The Villainess Wins in the End...

"Tickle, tickle, tickle little knight!" she intoned while wearing a malevolent grin and spider walking her fingers from his hips down his legs to find a horribly ticklish spot in the hollows underneath his knees.

"Tickle, tickle, tickle! Cootchie, cootchie, coo!"

Within minutes Fenton could feel his face burning bright from a combination of humiliation and lack of oxygen. For the briefest of moments he thought she might have mercy and give him a break to catch his breath, but instead the tickling got even worse.

She began kneading his legs and making concentric rings with her fingertips and then suddenly collapsing them to tickle his kneecaps.

"Aaaahaahaahaaaahaaaahaa! Waahaarrhaaaheehuhuhou dooheeheeheeheeing! AGHahaahaahaahaaa!"

In response to his barely intelligible query, she only amped up the speed and intensity of the torture, making it literally impossible for him to form words.

"What am I doing?" She smiled as she continued her diabolical work.

"Can't you feel that I'm tickling you? Whose a tickewish widdle boy?Aww, I think it's you Fenton! You're my tickewish widdle boy aren't you?"

Something about the way the countess was teasing him verbally, calling attention to just how desperately ticklish he was and exactly what she was doing to him made the tickling itself much worse and brought him to new heights (or depths) of howling hysterics.

Additionally, Fenton began to realize through a deep mental fog of torment that at some point he had grown so aroused it was almost painful. His member was throbbing and throbbing along with his steady laughter. After a few more minutes, the countess took notice too.

She finally stopped the tickling of his legs and knees and wrapped a warm hand tenderly around his shaft. "Oh my little Fenton. Your lips keep begging me to stop but another part of you puts the lie to your words, isn't that so?"

Mortified by the betrayal of his own body, Fenton could only lay still and moan, marveling at how such a light touch of her hand could feel so insanely gratifying. Slowly and steadily, she pulled on his shaft until her hand reached the top and she added a twisting flourish that made him gasp. The friction. The glorious friction.

He moaned more loudly in ecstasy and delight, and to his surprise, she kept going, running her skilled fingers along his cock, teasing and teasing, but nonetheless bringing him closer and closer to orgasm with each touch. At last, she began increasing the friction degree by degree, pumping up and down the length of him with her hands.

Fenton was writhing, incapable of remaining still. Every single fiber of his nerves was on fire. All he could think about was how amazing her touch felt and how close he was to orgasm.

Of course poor ticklish Fenton could never have noticed, lost as he was in a world of pleasure that one of her hands had left his cock until she began furiously tickling his balls. He issued a shrill little cry of betrayal followed by a helpless barrage of laughter.

"Argheheeheahaahaahaahahaha!"

Fenton was besides himself. He simply could not help the shrieking notes that were coming out of his lungs. Those nails, so potent and accurate kept swirling around and around his balls, somehow finding ways to reduce him to nothing but a whimpering ticklish mess.

The countess was transfixed, watching his eyes and the pleading micro expressions crossing his face with rapt attention, a wide smile on her face.

To keep the things fresh, she kept up the most torturous mixture of pleasure and tickling. Again, and again her hands would coax and tease him right to the brink of orgasm, only to cheat him and resume tickling.

Lost somewhere in a dizzying world of arousal and ticklish torment, Fenton's sanity was unraveling. With each one of thousands of touches, some strange delusion was beginning to take hold of his mind.

Instead of torture, he thought, the countess was administering the most unendurable pleasure through her tickling. Surely she meant him no harm. Surely this must simply be the expression of her love.

Did he really want to escape any longer? If she released him would he truly run from this place and never return?

Flown away were the recollections of her crimes. All Fenton could focus on was her. The warmth of her body against his. The weight of her as she held him down. The endlessly ticklish touches she kept showering upon his body, and the inexplicable arousal they induced in him. All of these began to blur together, as he continued to thrash and cackle his appreciation of her continued ministrations.

As the borders of his vision turned fuzzy, Fenton heard a weak voice call out, "mistress please..."

When he came to, the countess was next to him gently sweeping his hair back from a sweat-slicked forehead. Fenton determined that, unable to maintain consciousness this time, he really had fainted.

However it could only have been for a few moments, as his angry erection had yet to subside. He mumbled incoherently and the countess shushed him softly.

"Shhhh. You've done so well thus far my ticklish little knight. Just breathe." She left his side and returned with water once more, easing him into a sitting position. She looked at him with an odd expression. "Did you mean what you said just now?"

Fenton's face registered confusion which slowly began to change with the dawn of realization. The voice crying out had been his own.

His delirium had been so strong that in the moment he had not even recognized his own voice.

He dropped his gaze to the bed and felt his cheeks burning. He nodded.

He felt her lean forward. Felt her finger lift his chin up again.

Now that he had the presence of mind to notice, the countess herself appeared out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed deeply, and a trickle of sweat descended her brow.

Seemingly motivated by his response, a genuine smile parted her lips. It was as if the heavens had split asunder and the radiance of the noonday sun had burst into the room. In spite of all he had been through at the hands of this evil woman, he could do nothing to prevent his heart from melting.

"Only once more my ticklish boy, and I promise you if you surrender to me this time, I'll make it worth your while." At first Fenton shrank back involuntarily, but then he paused. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on had changed within.

There was certainly a part of him that wanted to cry at the threat of more tickling, but the other part had begun to crave her every touch; even the torturous caresses he had been enduring for what must have been hours now.

She was watching him intently. Curiously. When he straightened up and faced her with another nod, she whispered "I knew you were special somehow."

Fenton cleared his throat and asked, "so how long did the baroness last?" Taken completely aback by the unexpected question, the countess tilted her head back and laughed loud and long. It was a beautiful lilting sound, and he felt disproportionately pleased for being the cause of it.

She ceased laughing and gazed at him. Suddenly she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. It was brief, but heavenly.

"Oh sweetie, she couldn't even last thirty minutes." She said after pulling away.

The countess reached out her hands and touched the leather cuffs clasping his wrists together, tracing some sort of pattern along the outside with her fingers. "Be a good boy and hold still," she said to him.

Then her voice dropped to a dulcet murmur as she began to intone strange syllables, her eyes closing as she focused. It was not a language he could comprehend, and yet he knew it at once.

It was the mysterious vernacular of sorcerers and witches, used to cast various glamers and magics from the old ways. It was the same language he had heard before when he was paralyzed and rendered unconscious during his capture.

He felt a firm pressure from the cuffs that bound his wrists together, as the cuffs themselves moved of their own accord, rising into the air and suspending his arms above his head. Mouth agape, he stared at them as they remain suspended in midair; transfixed by an unseen force.

He now found himself sitting upright with a slight amount of play left for him to flex his arms and move his torso. The countess circled behind him and, turning his head as much as he could, he saw that she had propped several fluffy looking pillows against the headboard of the bed.

She climbed into the bed right behind him, supported by the pillows at her back, just as he was now supported by her soft, warm body.

Gently, she pulled him back, adjusting the amount of tension on the cuffs independently until he was leaning back at an incline against her form, while his arms were still raised directly overhead. He tested the cuffs, but they didn't budge in the slightest.

It was very comfortable. His skin anticipated her touch, and she didn't make him wait. Softly, ever so lightly, her fingertips made contact with an incredibly sensitive spot just above his hips on both sides.

He flinched and squirmed, face already screwing up into a ticklish smile even though she hadn't even started moving her hands.

She stayed just like that for a moment. "I've been watching you for these three years now my ticklish little knight." She said huskily.

"While you were so eagerly rushing to catch me and earn your public acclaim, you lacked the privilege of knowing who I was.

I, on the other hand, have so enjoyed playing cat and mouse with you, both at court and afield."

Her fingers began to move, ever so slowly, in the tiniest almost imperceptible little circles in that one spot that tickled so much.

She hadn't even begun, but already Fenton was producing a steady stream of musical little giggles; tiny little notes of helplessness that spoke so much more than words ever could.

"My intuition kept drawing me to you. I saw longing in your eyes in our encounters, and behind that longing, a deeper passion. And I kept wondering over and over, how ticklish you might be. And now that we both know just how ticklish you really are, there's only one thing I need to hear from you my sweet knight."

Her fingers abruptly ceased all motion and withdrew.

Fenton was startled by the sudden absence of her touch. By the withdrawal of those warm and teasing digits. It seemed... cruel somehow.

And suddenly he knew exactly what she needed him to say. It was something he would never have had the audacity to utter even a few hours prior. And yet it was something he now had begun to realize he had wanted all along without ever knowing his own depths. It was something every cautionary voice in his brain screamed warnings for him not to utter. Fenton didn't listen.

He now had something now he hadn't had before. Perspective.

Fenton knew what was important in his life. And he could see clearly just how much he loved this woman who had broken him so easily.

His heart still beating so quickly from her confession, he inhaled as deeply as he could even as his body trembled in fear and excitement.

"Please mistress. Please tickle me!"

Before a moment had passed, those blessed teasing hands were back, but without caution this time, caressing, stroking, and skittering up and down the playground of his sides.

Once again the world slowed to a crawl and he became lost in an ocean of sensation and arousal and roaring laughter that shook him to his core. The tears that came unbidden to his eyes.

Were they tears of ticklish agony? Yes.

Were they tears of gratitude? Absolutely.

So many raging emotions churned within. And yet even while his body bucked, and every ticklish place was exploited again and again; even as he was consumed by passion he felt a still, small quiet place deep within at the core of his being that told him that he was finally home.

He started from his reverie, realizing that Lady Karla was murmuring again, in that sweet voice, so close behind that her warm breath titillated his ear.

She held both hands up in front of them so Fenton could see the eerie bluish glow captured there, enveloping her fingers. Almost as if in a trance, he watched as the bluish glow, still retaining the shapes of her fingers departed from their hostess and levitated their way slowly to the foot of the bed.

His eyes widened as he saw where they were going.

"Oh no... Oh no, oh no oh no!" He said more to himself than anyone else. Lady Karla whispered in his ear again, "Oh yessss."

Fenton scrunched up his eyes in horrid anticipation. The feeling as those magical digits made first contact with his re-sensitized feet was worse than anything his imagination could have prepared him for.

"OH NOAGHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!"

If he had forgotten the insanity produced by the tickling of his feet earlier, he was getting the perfect refresher course. And then, impossibly, Lady Karla's actual fingers rejoined the fun by attacking the hollows of his armpits.

Lights danced in front of his vision as Fenton cried out in the most desperate laughter of his life. The endless waves of overwhelming tickling were hitting his nervous system and blasting their way into his brain like lightning bolts. His body tried to levitate itself off the bed to no avail. He wasn't going anywhere.

There was no rhyme or rhythm; no routine or pattern. And the magical tickling felt uniquely different than the delicious sensation of her real fingertips as they capered idly in his armpits. He tried with all of his weakened strength to pull his arms down to stop the wicked torture of his ticklish underarms, but the merciless grip of his bonds gave up no ground whatsoever.

In the midst of it all, his wildly straining erection flapped about like a captive animal trying to break free of its captivity. Every inch of his exposed shaft felt engorged to its limit, throbbing with the intensity of his arousal as it mingled with the torture.

The ruthless tickling went on and on and on. Just when he felt he was losing consciousness yet again, the countess arrested the motion of the magical digits at his feet, and slowed her assault on his ribs, sides and pits to gentle caresses.

He panted, covered in sweat, hair disheveled, and still giggling nonstop even as he tried to catch what little breath he had left. Every touch felt like tickling to him at this point, even the calming attentions of her hands.

Lady Karla stopped her touches altogether and instead wrapped her arms around him from behind. He could feel her trembling as well, as if she were in as much a state of heightened arousal as he was.

When she spoke, her voice trembled with passion. "I made you a promise, didn't I?" She released him from her embrace and her hands began moving south. He dared not even hope or dream that she was about to do what her endless teasing had promised so long. "I promised that I would make it worth your while my ticklish little knight. And I always keep my promises."

So saying, her hands took hold of the length of his throbbing erection and began slowly pumping up and down. Unable to control the pleasure, all the more poignant from being denied him for so long, Fenton let out a growl of frustration and lust.

"Close your eyes," she whispered. He did as he was commanded without question, and found that the sensations coming from his cock were even more intense when he stopped seeing what she was doing to him. Her fingers, so lithe and masterful in their administration of tickle torture, were equally talented as they teased little patterns and swirls into his shaft and head and as they moved methodically from base to tip over and over again.

Without warning, the magic at the foot of the bed activated again, only on a much milder setting than before. But the sudden tickling still brough fresh tears of helpless giggling to his face, even as he squinted his eyes to keep them shut.

Fenton had long since gone over the edge into reckless self-abandonment. He knew in his soul of souls that he belonged to the villainess in every way. Everything she had threatened in the beginning had turned out to be true. She had broken him: mind, body and soul.

She had sensed a desire in him that even he did not know was there and teased it out to its full fruition.

As the tickling continued on his feet, soft and mild but deliberate, her hands continued to work on his body, playing him like an instrument. His laughter began mixing with little cries of absolute pleasure and joy as her efforts brought him closer and closer to inevitability.

At first, the tickling distracted him from appreciating the stimulation to his genitals, but as the two seemingly contradictory sensations continued to coexist, he realized that he had crossed a Rubicon; a point of no return where the tickling had fused itself with the arousal that was being enflamed by the countess.

And as each deft and sure stroke, twist, pump, and trace of the nails on his shaft brought him closer and closer to climax, Fenton felt the last vestiges of control ebb away only to be replaced by a growing ecstasy.

He felt his entire body completely relax into her fiery warmth behind him, and realized that she was groaning aloud, grinding her hips against his own; their soft cries of heightened arousal blending together.

As her attentions to him grew more and more insistent, the friction of her touches gathered and increased in intensity, and Fenton's moaning gave way to small screams, as the rumblings prior to orgasm began to unfurl from deep within. And then suddenly he was screaming at the top of his lungs, holding nothing back; taken by the unearthly and mind-shattering intensity of orgasm, as it slammed into him, ravishing his soul in wave after wave of bliss. Lady Karla's own cries mingled with his as they trembled together like two leaves in a tempest; riding the storm together to its end.

Seconds or hours later, when the raging pleasure had subsided enough for them to grow dimly aware of their surroundings again, they simply lay together. The magic vanished, and the cuffs around his hands and ankles opened of their own accord, dropping his hands unceremoniously into his lap. The countess snuggled into his back; her arms wrapped around his waist.

He felt so loved in that moment. So warm, and so very content.

"Lady Karla..." he began in a broken and hoarse voice.

"Mmmm?" She said, not possessing the energy required to give a more animated reply.

"I've been considering a life of crime as of late," he said enjoying the intoxication of her nearness. "Might you know anyone who could help me with a career change?"

For the second time that evening, Lady Karla laughed.