Richard and Shelly left the club and walked back to the hotel, straight to the back of the stage where she had danced an hour ago. The main show was in full swing. Richard led her down the corridors, along a route that looked like the one his sister had taken. When he stopped, Shelly was not at certain they were at the same place, but the plain, unmarked door looked the same. He took out a ring of keys, unlocked the door and pulled it open.
It was the exact same room. He clicked on the lights, then pulled the door closed with a whoosh and a thud, locking it closed with a sliding bolt. She was watched him closely, a little bit afraid that he might try something she didn't want, but she wasn't at all certain that there was anything she did not want. As soon as he turned around his eyes went to the rack of dresses, then flicked to where Auntie Marge had hung the black one on a separate rack.
He strode across the room and pushed aside a large painted plywood moon, revealing another steel door. It was locked with a combination lock, and he set to work hastily spinning the dial. A moment later it clicked open.
It was too dark to see much, but the room appeared to be strewn with bits of sheet metal, pipe, and machine parts. In the center was something waist high covered with a blanket. Another shrouded shape sat along one wall. Richard rummaged in a box and reappeared carrying a pair of leather cuffs and a large coil of rope.
"Now tell me, Shelly, just how did you want to be tied up?" Richard asked.
"Well, actually, I guess in a standing position. See those pipes up there? Can you make the rope come down from there and attach to my wrists?"
Richard flung the rope over a grouping of pipes, letting both ends rest on the carpet.
"Here, hold out your arms," he said.
He wrapped a leather cuff around each of her wrists, then threaded one end of the rope through rings attached to the cuffs and tied the end. Slowly he drew the other end of the rope tight, until her arm's were up over her head, but not so tight that her arms were pulled completely taunt. After he secured the end of the rope he went back inside the other room.
Straight ahead she saw herself in the large full length mirror, the same one she had admired herself in just two days before. It seemed so long ago. Then she was innocently admiring her nicely developing body, and totally overwhelmed by the feel of her dress. Now she had grown accustomed to the continuous deluge of pleasure. Accustomed to it, but still driven to the edge of madness by it. What really gave her a shock was to see herself dangling there, her cuffed wrists held high above her head, the picture of a helpless young girl about to be ravished my a cruel stranger.
Shelly's heart was really pounding now. Being in this position, in a dungeon-like room, was right out of her fantasies. The only thing different was that she was not naked, and she knew and liked the man doing this to her. Even so, she began to fear that she had gone too far. For a second she imagined a paragraph in the Police Beat column of next morning's paper about the body if a young hula dancer found in a dumpster. She brushed it aside, certain beyond any doubt that Richard was not possible of anything like that.
When Richard returned he was carrying a small bundle of muli-colored satin. Shelly decided that if it was a dress it would look ridiculous, more like a jester's costume. He gave it a little toss, and as it fell to the floor a single long strip of white satin separated itself from the bundle, one end clutched in his hand. It looked like a sash for a dress. The rest of the bundle spilled out into a tangle of identical looking sashes, each a different color. He knelt down before her and used the white one to bind her ankles together, finishing with a large bow knot, then stood and looked her over.
Still without saying anything Richard went around behind her. A moment later she felt the bottom of her dress being tugged. Curious, she turned her head as far as she could to see what he was doing. He was squatting down, plucking at her train like a wedding photographer, meticulously arranging it so that it fanned out perfectly behind her. When he was satisfied he stood and came around to stand in front of her.
"And now, Shelly, it's time to hear you scream," he said, his voice a choked whisper.
Shelly was fully prepared to act out this part of her fantasy. It would not require much acting, as her dress still felt so good that she almost felt like screaming anyway. Richard, however, did not give her any opportunity to play-act. When she saw him stretch out his arms toward her she felt a hint of fear, but his movement was slow and he was reaching for her waist. She thought he was going to adjust her position and relaxed a little. It was not until his fingers actually touched her waist and the first jolt shuddered through her that she realized what he was doing.
"No no noooo," Shelly wailed. "Please don't tickle me! Not like this! Ah! Oh! Oooooh! God, no, please oh please oh ple-yaaaaaah!"
Those were the last words Shelly spoke for twenty-four hours. At least, that is how she felt at the time. In fact is was less than a minute until he stepped back, grinning from ear to ear.
"God, but I've wanted to do this for a long time!" he exclaimed.
Although Richard had stopped tickling her, Shelly continued to tremble and bleat for awhile. What she felt reminded her of a thunderstorm, where the loud crack of a lightning bolt is drawn out by the echoes that rumble after.
Those first few seconds were total confusion. As soon as Shelly had realized Richard was going to tickle her she felt no reason for concern, because every place where she might be ticklish was covered. In fact, by the time she had arrived at this conclusion she was already thrashing around, laughing hysterically and pleading with him to stop. At the same time she was shocked at the intensity of the tickling his fingers produced and curious why the sensation was so overwhelming. She was begging him to stop when she realized that it felt incredibly good.
Finally she just let herself go, laughing as loud and deep as she could, trying not to hold anything back. The decision to let go came easily, but her mind was reluctant to release its grip on her self control. The years of conditioning, by her parents, her grand parents, her teachers, and even her friends, had left her ability to let go locked in a room with rusty door hinges. She had unlocked the door, but it was slow to open. Gradually her laughter went from nervous sounding giggles to wild laughter that seemed to spring from deep inside her gut.
She remembered that for hours now she had just wanted to scream, and tried it. It was as though a dam had burst inside her head. She screamed and screamed, and it felt wonderful. The relief she felt was like when she finally got to pee after having to hold it in for a long time. Not the exhausted relief she felt at the end, but the energy-charged relief she felt right when the pee hit the water in the bowl.
When he stopped touching her the super strong blast of ticklish pleasure ended abruptly. In its wake came a long, drawn out period of ticklish pleasure that gradually died away, but not entirely. It was her dress that kept the tickling sensations going, only now they were much stronger than before. It was then that she realized that she felt very horny.
After his initial declaration of satisfaction Richard just stood there, breathing hard, apparently lost in a trance. It took Shelly nearly a minute to catch her breath enough to be able to speak.
"Please," Shelly murmured, "could we try that again?"
Richard looked startled, smiled, and again reached for her waist.
This time she was ready, but the effect was no less overwhelming. Her body trembled like a wild thing. Her screams of laughter seemed to come from someone else. Her mind kept shouting two completely contradictory thoughts, that if this continued another second she would die, and she hoped it would go on forever.
Her arms seem to have a mind of their own, and were trying desperately to disengage themselves from the cuffs and drop down to ward off Richard's hands. That being out of the question, they may have been hoping that the rope would magically stretch, like a glob of chewing gum, at least enough to allow her to shield her sides with her elbows. The part of her that was drinking up her torment like a thirsty St. Bernard was grateful for the fact that her arms were incapable of intervening.
After thirty seconds he stopped. This time he asked her if she wanted more.
"Yes," she blurted without hesitation. "Only, this time, make it last longer. Don't stop, no matter how much I beg you to."
"Shelly, I think I need to stop from time to time, otherwise you'll lose your breath and pass out. You might also pee and ruin that beautiful dress."
"OK, then, stop if you think you should, but try to make it last a long time. It feels so good!"
Richard began as he had before, running his fingers over the hollow of her waist, but quickly extended his reach. He stroked her hips, then up her sides to hollows of her armpits, then across her belly were he drew circles around her navel. Each new spot produced a fresh blast of euphoria.
Instead of keeping her at full intensity the whole time he varied the speed and pressure of his fingertips, taking her from hellish torture to delicate teasing that hardly made her giggle. She enjoyed this much more than what he had done before.
The longer Richard tickled her the more her dress tickled her. It was as if what he was doing with his fingers heightened her entire body's sensitivity. A few times she tried to hold still, to avoid the extra torment of the satin tickling her skin, but she found it impossible. For some reason the fact that she could not avoid this extra suffering was very much to her liking.
The ticklish feel of her dress had triggered her sexual arousal from the first time she had put it on. Now her desire was a raging inferno. She could not help thinking about that dildo, and when she pictured Richard plunging one deep inside her she came very close to coming.
Suddenly her desire for more erotic stimulation was answered. Richard had been tickling her ribs when all of a sudden his hands moved around to her breasts. The pang of pleasure that shot through her was so welcome that she made no effort to complain. In fact she managed to say "Oh yes, that feels so good" despite the fact that she was laughing uncontrollably.
Her nipples were rock hard and made very noticeable bumps in the front of her dress. He began to use a devilish technique, one which produced a perfect blend of tickling and erotic stimulation. All it involved was a rapid flicking motion of one finger, a cross between scratching and tapping. He used bursts of very rapid motion, and in those moments her body writhed. In between these bursts he either avoided touching her altogether or traced circles around her nipples. Sometimes he tickled the undersides of her breasts, which by now were so sensitive that the tickling this produced felt lethal.
After a few minutes of this her cunt felt like it was chewing on something. Shelly wanted desperately to have some kind of contact with her crotch, anything that would push her over the edge. She no longer cared if Richard used a dildo. His fingers, his tongue, a door knob -- anything to rub her clit.
Another five minutes ticked slowly by. To Shelly it was pure torture. Not the tickling, as much as it seemed like torture. There was no way she could get any hotter, yet she was helpless to do anything about it and helpless to stop what it was that made her so hot. She was laughing so hard that normal speech was nearly impossible. Even though the few words she could get out were "Stop" and "No more" Richard complied with her request and ignored her.
At last Richard stopped diddling his fingers over her nipples, but her rest did not last more than a few seconds. The respite was only to allow Richard to fetch a folding chair and set it down in front of her. As soon as he sat down his hands reached out and began tickling the undersides of her breasts again. The resulting explosion of laughter had a strange, haunting, almost plaintive quality to it.
The reason for the chair soon became obvious. After a few seconds Richard's hands began slowly moving down across her belly. His hands slowly swept from her sides to the center of her abdomen, then back. With each oscillation they moved a half inch or so lower. It did not seem to matter anymore where he touched her -- every part of her body now produced tickling too intense to allow her to maintain any self control. What did seem to matter was that whenever he touched a spot he had not touched in awhile it tickled a lot more. The technique he was now using continuously brought his fingers over fresh, untouched places.
Shelly was desperate for Richard to hurry up, hoping that if he got anywhere close to her cunt she would finally come. The snail's pace at which his hands moved down her abdomen only furthered her anguish. She tried to hurry him by twisting her hips, but he was very good at following her movements. Vertical motion was almost impossible because of the way she was tied.
At last his hands were past her navel. Soon they were just below her waist, down where the top of her panties would have been had she been wearing any. She was just beginning to feel a bit of extra warmth and pleasure from his touch, a subtle shift really in the pleasure she had been feeling for so long now, when his two hands spread apart and slowly made their way down the tops of her thighs.
It tickled so much there was no way she could speak coherent words. She tried to say "Damn you, what are you doing? Just go down! Keep going down! Straight! Don't go around!" It just came out as peculiar modulations of her laughter.
Just as her arms had struggled valiantly against her restraints, so now did her legs, trying desperately to get away from Richard's fiendish fingers. Alternately they would bend at the knee, the only movement available, in what would have been a swimmer's scissors kick if only her ankles were not bound so securely. Her dress restricted this movement, snapping tight around her lower thighs as each knee bent forward. Like a tiger pacing in a cage her knees seemed unwilling to learn that escape was impossible. A steady stream of "swish-whoomp-swish-whoomp" accompanied Richard's dancing fingers. Mostly she felt it, a rush of pleasure as her thighs rubbed against the inside of her dress, then a sudden sensation of pressure when her thighs reached the limit of the satin sheath that encompassed them. Between the cracks of her screams she could hear it, too, the same whispering, rustling sound her dress made when she walked, the same sound made by the dresses worn by the women at Richard's club. Now it was different, a much faster pace, like a woman running to catch a train or, she realized with a chill in her heart, a woman fleeing a sinister stranger. A strange man with a dildo, who if he caught her would tie her up and ravish her with it, for hours at a time, for day after day until she was driven mad by the pleasure.
Somehow, in the midst of her frenzy, Shelly was still able to think about what was happening to her. She realized how different this experience was than anything previous.
When she masturbated she just called up her fantasy about being a captive and within seconds her cunt was wet and tingly. From then on she rubbed her clit fast and hard, biting her pillow to keep back her screams, inundating herself in excruciating pleasure.
When she had sex with a guy it was completely different. Throughout the evening she worried about whether or not he would want to have sex with her, and if by the time they reached that point she would want to have sex with him. When at last the opportunity came she felt smothered by his slobbering kisses and pawing hands. None of the boys she had been with wasted much time on her clit. As soon as they realized she wanted it they ripped off their clothes, clawed away at hers, and rushed to get their cock inside her. All this time she was worried about doing it right. Was she in a position he liked? What did he want her to say? When she touched his cock would she pinch it, or bump against his balls? Was she acting wild enough to turn him on, or so wild that she would scare him? Did he want a sweet, innocent girl or a slut? If there was any pleasure to the act it was in feeling the sheer strength of him pounding against her, in seeing his face get so contorted, and hearing the animal-like grunts he made as he shuddered into erotic bliss inside her. All too soon it was over. She never felt anything like the mind searing pleasure and the suffering she longed for.
What Richard was doing to her was completely different. She had never been tickled this way, yet as unfamiliar as the experience was she found it to be completely to her liking. What made tickling really different was the intense desire for sexual stimulation it provoked while giving her no easy way to get it. Now that his fingers were streaking rapidly up and down her thighs, dancing over the fronts and backs of her knees and drawing circles over her buttocks the exasperation she felt at having no way to touch her clit and no end in sight to this ticklish hell seemed somehow satisfying. Not the satisfaction of something complete, but rather that what was happening was something she liked. She liked the tickling, too, but more important was the way it took control of her, overwhelming her in the same way that prolonged stimulation of her clit did. In the end, it seemed to be a matter of suffering. She was suffering, terribly, and enjoying every moment.
After Richard's hands had ventured down below her waist he had done something several times that puzzled her. He brought his face close to her, within an inch of her, and seemed to inhale deeply. From his seated position his face was opposite her waist, but he bent over to get closer. She almost thought he just wanted to smell her cunt except that every time he did it he went to a different spot, and most of the time it was nearer to her hip. He seemed to want to remain there and only pulled away because of her uncontrollable gyrations. Once she knew she had bumped into him. After that, she noticed him kissing her dress. From her vantage point it was not that easy to see clearly, but to Shelly it looked more than anything like a lover's kiss, long and filled with adoration. Finally, as he was reaching around to tickle her ass, he pressed his cheek against the front of her hip and nuzzled her. After he rubbed the side of his face against her satin dress he pulled back a little, stared at that spot, then kissed it, then nuzzled it again. It felt so strange. Not the tactile feeling -- that was overwhelmed by what his hands were doing. It was his actions and her reaction to them that felt strange. Strange, yet nice, as there was much about the experience that reminded her of a mother cat with a kitten.
Her suffering lasted the better part of an hour. In time her screams became less intense, then less frequent, but the sensations never diminished. If anything they grew in intensity. As the strength of the tickling increased, so too did her arousal. In the first few minutes she thought she had found the limit to how much desire she could feel, but as the minutes ticked slowly by she was taught, over and over again, how much desire she could really feel. By the time Richard stopped tickling her she would gladly have fucked every construction worker on Oahu, at the job site, in the middle of the day. She was certain she could wear one of those vibrating dildos in her friend's catalog to school all day and not satisfy her desire. She wished she could lay on a big brass bed in the center of the field at Aloha Stadium and be fucked by every high school football player who had ever played there since it was built.
Shelly did not actually see Richard stop. One moment he was tickling her, the next he was lowering her gently to the ground.
"What happened?" Shelly tried to say, but she could barely understand herself.
"You passed out," Richard said. His face looked worried, even scared, but as she stared sweetly up at him the wrinkles of worry shifted to those of a big smile.
"How'd I do?" she asked, pushing herself up and flexing her sore arms.
"Why, what do you mean? That's my line," he said laughing. "How was it? Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh Richard! I can't describe it. It's like the world's best carnival ride. It's like going to a really good concert, only much better. It's a lot like sex, too. Boy, am I ever horny! While you were tickling me I felt like I could fuck a stadium full of football players."