Tickle Strip by Unknown
The Group had picked out Cindy as their victim for the evening.
Francine had spotted her first, at the beginning of the evening. She was a lovely
thing, a pert little brunette freshman with big eyes and a pixie face, her dark hair swept back into a playful ponytail.
Francine studied her calculatingly during the party. She watched her dance, listened
to her laugh, took in her appearance from head to toe—the airy pink silk scarf wrapped around her neck, the blue denim jacket and miniskirt; the frilly white blouse opened just far enough and the bit of lace peeking
out between her full round breasts; the laced-up pumps and sheer, chocolate-colored stockings, with lacy garter tops that you could just glimpse now and then under the hem of her tight skirt.
Such a tantalizing dish—Francine felt a tingling in all the right places and decided
Cindy was the perfect toy for their little monthly game.
She didn't notice Paul coming up beside her. "You can't go girl-watching without a bra, babe."
Francine blushed and quickly folded her arms over the front of her sweater. "Bastard."
Paul followed her stare, and whistled silently. "Oh, yeees," he said. "Very pretty."
"I thought you'd like her," Francine said with a wicked grin.
Paul nuzzled her ear and whispered, "She'd look even better with some of those
clothes off, wouldn't she. Squirming on the table."
Francine nodded. "Let's test her."
A little while later, Cindy was wandering through the party looking for someone she
knew, without much luck. She loved parties, but she was a bit of a stranger at this one. She knew that if some activity were to start up, maybe then she'd have an in. But this didn't seem like the right crowd for
Then she noticed a very attractive, honey-blonde girl smiling at her from across the
room. She stood almost a head taller than Cindy in her suede boots, which she wore with black nylon hose over her long, shapely legs. Cindy could tell she was a looker; the hot pants and snug white turtleneck didn't
Cindy grinned and waved.
"Hi, I'm Francine," the blonde said. "New in town?"
"I'm Cindy," she replied, a bit shyly. "I came with a few friends and they all
disappeared. I think—I'm kind of lost."
"Have no fear, you're in good hands now." Francine grinned. "I'm a senior. My
boyfriend's somewhere around, getting beers. We always make a point of going to welcome-week parties—see the new faces, make them feel at home."
"You sure are dressed for it," Cindy said with a giggle.
"You don't look so bad yourself," Francine replied, with a bit of a leer that wasn't
quite a joke. Cindy grinned and looked embarrassed.
"Oh, just my party clothes," she said. "You never know what's going to happen."
"How true," Francine said, grinning ear to ear.
Suddenly Cindy shrieked and nearly jumped out of her shoes. Francine and a few
others standing around all started asking what the matter was as she contorted herself and nearly fell to the floor, wriggling furiously and trying to claw at her back through her clothes.
She excused herself, blushing, and almost ran for the bathroom.
Paul smiled at Francine, from where he had been standing behind Cindy. "Well, her
back is very ticklish," he said.
Francine was getting very excited. "Let's get the others."
"I'll do it. Keep an eye on her."
Cindy came back out in a few minutes, having managed to dislodge the mysterious
piece of fluff that had fallen down her collar. She marvelled at how it had seemed to seek out the very person, the very bit of skin that could stand it the least.
She searched the rooms for Francine. She didn't want to lose her—she seemed like the
sort of girl who knew how to have fun.
She found her in the hallway. She looked relieved to see Cindy. "There you are. Everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah, sure," Cindy said, giggling nervously. "Something fell down my blouse."
"Yipes. Good thing it didn't get any lower," Francine said with a devilish grin. She
watched with hidden glee the reaction Cindy had to that idea.
Then Paul sidled up holding a couple of beers. "Hey babe.
Who's your friend?"
"You are, silly. And this is Cindy. Cindy—Paul."
"Hi, Paul," Cindy said.
"Greetings," Paul said. "Welcome to the realm of higher learning."
The three of them drank and chatted for a while, getting quite chummy. Then Paul
said to Francine, in an audible sotto voce, "Speaking of new faces, we're one short for the game later on. I can't find anyone."
"On no!" Francine said.
Cindy perked right up. "A game? What game?" she asked.
Francine looked around and spoke in the same low tone. "Oh, um, we try to keep it a
secret. Everybody always wants to play, but we don't want just anybody."
"What is it?" Cindy said excitedly.
"You know. The game."
Paul whispered conspiratorially, "T.S."
"But the players have to be just right for it," Francine said, "or it just doesn't work."
"George has everything set in the basement," Paul said, before Cindy could say a
word. "But we're still looking. It's not easy keeping it a secret."
"T.S.?" Cindy said.
"Yeah," Francine said enthusiastically, "we play downstairs, while the party's going
on—without anyone even knowing about it."
"Good sound-proofing," Paul said. "They'd kill to get in on it." Cindy stared at
both of them, wondering if she should pursue it. She was dying to ask how you played, but didn't dare—since it was something everyone knew. There was only one way to find out.
"God, I'd love to play," she said. "I haven't played it in so long." She paused, and
added nonchalantly, "I used to be pretty good."
Francine looked sharply at her, then at Paul. "What do you think?"
"I don't know, we'd have to ask the others. She does look perfect for it."
Cindy almost bounced up and down, making her ponytail wave from side to side. "Oh
please, I'd really love to. I won't tell anyone."
Francine giggled. "I'll bet you won't."
Paul nodded. "Okay, hang on, I'll check with George and Tricia."
Cindy beamed as Paul dashed out of the room. Francine smiled at her, and oddly
enough, seemed to be looking her up and down. Cindy gave her a quick look.
"I'm not—uh, dressed wrong for it, am I?" she said anxiously.
Francine grinned. "Oh no, you're absolutely perfect." Then she frowned a bit. "Don't you know?"
Cindy caught herself. "Well, yeah, of course. Uh, I just meant, maybe for you..."
"How long ago did you play last?"
"Well, let's see..." Cindy mumbled. "In my, uh, last year at..."
Francine eyed her sternly. "Cindy, tell me the truth," she said, "you don't know the game, do you?"
Cindy looked crestfallen. "Oh!... well... not really."
"Oh, Cindy," Francine said with a disappointed look.
"Please let me play," Cindy pleaded. "I pick things up very quickly. I promise.
Please don't tell them."
Francine thought about it. "I don't know..."
"Please, please, Francine—really, you just have to give me
the basics—I'm very good with games—"
Francine looked at her, softening, and suddenly she grinned. "I'll bet you
are. Okay. We'll keep it a secret. I'll clue you in and give you some pointers. You'll catch on fast." She grinned again. "Real fast."
"Oh, good! Thank you," Cindy said. "Okay—so tell me—what do I—what happens first?"
"Well, first," Francine said, "we pick a victim—"
Francine laughed. "Oh, that's just what we call her—I mean, it. We pick the person
who—" She waved across the room. "There's Paul."
Paul was giving a thumbs up and motioning for them to come. "Okay, I'll fill
you in while we play." Francine whispered. "Come on."
Cindy followed, a little nervously. They went into the kitchen, where Francine and
Paul introduced her to George and Tricia. George, tall and long-haired, she had already met. Tricia was a very pretty redhead, about her height, dressed similarly to Francine, with cut-off blue jeans, lavender hose
They waited until no one else was in the room, and then George opened the door to
the cellar, and they all filed into a pitch black stairwell. Francine took Cindy by the hand and led her in, and George followed, locking the door behind them and then padding it with sound-proofing foam while Cindy
tried to make out what he was doing.
"The game gets pretty noisy," Francine explained.
George flicked on a flashlight and led the way down. "Watch your step, guys."
"Quick," Cindy whispered. "Tell me what to do."
"You might not have to do anything," Francine replied mischievously. "It's easy to
play if you get picked."
"Picked for what?"
"That's how the game starts, you draw lots to pick a victim."
Cindy felt her heart beating faster. She squeezed Francine's hand in the dark and
asked, "What—what happens to the—the vic-tim?"
"T.S.," Francine replied. "Also known as Tickle Strip."
Francine giggled. "Any part of you that shows can be tickled. The more you
laugh, the more you take off." She squeezed Cindy's hand. "And the more you take off, the more you get tickled."
Cindy gasped. They had reached the basement, a small room moodily lit by a few track
lights. It was plush-carpeted and sparsely furnished with a few chairs, a long, polished table—and a number of silk ropes hanging from sturdy hooks in the concrete ceiling. On a wall rack across the room Cindy saw
an array of instruments that made her go weak at the knees—artist brushes and shaving brushes, Q-tips and broom straws, a rather large collection of feathers of all types, a smaller one of real feather dusters.
Cindy took it all in, and a cold sweat ran down her back. What had she gotten herself into?
Tickle Strip. Her limbs to jelly.
"Okay, let's play," George said, and produced a deck of cards, began shuffling it.
"Ace of spades is the victim. Cindy, as our guest player, would you care to cut the cards?"
"Uh... sure," she said. She looked at Francine, who smiled encouragingly.
Well, she thought, there's five of us. My chances are pretty good. This could be a lot of fun...
She cut the cards and they all stood around the table while George dealt them out,
face up. Tricia watched Cindy, then looked at Francine, who winked back. George, of course, could make a deck of cards do whatever he wanted.
Nervously at first, Cindy watched the cards go round the table once, then twice, and
was almost beginning to enjoy the fearful anticipation, when the Black Ace landed right in front of her.
She stared at it and her heart froze. She looked desperately at Francine, who
grinned back—then at the door—but there was no way she could back out now. Tickle Strip...
She swallowed hard. They were all looking at her.
Redheaded Tricia approached her, and Cindy instinctively wrapped her arms around
herself. "Hey, hey, don't do that," Tricia purred. "You know the rules, hon."
Cindy stared at her, guessing what she meant. She let her arms fall and looked at
her submissively, trembling.
"Good girl," Tricia said, looking her up and down. "I've got a king—I start?"
"She's all yours," George said, clearing the table.
Cindy looked around frantically. "But—but—"
"But what, honey?" Tricia stage-whispered. She blew a few strands of hair from
Cindy's face. "You look cute in a ponytail. Doesn't she have pretty ears?"
Without warning Tricia's hands shot out and fluttered two little downy feathers
behind Cindy's ears. Cindy sputtered and giggled involuntarily.
"Good girl. You lose." Tricia looked her up and down and grinned. "I'll take your scarf."
"What?" Cindy gasped. "But—" Tricia unwound her scarf and bared Cindy's delicate
neck. Francine nodded at Paul. Paul took firm hold of both Cindy's arms and Francine moved behind her, and began to gently run her long fingernails up and down the back of Cindy's neck.
"See, honey," Francine whispered in her ear, "if I make you squeal, or laugh, or
squirm more than Tricia did, you lose another piece of clothing. The more you wriggle, the farther you strip."
Cindy gulped. "How f-far?" she whispered back urgently, "D-d-down to my underwear?"
"Down to your birthday suit, sweetie." Francine giggled. "And anything we can see, we can tickle."
Cindy gasped. "Anything?"
"Oh, yes—once you lose your undies, it gets a lot of fun."
Cindy's eyes went wide with horror—and then Francine attacked her with her fingernails.
"Eeeeeee!" Cindy convulsed and squealed. Francine flicked all ten fingers under her
chin, her ears, down her neck and inside her collar, and Cindy writhed in a childish giggling fit. "Eeeeee! Eeeee-hee-hee!"
"Nice try, Cindy," Francine cooed, "but you lose." She slid Cindy out of her denim
jacket. "We'll have you down to your stockings in no time."
Oh my God! thought Cindy. I have to get out of this!!! I have to keep control! She
was blushing as the jacket came off. The sleeves of her blouse were conveniently rolled up to her elbows. Paul gripped her just above her left wrist, and with his other hand he produced a Q-tip. He grinned.
"Most women don't know how sensitive they are here."
Cindy stared fearfully as he brushed the cotton tip just below her palm. Her ears
reddened and she fought an irresistible urge to squirm. Then the Q-tip slid down the inside of her forearm—she gasped in surprise. It sent shock waves down her body! She bit her lip and began to whimper. Paul
grinned and began swirling the cotton tip inside her elbow, and Cindy's knees buckled. She couldn't take it! It was excruciating! She tried to wiggle her arm free but Paul held it firmly while barely touching her
skin with the wicked cotton tip. She fell to her knees.
She heard herself moan, "Ooh! Oooh! Oh my gooosh!" Then Paul flicked the tip rapidly
over the delicate flesh below her hand and she contorted her body, tossing her head back and forth in a loud fit of squeals, "Aaaaah! Eeeeeh! Eeeeeeeeh!"
"Off with your blouse," Paul said in triumph. Francine held Cindy's arm up to Paul's
tormenting Q-tip while with his free hand he began unbuttoning her. Cindy watched helplessly as her blouse opened down the front.
Tricia and Francine unbuttoned her sleeves and her blouse slid to the floor. Cindy
blushed madly in her white cotton bra as they lifted her to her feet, and George took her bare arms and brought them together. She saw the silk cord hanging in front of her and let out a shriek.
"Oh—God no—please not that!"
As she stared in horror George quickly and expertly bound her wrists together,
pulled the cord taut and tied it to the hook in the ceiling, leaving Cindy, ribs and underarms exposed, teetering perilously on the toes of her booties. "Now for the real thing," George said with glee, and the
others grinned and watched.
Cindy was barely breathing now, and sweat was trickling down
from her pink armpits. She watched helpless and terror-stricken as
George approached with two pointy feathers he had selected from the
rack on the wall. "Oh, no—oh, no—please no—"
"Don't give up yet, baby," George chided, "or you'll lose your skirt."
Cindy swallowed frantically. The feathers touched her skin and she gasped and jerked
away spasmodically. Then George ran them slowly up her sides. Up to her elbows, and then down to her waist, where they lingered for a few playful flicks.
"Eeeh! Aaaah!" Cindy squealed and contorted herself to escape the feathers.
Then George slid them back up her sides and she gasped. Then back down her arms, and she was trembling and crossing her legs in anticipation. Back and forth, a little further up, a little further down—until she was
thoroughly flushed and her heart was pounding—and finally they grazed her smooth, moist armpits.
Cindy exploded in frantic squeals. She danced and giggled un-controllably as George
tortured her ticklish underarms, straining at the rope. The feathers twirled under her arms and she squealed like a child. "Eeeeeeee-e-e-e-eh!"
George flicked them down her glistening sides and under her ribs which brought her
to convulsive giggles. "Eeee-hee-hee! Plee-hee-heease st-o-o-op!" He slid them along her bra strap, and then down the curve of her back. She jerked and twisted in the air in helpless spasms.
The feathers flicked back up her sides—and once again found the pink hollows of her
armpits. Cindy was gurgling, her face beet red, and she crossed and uncrossed her dangling legs under her denim skirt. "Eee-he-he-he-he-heeeee! N-n-noo! Nooo! Ooooheee-he-he-he-heeee!"
"I think you lose," George said.
Cindy felt her miniskirt being unhooked and the zipper coming down. Oh no!
"You won't be needing this any more." George dabbed the feathers around her waist,
making her squeal and wriggle her skirt down her bum; he kept tickling her until it slid to the floor.
"Get the table," Tricia said. George and Paul grabbed Cindy's ankles and pulled her feet out
from under her. Cindy shrieked in surprise and fear, swinging helplessly in mid-air as Tricia and Francine dragged the table under her dangling bottom. Tricia pulled a stiff-bristled artist's brush from the rack and
climbed on top of her. Noooo! This isn't happening! She was down to her undies, her stockings and shoes. She was going to lose everything!
Tricia was grinning wickedly, running the brush over her white cotton panties. "Ready, honey?"
"Please—no—" Cindy panted, "I c-can't—"
"Got a ticklish tummy?" Tricia traced the bristles over Cindy's naked belly, slowly, back and forth.
"A-a-a-a-ah—e-e-eh—g-gee-hee-hee—" Cindy tried to twist away from the brush, but
Tricia was kneeling between her legs pinning Cindy's thighs under her knees. "Hold on, hon," Tricia teased, "This is a big one. We're playing for your shoes." She dabbed at Cindy's pink flesh, just above her panty
"Ee-he-he-he-hee! Do-o-ho-ho-ho-hon't!" Cindy giggled childishly. "Oh
ple-he-he-he-hease! Hee-hee-heeeee!" Tricia was merciless. She flicked the brush just above her hip, and then followed her panty line all the way across her belly and back again. Cindy shrieked and twisted
"Oh, I'll bet you've got a real ticklish belly-button," Tricia said.
Cindy squirmed from side to side. "N-n-noooo-ho-ho-ho!"
Tricia slipped the tip of the brush into Cindy's little hole;
Cindy shrieked and wiggled her pantied bottom as Tricia twirled the bristles
mercilessly. "Aaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaa-haa-haa-haaa! No-o-o! Stooop! Stoooop!"
Tricia kept twirling the brush and reached down with her other hand between Cindy's
legs, running her fingernail along the top of her stocking. Cindy gasped and struggled to free her legs to no avail. The brush tortured her belly as Tricia's nails attacked her inner thighs and she started shrieking
with laughter. « Nooooaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! »
Tricia reversed her hands and dug into Cindy's belly with her fingers as she flicked
the brush down her thighs. Cindy was gurgling again, her legs helplessly pinned open. Tricia rapidly flicked the bristles right under her pussy, on either side of her panty crotch. "Tickle tickle."
"Eeeeeh! Eeeeeeeh! Eeeeaahahahahaha!" Cindy wailed and twisted frantically under the
torture. "I can't take it! I'll pee in my panties! Eeeeeeee-hee-hee-hee-hee!"
They watched her squirm madly as the bristles teased her inner thighs, until Tricia
stopped and grinned. "That was a good one," she said. "You lose again." Cindy was flushed and panting. There was a burning between her legs—and she could feel the wetness in her panties. Her legs were shaking.
George and Paul each grabbed one of her ankles, and Tricia unlaced her booties and
pulled them off—baring Cindy's tiny feet in their sheer hose. "Ohgod...no..." Cindy pleaded through her gasps as she felt the cool air on her nyloned feet.
Francine grinned as she sat on the table down by Cindy's squirming feet. She began
softly stroking the tops of Cindy's toes through her sheer stockings. "I can see them, so I can tickle them," she purred. Cindy was feeling delirious—Francine's fingers brushing her toes was sending electricity
through her body!
Francine was toying with her. Without actually tickling her she ran her fingertips
down Cindy's sole while she caressed her toes. "Nylon can make your feet so much more ticklish," she cooed. "Can't you just feel it coming?" She lightly raked her nails up Cindy's arch.
"A-a-a-a-a-ah!" Cindy moaned. She tried to wriggle her feet but George and Paul held
them firmly in place. She writhed on the table in a building ecstasy. "Nnnnaaaa-a-a-a-a-a-a!" She was on fire from the waist down, writhing and squeezing her legs over her throbbing, dripping pussy.
"We're going to strip you naked," Francine purred as she
twirled her thumbs in Cindy's nyloned arches. "First your
"—then your bra—"
"Gggaa-a-a-a-a-a-aaah!" Cindy writhed and gasped for breath. Francine was
stroking the sides of her feet and gently running her forefinger under her nyloned toes. Cindy tossed her head from side to side and felt the blood rushing into her bursting clitty...
"—then your panties come off, and we'll tickle you
everywhere, until you wet your—"
"AAAAAA-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaah!" Cindy arched her back and trembled in midair
and come-juice gushed into her panties as the unmistakable look of delicious agony contorted her face. She flopped back down on the table as her orgasm washed up and down her body.
Francine froze and stared at her, swallowing hard. Cindy just lay there in her
undies, panting and twitching. Her skin was flushed, the crotch of her cotton panties was glistening wet.
George, Paul and Tricia looked at each other, and George let out a long silent
whistle. He shrugged.
"You blew it, Francine."
Francine looked around at them in terror. "No!... You've got— you've got to be kidding..."
"Just 'cause it's never happened," Paul said, "doesn't mean we don't play by the
rules." He grinned wickedly. "You wrote them, babe."
Francine backed away imperceptibly, her eyes wide, and bumped into Tricia behind
her. Her face was crimson under her honey-blonde hair. "Ohmigod... no..." she pleaded weakly.
Tricia took her arms from behind. "Relax, honey," she said, "Enjoy it."
Cindy was still moaning, in a daze. George started to untie her. "What—what's
happening?" she asked.
"Francine made you cum," Tricia said. "She goes bust and you switch places. Those are the rules."
She couldn't believe it—she was free! She slid off the table and got to her
stockinged feet and looked around the room to make sure it was for real.
They pulled Francine into the middle of the room. This couldn't be happening to her!
She was looking around at them in a panic. They all knew how ticklish she was.
If she even lost one round... oh my god, she was wearing nothing underneath except
"Who's next?" George said.
"I am," Paul answered, still grinning at Francine. She wrapped her arms around
herself and stared back frantically.
"Oh no you don't," Paul said. "You know better." Francine blushed furiously and let
her arms down. Paul raised them over her head, and bound her wrists. Her nipples were poking out under her sweater.
She stared at him defiantly. "Don't be so smug," she said.
"You'll be next. Where are you going to try?"
Paul smiled. She was covered head to foot. Her honey-blonde hair tumbled down over
her ears. Her turtleneck covered her neck and wrists. But Paul was looking farther down—between her suede boots and her tight shorts, there was her sheer black hose. He picked a short, stiff feather from the rack.
"On the table," he said.
Tricia and George pulled her up by the feet and laid her down on the table, holding
her firmly by her ankles. Paul moved next to the table, feather in hand. He leaned over her nyloned legs. Francine watched him, her throat tightening in fear; her pantyhose was very thin and very sheer.
Paul slid the feather's quill under her calf up to her knee, and she gasped. Paul
began dabbing. The quill wriggled unbearably in the hollows of her kneecap—tickling them through her flimsy hose—she clutched the rope and held her breath in panic.
He flicked the quill behind her knee. She squirmed and gasped out loud.
Paul grinned. He ran the quill back and forth under her kneecap and behind her knee,
wriggling it maddeningly until she squealed. He circled her kneecap and subjected her ticklish knees to several minutes of torment and barely stifled squeals.
"That'll cost you your sweater, babe," he said.
Cindy grinned at her and Francine turned beet red. Paul slipped the turtleneck up
and over her full, round, large-nippled breasts. He pulled it over her head and tied it to the rope so it wouldn't fall back down. George dragged the table away and Francine dangled helplessly from the ceiling,
topless, in hot pants, boots and pantyhose.
Now Francine watched with increasing terror as George picked a pair of peacock
feathers from the rack—long ones, with stiff vanes and fluffy edges. He waved them in front of her face. "Where next, darling?"
She stared and shook her head pleadingly, biting her lip. George danced the
feathers along her shoulders. He dabbed them playfully down her cleavage and then ran them under her bare breasts.
"Aaaa-a-a-a-ah!" She jumped—or would have if Paul hadn't pinned her feet to the
floor. "Not there! P-p-please not there!"
"Here then?" He traced a circle around one large nipple. She gasped. "Or here?" He
circled the other pink bud. Francine was beet red and starting to whimper.
"No, not yet. We'll try something else first." George began tickling her under her
arms. With the edges of the vanes, he traced looping circles that brushed down the sides of her breasts before arcing up and merely grazing the bottom of her shaven hollows. Francine stifled a squeal, but soon
began moaning as the circles widened—the feathers sliding up into her armpits, then down her tit, with each pass coming closer to her pink areolas.
Francine was delirious. Round and round, from armpit to nipple, George teased her
relentlessly until her nips were hugely erect. "Are you ready, babe?" he purred.
Francine whimpered pitifully, then shrieked with laughter as George tickled her
breasts with the feathers. "Ee-hee-heee! Aaa-haa-haaaaa! Eeeaa-haa-haa-haaa! Nooo-o-o-oaa-ha-ha-ha-haaa!"
He danced them all over, top and bottom, around and in-between; Francine giggled and
squealed uncontrollably, her tits bouncing up and down as she twisted from side to side, shaking her honey-blonde hair all over her blushing face. Then with a wicked grin George attacked each of her tits in turn,
trapping the engorged nipple between the stiff vanes of his feathers and tickling it mercilessly. "Eeeeeeeeh! Plee-e-e-ease sto-o-o-a-ha-ha-ha-haaa! Eee-hee-hee-hee! Aaaa-ha-ha! »
"There go her boots," George said.
"Yum-yum," Tricia said.
They put her back on the table, panting from the ordeal. Cindy and Paul held down
her legs as George pulled off one of her boots; he let Tricia remove the other. Francine saw her and panicked—she knew Tricia's favorite technique!
"Oh no—Trish no—not that—not my feet... Nooooooo!" She tried kicking her legs free
but her ankles were firmly pinned to the table. She curled her toes. Tricia grinned. She sat on the table and began playing with Francine's feet, brushing her fingertips over her black nyloned heels.
"It's been a long time, hon," she purred, crawling up Francine's frantically
squirming soles. "I think I remember what you like."
"Please—Trish—no—" Francine gasped. Tricia twirled her
nails slowly above the heels and Francine convulsed. She began
gurgling with each small, torturing circle traced in her hose. Then
Tricia raked her nails lightly up her arches, working her way up to
the toes with slow tickling. Francine reddened and writhed in
Tricia signalled Cindy and Paul to take firm hold of Francine's big toes. Then she
went to work on the undersides of her toes, brushing them with feather-light touches over the nylon. Francine was hysterical. She shook all over, helplessly wiggling her free toes. She knew what was coming!
"Noooooo! (Hee-hee-hee!) Oh please don't! (Gglllee-hee-hee!) Noooo! Nooooo!" Tricia
grinned even more as she gently wormed her fingertips into the nylon between the toes, and then quickly flicked them back and forth.
"Aaahaaaaaa! Ahahaaaaa! Nooo! I can't take it! Oh hoo hahahahaaaa!" Francine bucked
on the table, writhing in ticklish agony as Tricia used her special toe-torture on her. "Heeaaah heeeaaah heeahahahahaaaa! Please! Stoop! Sto-o-o-o-o-op!"
"You want us to take off your pants?" Tricia said, wriggling in and out of her
toes—and adding to the torture by raking her thumbs across her arches. "Tickle, tickle," she teased.
"Aaaaaaa-haa-haa-haa-haa! Pleee-hee-hease! Nooo-ho-ho-hoa-ha-ha-ha-ha! »
Francine was in tears, writhing on the table.
"We'll let Cindy loose on you—in those sheer-to-waists you've got on..." Tricia
flicked her thumbs up and down Francine's helpless nyloned soles. "Tickle tickle tickle..."
"Noooo! Noooooo! Ahahahahahaaa! (gasp!) Sto-o-o-o-op!
"You lose!" Tricia said with glee.
Tricia motioned Cindy to get on one side of her, and together they pulled her pants
off. Francine was squirming on the table top, trying to hide the furry blonde triangle under her pantyhose.
"Stop that, Francine," Tricia warned. "She's all yours, Cindy.
But you have to make her laugh harder, or else!"
Cindy gulped. That wasn't going to be easy; Francine was still flushed and panting
from the foot-tickling.
Cindy climbed on top of her and straddled her middle, facing her legs. She started
by raking her fingernails down her pantyhose.
Francine responded by gasping and twitching in spasms. Cindy
lightly flicked her fingers over her nyloned belly, from her waist
down, and elicited frantic gurgles from her victim. "Gaaaallgg—
Francine started squealing and kicking her stockinged legs up and down as Cindy went
lower and lower... her nyloned pubes squirmed helplessly as Cindy wriggled her fingers down her groin. "Ohmigo-o-osh! Oh no-o-o-o! No-o-o-a-a-ha-ha-ha-ha! A-ha-ha-ha-ha! »
Cindy dug in between her thighs, just below her cotton-panelled crotch. Francine
began howling and beating the table top with her stockinged feet. « Ooaaa-ha-ha-ha-haaa! Not the-e-e-ere!
Ahaha! Ahahaa! Ahahahahahahahahaha!" Then Cindy pried open her
kicking legs and tickled her bum. Francine bucked and squealed
hysterically. "Noooo—not the-e-e-e-re—ggghaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha—"
That was it! Cindy tweaked, goosed, and flicked her nails all
over Francine's nyloned cheeks and Francine went insane. She kicked
the air desperately with her stockinged legs, screaming, "E-e-e-e-
e-e-e-aaaa—nooo!--I'm—I'm—stoooop!--I'm going to wet myself!--E-
She peed in her pantyhose. Cindy tickled her inner thighs and she kicked and laughed
uncontrollably as her pee soaked her cotton crotch and trickled down her nyloned bum. "Oooh no-o-o-o! Noooooo-a-a-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
Cindy held her legs open, raking them with her fingers and cooing, "Oh my, I guess
you lose your pantyhose!" Francine was sobbing with hysterical giggles, flushed with embarrassment—she'd wet herself!... they were going to strip her naked!... and then...
Paul was grinning wickedly at her. "Now it gets a lot of fum."
Francine moaned pitifully. Cindy started to slide the sweaty, pee-stained hose down
her bare bottom as she lay gasping on the table. She got off her. They pulled the table away once more, and Cindy peeled the hose down her legs.
Francine looked at them, dangling from the ceiling, naked as the day she was born.
They were standing around her and staring at her nude body. Grinning.
They all had feathers.
Francine stared back at them in helpless terror and whimpered, "Oh no... oh no no..."
"Francine loses and forfeits," George said. "What do we have for a consolation prize?... Cindy?"
Cindy grinned viciously. "We tickle her until she comes."
"No... please no..." Francine was gasping for breath. "I can't...
pleeeeeyaa-a-a-a-a-A-A-A-A-AAAH!" George was feathering the small of her back and she jumped forward, toward Tricia—who attacked her belly. Francine screamed in ticklish panic. On either side of her Paul and Cindy
tickled her armpits while Tricia feathered her navel and George ran his plume down her back and under her bum.
Francine laughed and giggled and screamed, as fingers and feathers tickled her up
and down her nude body! She jerked and bounced in the air, squealing insanely. "Eeeeee! Eeeeeee!
"Get her feet!" Paul said. Cindy and Tricia grabbed her legs and pulled them out
from under her as she squealed and kicked—and Paul quickly tied her ankles to two more ropes that hung from the ceiling. They let go of her and she swung in the air—helplessly naked, her legs spread open, her
golden-brown pussy glistening juicily.
"No! (Aaaeeeee-hee-hee-hee!) No-o-o! (Yaa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaahhhahahaha!)"
Francine shrieked while they tickled her all over in that position. "Oh, yes," Paul said. He kneeled on the floor be-tween her spread-eagled legs. With the lightest of strokes, he brushed the tip of the feather up
and down her pussy, playfully flicking her clit.
"Eeeeeeeh! Hee-hee-heeaaaaahh! Aaaaaa-ga-ga-glllaaah!" She tossed her beet red face
from side to side; her stiff-nippled breasts bounced and jiggled and Tricia feathered them mercilessly. "Heeeea-a-a-aaaaah! Aaaae-e-e-e-eeeeeh!"
Then Paul slid his feather between her spread buttocks, and Francine screamed and
twisted desperately in the air. "Nooooooo! Nooooooo! Not THEEEEEEERE!" She thrashed helplessly against the ropes as Paul tickled the insides of her cheeks all the way down to her anus.
"I can't take it! Ahahahahahaaaaaaa!" She began wetting herself again. As she pumped
her feet back and forth and her open crotch sprinkled a little more pee down to the floor. "Eeeeeaaaaaggghh! Waaaahahahahaha!"
George grabbed and tickled her under her arms. Tricia wiggled a feather in her
belly-button. Cindy took two feather dusters and began flicking them behind her knees, down her madly wriggling calves—and under her heels.
"Aaa-haaaaaa! Eeee-hee-hee-hee! Eeeeeeeeeee-hee-hee-hee-hee-
hee! (gasp!) Gaaa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a! Ga-a-a-aggll..." Francine started
to shake with uncontrollable spasms. Cindy ran the feathers up and
down her naked arches and under her curled toes. Paul returned to
he pussy, tickling her back and forth from clitty to anus, and
Tricia feathered her breasts. "Ohmigaaa-a-a-a-ha-ha-ha-ha! OHMIGA-
She laughed hysterically for several utterly helpless minutes before she finally
convulsed in a shuddering, shattering spasm. Her laughter and screams mingled together as each feather and fingernail on her nude body sent the orgasm pulsing through her, again and again.
When it was over, she hung limp and sobbing, her body dripping tears and sweat and
come-juice. "Oo-ooh... oo-oo-oooh..."
George said, "Game over."
They pushed the table under her and began untying her. Cindy kissed her cheek and
whispered in her ear, "Good game, hon."
"Just... just wait..." Francine gasped, "just wait till I get you alone... you and
your precious little feet..."