Confront the lights.

As they get closer, it becomes clear that the lights are pixies. Hundreds of them. Every single one bearing a feather.

I squirm and struggle as they descend on me. It's no use. I can't get away. They start by teasing my neck with the feathers, making me wiggle my head from side to side in a **** attempt to dislodge them. It doesn't work. They giggle and mock my helplessness in tiny pixie voices as they locate my other ticklish spots - my sides, my inner thighs, the backs of the knees, my nipples. Each is slowly, carefully teased and stroked. The sensation is unbearable, but I have **** but to grit my teeth and bear it.

The last pixie settles itself directly over my pussy. Its feather begins to trace circles over my clit. There's a long, foreboding pause. Then some invisible signal goes around and they all begin to tickle me all at once, redoubling their efforts, seemingly intent on driving me mad. I kick and thrash and squeal into my panty-gag. It only serves to emphasise my vulnerability.

My tickle **** goes on and on and on. The feathers at my nipples and clit almost bring me to orgasm several times, but I'm never quite allowed to get there. The pixies always pull away just before I'm able to cum, leaving me gasping and **** for release. They seem determined to ensure I'm left without even a shred of dignity to call my own. By the time they're done I'm on fire with shame and arousal, exhausted by the exertion of laughing and trying to pull away. As I watch them flutter off, all I can think about is how badly I want them to come back and finish the job.

Around midnight, the woman from behind the bar comes along to untie me. "I see you got what you deserve," she comments, as I pull the panties out of my mouth. "Run along, now. I don't want to see your face in town again."

"But - my clothes - "

"You can run back to the city naked for all I care." She gives my bottom a smack. "Get along, now, if you don't want me to tie you up again."