The Villainess Wins in the End...

INTRODUCTION: A few people on the tickling subreddit have encouraged me to write some tickling fiction, and this prompt seemed the perfect opportunity to do so. This is technically my first time writing tickling fiction, so please be kind.

NOTE: This story contains something akin to non-consensual tickling, and if F/M. It also contains gentle femdom. If any of these things are not up to your tastes, feel free to exit without offense given or taken.

Without further ado, here is the story.

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Sir Fenton plunged through a small tangle of afternoon shoppers in the market, sending one woman flying with her bags and goods levitating in slow motion along with her, her face a pantomime of shock. The knight had no time for the townswoman or her plight. His eyes were narrowed straight ahead on a lithe figure clad in black leather making a precise left turn into an alleyway.

Although part of him felt bad for knocking the wind out of the pedestrian, Fenton knew that there were far bigger stakes in this game of tag, and doggedly pushed on at a breakneck pace to the end of the alley.

Peering down to the end of it, giving his eyes little time to grow accustomed to the waning illumination, he thought he saw the same figure spring atop a crate, and leap nimbly up to grip the lower sill of a window.

"If you stop running it'll go better for you in court!" He shouted halfheartedly, already knowing he was wasting his breath but compelled to try anyway. The human shape even now leveraging itself up and into the open window was none other than the notorious art and jewel thief labeled the Wraith by the local populace of Blumberg.

A considerable bounty had been laid upon the thief's head, but Sir Fenton was far less concerned with the bounty than he was the relationships he had been honing with the nobility. He had a reputation for taking on problems of all shapes and sizes, so long as they would inflate his already sizeable public image.

This particular thief, however, was far from the common fare, being so bold as to invade the local baroness's mansion the evening prior and taking only the most valuable of art pieces and jewelry. The baroness herself had been bound hand and foot to the four corners of her own bed with a bit of cloth wadded up and stuffed into her mouth to prevent her signaling the guards.

The Wraith had proven himself formidable; intelligent and intuitive right from the start. Now at the end of a reign of terror close to three years long, he was about to be caught! Breathing ragged with the furious chase, Fenton raced to the end of the alley and duplicated his prey's movements by leaping atop the crate and jumping up to catch the lip of the window.

This kind of thing would have been impossible in clunky armor, but given his far more modest padded vest and fustian, his range of motion was far greater. He was very strong. The training regimen he kept up every day was not for show, and his body responded like a well oiled machine, pulling his weight up and forward over the edge of the sill and into an even darker antechamber.

This appeared upon a quick glance to be a powder room or something of the sort, but Fenton knew he had no time to spare. A muffled clatter from somewhere deeper within the residence spurred him forward.

As he ran through the open entryway into the next room, a brief flicker of instinct pulled him up short, but it was already too late.

A pair of hands grabbed him firmly on each side by the arm and shoulder. Something warm, tingling and relaxing began in the back of his head and he heard murmured syllables from behind.

Shit! A paralysis spell!

The warm comforting tingle turned into numbness spreading upwards and across the crown of his brow and further down his body. All strength seemed to depart him as the murmuring syllables grew fainter. He was in a dark turning tunnel teetering; falling. The darkness claimed him.

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Fenton slowly came to out of a dreamless and timeless place.

The first thing he could feel was an odd pulsing in his head; not quite at the threshold of headache but not comfortable either.

He moaned as his eyelids fluttered and then slowly cracked open.

Licking his lips, he groggily squinted around.

He was laying on his back, fully clothed in the middle of a massive and luxurious bed. The subtle brush of the sheets against his hands informed him that they was silk.

His next unpleasant discovery came when Fenton tried to move his extremities. Something was binding his wrists and his ankles, giving him almost no slack at all with which to move. After a long few moments of pointless struggle, he lay back and stilled his breathing.

The room in which he was being held captive was quite large, and the perimeter of it was not immediately discernible.

No light filtered in from any windows or doors, and there was absolutely no sound from the streets.

In spite of the lack of apparent light source, a number of objects could be perceived as vague shapes in the stygian gloom. Enough light played across the floor for him to see luxurious carpeting with an elaborate Persian pattern in emerald green and gold brocade.

Something about the pattern of the carpet was mesmerizing, and his eyes traveled along the incline of the floor until his visual exploration was suddenly terminated by a woman's foot, naked and fetching in the ambient glow of the diffuse lighting.

Something about the foot and the way the rest of its owner was cloaked in darkness caused Fenton's heart to skip a beat and his blood to run cold. It spoke of deliberation, of theatrical effect.

The owner of the foot shifted slightly forward with a soft rustle of fabric, and he could now make out that the outline around the figure was a sizeable armchair. A silken and feminine voice purred from the shadows. "Ah. And so, at last the renowned hero Sir Fenton Blackwood graces us with his presence."

Fenton finally managed to swallow and regain his composure. "Who are you!" The volume of his voice after he had not heard himself speak for so long surprised him momentarily. When there was no immediate response he hastened to add, "Kidnapping of any person, never mind a member of the knighthood and of the noble court is a crime punishable by death!"

Now the figure in the armchair stirred again. "Yes, it most certainly is Sir Fenton. And yet you find yourself in my clutches nonetheless." She chuckled. It was a mirthless chuckle that sounded something like the sound a predatory bird might make before making a meal of its prey.

A note of pleading entered Fenton's voice much to his own frustration. "N-now please listen miss. Whatever you have in mind isn't necessary. If you stop this nonsense now and release me, things will..."

"Go better for me in court...?" A husky whisper intoned.

Again Fenton's blood froze in his veins. This could not possibly be.

This woman was the Wraith?

A movement sharpened his attention in time to see a second equally sexy foot descend to join the first on the floor. The woman rose from her seat and began to pad her way to the bed, one deliberate step at a time.

The first of her to be revealed to the light was a stunning dark blue flare-sleeved court dress wrapping around long and graceful legs. A milk white hand also came into view, delicate fingers reaching out to trail across the silk of the bed sheets. Finally, her ample cleavage and face were illuminated.

Hers was an piercing beauty so perfect it would cause anyone to fall in love at first sight. Full and pouting lips beneath a button nose and a pair of eyes the most striking shade of violet they almost appeared to be dusted plum in the lambent glow.

Sir Fenton gasped. His eyes bulged in shock. He worked his tongue but words failed him. Finally he managed to squeak "C-countess Von Lunark?!"

The countesses eyes bored holes in him, and one corner of those seductive lips curled upwards in a sardonic expression as she let the full implications of his predicament sink in.

Countess Karla Von Lunark was not only one of the most well known and powerful of the nobility of Blumberg, but notoriously a damsel, in open defiance of her family's wishes.

A constellation of rumors regarding her secret trysts and more ominous speculation about enemies of the Von Lunark family disappearing mysteriously to the vicinity of her rural mansion never to be seen from again were sources of frequent gossip.

Sir Fenton had fallen for her at first sight, just like so many others before him, but was certain that she hadn't even known he existed.

But to think that the countess herself was also the legendary Wraith was beyond absurd.

And to realize he had been so hungry for the glory of capturing her that he had impulsively given chase alone was just as embarrassing.

He was becoming keenly aware at this moment of the fact that absolutely no one knew where he was or where he had gone.

Even if he could manage to escape whatever this situation was rapidly becoming, nobody would believe his word over hers. As if reading his mind and accentuating the point, the countess smiled an angelic little smile and pouted.

"What a shame that this meager knight, thinking he could have his way with a countess, dared to intrude upon me in my own mansion to press his affections upon me." She drew a weary hand, trembling for effect over her brow.

"And then to make matters worse he began accusing me of a litany of pretty crimes--"

"We both know that isn't the case!" Sir Fenton shouted indignantly. "The baroness will report you and verify my account! Surely she must have seen you!" The angelic pout on the countesses face morphed into a wicked leering grin. "Oh would she? Surely you must have noticed how she stayed as quiet as a mouse when questioned by the constabulary yesterday..."

Oh shit. She was right. The baronesses reticence coupled with the compromising position in which she had been found after the robbery indicated that her silence had somehow been coerced.

"You evil..." Sir Fenton fumed. "What did you do to her?"

The countess retrieved a small padded stool which she placed at the foot of the bed. She then gracefully sidled to the side of the bed and with slow deliberate movements began undoing Sir Fenton's vest and removing his garments.

"What are you... What are you doing?" He gasped as her fingertips grazed a couple of sensitive places. She seemed to take note of this, looking him in the eyes as she finished with his upper body garments. "What does it look like? I'm removing your clothes. You won't soon be needing them. And as for the baroness... Well you're out about my methods firsthand."

The countess returned to the foot of the bed and sat on the stool.

He felt her nimble fingers begin methodically undoing the buckles on his boots. She began tugging them off of his feet one at a time.

He squirmed uncomfortably and panic began to set in at just how powerless he was to stop her from doing anything.

"You know I think a naughty little knight without any respect for his betters deserves to be punished." She continued, her voice low and ominous.

Sir Fenton fidgeted even more as he felt his feet suddenly exposed to the cool air of the room. He opened his mouth to implore her not to hurt him in any way, but she chose that exact moment to crawl up the bed, moving up his legs to his waist and undoing his pants.

"Please milady, this is indecent in the extreme." He protested, but without much conviction this time.

"Mmmhmm. Soooo indecent, much like the audacity of a little knight forcing his way into my chambers in the dead of night. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you have ravished me with your eyes at court Sir Fenton."

As if to prove her point, she tugged down his pants liberating his cock from his undergarments only for it to spring immediately to attention, betraying his dignity and revealing all secrets.

"I've heard a curious rumor, little knight," the countess said in a teasing drawl as she stood from the bed and began to undo her own dress. "I heard a lovely little tale that, in lieu of your squire, a couple of rather eager young ladies were seen 'helping' you out of your armor. So the rumor goes, you happen to be quite ticklish..."

Everything in Fenton's body froze in apprehension. He was even inadvertently holding his breath. She absolutely could not tickle him.

She couldn't. He was already in such a compromising situation, and his feelings for her had been exposed, among other things. He couldn't bear it if she...

The dress suddenly fell to the floor revealing the most stunning feminine form Fenton had ever seen. He simply couldn't tear his eyes away no matter what, so utterly entranced was he by her full and generous bosom and the way her shapely curves seemed to swirl and blend in the ambient light.

And that hair! That raven black hair that spilled almost to her waist.

He was almost too enchanted to catch what the countess said next.

"Tell me sweet Sir Fenton, most stoic of all the knights stationed here in the city. Are you... Ticklish?" Fenton's eyes widened. There was no way. She simply wouldn't. There was no way the countess would ever actually...

And yet there she was, sitting again at the foot of the bed, every action excruciatingly deliberate, raising both of her hands above Fenton's oh-so-vulnerable feet. She wiggled her fingertips and grinned devilishly.

"My, my! How well you take care of these little feet. Anyone who pampers their feet like this definitely wants someone like me to come along and touch them!"

"No! No please! Please! Countess I beg of you to let me go I swear on my mother's soul I will never tell a word--"

His monologue was cut short by some of the most intense sensations he had ever felt in his life. The unbearably ticklish feeling of two tapered fingertips exploring every inch of his soles. Sharp little fingernails being used to softly trace patterns and outlines.

A stream of giggles and guffaws came pouring unbidden from his mouth which had become a strained grin. On and on she went. Her fingers endlessly inquisitive, their technique ceaselessly inventive. They made tiny little concentric circles, widening slowly to encompass his whole foot, they moved up and down sliding across tender arches, they unerringly homed in on exquisite little spots that elicited the most powerful reactions and lingered there for what felt like hours but were probably mere moments.

Wuah-ha-ha-hahahaha! Why arhahahahah! Pleheheheeheese!

For the first time in his life Fenton was experiencing real tickle torture. His initial giggles quickly became waterfalls of guttural laughter, which terrified him as he realized the complete lack of control over his own body and his utter inability to stop laughing.

At last she stopped and he lay gasping, a thin veil of sweat already broken out across his body. He was in trouble.

He could never have anticipated how dreadfully intense that first touchdown of just two fingertips would have felt, or how intuitively the countess could read every sensitive place on his flesh as if he were an open book.

"Aren't you just adorable my ticklish little boy." The countess sounded sightly out of breath herself, and Fenton thought he could make out a blush of pleasure creeping onto her features.

"But dearest Fenton I'm afraid I have a confession to make. If you are the 'heroic knight', then I am the villainess of this story, and what you have experienced up until now has only been the warmup!

Scream as loud or as much as you desire my toy. These walls have muted tormented cries that would put your mewling to shame.

Starting from this moment, I'm going to break you body, mind and soul. When I am done you will beg me to give you release. You will beg me for the privilege to live as my tickle slave!"

And so saying, the countess dug into Fenton's feet with all ten scampering digits. Existence exploded into ticklish hell. Never in his life had Fenton known he could laugh so hard. Never in his life had he imagined anything could tickle SO FUCKING BAD.

Hahahahahahaha! Ahhahahaaahaaagaaahd!HAAHAAHAAHAHAGHAAA

HAHAHAHAAHAAHAA!

No matter how his laughter pleaded for him with it's fluctuating crescendos and long breathless staccatos it could never begin to express just how ticklish he really was, or what this insidious woman was doing to him.

Her fingers were fucking everywhere and they tickled so... damn... bad! Every time Fenton began to endure the tiniest bit of the torture the countess would instantly read him and change her technique or angle of approach, making him swoon against the bed in helpless paroxysms of ticklish agony.

Her acrobatic fingers found their ways between his toes where they sawed back and forth. He would desperately try to conceal one foot with the other only to have her capture the newly exposed limb and peel the toes way back for more furious work on his exposed and helpless soles.

She scratched his heels. Her fingertips found the tops of his feet and scrabbled there for what felt like forever. Each time he tried to focus all his remaining concentration to beg, she would sense him trying to speak, and her fingers would become blurs of frenzied tickling that would cause his eyes to swim, and wrench gale after gale of brutal laughter from his lungs.

Again, and again his head slammed against the mattress, again and again her fingers would attack in wave after wave of maddening coordination.

It felt as if his whole world had contracted to a vanishing point of awareness that began and ended in his helpless feet.

Just when he thought she could do no more a new agonizing ticklish sensation blasted its way into his brain as the countess began nibbling his arches and toes. Fenton went absolutely ballistic.

There was no room for thought any more. His world consisted of nothing but these terribly gentle teeth torturing his poor defenseless feet and his insane endless laughter...

When she finally stopped, he lay there insensate, as one of the dead for nearly ten minutes, not even realizing that she had given him a break.

When he regained his awareness, he took his bearings only to find his wicked captor at the foot of the bed again, chin resting in her left palm, studying him with a curious mixture of excitement and... Could that be affection? She smiled at him and got to her feet, bringing him a glass of cool water from somewhere nearby. She loosened his bonds enough to help him into a semi-sitting position where he could drink.

"Who could have known that such a big strong knight is such a ticklish little boy," the countess cooed softly. Fenton blushed beet red in humiliation. She giggled. "You love being my prisoner don't you?" Fenton said nothing, but he did not protest.

Why? Why didn't he protest? Was she right?

She took the water when he was finished and lowered him back to the mattress, snugly securing him again. She circled around to the foot of the bed and got on it, scooting her knees up just inside Fenton's shins.

"Ready for round two?" She inquired with a raised eyebrow.

At this he could no longer maintain his earlier stoicism.

"Lady Karla I beg you please, please have mercy!" Fenton began to plead. "I'm too ticklish I won't survive any more... Agghhhhahahahahahaaahaaaa!"

The countess had been looking directly at him, nodding sympathetically as if his words were having an impact, and then struck without warning, her wicked nails dancing all over his upper legs. Up they went to dance playfully over his belly, and down they went into the ultra sensitive areas of his inner thighs.

Again he was sent into endless streams of involuntary mirth as torrents of laughter erupted from his body. This time the countess was not content to silently torture him, instead spicing up the ordeal with a series of humiliating taunts and teasing.