. Moving down the room, he pointed to an area that had lots of chains and ropes dangling from large beams in the ceiling. "Of course, that is where I like to suspend guests like you by the wrists and ankles... or other parts of their bodies, for playtime."

She looked at him, fear starting to mix with the excitement she was also feeling. She wasn't surprised exactly; these things had been outlined in the contract. But now that she was here, this was far more real. In moments she was about to become her kinky benefactor's next tied up guest.

He took her by the hand and led her over to the other side where a large wooden structure sat. "This is one of my favorites," he explained. "These are stocks, which are used to secure someone in a seated position, legs outstretched with their ankles enclosed by the top and bottom boards." He undid a metal hasp, and lifted the top portion, which was hinged at one end. Semi-circular openings in the top and bottom lined up to fit around the person's ankles. "The openings are lined with memory foam, and covered in leather," he went on to explain, "so guests don't hurt themselves by their sometimes quite violent struggling." He smiled at her as he said that part.

"The bench itself is quite heavy, nearly immovable," he explained, "and has a comfortable padded seat, and small backrest." He pulled a knob on the front of the bench, exposing an opening right where the person would sit. "And this provides access to the pussy while they are locked in, if I should so desire," he said, proud of his hand-crafted bondage device.

She watched him show her parts of the stocks but was only partly aware of him talking. Her heart was beating hard in her chest again, as her mind raced through scenarios of how he might tickle her. Suddenly she realized that he had asked her a question.

"Sir? I'm sorry, I was distracted for a minute," she explained sheepishly.

He had an amused look on his face. "Quite understandable," he said. "All of this can be a bit overwhelming the first time you visit here." His face darkened. "Understandable, but not excusable," he said flatly. "So now, let's get down to business, pet."

She watched anxiously as he walked behind the stocks and pointed to the bench. "Have a seat," he said with a flourish, "make yourself comfortable."

Reluctantly, she moved over to the device and sat down. He was standing behind her. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. She'd never even been tied up before, let alone secured in a bondage device like this. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.

While she did, he buckled a leather strap around her waist, holding her tightly to the seatback. Then, he lowered a thick rope from overhead, and buckled both of her wrists into leather cuffs dangling from the end of it. He pulled on the rope, raising her arms up over her head, pulling until there was little slack left. He noticed her looking up at her bound wrists as he tied the rope off behind her.

Now it was time for her feet. She had gorgeous legs, and he ran a hand up one, feeling the softness of her skin. The leg twitched involuntarily; she was quite sensitive.

Once her ankles rested on the bottom portion of the stocks, he swung the heavy top portion down, and locked them. She couldn't see her feet anymore, as the wooden boards now hid them from view. His view, however, was perfect. Her soft-looking soles stood out against the darker wood of the stocks, and he felt his cock harden as he thought about what was to come. But first things first -- her bondage was not yet complete, and that needed to be done before the fun began.

Taking a long, pliable leather thong, he wound it around her big toes, and used it to tie them tightly together. Not so tight as to cut off circulation; just tight enough that when she struggled, the bonds would not come loose. The free ends of the thong were pulled upwards and tied to a metal bar attached to the stocks that sat just above her toes. Once pulled tight and tied off, her feet could barely move. But he had a couple of more slim strips of leather left.

He tied the thong around the little toe of her right foot and pulled outward and up before tying it off to the bar. A few moments later, he did the same with her other little toe. Standing back, he surveyed his work, pleased with the result. Her feet were helplessly bound now, and she would be unable to move them or curl her toes down once the tickling started. To finish things off, he took a leather strap and buckled it above her knees, reducing her ability to bend or move her legs.

Now she was starting to worry. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she could feel him tying her toes with the thongs. She tried wiggling her feet but found she could just barely move some of her toes. She felt so helpless now that her bare feet were exposed on the other side of the wood, and she knew that he was going to tickle her. She pulled on her wrists, but the rope held firm. Swallowing nervously, she looked at the man, hoping he would see how helpless and nervous she was, and show her mercy.

He must have known what she was thinking, because he smiled and went to stand beside his beautiful guest. Her nipples were hard again, and he saw the skin around her neck and breasts start to flush. Her pupils were dilating, and her breath was coming faster. Whether she knew it or not, she was aroused by this. He was not surprised, of course -- many other women had responded the same way to the bondage. What remained to be seen was how she reacted to being on the receiving end of some tickle torture.

Locking her eyes with his, he pinched her nipple and rolled it between his fingers, then played with it.

"Ohh,...," she gasped. It felt good, his firm hands pleasuring her, even if it was just a small thing. As quick as it began, it ended. Disappointed, she watched him walk away to fetch a black cart and wheel it over in front of the stocks. The top was littered with a multitude of colored feathers, paintbrushes, oils, lotions, hairbrushes, and other things she had no clue about. Some of them had power cords!

Heart racing, sweat beading on her brow, she waited anxiously for him to start tickling her. She hadn't been tickled by anyone in a long time. The last time was when she and her husband were fooling around one night in the living room, watching a movie, and he had tickled her ribs until she fell laughing onto the floor, where they wrestled and laughed and eventually made love.

The man brought over a chair and sat down facing her feet. He decided on trying a stiff, white feather to start things off. Slowly, he dragged the tip of the feather across the toes of both feet. He heard her gasp and saw her face twitch from the unexpected touch. Her perfect little toes tried to move, but they could not escape the teasing feather that changed direction and retraced its path.

He did this a few times, then switched to stroking the feather tip up one helpless sole, starting with her heel, moving across her pale arch, and gliding across the fleshy ball of her foot, before pausing to dance between her toes.

She felt the feather tickling her and fought to remain silent. She tried pulling back on her ankles, and moving her feet side to side, but there definitely was no escaping whatever her host wanted to do with her sensitive feet.

She saw him pick up another feather, and now two feathers worked at tickling her: one stroking up, while the other stroked downward. Up and down the feathers went, tickling her feet and making her squirm. Her feet were sensitive to the feathers, and she now could not help but giggle every time they found a ticklish spot. She could feel the laughter building inside her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before his stroking caused it to burst forth, like a slow leak in a dam that finally collapses and releases torrents of water.

That moment came when he set down the feathers and began using his fingernails to lightly scratch and scrape her now sensitized soles. This made her laugh out loud, and she pulled hard at the bonds on her wrists and ankles. She felt his fingertips scratch on her heels, and then race up to play with her toes. Sometimes he would rapidly tickle her arches in a fast, spider-like motion, making her squeal with laughter. This went on for several minutes, she guessed.

It really did tickle a lot, she thought between bouts of laughter. While he tickled, he teased her verbally, talking to her like she was a child.

"Does that tickle my pet?" he would ask, his fingers gliding across her skin. And she would answer with a giggle or shriek, depending on the spot.

"Is this making you wet," he asked, "is this turning you on, my little plaything?"

"No Sir, it doesn't!" she said, beginning to feel a little breathless. But that was a lie.

"Really," he answered, pausing to rub her toes. "Are you quite sure of that?"

She was about to answer when she felt his tongue licking her sole, starting at the soft heel and working its way up to her toes. She cried out at the sensation -- his warm tongue stimulating her in a completely new way. She started to laugh louder as his tongue pushed in between her toes and teased the soft skin there. Never had a man ever done that to her, and the feeling was ticklish and pleasurable at the same time.

When he combined tickling her arches with licking her toes, she lost all composure. She shrieked like a banshee, twisting wildly in her bonds, begging him to stop.

"Oh God, it tickles!" she cried, as she vainly tried to resist his tickling torment.

He tickled and licked his way over every inch of her helpless soles, while she was slowly driven to hysterics. The way it felt like pleasure and pain, both at the same time, was truly electrifying to her. It made her feel weak, and made her beg for it to stop, but it made her slit wet with her juices. And it made her mind unable to focus on anything except the arousing but tormenting sensations she felt.

The man stopped for a moment and moved beside her. She thought he was giving her a break, which she could use to catch her breath.

But that was not what he was. He examined her nipples, standing out hard like bullets, and put a hand down to examine her pussy. He showed her his glistening fingers, before placing them on her lips. She licked them, then started sucking them and felt incredibly aroused.

"Good girl," he whispered in her ear, gently toying with her breasts. "You enjoy being tickled and teased," he said.

She moaned, licking her wet lips, and enjoying his touch. "Yes... I mean no, no... I'm just so ticklish," she whined submissively, feeling the heat between her legs.

"I know," he answered with a laugh. "And yet, being tickled increases arousal for most people," he explained, moving back to sit in front of her feet. He picked up a bottle of coconut oil and began to pour it on both feet. He rubbed it into her soles and toes, coating every inch of flesh with the lubricating agent. "It's obviously working on you," he added, glancing down at her glistening pussy.

She watched him do this, loving what felt like a foot massage, but unsure of what was coming next. He picked up two big hairbrushes and showed them to her. Grinning, he sat back down to face her shiny soles.

"The last guest I used these on nearly ended our arrangement," he said. "She said she'll never look at a hairbrush the same way again," he added, as he placed the bristles of the brushes against her soles and began to scrub.

Her eyes went side and she shrieked, high-pitched laughter erupting unbidden as the hard bristles scraped her oil-covered feet. She couldn't believe how bad it tickled! It was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and she couldn't help the loud squeals that pierced the room, it tickled that much. She thrashed and pulled, straining against her bonds, helpless to stop the bristles that attacked her soles.

He enjoyed her struggles and howls of laughter and loved seeing her feet try and squirm away from the hairbrushes. Soon she was begging.

She managed to find enough air to respond. "PLEASE... please stop!"

To her surprise, he did. She looked at the man, who sat still, looking at her.

"Thank y...!!" was all she managed to get out before the brushes returned to tickling her.

Now she heard his laughter, not loud like hers, but low and soft, and she knew he really enjoyed driving her crazy. And in the next second she shut her eyes and thrashed in silent laughter as the bristles found the most ticklish parts of her arches and seemed to focus on them with laser-like precision.

She could not say if it was minutes or hours that she sat in the stocks, helpless and screaming with laughter as her host cruelly tickled her poor feet. All she could do was laugh, scream, and beg, and toss her head from side to side, trying desperately to shut out the torturous sensations that flooded her consciousness.

Suddenly, he stopped, and crouched down beside her. She was gasping and panting, her chest heaving with the exertion of taking in breath. Her abs ached as if she had done a hundred crunches.

Only when he put a finger inside her pussy did she feel that she was sopping wet. He stroked her a little, teasing her clit, and she felt like she would cum in seconds if he kept it up. Unfortunately for her, he only meant to check her readiness, and he decided it wasn't quite time to move to the next phase.

"Please Sir, I need...," she gasped, "please let me cum!"

"You mean you want this?" he asked, gently stroking her clit.

"YES... oh, yes please, Sir..." she begged, grinding her hips into the seat that was slick with her sweat and juices.

"Not yet, my pet," he responded, leaving her to go and bring his stool around behind her. He took a spray bottle of oil and gave her breasts, belly, armpits and ribs a good coating of the slippery substance.

"Oh my God," she groaned, dismayed that he wasn't finished tickling her yet. Her ribs and underarms were just as sensitive as her feet. She felt his fingers stroking her belly, massaging the oil into her skin, as her giggles rose to the surface once more.

His fingers found her waist and squeezed. She screeched, and tried bucking her body off the chair, but was bound too tightly. All she could do was twist her upper body left and right, trying to escape his touch. But his hands followed no matter where she moved, kneading her ribs, and dancing inside her ticklish armpits. The volume of her laughter was such that he had to gag her.

He soothed her, telling her it wouldn't be much longer as he placed the large, red ball in her mouth. The straps were buckled tightly around her head, and once more his roving hands found her breasts and started teasing. Her hard nipples were slick with oil and sweat, and she found that having them pinched and stroked now aroused her beyond words.

Then the woman whipped her head from side to side, gagged laughter filling the room as he mercilessly tickled her ribs and armpits. She was helpless to resist the overpowering sensations and could only scream her frustration into the gag. When he sprayed more oil down on her armpits, she fought madly to twist away from his fingers, but they dove into her smooth pits and tickled up and down her side. She shrieked and writhed, praying it would end soon.

Suddenly she felt something down below her. He had a Hitachi attached to a stand that he adjusted with the tip just resting on her dripping pussy.

The hum of the vibrator was followed soon by muffled moans, as he played with her breasts again while his breath tickled her ear. She pushed her hips toward the vibrations, wanting to cum so badly. She moaned, tremors moving through her clit, then watched as she the man kissed and licked her breasts.

"Do you know why I use coconut oil, my dear?" he asked, making her look at him.

She shook her head.

"So that I can do this," he said, and pushed toward her, planting his mouth over her armpit. He nibbled at her soft, slippery pit, and lashed the tender flesh with his tongue. Wide-eyed, she howled and thrashed. It was erotic torture; combined with the Hitachi, it was driving her closer to an explosive orgasm. But then the vibrator stopped.

He could see the utter frustration and desperation on her face, as he moved around to give her other underarm some oral treatment. The timing device the Hitachi was plugged into was on a random setting that turned it on and off. It was enough to tease and arouse, but not enough to push her over the edge. It might be off for another minute, or longer, before coming back on.

By the time she had figured this out, he had already licked his way across the other side, and tears of laughter appeared in her eyes. Her pussy was throbbing with need, but the damn vibrator only teased her. Never in her life had she felt this way; never had anyone driven her to the point where she would beg to be fucked, beg for the orgasm she desperately wanted. Laughing, moaning, begging, and squirming, she simultaneously loved and hated every minute of it.