Is this thing recording? Nobody else is going
to hear this, right? I’m really
screwed if Madame finds out. Madame Diane is the Sorority Administrator, number
three on the Senior Council, equal to the Comptroller and second only to the
Sorority President and Vice-President. I am Madame’s drone, which is
essentially her assistant. My job is kept safely anonymous by the fact that we
only excercise our duties during disciplinary boards, and we wear black silk
hoods we keep secretly while we do what Madame wants us to. To keep our
anonymnity, we are not called to our duties until the hallways are cleared,
which is the procedure during a D-board, which is what we call them. We are
then called out one at a time and don’t face each other. To be honest, I don’t
even know who the other drones are, and it’s not like we advertise, if you know
wht I mean.
I have been the Madame’s drone for almost two years now, and I have to admit
that I like being a drone. It’s not that I am in any way expressly lesbian, but
I always have been interested in bringing about a person’s submission by
tickling, especially other women and especially on their feet. I also like
being tickled, but I don’t let that out because Madame is merciless. In our
Sorority, it is a matter of principle that we keep disagreements and other
difficulties inside of the front door. As the Administrator, it is her job to
handle in-house problems of this nature to prevent an unfavorable light to be
shed on us to the embarassment of the sorority, as well as the supervision of
the yearly pledge rushes. Do you promise this won’t get out?
Well, okay. I guess if I could recall a favorite story, it would be about the
time we had to indoctrinate Angela. A pretty, intelligent and highly
opinionated hispanic woman, this young medical student rushed successfully into
the sorority as a freshman on a soccer scholarship full of energy and vigor.
Right away she showed herself to be an attitude problem, not so much for any
outright house infractions but for her constant bending of the rules to test
how far she could go. She was always so mean to me! I personally didn’t like
her and watched her closely, hoping one day I would just catch her in the act
of something and put her on report for disciplinary action. I just knew her
petite, olive-skinned attractive body was ticklish, and I was desperate to find
out how much. Time and again she would get busted for something just to have it
thrown out by the governing council thanks to the silver tougne of the Freshman
Secretary, Mary C., who in reality I didn’t have a problem with. She was a
goody two-shoes, so I didn’t ever expect to see the Madame ever get to her, but
that’s another story.
In any case, though the Administrator is number three on the Senior Council
and can voice an opinion concerning disciplinary issues, she is not allowed to
vote on them because she is in charge of disciplinary action just as the House
Comptroller can speak on but not vote on financial issues. This, of course,
left me seething almost as bad as it pissed off Madame Diane until the day she
was involved in a fight in the House. Even Mary C. couldn’t save the arrogant
little snot, and she was delivered the following choice by the Council:
Dishonorable Expulsion from the sorority, or a sentence to be meted by the
council followed by a “clean slate.” Since a DEX (as it’s called on campus)
from a sorority would mean she could never join another one, she placed herself
t at the council’s mercy. I held my breath...
For joy! She was sentenced to meet in the Darkroom in gym shorts for one
hour’s indoctrination. Filled with excercise equipment as well as assorted
tools to the Madame’s liking, the Darkroom is her haven, the one place where
she is absolute ruler. Even the Sorority President and Vice-President have no
power there; they can only observe for safety to insure she is not too rough
with her charges. Here she can conduct intensive physical excercises, or
anything else she deems appropriate as long as no physical pain is involved No
pain? Wonderful, just wonderful...
I brought Angela in with another drone, we being the only people allowed in
the Darkroom besides the Senior Council and the convicted one. Being the drones
we are, we do Madame Diane’s every bidding without a sound during
indoctrination. “Secure the convicted on the adduction machine,” she commanded
as the President, Vice-President and Comptroller took their seats.
Being athletic, Angela looked at me smugly as her legs were strapped to the
excercise machine and her arms were taped behind the bench. “What, you want me
to excercise for an hour?” she told the Madame. “What a joke.” I winced!
She
really had no idea what was about to happen. Then again, Madame Diane gets in
funny moods sometimes, so I really didn’t know what would happen either.
“Silence! You think this is funny?” Madame demanded.
“No.”
“Adress me by my title, worm.”
“No, administrator,” she spat.
“So, this is a joke? You think it’s funny? I will give you something to laugh
at!” I was really going to enjoy this! Just the anticipation of it brought me
to a level of arousal I could barely control. “Set the weights to maximum.” I
did as told.
“How am I supposed to move this?” she stated flatly.
“You can’t. That’s the idea. Drones, remove her sneakers.” I gleefully
did as
bidden. One then moved my chair forward to face Angela as the other rolled next
to me a small table, on which rested a long, narrow black enamel box hinged on
one end.
“What’s the big idea?” Angela asked. “I thought this was about
excercise.” I
couldn’t believe she was serious! Wow, was she really screwed.
“Ah, but it is. I promise that your muscles will be sore when we are done.”
Madame was really enjoying it. I was desperate to rip her socks off now and
begin her torment immediately even though I knew Madame would kill me for doing
so, watching her squirm and giggle as I passed my long fingernails across her
soles. Though I could see the outline of her feet, her thick gym sock hid their
details.
“What? You can’t do anything to hurt me! That’s hazing!”
“I promise that I will inflict no pain upon you,” Madame replied, “but I
can’t
promise that you won’t try to hurt yourself.”
“What does that mean?”
Staring at her bound feet inches from each other so close to me, I burned with
the desire to begin her tickling immediately. I composed myself, realizing that
the coming realization of what was happening to her and the anticipation
thereof was even better than the tickling itself. Besides, I knew Madame would
get to it soon enough, for she used suspense as a weapon of intimidation.
Trembling slightly, I lifted the narrow box to Madame and opened it for her.”
“What’s in there?’ The convict asked.
“So many questions, worm. You just don’t know how to be quiet. This here is my
little Black Box. Remember it well; the very mention of it brings fear to those
who know of it.” She wasn’t lying, but that’s another story. Anyway, then
she
said, “What’s inside it you will see soon enough.” I waited patiently,
watching
Angela stew on that as Madame slowly pulled out two long feathers. “These come
from an owl’s wing. Stiff yet giving with fluffy tips for quiet flight, they
are nature’s perfect tickling tool.” They are, too! I made the mistake once of
opening her Black Box without permission, and paid for it dearly, but that’s
another story.
“Look,” she stammered, “can we talk about this?”
“The time for talk has passed, worm.” Madam said flatly. “Why can’t
you just
be silent?” I turned my head, knowing what was next. “Drones, off with her
socks!”
I was enraptured by what I saw. Her pale, slender feet and long toes were
perfect. I quickly recalled that between soccer and medical training, her feet
had probably known nothing but the inside of comfortable socks and sneakers,
preserving perfectly their supple, delicate form. I had to touch them!
Unfortunately, that was not to be, but Madame had no such restraint. Angela
instantly squeaked and twitched as she lightly passes her hands about her feet.
“Why can’t you just be quiet?” Madame asked. What delight! As I suspected,
her
feet were desperately ticklish!
Sudden realization overcame her as she stared fearfully at the two feathers
slowly approaching her feet. “I’ll be quiet. I promise!”
“Now worm, I doubt that’s a promise you can keep!” I was right. Legs tensed
against their bonds and her back arched agained her hunched shoulders, she
instantly screamed and writhed madly as my Madame’s two favorite tickle toys
caressed Angela’s delicate soles. She stopped after a few minutes. “Convict,
you must stop writhing your feet or you will ruin my toys!”
“I can’t help it,” she gasped. “My feet are so ticklish.”
“Drones, tape the convict’s big toes together!” As bidden, the other gently
but firmly held her feet as I taped her two big toes together. We worked slowly
and deliberately; unknown to Angela, if our task caused her to laugh in the
slightest, our torment would be ten times worse than anything she was
experiencing now. Fortunately for us, we were dilligent in our work, allowing
Madame to concentrate on the ticklee at hand. I was relieved, feeling sorry for
Angela. This was Madame’s favorite method of tickle toe-ture. With her
vulnerable toes now held completely open and exposed like so, she was about to
be in for a rough time.
“No, please,” she begged fruitlessly, erupting another volley of tearful,
hysterical laughter as Madame’s toys continued their delicate ministrations
about her wide-spread, long and desperately ticklish toes. Following every
trace and curve and anticipating every twitch and twist of my victim, her
plumes never lost contact with Angela’s ticklish feet, alternating between her
toes and her naked insteps to never provide respite from her torment.
Soon her screaming subsided to incessant gasping and giggling as her feet
became accoustomed to Madame Diane’s feathers. “Please stop,” she gasped.
“I
have to use the bathroom.”
“You never stop talking!” Madame exclaimed. This was my favorite part. Setting
down her tickle tools, she introduced the young lady to her fingernails. When
delicately and properly applied to a pair of nude soles, it is amazing the
reaction fingernails can get in the hapless sole’s owner. The poor girl that
owned this tormented pair of feet was placed in definite distress as Madame’s
ten digits met hers. Another volley of gasping hysteria stronger than when her
feathers first met Angela’s toes escaped her lips as Madame’s fingers tickled
her naked peds. “Please...” she begged with a gasp, her face turning purple as
her fingertips controlled her very ability to breathe, “stop. I’m going to
pee!”
“You stain my excercise bench and I will put my drones to lick these ticklish
toes for an extra hour!” Praying Madame hadn’t caught me, I visibly twitched at
the idea. I mentally implored Madame’s ticklish worm to lose control of her
bladder. I tell you straight up: this nameless drone would be happy to clean
any mess she made for the glad pleasure of using my togune to torment that poor
wench for just five minutes.
“Please, no more,” she hoarsely pleaded, “I can’t...” Caught in
another vale
of laughter Angela sure enough soiled my Madame’s vynil bench, her writhing
causeing some of it to spill on the floor.
“Drones!” Madame Diane bellowed. “Pick your favorite treat from the
shelves!
You will spend the rest of this evening lapping it from the toes of this
wench.” I gleefully almost stumbled on the other drone getting to where we keep
our special desserts.
Madame stopped and stepped back as we slowly applied our liquid candy to her
feet. It was my first chance to touch her feet. What rapture! Desperately
careful not to tickle her uncommanded and void my chance at this golden
opportunity, I reveled in how silken and pliable her soles were. My slender
tougne would long remember this day. “No!” Angela gasped. “I promise.
I’ll do
whatever you say.” The other drone and I assumed our stations within inches of
that delectable pair of naked, candy-coated feet, patiently waiting for Madame
to give the command. “Please don’t let them,” she heaved fearfully between
desperate breaths, warily eyeing Madame’s patient assistants. “I can’t take
any
more.’”
“Well, it appears you have recovered enough to talk. Drones, have your
dessert.”
Breathless with anticipation, that was all I needed to hear. “No,” she
screamed, “I haven’t! I was jus..NOOO!!” The rest of it was lost in a
renewened bout of epileptic twitching as her laughing quickly degenerating into
noisless sniffing. Now I’m not bragging or anything, but you’d be amazed what I
can do with my tougne. Ticklish body parts just don’t have a chance. Her face
turning purple, she noiselessy mouthed the word ‘please,’ so completely had my
lingual skills flooded her brain with her toes’ desperately overloaded sense of
touch.
“Sorry, worm,” Madame said, “but you have another hour to go. You
shouldn’t
have stained my bench with your produce.” Shaking her head, Angela’s eyes
rolled up as she keeled over, passing out. “Get the smelling salts and wake her
up, drones. Her torment is not yet complete!”
From behind me, the President spoke. “Her time is completed.”
“She soiled my bench. That’s another hour.”
“Her life is at risk,” she said, using Madame’s first name, which meant she
would stand firm on her decision.
“Very well. I was bored with the worm, anyway,” she lied. I would have happily
tickled her to the next life. What a way to go! “Assistants,” she stated,
turning her attention to me, “carry the exonerated to her dorm room and leave
her to sleep. As per the unanimous wishes of this council, she has regained
her full status as a Sister of our Divine Order.
The next day, I went to see how our now fully-restored resident was doing. She
was properly deferential and quite timid. It was abolutely amazing to see the
transformation that had taken place. Though sometimes harsh, I have to confess
that our methods are effective. I am glad she is staying. As the owner of such
delicate, ticklish feet, she will make a mistake in the future, and we will be
ready...
God Bless You, because He loves you no matter what...
I tell you honestly, I fear that little black
box. Some of our girls lift
weights and play lacrosse, and I watched her turn one of the biggest girls I
ever met into a pleading child with those plumes. He favorite game is playing
with a woman’s lust. It gives me a shudder just thinking about it. I have seen
her use her feathers to gently toy with a girl’s vagina until she begged for a
climax. I almost came just watching it! I just know for certain that tickling
me there for three minutes would kill me if I couldn’t climax.
You look really excited. Is this recording?
To be totally honest, however, she has a set of toys much more deviously
fiednish than her owl’s feathers. She told us she had travelled around before
coming to college, but I had no idea to what extent until the day we had to
indoctrinate Mary left.
Now Mary was a goody two-shoes who was popular, a smooth talker and never in
trouble. This really bummed me out even though she was okay with me, because
she was really petite and slender and had the most beautiful hands. I had never
seen her feet, but you can tell a lot about a person’s feet from her hands
because they’re proportionally related. (Madame taught me a lot about her fine
art.) Her hands were really slender, creamy white and with really long fingers.
She even had a really long thumb, which is a dead giveaway for long toes. Her
fingers were so slender it made the joints stand out, clearly indicating a set
of lollipop toes hiding in her shoes. All that was left was the handshake, and
oh, it was heaven! Her palms were porcelain in appearance and satin-soft. I
make a point to run my fingers in someones palm to try and figure out what
their soles are like (including guys, because it never hurts to scope out the
weaknesses of a prospective boyfriend!), and she rubbed her hands together
after we shook hands. If that left an itch, I knew her sheltered soles would
easily fall in the rare category of exquisitely ultra-ticklish. I of course let
Madame know that a candidate suitable for Madame’s amusement resided in the
form of Mary C.
Well, she was too much of a rules-quoting goody-good to get in trouble. What’s
worse is that she fancied herself as the sorority lawyer and plead everyone’s
case with her silver tougne, much to Madame’s distress as potential plaything
after plaything got off the hook. I was at a loss for ideas, but Madame had no
such constraints.
One day, a “Special D-Board” was called. As usual, the passageways were
cleared as the other drone and I dressed in character. When meeting in the
DarkRoom, I was surprised to learn who the victim was.
“Fetch me the Freshman President,” Madame commanded.
This I did with pleasure. Mary, dressed in shorts and bunny slippers when we
arrived, stared in abject horr as she realized what our presence meant. “What
are you doing here?” she stammered. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yours is not to question, but to comply,” I replied in the most intimidating
voice I could muster. Let me tell you, that’s hard for me! Is that thing still
recording? I want to hear that one! In any case, she was still whining and
complaining when we brought her in to see Madame.
“Strap her to the bench with her legs apart,” she decreed, “and remove
those
rediculous things from her feet!”
he feet were a sight to behold, just as I had imagined. Her feet were so
silken, I couldn’t even tell where her sole began. I hoped beyond measure she
would begin with the Black Box when she surprised me with something I had never
seen before, something that would turn out to be horribly worse.
“What have I done,” Mary sobbed.
“Silence!” Madame demanded as she pulled a long, flat blue felt box from her
closet and set it on a small table near her feet. “You are not here to receive
discipline. You are being rewarded. Today you are being tested to see if you
have the fortitude to walk within the Inner Circle. In the Circle you will have
many secrets revealed, and you must be trustworthy of keeping them.”
“Really?” she stammered. To be honest, I had no idea what she was talking
about, but I did want to see what was in the box.
She set the box down and opened it slowly. She gently pulled out what appeared
to be a gossamer tissue, nearly transparent with a slight beige tint. “This
here can only be found in China and no where else,” Madame stated
reverentially. “Only the greatest master seamstresses can fashion it, and it
took me years to find it at great expense.”
“What it it?” Mary asked.
“This cloth is made from spider’s silk and is the sheerest fabric in
existense,” she replied. As she unfurled it, it appeared to be a loose tube
stitched closed on one end with several seams stitched lengthwise very close
together down the length on one side. “The name of it in Chinese is ‘hands of
a ghost,’ and you shall soon see why.” She slipped it like a loose sock on one
of her naked feet with the seams facing the tops of her feet, eliciting a
squeal as it slid onto her left foot.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “The seams tickled the tops of my toes
when you
pulled it on.” I shuddered with erotic anticipation when she said that.
“I notice by your reaction you can feel the exquisite craftmanship. Even the
seams were stitched with spider’s silk.”
“Actually, now that it’s on I can’t feel it at all.” She looked at her
slender
foot as it hung there loosely. “Besides, it seems way too big for me.”
“Trust me,” Madame replied as she slipped on the other gossamer tissue-slipper
on her right foot to a cacophony of giggles, “it fits just fine.” She stood
back and admired the young lass with her transparent socks. “How do you feel
now?”
“I still feel nothing.”
I began to feel worried for Madame. What happened? Usually women this long in
the Darkroom were gasping for breath by this time. Had I been wrong? I imagined
spending the rest of the evening with my feet unwillingly donated as tickle
toys for wasting Madame’s time when she just smiled. “How about now?” she
asked, then gently blew her breath softly against Mary’s feet. I didn’t lnow
what her breath did, but Mary instantly shrieked and started cracking up. “As
you see,” she explained, “it’s important that these socks fit loosely for
the
optimum effect. Now you know why it’s called ‘ghost’s hands.’ To make
it work,
it has to move.” Madame brushed the silk covering her slender soles and was
rewarded with the lilting song of her laughter.
“Oh, goodness,” she gasped. “Please don’t do that again.”
“I’m so sorry to disappoint you worm, but this is how our game goes.”
Madame
went to her desk and brought an index card with a word scribbled on it. “Read
this,” she demanded, “but under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are you to tell me what it
says.” She then handed me the card. “Now this is how my little game goes. I am
going to adjust your socks a little bit, then I am going to sit at my desk and
wait for you to tell me what the card says. If you tell me what it says, you
are free to go. If you don’t for a while, you are then free to go as a member
of the Circle. Agreed?”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Absolutely nothing, my child except adjust your socks.”
“Adjust them with what?”
“I mean only the way they fit. Your questions bore me. Are you in or are you
out?”
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Very well.” Madame twisted her socks so that the seams faced her soles. Mary
let out a high-pitched squeal then stiffened, her toes curled tightly against
the seams, her whole body rigid and unmoving.
“What’s the matter my child?” Madame asked smugly. “Relax. We will be
here a
while.”
“I- Ican’t move,” she stammered.” There’s something in the socks
driving me
crazy!”
“Ahh, I see you discovered the secret behind the silk seams. These are the
ghost’s fingers, or so it is said.” Madame crouched to geta better look at her
gorgeous little feet. “For the best effect, however, your feet have to be
moving.” She then once again gave her feet a gentle breath, rippling the
gossamer fabric against her soles.
This was bad enough with just the material, but with those seams against the
bottoms of her feet, it was too much to bear. Mary squealed and giggled,
involuntarily twitching and flexing her feet. This only made it worse, brushing
the satiny seams against her soles and toes, making her laugh and twitch more,
tickling her worse and worse. I was enraptured, almost ready to orgasm watching
her unintentionally tickle her own feet as well as I ever could. “Please take
them off,” she begged between gasps.
“What’s the card say?” Madame said smugly.
“I can’t say,” she sputtered.
“Okay. Let me see how these socks fit.” I couldn’t believe it! In the midde
of
Mary’s torment, madame began tickling her feet through the silk! Mary went
insane. I would have given anything just to caress those silken soles just
once, and Madame made like they were her personal tickle toys. Madame looked
straight at me as she tickled her mercilessly, knowing full well the torment I
faced just trying to restrain myself. “Drone, cut her shorts off, but leave her
panties intact!”
Grabbing the sissors, I did it with relish. I had no idea what she was going
to do next. I couldn’t imagine what she had planned when she went back to her
blue box, leaving Mary heaving and twitching in her bonds, the seams against
her soles a comfort after facing Madame’s fingers.
I stared awestruck at what she retrieved from it, slowly pulling out a
transparent, gossamer scarf more than eight feet long with what must have been
a dozen seams running down the length of it. After seeing what those socks
could do, that spidery scarf looked like the word tickle come to life. I stared
at it in rapt fascination, imagining both in fear and curiosity what that would
feel like wrapped around my naked body. “Now lets see what we can do with
this.” Madame said nonchalantly as she deftly lifted Mary’s panties and tucked
it between her legs, her panties firmly holding it in place against her shaved
mound, draping the length of the scarf about her nude breasts and torso.
I almost climaxed as Mary gasped in surprised before arching back against her
bonds, eyes clenched shut and mouth agape, giggling and twitching against the
maddening sensations surrounding her body. I couldnt believe it! On top of
everything else, Madame began slowly pulling the scarf through her panties,
watching her body rise and stiffen each time she did so. I know that would
have killed me- she must have been in a constant state of orgasm the entire
time that living tickle cloth sat on her center of passion.
“Pl-please s-s-stop..” she begged between orgasmic gasps and peals of
laughter. “I can’t take it!”
“Well, you know what to do.”
Mary’s laughter stifled to muffled twitching, her tear-stained face turning
purple as Madame’s unrelenting fingers again probed evry crease and fold of her
senssitive, ticklish feet. “Stop,” she whispered hoarsely. “You’re
killing me!”
“Okay. Just tell me what the card says.”
“It says ‘toys’!” she screamed with her last breath, starting to cry.
“It says
toys.”
“Very well,” Madame said, instantly ceasing her tickling of Mary’s feet.
She
pulled the socks and scarf off of her, eliciting a final, exhausted gasp.
“Drones, release her. You failed, worm. Get her out of my sight!”
I actually felt bad for Mary, not expecting Madame to put her through all of
that, but I lost all respect for Mary as well. She surrendered to tickling! On
that note, I was glad she was once again one of the commoners. I’m still
checking her out, waiting for her to make one mistake...
God Bless You, because He loves you no matter what...
You want a bizarre story? It this thing
recording? Anyway, I was the assistant
manager of a pet store off-campus last year, and I had a serious problem with
Jodi, a nice girl whose only problem was that she was always late. Now I’m
pretty laid back, and five minutes and such is not really a problem, but what
is the need to be twenty or thirty minutes late? In any case, I laid out an
ultimatum: If she was late tomorrow, she was fired. Sure enough, she was a
HALF-HOUR late the next day. I told her not to even punch in.
“I’m so sorry,” she whined. “I’ll do anything. Please don’t
fire me.”
This, of course, piqued my interest. “Anything?”
“I really need this job.”
“Well, okay, but I am going to teach you a lesson.” The possibilities were
endless in a pet store, but I decided that rather than the mundane, I was going
for something totally different. “Close the door and follow me to the back.”
She did as I asked. “Sit down,” I said, pointing to my office chair. When she
did so, I puled out a roll of duct tape and some paper bags. “Put your arms on
the armrests.”
“What are you doing?” she asked as I wrapped the bag around her wrists and
secured them with duct tape.
“You want to keep your job?”
“Yes,” she stammered.
“Then be quiet.” I was really going to enjoy this. Madame Diane used duct tape
with paper bags on me once using the same technique to avoid pain and fuss, but
that’s another story. I then used the same technique on her legs, taping them
to the chair legs. “Thank you for wearing shorts and sneakers. That will make
my task that much easier.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Oh, you’ll find out.” Finished, I tipped her chair back and dragged it to
our
feeder tank. Brimming with goldfish, I set her chair tipped up above it and
pulled off her socks and sneakers. Grabbing a can of fish flakes, I asked the
hard question. “Are you ticklish?” I asked as I rubbed the flakes into her soft
soles.
“What? Uh, yes,” she stammered before fully understanding what I had in store
for her. “Oh, no,” she pleaded as realization set in. “Not that!
Pleeassee!”
“I guess you should have thought of that yesterday,” I said, tipping the chair
forward and dunking her naked, flake-coated feet in the water. She screamed and
twisted madly as the little goldfish pounced on their unusual treat with
relish. Their little bodies tormented her feet like so many posessed, slippery
fingers, their endless gentle nibbles and feathery fins easily tickling her
beyond the edge of madness. Enraptured, I gazed at her laughing and squirming
uncontrollably for endless minutes before pullomg the chair up. “Are you going
to be late any more?” I asked.
“Get me out of this thing!”
“Wrong answer,” I replied, dunking her feet back in the water.
God Bless You, because He loves you no matter what...
Put the recorder back on; you'll like this one.
I remember this one time I was
working in the biology department, and one of the labs had this huge room
filled with moths. They were doing testing with pheremones, which is what
moths use to find a mate, and the research professor explained to the class
that a moth can sense pheremones down to one part in a billion, which is like a
single molecule per cubic inch of space. Watching the hundreds of moths
flittering around in that room inspired me with a wicked idea, and I asked how
hard was it to get that stuff. He said that they synthesized the pheremones for
testing, and had lots of it on hand for baiting traps in a series of aerosol
containers in the back. I just had to show Madame this place!
In any case, Madame and I returned later that evening with our other Drone,
whose name is Vanessa. The room with the moths in it has a two-stage entrance
to keep the moths in, with the room between te doors kept at a slightly higher
pressure with blowers so a gentle breeze blows inward as the inner door opens,
keeping in any moths aflight. Looking around the room, she was duly impressed.
"Drone you have done well. I am impressed. Vanessa," she said with a scowl,
"How come you don't show any initiave like this?" That was a problem- she never
used our first names unless we were alone and she was mad at us. "Drone, fetch
me one of those spray cans you talked about."
It took me a few minutes to find them, but by the time I came back to the
room, she already had Vanessa stripped naked and tied spread-eagled to the lab
table. I could see her twitching as the moths landed on her nude form, but they
weren't actually on her any more than they were anywhere else in teh room
except that there were so many of them. This is why I love hanging around
Madame; she could always bring my fantasies to life. "All of these moths are
bothering me. Drone, how can I make them go in one place and away from me?"
I looked down at Vanessa, feeling sorry for her but knowing she would do no
more or less for me. "wherever you point the can and spray at, all the moths
should go there."
"You mean like this?" She pointed the aerosol can at her left armpit and
sprayed for a split second. What happened next swore me to stick deoderant
forever. She screamed and writhed madly as the air cleared instantly, every
moth trying to crowd their little furry bodies and feathery wings inside that
armpit. I shuddered just imagining the sensation she felt. In about two
minutes, it wore off and the moths once again spread around the room, leaving
Vanessa gasping and drenched in sweat. "All these moths bother me," Madame
sighed nonchalantly, now casually spritzing her right armpit with that stuff.
"Nooo!" she begged before once again lost in a cacophany of lilting giggles,
her armpit immersed in the little tickling creatures.
Madame stood back to admire her handiwork, smiling when she caught me drinking
in the scene intently. "You like this, don't you?" she whispered to me. Without
awaiting a response, she waved the can around her crotch menacingly just as the
moths again began scattering around the room. "Tell me Vanessa, would you like
your tickles somewhere else?"
"Oh, no, madame, not that. Please not that. Not there. Please!" At that
moment, Madame let out a two-second burst all around her completely shaved
center of her passion. the moths took to it with gusto as Vanessa screamed
before losing her voice to alternating moans and giggles. I know she went mad-
it drove me insane just thinking about the worlds of orgasm I would experience
if my mound suddenly came alive with tickles like hers had. I actually envied
her until I saw Madame move to teh other side of the table.
Graciously, Madame let her orgasm a few times before rousting her out of her
reverie. "Vanessa, I think you're having too much fun, I'm going to call some
of those moths over here." With that, she generously applied a coating of
pheremones to both her naked soles.
Drunk with lust, Vanessa didn't realize what was happening until it was too
late. "Oh, no. Please not my feet! Not my fee..." the rest was lost as one by
one the tickling moths alighted on her slender feet. A tall, dark-skinned
hispanic, Vanessa's soles were creamy white, long and slender with long toes.
Silky soft, they were more ticklish than even my delicate pair, which says a
lot! My toes curled in my sneakers just seeing those little feathery critters
wiggle between her toes. As the moths began to leave, Madame gave her delicate
peds one more spritz for good measure. Bucking and writhing, her laughter
subsided to gasps and twitches before she passed out.
"Oh, well, that's enough entertainment for today. Drone, shoo those moths off
her feet, untie her and dress her. My work here is finished." She left, leaving
me to tend to poor Vanessa.
After I revived her, we walked back to our dorm slowly as she composed herself.
She told me how strange and fun it felt to have hundreds of little feathers
running across her body. Of course, it was easy to talk about it when it was
over. She also said she would make it her mission to find something interesting
to have Madame experiment on me, and she knows I hate snakes. Ulp!
God Bless You, because He loves you no matter what...