Laura Time

Original Title: Cousin Laura's **** (F/m)

Original Author: milagros317

• Original Publishing Dae: May 17, 2002

• Source; Ticklingforum

This is an F/m story. If that is not to your liking, don't read it. All characters in this story are adults, aged 18 or older.

COUSIN LAURA'S **** by Milagros

From Laura's Journal, Tuesday, May 21, 2002

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They say that **** is a dish best enjoyed cold, and now I believe it. Not that I had planned this for many years, no, only for the two months before the capture. But I'm getting ahead of myself--I want to start from the beginning.

My name is Laura. I'm a widow, aged 45, with one child. My daughter, Jennifer, is a junior at UCLA, which is where I got my BA in 1978. We live in a large house, a mansion really, on a large plot of land in Brentwood. My husband and I moved there the year that we both finished law school, the same year that Jen was born. The next year, my husband took the gender-bender **** X-Change after developing testicular cancer. Becoming the beautiful woman Michelle changed nothing for me as I never stopped loving her.

The women there who didn't like me made jokes, that it was no surprise that I'd married the richest student at the law school, the only son of a real estate tycoon. But my friends knew how much in love we were, Michelle and I. I've just now gotten over my grief; her fatal car accident was two years ago last month. her family's money always gave me the luxury of doing whatever pro bono work interested me, while Michelle specialized in real estate law, and worked for her father. Now I just look after my investments, and enjoy life.

But this story is about the other Michelle, my cousin Michelle, who is five years older than me. From when I was 6 years old, until we moved from New Jersey to California when I was 9, cousin Michelle made my life hell.

Cousin Michelle and I were both only children, and our families lived next door to each other in a small town in New Jersey. Our mothers, sisters, both worked. So, from the first grade onward, I got off the school bus and went to my aunt's house, where Michelle would be. Every school day, from our return home until our parents got home from work, Michelle would pin me down and tickle me. I don't mean for a minute or two; I mean for at least an hour. Until I turned red and gasped. Until I cried and cried. Until I couldn't breathe. Until I wished I could faint. Every time, when she finally let me up, she would say the same thing:

"What are you crying for? There's not a Martina on you. I only tickled you."

Then she'd send me to wash my face, and warn me that she would kill me if I told my parents. I believed her, and was too scared to tell. she towered over me, being five years older. I was so happy when we moved to L.A. because of my dad's new job. Even so, Michelle haunted my dreams for years, a giant lesbian hovering over me, with a sadistic grin on her face, and all ten fingers wriggling, ready to pounce on me.

By the time I was 14, and interested in boys, I didn't think much of Michelle any more, and the dreams had stopped. Not that I had forgotten my **** at her hands, but she was 3000 miles away, and no longer in my dreams. More years passed.

I was 20 myself when I saw her again, at our Uncle Sid's funeral in Chicago. What a surprise--I had still thought of her as a powerful giant, towering over me. she had not grown all that much since I last saw her when she was 14. she was just 5'9" as an adult, while I had grown up to be 5'11". I was fit, active on several sports teams at UCLA, while cousin Michelle looked like what she was: a flabby graduate student with very large breasts and a larger ass, who spent most of her waking hours in the library. That ended all vestigal fear of cousin Michelle. I wished we were alone, so that _I_ could pin _her_ down, and give her the tickling of a lifetime. But the funeral ended, and my parents and I flew back to L.A.

In the years that followed, I rarely thought of my cousin. I knew that she had finished her doctorate, and was teaching in a small college back in New Jersey. Every so often, at a family wedding or funeral, she would remark that she heard my husband and I had a nice house with a large swimming pool. I always ignored the hint, and we never invited her to visit.

Inspiration

Three months ago, my daughter Jennifer broke up with her girlfriend, Venus. At first she just said Venus didn't respect her. Later, when she wanted to talk more, she told me that her worst aspect was this: she would often pin her down and tickle her. Even though she had told her that she hated it, she wouldn't stop.

Jen had gotten vengeance on her, she told me. After deciding to break up, she invited her to our house, supposedly for dinner, when I was away for the weekend. she arrived to find Jen and five of her sorority sisters waiting. They jumped her, and four of them sat on her arms and legs. Jen tickled her ribs, her feet, and under her arms. She tickled her without mercy, until she was red in the face, until she couldn't speak or laugh, until she ceased struggling, until she finally wet her pants, unable to control her bladder any longer. Then she told her to get lost, and never call her again. she walked back to her car with her head hung down, ashamed and humiliated. Since then, she has avoided her entirely. she was a senior, one year ahead of her, and just graduated on Sunday, two days ago. Jen is well rid of the DOB.

This story inspired me to tell Jen all about cousin Michelle , and my years of tickle-**** at her hands when we were both children. I asked if she and her friends would help me get ****, and she was enthusiastic about it. I began to make plans.

The Capture

First, I sent Michelle an e-mail, inviting her to come and visit for a week, mentioning that our pool had been refurbished. she e-mailed back two days later, surprised to hear from me, accepting the invitation, and saying that she could come any time after her college's graduation ceremony, which was Sunday, May 19. she said the sooner the better, as she needed a nice vacation after the end of the academic year. I e-mailed her again the same day, saying that we would be delighted to have her in our best guest suite, and that we'd expect her on Tuesday, May 21, to stay through Memorial Day weekend.

Next, I renovated the largest guest suite, the one which consists of a large bedroom, a bathroom, and a study, all connected. I had it all sound-proofed, the entire suite, floors, walls, and ceilings. When that was done, I tested it. Blasting a boom-box at full volume in any of the rooms could not be heard outside the suite.

With that accomplished, I bought a sturdy brass bed, with strong vertical bars both in the headboard and the footboard. Becky, one of Jen's sorority sisters who does metal work sculpture, bolted the bed securely to the floor. She also attached metal rings to the frame and to the bars, at strategic places all around the bed.

With that set up, Jen suggested that I talk to Cheryl, another member of her sorority. Cheryl works part time in a Hollywood fetish shop, where they sell all sorts of leather restraints, among other things. After consulting with Cheryl, I had her bring me just about every bondage device that they sell, including a hoist. Becky installed the hoist, attaching it to a support beam in the ceiling. Jennifer, another member of Jen's sorority, set up video cameras all over the suite, with monitors where I wanted them in the rest of the house, and she set up a taping system in the study.

I bought three packages of adult disposable diapers in a pharmacy where I don't usually shop. Then, my final preparation was to go to my doctor, and pretend that I was having trouble sleeping. I got sympathy, and a perscription for sleeping pills.

The capture itself was easy. Michelle 's flight was due in at 9pm. I met her at the airport myself, drove her to my house, and asked her what she wanted to drink. she requested red wine, and she got it--a fine Merlot, with a double dose of sleeping pills. In ten minutes, she was sound asleep in a chair in my living room. In ten more minutes, my daughter and her friends had come downstairs and gently carried her up to the guest suite. There, they stripped her naked, put a diaper on her, and strapped her into the bed. I left her fast asleep, with the sound-proof door to her suite securely closed. Now that I've written this, I will turn in myself. Tomorrow will be a big day. My e-mail told the truth: We are quite delighted to have her in our best guest suite.

[

Wednesday, May 22, 2002

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Michelle awoke at 8am, feeling awful. When she tried to rub her head, she discovered that her arms wouldn't move. she opened her eyes, and was stunned to see that her wrists, in padded leather cuffs, were locked to the bars in the center of the headboard of the bed in which she found herself. Thumbcuffs held her thumbs together, beyond the headboard. A broad canvas strap went over her chest, just below her stiff and exposed nipples, and was holding her down to the mattress--he couldn't see where its ends were fastened, under the bed. she was wearing a diaper.

Leather restraints encircled her upper thighs, and were tied off to rings set in the sides of the brass bed frame. Each of her ankles was in a padded leather cuff, and these cuffs were locked to rings in the corner posts of the footboard. The room was fairly dark, its windows shut, with shades closed, illumination coming from a small lamp on a table near her bed. she could just make out a hoist, with wrist cuffs dangling, set in the ceiling, beyond the lamp, nearer to the door. That's when she began to scream.

"Help! Help me!! Somebody help! Oh God, HELP ME!!!"

After a few minutes, her throat was parched from screaming, and she stopped. she couldn't hold her urine any longer, and just let go into the diaper, feeling humiliated. she began to itch, perhaps from the realization that she couldn't scratch. she waited, in a wet diaper, very thirsty, in misery. Every 15 or 20 minutes she would scream for help again, as loudly as she could, but nobody came to help her.

At 11am, Laura and Jen entered. They turned on the lights, and then they just stood there, grinning, as she ranted.

"What the hell is going on here? You're a lawyer, you should know that this is a crime! ****! Are you insane? Are you--"

Michelle 's rant was cut off, as Jen stepped forward with a ball gag, shoved it into her mouth, and strapped it tightly around her head. Muffled sounds could be heard as Laura strapped a blindfold onto her. It was leather, with heavy black padding over the eye patches, cutting off all sight.

"Now listen to me, dear cousin Micki." she had always hated the diminutive form of her name.

"Your outburst has just cost you lunch. You may possibly be given dinner, if you behave. The first rule is this: You are never permitted to speak, Micki , without express permission from me or from Jen. Not one word, unless we ask you a direct question. When I take your gag out, remember that. We'll leave it in for now."

As Laura was speaking, Jen put two pillows under her round, fat buttocks, and another pillow under the small of her back. This arched her, and put a strain on her bound limbs.

"I'll begin with one solid hour on your rib cage. About what you gave me, every school day, when I was a girl."

Laura began to dig into her rib cage, on both sides, and the women could hear muffled shrieking from under her gag. She began to play her rib cage as if it were a piano, dancing up and down the ribs with all ten fingers. she strained futilely at her cuffs. She went on, and on, and on, giving her no rest. her struggles became less vigorous, and finally she was only quivering. Laura began to taunt her.

"Is poor little Micki tired already? Poor baby! Too bad for you--I'm only getting started. How much time has passed, Jen?"

"22 minutes, Mom."

"Oh, dear, Micki, that makes 38 minutes to go. How sad for you! Jen, why don't you let her know where you are? The poor dear can't see you."

Jen picked up a soft artist's brush, and began to stroke the tip of her nose, protruding between the blindfold and the ball gag. As she jerked her head away, she grabbed a handful of her hair, and kept it still, resuming the stroking of her nose, ever so gently. It was maddening.

"See how gentle my sweet daughter is? How softly she strokes you? You'd hardly guess that she's captain of the women's basketball team. And a member of the sorority that has all the women's sports stars. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Oh my, your whole rib cage is red, from my attentions. I do believe you're in agony from laughing so hard, so long. Too bad, Micki . It's going to go on, and on, and on. No mercy for you, Micki . Just **** for me, and lots of it. Poor Micki ."

She thought she was going to faint, and wished that she would, but Laura would let up just enough to allow her to breathe, keeping her conscious, and in agony. she wet her diaper again.

"Naughty girly! Vey naughty baby! Even I, at six years old, managed to avoid wetting myself under similar circumstances. How long has it been, Jen?"

"51 minutes, nine to go." Jen had switched from her nose to inside her ears. Laura dug into her ribs with renewed vigor, and kept it up, ruthlessly, until Jen told her that the hour was up.

"I'm going to lunch now, Jen. She's getting none, so clean her up and give her water while I'm gone. Then feel free to keep her laughing until I come back."

As Laura left, Jen removed the pillows from under Michelle , and then put a clean towel under her. She removed her diaper, wiped her off with baby wipes, and threw the soiled diaper and the wipes into a plastic trash basket. As she put a fresh diaper on her, she pinched her bottom, hard, and heard a muffled scream from behind the ball gag.

"Surprised you, hey? Mom told me how you tortured her when she was just a kid, and invited me to be part of her ****. And I intend to enjoy it! Don't forget, you're not allowed to speak."

She removed the towel, and put an extra pillow under her head. She unbuckled and removed the ball gag. she’d been drooling, so she wiped off her lips and chin with another towel. She brought a pint bottle of water over, and allowed her to drink it through a straw.

"Break's over. I'll start with your feet."

Jen went to the foot of the bed, and firmly grabbed the toes of her left foot with one hand. She began to dig her short nails into the ball of her foot with the other hand. Michelle first trembled, then giggled, and then the dam broke. she began to laugh out loud, and,no longer gagged, the sound of her laughter filled the room.

"So, little Micki is sensitive on her feet. Tickle, tickle, tickle. How amusing. Keep laughing if you want me to keep tickling you. Ah, you do. Very good, that's what you'll get. Plenty of it."

Jen began to explore her sole, from the heel to the base of the toes, and she made mental notes of her best tickle spots. her most sensitive spot turned out to be just where her heel merged into her arch. Once she found it, Jen scratched and scratched at it, driving her crazy. she was pounding her head on the pillow, in an effort to distract herself from the unbearable tickling. It did no good, and Jen gave her no rest.

Finally, half an hour later, she stopped. She took a red magic marker, and colored the spot on her left foot.

"I've marked that spot for Mom. Now I'll see if the corresponding spot on your right foot is also the most ****." Grabbing her right toes, she went to work exploring her right sole, side to side, top to bottom. By now she had given up struggling, and just lay there, laughing weakly, exhausted. It took an hour of exploration, but Jen was, in the end, satisfied that the very same spot on her right foot was also the most sensitive, and she marked it in red.

"Now I'll take my turn at your ribs, until Mom returns from her lunch."

Unlike her mother, Jen kicked off her flip-flops, and climbed onto the bed, kneeling and straddling her waist. She reached down, and began counting her ribs with her thumbs, on both sides. Her nipples were so stiff, they looked like they would burst.

"One. Very sensitive on the ribs, aren't you? Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Two. Poor Micki , your ribs must be very sore by now. Three. Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Four. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, Micki . How cute. How sweet. Five. Tickle, tickle, tickle."

Laura had received a phone call during lunch, and was delayed. By the time she came back to the suite, it was 2pm, and Jen had counted 1 to 12, 12 to 1, 1 to 12, and 12 to 1 again. Michelle was nearly ****, laughing silently, a quivering mass of jelly, a helpless lump of ticlish flesh. Jen got off of the bed, and hugged Laura.

"I just love tickle-torturing her, Mom. I've explored her feet, and marked the best spots for you. Should I have my lunch now?"

"Sure. I'll be working on her armpits while you're eating."

Michelle gasped. she knew that her armpits would be the worst spot of all.

"Watch it, baby. That was almost a violation of rule one," said Laura. She took off her sandals, and climbed onto the bed, just as Jen had. She dug her strong fingers into both of her armpits, and began to scabble her nails there. Michelle went berserk, bucking and straining again. she shrieked and howled. she had no stamina left, though, and it took only ten minutes until she was reduced to a quivering jelly, silently laughing, in tickle hell. That's just where Laura kept her, quivering in agony, endlessly squirming. She let up just enough for her to breathe, just often enough to keep her awake, and then dug in again. She was so intent on torturing her that she didn't even notice when Jen came back from her late lunch at about 3pm.

"Having fun, Mom?"

Laura kept right on tickling as she answered.

"Oh, God, yes. This is even better than I had hoped, better than I dreamed it would be. She's in hopeless, helpless tickle agony, and there's nothing she can do about it. While I continue in her armpits, I want you to work on her feet. With no mercy. Be cruel. Be absolutely cruel."

Jen went back to work on the spot she had marked on her left foot. She switched feet about every ten minutes, as her mother just kept at her armpits. Jen began to chant, and Laura joined her.

"No mercy, no mercy, no mercy for Micki . No mercy, no mercy, no mercy for Micki ."

They kept this up until 5pm, when Laura reported, sadly, that Michelle was ****, so no longer suffering. They stopped tickling, and let her breathe. Laura got off the bed. In a few minutes, she was awake again, jerking her head, trying to sense if they were in the room.

"We're here, and it's time to feed you. Your blindfold stays on, and don't dare try anything when we untie your arms. Not that either one of us would have any trouble beating you up."

Michelle caused no trouble when they took off the thumbcuffs and wrist cuffs, removed the chest strap, and propped her up so that she could eat. After a nice dinner, with a chocolate donut for dessert, they put the wrist cuffs on again, and attached them to the bars. They re-cuffed her thumbs, and re-applied the chest strap.

"We'll actually let you rest while we have an early dinner ourselves," said Jen, giving her a quick tickle in the ribs as she left. Laura tickled her foot for a few seconds, on her way out.

The women returned at a quarter to seven. Michelle heard the door open and close, and, in her urgent need, forgot that she was not allowed to speak.

"Please let me use the toilet. I don't want to wet this diaper."

"How dare you! You were warned not to speak. Now you will be punished, in three different ways. Jen," and at this point, Laura whispered into Jen's ear, and Jen left the suite. Michelle just trembled in fear, as Laura glared at her, until Jen returned.

"Since you didn't obey orders to shut up, your first punishment is to be gagged again, from now until breakfast tomorrow. And not with the nice clean ball gag we used before, no. With a dirty, smelly, sweat-stained white sock, that Jen wore this morning during her jogging. Open up."

Utterly helpless on the bed, Michelle opened her mouth.

"Stick out your tongue. Further! Further!"

Michelle 's tongue was fully extended. Jen wrapped the sole of the sock around it, then shoved the tongue and sock into her mouth. A silk scarf was put between her teeth, and tied tightly behind her head, securing the sock.

The women then took off the thumbcuffs and wrist cuffs, freeing Michelle 's arms. Each woman grabbed an arm, and securely locked the hand into a leather bondage mitt, with no fingers. D-rings on the mitts were then clipped together, both at the wrists and at the finger tips. Only then did they untie her legs, and order her to stand. she was wobbly, but eventually stood near the bed, blindfolded, gagged, with her hands in mitts locked together in front of her.

"Step forward, two more steps, fine, stop. Raise your arms above your head. Higher. Fine."

The mitts on her hands were now locked to the hoist, by more D-rings near her encircled wrists. Jen began to turn the large crank, and her arms were drawn up over her head, until she was just barely able to stand flat-footed, her arms stretched taut overhead. Jen tied her knees together, and locked her ankle cuffs together, too.

"That's the way you'll usually be suspended, for your vertical tickling sessions. But today," said Laura, "the second punishment for breaking the rule about not speaking is an extra three inches, to make you stand on tip-toe."

Jen turned the crank more, and until she was indeed **** up on her toes. She locked the crank in place.

"I imagine that your wrists are feeling the strain. And the balls of your feet must hurt, that can't be too comfortable, for somebody who has never worn high heels. Your third punishment for talking may take your mind off these discomforts. Jen and I are each going to give you 50 spanks. Next time you ever disobey us, by talking or in any other way, the spanking doubles--100 from each of us. I'll go first, using a wooden spoon. We will have to remove your diaper, so hold it in until we do, and you can urinate into a bedpan."

Jen did remove the diaper, and told her when the bedpan was in position. Michelle found it very humiliating, but did manage to relieve herself with her cousins watching. As Jen went to wash the bedpan in the bathroom, Laura began the spanking.

Ten medium smacks on her left cheek caused Michelle to groan through her gag, and a red patch to blossom on her bottom. Ten more on her right cheek had a similar effect. Then next ten, alternating on her upper thighs, caused her to scream through the sock. For the last 20, Laura smacked her hard, alternating cheeks. Each spank caused a scream, and tears flowed from under her blindfold.

Jen pinched both of her sore cheeks, and her muffled scream was heard again.

"Mom was too kind, using a serving spoon. I'm using a real paddle."

She hefted a sturdy wooden paddle, covered in leather, that sold for $30 at the shop where Cheryl works. Without subtlety, she just tore into Michelle 's rump, five hard whacks on one cheek, then five on the other, alternating by fives until all fifty were done. she was howling in pain from beginning to end, and crying uncontrollably. she kept sobbing for minutes after she stopped.

"That's what you deserve for being disobedient. And don't forget what Mom said, next time it will be double. How much time do we have to tickle her before we put her to sleep, Mom?"

"It's not even 8 o'clock yet, at least three hours."

Jen pulled up a chair behind Michelle , and was in easy reach of her ribs. Laura stood in front of her, positioned to get at her armpits. They both got to work, and soon Michelle was shrieking with laughter, muffled by the sock in her mouth. Then she was weak, just a quivering mass of jelly, helpless ticklish flesh trembling under their fingers.

After about an hour, her legs were in spasm, so they paused to lower her a few inches, and let her stand on flat feet. They resumed their merciless tickling, changing places every half hour. Michelle was **** by 11:15pm, when they tied her to the bed again, and left her for the night.

Thursday, May 23, 2002

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Jen went into Michelle 's guest suite at 8am, and woke her up by tickling her, savagely, for about two minutes in her armpits. Then she untied the scarf from around her head, and pulled out her dirty sock, which she had been gagged with. After unlocking her wrist cuffs from the headboard, she locked them together in front of her. She unlocked her ankle cuffs from the bedposts, but then attached them together with a 10 inch chain, so that she would be hobbled. She took her blindfold off, and stripped her of her diaper, tossing it in the trash.

Having the blindfold off somehow made it more embarrassing to be naked in front of her 20-year-old cousin (first cousin once removed, if you wanted to be technical). she knew better than to say anything, remembering yesterday's spanking.

"Go to the bathroom, and then take a shower. You can manage it--that's why I bound your hands in front. I've put your breakfast in the study. Eat it after you shower. Notice the video cameras in this room?"

As she paused, Michelle looked and saw them, at least half a dozen. she nodded.

"There are more in the bathroom and the study. There's a taping system in the study. Never touch it--that's an order. And remember that you're on camera, and being taped, 24-7. So any disobedience, even if we're not here to see it, will get you punished. When you've finished breakfast, come back here and lie down on the bed. Hands over your head, and grip the bars of the headboard. Legs stretched out to the corner posts. Wait for us in that position, and keep quite still."

As she took her tiny steps towards the bathroom, she pinched her bottom, and then left, locking the sound-proof door.

Laura was watching all this on a monitor in her bedroom. Jen came and joined her, and they ate their own breakfasts while watching Michelle on the monitors. They laughed at her clumsy efforts to wash herself in her bonds. she followed orders quite well, and was, eventually, lying on the bed as directed, with her legs spread wide, and her hands clasping the brass bars of the headboard. After a few minutes, she reached down and scratched her left lower abdomen, then put her arms back overhead, and re-grasped the bars.

"Got her!" shouted Jen, as she wrote down the time which appeared on the bottom of the screen, so she could easily find this offensive movement on the tape. "She was clearly ordered to remain quite still."

"Yes," said Laura, "but let's not tell her until after her morning tickling. Let's surprise her just before lunch."

The women entered Michelle 's suite to find her on the bed, exactly in the position ordered. she lay still as Jen put a fresh diaper on her. As she locked her wrist cuffs to the rings in the headboard, and then added the thumbcuffs, Laura locked each ankle cuff to a ring in the nearest bedpost. They added bondage on her upper arms, thighs, and around her chest. A blindfold was applied, but no gag. They took up positions, Laura near her left foot, and Jen up on the bed, straddling her waist. It was 9am.

“She’s rested all night," said Laura. "So I'm sure she can stand a full hour, with no pauses, and no mercy. Let's go!"

They both went to work with glee, Laura holding her toes with one hand, and scratching her sole with the other. Jen poked, with toothbrushes, into both of her armpits. Michelle went ballistic, screetching and yanking on her bonds. she howled, and laughed, and couldn't stop laughing. The women were relentless, and inside of 15 minutes she was out of breath, gasping, and red in the face. she laughed silently, and could only struggle feebly. Five more minutes, and she was just like a huge jello, only quivering, in agony. They kept her that way, in tickle hell, quivering in agony, for far more than the anticipated hour. They were having too much fun to stop, and it wasn't until a quarter past 11am, when she finally fainted, that they stopped and let her recover.

Jen left the room, and came back, grinning, holding a can of shaving cream and a disposable razor. A few minutes later, when Michelle woke up, Jen addressed her.

"Keep quite still now, Micki . When poking your tender armpits, with the toothbrushes or my fingers, the hair there was no impediment. But when I brushed them, or scratched them with my nails, the hair kept me from getting the best ticklish effect. So I've decided to shave your underarms. For your own sake, keep quite still. Believe me, you don’t want me to shave you somewhere else!"

Michelle froze in place, and whimpered at the application of shaving cream. In minutes, her armpits were shaved smooth. Jen wiped them off, and then she and her mother tested their sensitivity, one on each side, for the next half hour. They were quite pleased with the resulting laughter, and, eventually, tears streaming down Michelle 's cheeks. They decided that her underarms would be shaved every day, to keep them smooth and sensitive, and informed her of this decision.

"And now it's time for lunch," announced Laura, "but first there is the matter of your disobedience."

Michelle gasped, but knew better than to speak. she couldn't remember disobeying. Laura removed her blindfold. Jen wheeled a TV/VCR set up on a cart over to where Michelle could see it, and pushed 'play'. Michelle saw herself lying on the bed, grasping the bars of the headboard. Then she saw herself let go and scratch, before returning to the position she had been ordered to assume.

"So, when my daughter tells you to keep quite still to protect yourself while being shaved, you're quite obedient. But the same order this morning was _not_ obeyed. As you were warned, the spanking part of your punishment is doubled, 100 from each of us. I'll do you a favor, and save mine for this evening. Jen's going to wallop you with her hundred right now."

Michelle was heartsick with the thought of the pain that she was about to endure, and at the thought that the rest, the other parts of her punishment, had not yet been specified.

They transfered her to the hoist again, and did tell her that the other parts of her punishment would be the same as the day before: a very dirty sock of Jen's in her mouth as a gag, and being hoisted up an extra few inches, to **** her to stand on tip-toe.

The filthy sock tasted acidic--just awful. The pain in her feet and calves began to build. But it was all forgotten as soon as Jen connected with the first spank. She used the same leather-covered paddle, but swung it in a longer arc, and harder. Michelle was sobbing after the first ten strokes, and thought that she would die after 50. But Jen had no pity, and carried on regardless. Her legs were spread wide open as her bushy womanhood made her scream as ten flurries struck exceedingly hard, the last one right on her exposed clit.

When it was over, and they cranked down the hoist and released her, she collapsed to the floor, still sobbing, unable to move. For a few minutes, they let her lie there, and then helped her up, took out the gag, and let her eat lunch in the study.

After lunch, as Jen put a new diaper on her, she pinched her very sore bottom, causing a loud scream. Laura laughed.

"Poor Micki . I am going to take pity on you. The hundred spanks that I owe you will be suspended for now. Behave yourself, and you'll never receive them. But beware! Your next disobedience doubles the spanking again--200 from each of us. If you dare to disobey either of us again, then I'll give my 200, and my suspended 100, all to Jen. With her own 200, she will, I am quite sure, be delighted to give you five hundred hard ones, without a rest. Do you think that you could take that?"

"No, Laura." Michelle was surprised at the sound of her own voice, after not speaking for so long.

"So you had better be very obedient, and I do mean _very_, Micki . From now on, refer to us as 'Ms. Laura' and 'Ms. Jen.' Now, put this on."

She handed her a straight jacket, one of the more expensive items that she had bought from Cheryl's employer. Michelle put her arm in its sleeves, and wrapped it around herself as best she could. Jen came up, and fastened all of the buckles and straps. She also locked her ankle cuffs together again, and tied her knees together. The women

carried her back to the bedroom, and put her on her back on the floor. Jen placed a chair over her, so that her head was protruding out in front of the seat.

"Now, I'm going to test your obedience, Micki ," said Jen as she sat in the chair. Michelle wondered what orders she could possibly follow, being helpless to move.

"I've been going barefoot all morning, and the soles of my feet are filthy. I want you to clean them for me. But you don't seem to have the use of your hands. So use your tongue, Micki . And lick hard, because I want them spotless."

She placed one large foot right over her lips, and, as she began to lick, taunted her.

"I'm the same height as Mom, 5'11", but I've got larger feet. Mine are size 12. Very big, all dirty, and all yours to clean. Your tongue feels nice and soft, very soothing. Keep licking, but longer strokes. More tongue extension. That's better. You're right where you belong, Micki . Under my feet, obeying my orders. Terrified of the consequences of any further disobedience. My humble ****. Mom has lots of chores to do this afternoon, so I'll just keep you where you are, licking and licking my soles, until dinner time. After dinner, you can be sure that you'll get more tickle-****. Ah, that is so soothing. And you're going to give my soles this tongue bath for hours."

Michelle 's bottom was able to recover from the fierce spanking as the afternoon passed, and her aching diaphragm felt better, too. It was now her tongue that got sore, as she was obliged to lick and lick Jen's soles. When she got done taunting her, she just sat there reading a book, changing feet every half hour. She never noticed when she wet her diaper, and never let her have a rest or a drink of water.

At 5:30pm, Laura came back with Michelle 's dinner on a tray. Jen had an idea.

"Take that back to the kitchen, Mom. Put it all into the blender, and bring it back here in a soup bowl. I'll dip my feet in it, and she'll eat by licking them clean, over and over again."

"Great idea, Jen," said Laura, as she kicked her own sandals off. "And I want to be part of the fun, too."

They had a fine time feeding Michelle her dinner in this manner, even though it did take over an hour. They let her drink lots of water, through a straw, but all her solid food cam smushed from the blender, and licked off their soles. When the meal was done, Jen grinned and spoke to her.

"What do you have to say, Micki ?"

"Um, thank you for dinner, Ms. Jen."

She kicked her the head, softly, and said, "What else?"

As she rubbed her feet on her, one in her hair and one on her cheek, Michelle realized what she wanted her to say. "And thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles, Ms. Jen. And the same thanks to you, Ms. Laura. I'm ever so grateful to be allowed to lick your pretty feet, too."

Jen now smiled, and whispered to Laura. Laura nodded to Jen, and then addressed Michelle .

"Well, Micki , you're learning to be obedient and polite. That's an improvement. Here is your reward: Since you are so grateful to us for the privilege of licking our soles, you will now be fed all of your meals this way. Every day, breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Then the women transferred her to the hoist. By 7pm, she was stretched up on her toes, gagged with a dirty sock, blindfolded, and ready for her evening tickle-****. Laura decided to sit behind Michelle , and dig into her rib cage, leaving Jen to torment her shaven armpits. They went at it with great relish, and soon the howls of laughter from behind her gag became muted, as she weakened. As she became a mere quivering mass of ticklish flesh, a plaything in their hands, Laura began to taunt her.

"You're in for a long, long evening Micki . We'll eat our own dinners separately, so that at least one of us is here, every moment, tickling you endlessly. Are you beginning to be sorry about how you treated me when you were 11? Are you? My vengeance comes with interest, Micki , decades of compound interest. Your regime of tickle-**** has just begun--this is only the second day of your captivity. And you have hours to go before you sleep, even today."

Jen had dinner first, and rushed a bit, anxious to get back to tickle-torturing her unlucky cousin Michelle . Laura then took her time at dinner, as she enjoyed watching her **** on a TV monitor. By the time she returned, Michelle 's calves had cramped up, and her legs were in spasm. She cranked her down a few inches, just barely enough so that her heels were returned to the floor. She then went to her armpits, and Jen switched to her ribs.

Michelle was in tickle hell, in sheer agony, unable to breathe well, wishing to faint, yet still conscious. They kept her in that state, on the ghastly edge of fainting, as long as they could. At about 11:30, she fainted dead away. Laura left Jen to clean her up. Jen put her to sleep wearing the straightjacket, in a clean diaper, with both ankles locked to the footboard, with no gag, but still blindfolded.

Friday, May 24, 2002

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Michelle was awaVenused at 8am by tickling on her feet and her face. As she laughed, she realized that two hands were at her left foot (one holding the toes back, and one scratching at the sole), two hands were similarly at her right foot, and two more hands at her face (one tickling her under the chin, and one grasping her hair, holding her head still). Although blindfolded, she realized that somebody had joined her two cousins. she jerked in her bonds in surprise.

“She’s figured out that there's three of us tickling her," said Cheryl, at her head, as she removed the blindfold. Michelle blinked at the light, and was stunned to see that neither of her cousins was in the room. The three young women all laughed at her, and stopped tickling.

"I'm Cheryl, but you'll call me 'Ms. Cheryl,' if and when you're told to speak to me. I work, part time, in a store called 'The Pleasure Chest West' in Hollywood. I got a fine discount for your cousin on all of this bondage equipment."

Michelle could see that she was a very beautiful woman, about 19 or 20, perhaps 5'6", with what she guessed were northern Chinese ancestors. she looked towards the two at the foot of the bed, expectantly, but knew better than to speak.

The tall woman with brown hair spoke first. She was taller than Jen, perhaps 6'1", and looked even more athletic. "I'm Becky, but you'll call me 'Ms. Rebecca.' I bolted the bed to the floor, added the rings, and installed the hoist. It will be a pleasure to join in the **** of a nasty perv like you--Laura told us all about you."

She also seemed to be 19 or 20.

Michelle 's heart sank at the obvious hostility, and the realization that she was to be tormented by all five women. The blond near Becky spoke up last. She was about 5'8" and looked a little older, perhaps 22.

"I'm Jenna, but you'll call me 'Lady Jennifer.' I set up the cameras, monitors, and taping system. I just graduated--I was a media studies major. We're all sorority sisters of Jen's, and we Tau Kappa Lambda women stick together. We're glad to help Jen and her mother. If the need ever arises, we'll all testify that _you_ paid us to set up this suite the way it is, because you're into bondage, and you wanted it. So don't think that Laura or Jen can ever be prosecuted for your ordeal. Which we fully intend to enjoy."

Michelle 's spirits sank once again, as she realized that it would, at best, even if she somehow escaped, be her word against five. she lay back in despair as they stripped her naked, ordered her to shower, and then put her in the back in the straightjacket and under the chair.

"We know how to feed you," exulted Becky, as she dipped her very large feet into a bowl of ham and eggs, or rather what was left of them out of the blender. Michelle licked every speck of food up, grimacing at the gritty taste of her dirty soles. She must have purposely walked barefoot in the dust just to punish her more.

Cheryl's feet were clean, but much smaller, so less of her food came from her elegant soles. Just as she finished licking all the food form Cheryl, Jen took off her running shoes and white socks. Her feet were sweaty, and it made the eggs taste sour. As a final indignity, Becky washed her feet in hot water, and then used the water to make instant coffee, which she ordered her to drink, holding the straw for her.

"What do you have to say, Micki ?"

She gulped, and said, "Thank you for breakfast, Ms. Rebecca, and thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles."

"What else?"

"Thank you so much for the coffee, Ms. Rebecca. It is a privilege to have coffee flavored with the dirt off your feet."

The three of them then took off the straightjacket, and bound her to the bed in her usual position, an inverted 'Y'. All three began to tickle her at once. Cheryl dug her nails into the ball of her foot, Becky began playing with her rib cage, as if it were a piano, and Jen was alternately poking and scrabbling her nails in her armpits. All three worked with concentration, never pausing or resting. Jen mocked her about her armpits being as clean shaven as a schoolgirl's.

As usual, she began by shrieking and thrashing about, but became weaker and weaker, with her struggles becoming feeble, and her laughter turning into the silent variety. Finally, she was just quaking jelly, unable to make a sound or to move, just ticklish flesh, helpless under their fingers. The three women sometimes changed places, but never stopped tickling her. They were concentrating on her tickle-**** so much, that they didn't even notice when Jen and Laura came in at noon. Laura startled them by speaking.

"It's so good to see young people enjoying themselves. But it's time for her lunch. Thanks for coming over so early--I needed to sleep in and get my rest, but I could never allow Micki to miss her morning tickle-****. Care to help feed her?"

"No, I'll go and eat myself," said Cheryl.

"Me, too," said Jen.

"Not me--I'm looking forward to the caress of her tongue on my soles," said Becky, "but just let me go outside and tramp through the flower beds first."

"Go ahead, Becky," said Jen, "I'll start her off, but I'll leave most of her lunch for you."

In a few minutes Michelle was untied, changed into a fresh diaper, bound in the straightjacket, and placed under the comfortable chair. Jen's feet were quite dirty, but she knew that worse was to come. After fifteen minutes of licking what she guessed was a pulverized chicVenus sandwhich from Jen's soles, she got up and gave way to Becky. Her feet were absolutely filthy, and even had a few strands of grass clinging to them. She happily smeared them with her food, and she set to work licking it off.

"Lick harder! I want all of the food and all of the dirt cleaned off. Do a good job of it, or your bottom will really get it."

Her angry tone was convincing, and Michelle began to lick as hard as she could. First one foot, then the other, and then the first again, with the last of her lunch on it. Even when all the food was gone, she kept licking, vowing not to stop until so ordered, thinking of the 500 spanks hanging over her.

"That's enough, you seem to have licked off every speck of grime. What do you say, little Micki ?"

"Thank you for lunch Ms. Rebecca, and thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles."

"Your tone isn't convincing. Are they lovely?"

"Very, very lovely, Ms. Rebecca. Truly beautiful."

"Good. I'm willing to believe you. I'm going to make you some green tea. First, I'm going for a walk in the flower beds, and then you'll have the tea, made from the water that I wash my feet with. Is that

agreeable to you?"

"Of course, Ms. Rebecca. I am deeply honored to have tea flavored with the dirt off your lovely feet."

Becky laughed at her, and departed. Laura smiled down at her.

"Becky really does spoil you. She has another surprise for you. A present that she made for you. The young women will go get it for you, now."

Cheryl, Jen, and Jen left the suite, and Laura removed the chair from over Michelle . She planted one bare foot firmly on her forehead.

"I suppose that they told you that they'll all testify for me, if necessary. That _you_ are the one who requested and paid for all this bondage equipment, because you love it. So don't imagine that you can ever make trouble for me. There isn't a Martina on you--we only tickled you." She laughed, as the other women all returned.

"Prop her head up, so she can drink her tea," said Becky, with a huge grin. Jen did so, holding up Michelle 's shoulders and head. Becky held the cup to her lips, and she drank it all down.

"What do you have to say, Micki ?"

"Thank you ever so much for the tea, Ms. Rebecca. It is a great privilege to have it flavored with the dirt off your lovely feet."

The three other young women had placed Becky's present beyond the hoist. It looked like a coffin, comnplete with lid, but it had air holes at one end, and two large holes in the other end. The lid was lifted, and Michelle , still in her straightjacket, was carried to the box and laid down inside. The bottom of the coffin had an air mattress in it. her head was on a pillow, near the many air holes in one end. The top half of the other end was now unlocked and lifted, revealing that it was really a set of ankle stocks. her ankle cuffs were removed, and her bare ankles placed in the lower halves of the two padded holes. Then the top half of that end was lowered back into place, and then locked.

"What do you have to say to Becky, Micki ?" asked Jen.

"Thank you ever so much for taking the time to make this new restraining device for me, Ms. Rebecca."

Becky just laughed at her, and closed the lid of the coffin. Michelle was lying comfortably on the mattress, with only a little light coming through the air holes near her head. her ankles were firmly held in the padded holes. she could feel the women tying twine around each one of her toes, and she could feel the toes being pulled back and tied, rendering them immobile. she couldn't see the metal eyeholes screwed into the wood, but she knew that her soles were now

flexed and taut, utterly ****. her toes were now also ****. Laura opened the lid for a moment, and smiled down at her.

"On the bed, you wriggled your feet too much. Even holding your toes with one hand didn't really keep them still. But now I can use both hands to drive you mad. All five of us can drive you totally mad, ten hands tickling your feet and toes, all at the same time. And that is just what we intend to do. All through the afternoon."

She closed the lid, and then it began. Michelle could feel fingernails scratching her heels, toothbrushes stroking her arches, more fingernails digging into the balls of her feet, and straws poking the pads of her toes. Inside the coffin, she thrashed from side to side in her straightjacket, to no effect. she laughed and laughed, until her face was red, and tears streamed down her cheeks. The women, seeing none of this, merely hearing her laughter from inside the coffin, chatted among themselves as they relentlessly attacked her feet. They did notice that she became exhausted, and that the sound of her laughter died down. They did notice that her soles turned first pink, then red, in the areas where they were ceaselessly scratching. They showed no mercy, none at all, and kept tickling her feet all throught the afternoon, as promised, and then into the early evening. It was just too much fun to stop. They checked on her by opening the lid about evey half hour, just to see if she was still conscious. Finally, at 6pm, she was passed out, and they stopped.

Jen went to put her dinner in the blender, while the others carried her out of the box, and put her under the chair. Jen came back with the sooup bowl containig her dinner, as Laura sat herself in the chair. Michelle was awake again by then.

"You'll eat your whole dinner off my feet tonight," said Laura, "my dear little cousin Micki . I trust that you are beginning to realize just how carefully I've planned this, and how utterly trapped you are. I do hope that you realize that you're going to be my guest for far more than a week."

She grinned sadistically, as she saw the look of horror on her face. It was a great comfort to her that it was all being recorded, and she could play back the video tape, to savor her horror, whenever she wished. She presented her left foot, the sole covered with food, to her lips. As she licked it clean, she went on with her explanation.

"I've hired Becky, Jen, and Cheryl, for the whole summer, to help me tickle-**** you. Jen has volunteered her summer to help. There's an old joke that the three best reasons for a teaching career are June, July, and August. Those three months are going to be pure hell for you, Micki . Not even to mention the week left in May. Your schedule is going to be this: First breakfast, licked off our soles. Then your morning tickle-****. Then lunch, served the same way. Then your afternoon tickle-****. Then dinner, also licked off our soles. Then your evening tickle ****. Then sleep. With five of us, we can take time off when we need to or want to. But it's seven days a week for you, Micki ."

She removed her left foot, now clean, presented her right foot to her, and continued.

"You'll be kept in bondage, 24-7. And you'll be spanked, brutally spanked, if you ever dare to disobey any of us. Now, aren't you sorry for tickling me so much when we were kids? Speak up."

"Yes, very sorry, indeed, Ms. Laura."

"Good. You're going to be much sorrier. This is only the third day of your captivity. There's a whole week left in May, and then June, July, and August. Ah, just think of how much fun we'll have! Some days, it will be all five of us tormenting you. Never fewer than three of us. The hoist is excellent for getting at your underarms and ribs. The coffin is perfect for tickling your feet. And the bed is good for all-arouund access. We'll vary things, as we see fit. Well, that was the last of your dinner. What do you say?"

"Thank you so much for dinner, Ms. Laura. It was a privilege to lick it off your lovely soles."

"Good. Stay polite, and you'll avoid being spanked. Did I mention that not only will Jen give you 500 spanks if you disobey again, but I've also promised Jen, Cheryl, and Becky that they each get to give you 500, too? I wouldn't want any of them to feel that I was favoring my daughter."

At this news, Michelle began to cry, softly. Laura laughed at her.

"Well you should cry, Micki , if you ever get me angry with you. While I go eat now, they will attach you to the hoist, for your evening tickling session. I think four hours will be appropriate this evening, and they can begin while I enjoy dinner."

Laura left the room, still laughing, as Jen and Becky began to remove her straightjacket, and Cheryl lowered the hoist to receive her wrists. Jen just smiled at her, and said, "Poor Micki ."

#5

part five -- conclusion

From Laura's Journal, Sunday, June 23, 2002

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It is hard to believe that Michelle has been my prisoner for more than a month now. It never gets stale--whether I'm tickling her myself, or watching the young women do it on the video monitor, I just love every minute of it. her utter helplessness excites me, just fills me with tickle-lust. Two more months just won't be enough for me. As long as she’s bound and helpless, I find her very cute, almost sweet. Especially how polite she’s been, being so scared of the severe spanking she would get. I want to keep her this way, a cute, helpless, tickle-toy, all mine to play with. The chance of her ever getting free annoys me. No, she must stay as my prisoner, my obedient ****, my infantile tickle-toy, who humbly thanks me for the privilege of licking my soles. she must be my property, forever, as long as she lives. I hope that Jen succeeds in her search.

From Laura's Journal, Sunday, June 30, 2002

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Jen had no trouble at all. Using internet sites where actors seeking work can post their photos and resumes, she found Harriet on the second day of her search. Harriet is just a year younger than Michelle , a few pounds lighter, the same height, and, most important, resembles her. Harriet is also broke, about to be evicted from her crummy apartment. As soon as I saw Harriet with her hair dyed and face made up to look like Michelle , I gave her the first $50,000 of the agreed fee. Using Michelle 's credit cards and driver's license, Harriet flies to Newark, N.J., today, and then on to West Palm Beach tomorrow.

From Laura's Journal, Sunday, July 7, 2002

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It all went smoothly. On July 1, Harriet flew from Newark to West Palm Beach, Florida, and took a taxi to a first rate hotel in Palm Beach, right on the ocean. she used Michelle 's credit cards, and Michelle 's driver's license as her photo ID. Meanwhile, Cheryl and Becky flew to Orlando, rented a car, drove to West Palm Beach, where they rented a sailboat. I had supplied them with plenty of cash.

Harriet spent the next two days at her hotel establishing a pattern of behavior: late brunch at the hotel's beach-front cafe, long swim out into the ocean, conversation with a waitress at lunch (in one of the hotel's own restaurants) about what a fine, long swim she just had, and how hungry it made her.

On the third day, Thursday, Harriet took her long swim out from the hotel's private beach, and reached the sailboat. Becky hoisted her aboard. She and Cheryl sailed her to West Palm Beach, gave her her own wallet, some new clothes, a bus ticket to Atlanta, Georgia, and enough cash to make her way by bus or train from there back to L.A.

Becky and Cheryl are back. They returned the boat, drove to Orlando, returned the car, and flew home on Friday. Harriet is on a bus somewhere now, on her way back. I will pay her the remaining $50,000 when she gets here, in small bills, nothing larger than a twenty.

From Laura's Journal, Wednesday, July 10, 2002

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Just what I've been waiting for! The 'Palm Beach Press' has this story: "New Jersey Tourist Missing, Feared Drowned." It goes on to say that one Michelle Lamb, a professor of English from New Jersey, checked into the hotel on Monday, July 1, with her room reserved for six days. she was last seen at the hotel's beach-front cafe on Thursday morning, July 4, having brunch. her wallet was found in the safe in her room, along with the return half of a round-trip ticket from Newark's airport. her clothes and other items were found in the room. A police investigation revealed that it was her habit to take a long swim out into the ocean each day before lunch. There is, the story ends, little chance that her body will be recovered, if, as is feared, she swam too far out, and drowned.

From Laura's Journal, Thursday, July 11, 2002

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My lust for tickle-torturing cousin Michelle has grown. Probably it is the fact that now I know that nobody will ever come looking for her here, that now she is more helpless than ever--presumed dead, to the rest of the world. Alive in fact, in my house, in the sound-proof suite designed for her imprisonment, my ticle-****, forever. After each session of tickle-****, I just can't wait until the next session.

Becky has built another bondage aparatus for her. (Such a talented young woman! Welder, carpenter, expert sailor. I'm going to give her a large bonus.) The new aparatus has a curved cross-section from the side, arching upward in the middle. she lies on it, belly up, so that her ribs and belly are prominent, protruding upward. her legs go on the downward slope in one direction, and her shoulders and head on the downward slope in the other direction. When strapped in, she is in perfect position for rib and tummy tickling. The hoist is still my favorite for getting at her armpits, and the coffin is, of course, perfect for tickle-torturing her feet. It is entirely my whim what kind of tickling sessions she gets each day, and for how long. Never less than three hours each, for a minimum of nine hours a day. And even that isn't enough for me!

Between the sessions, when the young women are feeding her lunch and dinner, I go to my bedroom. There, I watch some of my favorite video tapes of Michelle 's ****, and use my personal vibrator to satisfy my sexual lust. As I cum to video images of her tickle-****, I can't wait to get back to tickling her even more. I am in heaven.

From Laura's Journal, Friday, July 12, 2002

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Two fine developments today. I paid off Harriet, who's back in L.A., and she was overjoyed to accept the deal that I offered her. I told her that, being only human, she likely was thinking of blackmailing me for more money. she isn't sure exactly why I was setting up somebody who looked like her as dead, but she knows it can't be for any legal reason.

Harriet swore not, that she would never try ****, but I cut her off. I offered her a pension, to send her $5,000 every month, for as long as she lives, on the condition that she leaves the country, and stays far away. she’s going to an island in the Aegean, where she once visited, and she’s going to retire there on my pension, with the cash I already gave her to settle in. One million in capital is all it will take to generate her pension, and I've got many, many millions. My guess is that Harriet will drink herself to **** in five or ten years, but I really don't care; she’s welcome to collect the pension indefinitely. Harriet was the risky link in this plan, and she now has only an interest in keeping quiet and far away, so she can collect her check every month.

The other fine develpment is this: The coroner in Palm Beach County has issued a **** certificate Michelle Lamb, and the 'Newark Star Ledger' has published her obituary. How amusing it will be to show it to her!

Sunday, July 14, 2002

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Michelle knew that something strange was going on. All five of them had been present all day, somewhat unusual. And during the afternoon tickle-****, strapped on the new arch, they kept saying strange things to each other, like, "Doesn't Micki look well, considering the circumstances?"

With four hands digging into her ribs, two hands stroking her belly with brushes, two hands scratching at her feet, and two hands stroking her neck and ears with Q-tips, she wasn't paying close attention. But their comments made no sense, and they all found them so amusing.

After licking her dinner off the soles of Jen's and Becky's feet, Michelle had to thank them, as usual. Then they put her in the straightjakcet and into the coffin. her toes were tied back to the eyeholes, as usual. So her evening tickle-**** would be on her feet. But they left the lid open, and Laura came over to her holding a newspaper.

"The coffin is a fitting spot for you, considering that you're ten days dead."

Laura held the paper in front of her face, so she could see the front page. Then she opened it to the obituary page. her name was highlighted in yellow magic marker. Michelle gulped as she read the notice of her own presumed drowning in Florida, a state she had not been in for about fifteen years.

"You're likely wondering how I arranged this, Micki , so I'll tell you. It wasn't cheap, but it was worth every penny." Laura paused, and relished the look on her face, and knew that tonight's video tape would become one of her favorites, one that she would often watch while she masturbated.

First Laura told of the hiring of Harriet, and of Harriet's activities, up to the moment when Harriet was hoisted out of the Atlantic Ocean by Becky into the sailboat. Then Becky and Cheryl took over the story, telling of their role in the plot, and how smoothly it had all gone. Laura finished by explaining how she had persuaded Harriet to retire abroad. Michelle was crying, sobbing uncontrollably, by the time she had finished her tale.

"As well you should cry, Micki , for you are now dead to the world. Nobody outside this room will ever know or care that you are actually alive, here, to be tickle-tortured morning, afternoon, and evening, every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, forever, as long as we both shall live."

Laura reached down and tickled her under the chin. she continued to sob, in misery at the realization that September would not bring her freedom, that her captivity was to continue indefinitely.

"Make that 366 days on leap years," said Becky, as she closed the lid of the coffin. Eight hands began to tickle her feet, without mercy.

Soon that became ten hands, as Becky joined in the fun.

The End