|Cousin Laura's Revenge|
|© Copyright 2012 - milagros317 - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F+m; drug; capture; bond; cuffs; tickle; torment; foot; bdsm; paddle; nappies; hum; voy; reluct/nc; XX||
|Cousin Laura's Revenge milagros317 F+m; drug; capture; bond; cuffs; tickle; torment; foot; bdsm; paddle; nappies; hum; voy; reluct/nc; XX|
Cousin Laura's Revenge (F/m) 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.
From Laura's Journal, Tuesday, May 21, 2002
They say that revenge 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, Kimberley, 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 Kim was born. 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, Michael and I. I've just now gotten over my grief; his fatal car accident was two years ago last month. His family's money always gave me the luxury of doing whatever pro bono work interested me, while Michael specialized in real estate law, and worked for his father. Now I just look after my investments, and enjoy life.
But this story is about the other Michael, my cousin Mike, 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 Mike made my life hell.
Cousin Mike 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 Mike would be. Every school day, from our return home until our parents got home from work, Mike 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 he finally let me up, he would say the same thing:
"What are you crying for? There's not a mark on you. I only tickled you."
Then he'd send me to wash my face, and warn me that he would kill me if I told my parents. I believed him, and was too scared to tell. He 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, Mike haunted my dreams for years, a giant hovering over me, with a sadistic grin on his 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 Mike any more, and the dreams had stopped. Not that I had forgotten my torture at his hands, but he was 3000 miles away, and no longer in my dreams. More years passed.
I was 20 myself when I saw him again, at our Uncle Sid's funeral in Chicago. What a surprise--I had still thought of him as a powerful giant, towering over me. He had not grown all that much since I last saw him when he was 14. He 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 Mike looked like what he was: a flabby graduate student, who spent most of his waking hours in the library. That ended all vestigal fear of cousin Mike. I wished we were alone, so that _I_ could pin _him_ down, and give him 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 he had finished his doctorate, and was teaching in a small college back in New Jersey. Every so often, at a family wedding or funeral, he would remark that he heard my husband and I had a nice house with a large swimming pool. I always ignored the hint, and we never invited him to visit.
Three months ago, my daughter Kimberley broke up with her boyfriend, Ken. At first she just said Ken didn't respect her. Later, when she wanted to talk more, she told me that his worst aspect was this: He would often pin her down and tickle her. Even though she had told him that she hated it, he wouldn't stop.
Kim had gotten vengeance on him, she told me. After deciding to break up, she invited him to our house, supposedly for dinner, when I was away for the weekend. He arrived to find Kim and five of her sorority sisters waiting. They jumped him, and four of them sat on his arms and legs. Kim tickled his ribs, his feet, and under his arms. She tickled him without mercy, until he was red in the face, until he couldn't speak or laugh, until he ceased struggling, until he finally wet his pants, unable to control his bladder any longer. Then she told him to get lost, and never call her again. He walked back to his car with his head hung down, ashamed and humiliated. Since then, he has avoided her entirely. He was a senior, one year ahead of her, and just graduated on Sunday, two days ago. Kim is well rid of the SOB.
This story inspired me to tell Kim all about cousin Mike, and my years of tickle-torture at his hands when we were both children. I asked if she and her friends would help me get revenge, and she was enthusiastic about it. I began to make plans.
First, I sent Mike an e-mail, inviting him to come and visit for a week, mentioning that our pool had been refurbished. He e-mailed back two days later, surprised to hear from me, accepting the invitation, and saying that he could come any time after his college's graduation ceremony, which was Sunday, May 19. He said the sooner the better, as he needed a nice vacation after the end of the academic year. I e-mailed him again the same day, saying that we would be delighted to have him in our best guest suite, and that we'd expect him 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 Kim'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, Kim 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 Kim'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. Mike's flight was due in at 9pm. I met him at the airport myself, drove him to my house, and asked him what he wanted to drink. He requested red wine, and he got it--a fine Merlot, with a double dose of sleeping pills. In ten minutes, he 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 him up to the guest suite. There, they stripped him naked, put a diaper on him, and strapped him into the bed. I left him fast asleep, with the sound-proof door to his 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 him in our best guest suite.
Wednesday, May 22, 2002
Mike awoke at 8am, feeling awful. When he tried to rub his head, he discovered that his arms wouldn't move. He opened his eyes, and was stunned to see that his wrists, in padded leather cuffs, were locked to the bars in the center of the headboard of the bed in which he found himself. Thumbcuffs held his thumbs together, beyond the headboard. A broad canvas strap went over his chest, just below the nipples, and was holding him down to the mattress--he couldn't see where its ends were fastened, under the bed. He was wearing a diaper.
Leather restraints encircled his upper thighs, and were tied off to rings set in the sides of the brass bed frame. Each of his 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 his bed. He could just make out a hoist, with wrist cuffs dangling, set in the ceiling, beyond the lamp, nearer to the door. That's when he began to scream.
"Help! Help me!! Somebody help! Oh God, HELP ME!!!"
After a few minutes, his throat was parched from screaming, and he stopped. He couldn't hold his urine any longer, and just let go into the diaper, feeling humiliated. He began to itch, perhaps from the realization that he couldn't scratch. He waited, in a wet diaper, very thirsty, in misery. Every 15 or 20 minutes he would scream for help again, as loudly as he could, but nobody came to help him.
At 11am, Laura and Kim entered. They turned on the lights, and then they just stood there, grinning, as he ranted.
"What the hell is going on here? You're a lawyer, you should know that this is a crime! Kidnapping! Are you insane? Are you--"
Mike's rant was cut off, as Kim stepped forward with a ball gag, shoved it into his mouth, and strapped it tightly around his head. Muffled sounds could be heard as Laura strapped a blindfold onto him. It was leather, with heavy black padding over the eye patches, cutting off all sight.
"Now listen to me, dear cousin Mikey." He had always hated the diminutive form of his 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, Mikey, without express permission from me or from Kim. 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, Kim put two pillows under his buttocks, and another pillow under the small of his back. This arched him, and put a strain on his 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 his rib cage, on both sides, and the women could hear muffled shrieking from under his gag. She began to play his rib cage as if it were a piano, dancing up and down the ribs with all ten fingers. He strained futilely at his cuffs. She went on, and on, and on, giving him no rest. His struggles became less vigorous, and finally he was only quivering. Laura began to taunt him.
"Is poor little Mikey tired already? Poor baby! Too bad for you--I'm only getting started. How much time has passed, Kim?"
"22 minutes, Mom."
"Oh, dear, Mikey, that makes 38 minutes to go. How sad for you! Kim, why don't you let him know where you are? The poor dear can't see you."
Kim picked up a soft artist's brush, and began to stroke the tip of his nose, protruding between the blindfold and the ball gag. As he jerked his head away, she grabbed a handful of his hair, and kept it still, resuming the stroking of his 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, Mikey. It's going to go on, and on, and on. No mercy for you, Mikey. Just revenge for me, and lots of it. Poor Mikey."
He thought he was going to faint, and wished that he would, but Laura would let up just enough to allow him to breathe, keeping him conscious, and in agony. He wet his diaper again.
"Naughty boy! Vey naughty baby! Even I, at six years old, managed to avoid wetting myself under similar circumstances. How long has it been, Kim?"
"51 minutes, nine to go." Kim had switched from his nose to inside his ears. Laura dug into his ribs with renewed vigor, and kept it up, ruthlessly, until Kim told her that the hour was up.
"I'm going to lunch now, Kim. He's getting none, so clean him up and give him water while I'm gone. Then feel free to keep him laughing until I come back."
As Laura left, Kim removed the pillows from under Mike, and then put a clean towel under him. She removed his diaper, wiped him off with baby wipes, and threw the soiled diaper and the wipes into a plastic trash basket. As she put a fresh diaper on him, she pinched his 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 revenge. 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 his head. She unbuckled and removed the ball gag. He'd been drooling, so she wiped off his lips and chin with another towel. She brought a pint bottle of water over, and allowed him to drink it through a straw.
"Break's over. I'll start with your feet."
Kim went to the foot of the bed, and firmly grabbed the toes of his left foot with one hand. She began to dig her short nails into the ball of his foot with the other hand. Mike first trembled, then giggled, and then the dam broke. He began to laugh out loud, and, no longer gagged, the sound of his laughter filled the room.
"So, little Mikey is sensitive on his 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."
Kim began to explore his sole, from the heel to the base of the toes, and she made mental notes of his best tickle spots. His most sensitive spot turned out to be just where his heel merged into his arch. Once she found it, Kim scratched and scratched at it, driving him crazy. He was pounding his head on the pillow, in an effort to distract himself from the unbearable tickling. It did no good, and Kim gave him no rest.
Finally, half an hour later, she stopped. She took a red magic marker, and colored the spot on his 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 vulnerable." Grabbing his right toes, she went to work exploring his right sole, side to side, top to bottom. By now he had given up struggling, and just lay there, laughing weakly, exhausted. It took an hour of exploration, but Kim was, in the end, satisfied that the very same spot on his 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, Kim kicked off her flip-flops, and climbed onto the bed, kneeling and straddling his waist. She reached down, and began counting his ribs with her thumbs, on both sides.
"One. Very sensitive on the ribs, aren't you? Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Two. Poor Mikey, your ribs must be very sore by now. Three. Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle. Four. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, Mikey. 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 Kim had counted 1 to 12, 12 to 1, 1 to 12, and 12 to 1 again. Mike was nearly unconscious, laughing silently, a quivering mass of jelly, a helpless lump of ticlish flesh. Kim got off of the bed, and hugged Laura.
"I just love tickle-torturing him, Mom. I've explored his feet, and marked the best spots for you. Should I have my lunch now?"
"Sure. I'll be working on his armpits while you're eating."
Mike gasped. He knew that his armpits would be the worst spot of all.
"Watch it, buster. That was almost a violation of rule one," said Laura. She took off her sandals, and climbed onto the bed, just as Kim had. She dug her strong fingers into both of his armpits, and began to scabble her nails there. Mike went berserk, bucking and straining again. He shrieked and howled. He had no stamina left, though, and it took only ten minutes until he was reduced to a quivering jelly, silently laughing, in tickle hell. That's just where Laura kept him, quivering in agony, endlessly squirming. She let up just enough for him to breathe, just often enough to keep him awake, and then dug in again. She was so intent on torturing him that she didn't even notice when Kim 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. He's in hopeless, helpless tickle agony, and there's nothing he can do about it. While I continue in his armpits, I want you to work on his feet. With no mercy. Be cruel. Be absolutely cruel."
Kim went back to work on the spot she had marked on his left foot. She switched feet about every ten minutes, as her mother just kept at his armpits. Kim began to chant, and Laura joined her.
"No mercy, no mercy, no mercy for Mikey. No mercy, no mercy, no mercy for Mikey."
They kept this up until 5pm, when Laura reported, sadly, that Mike was unconscious, so no longer suffering. They stopped tickling, and let him breathe. Laura got off the bed. In a few minutes, he was awake again, jerking his 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."
Mike caused no trouble when they took off the thumbcuffs and wrist cuffs, removed the chest strap, and propped him up so that he 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 his thumbs, and re-applied the chest strap.
"We'll actually let you rest while we have an early dinner ourselves," said Kim, giving him a quick tickle in the ribs as she left. Laura tickled his foot for a few seconds, on her way out.
The women returned at a quarter to seven. Mike heard the door open and close, and, in his urgent need, forgot that he 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. Kim," and at this point, Laura whispered into Kim's ear, and Kim left the suite. Mike just trembled in fear, as Laura glared at him, until Kim 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 Kim wore this morning during her jogging. Open up."
Utterly helpless on the bed, Mike opened his mouth.
"Stick out your tongue. Further! Further!"
Mike's tongue was fully extended. Kim wrapped the sole of the sock around it, then shoved the tongue and sock into his mouth. A silk scarf was put between his teeth, and tied tightly behind his head, securing the sock.
The women then took off the thumbcuffs and wrist cuffs, freeing Mike'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 his legs, and order him to stand. He was wobbly, but eventually stood near the bed, blindfolded, gagged, with his hands in mitts locked together in front of him.
"Step forward, two more steps, fine, stop. Raise your arms above your head. Higher. Fine."
The mitts on his hands were now locked to the hoist, by more D-rings near his encircled wrists. Kim began to turn the large crank, and his arms were drawn up over his head, until he was just barely able to stand flat-footed, his arms stretched taut overhead. Kim tied his knees together, and locked his 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."
Kim turned the crank more, and until he was indeed forced up on his 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. Kim 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."
Kim did remove the diaper, and told him when the bedpan was in position. Mike found it very humiliating, but did manage to relieve himself with his cousin watching. As Kim went to wash the bedpan in the bathroom, Laura began the spanking.
Ten medium smacks on his left cheek caused Mike to groan through his gag, and a red patch to blossom on his bottom. Ten more on his right cheek had a similar effect. Then next ten, alternating on his upper thighs, caused him to scream through the sock. For the last 20, Lauara smacked him hard, alternating cheeks. Each spank caused a scream, and tears flowed from under his blindfold.
Kim pinched both of his sore cheeks, and his 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 Mike's rump, five hard whacks on one cheek, then five on the other, alternating by fives until all fifty were done. He was howling in pain from beginning to end, and crying uncontrollably. He 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 him before we put him to sleep, Mom?"
"It's not even 8 o'clock yet, at least three hours."
Kim pulled up a chair behind Mike, and was in easy reach of his ribs. Laura stood in front of him, positioned to get at his armpits. They both got to work, and soon Mike was shrieking with laughter, muffled by the sock in his mouth. Then he was weak, just a quivering mass of jelly, helpless ticklish flesh trembling under their fingers.
After about an hour, his legs were in spasm, so they paused to lower him a few inches, and let him stand on flat feet. They resumed their merciless tickling, changing places every half hour. Mike was unconscious by 11:15pm, when they tied him to the bed again, and left him for the night.
Thursday, May 23, 2002
Kim went into Mike's guest suite at 8am, and woke him up by tickling him, savagely, for about two minutes in his armpits. Then she untied the scarf from around his head, and pulled out her dirty sock, which he had been gagged with. After unlocking his wrist cuffs from the headboard, she locked them together in front of him. She unlocked his ankle cuffs from the bedposts, but then attached them together with a 10 inch chain, so that he would be hobbled. She took his blindfold off, and stripped him of his diaper, tossing it in the trash.
Having the blindfold off somehow made it more embarrassing to be naked in front of his 20-year-old cousin (first cousin once removed, if you wanted to be technical). He 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, Mike looked and saw them, at least half a dozen. He 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 he took his tiny steps towards the bathroom, she pinched his bottom, and then left, locking the sound-proof door.
Laura was watching all this on a monitor in her bedroom. Kim came and joined her, and they ate their own breakfasts while watching Mike on the monitors. They laughed at his clumsy efforts to wash himself in his bonds. He followed orders quite well, and was, eventually, lying on the bed as directed, with his legs spread wide, and his hands clasping the brass bars of the headboard. After a few minutes, he reached down and scratched his left lower abdomen, then put his arms back overhead, and re-grasped the bars.
"Got him!" shouted Kim, 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. "He was clearly ordered to remain quite still."
"Yes," said Laura, "but let's not tell him until after his morning tickling. Let's surprise him just before lunch."
The women entered Mike's suite to find him on the bed, exactly in the position ordered. He lay still as Kim put a fresh diaper on him. As she locked his 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 his upper arms, thighs, and around his chest. A blindfold was applied, but no gag. They took up positions, Laura near his left foot, and Kim up on the bed, straddling his waist. It was 9am.
"He's rested all night," said Laura. "So I'm sure he can stand a full hour, with no pauses, and no mercy. Let's go!"
They both went to work with glee, Laura holding his toes with one hand, and scratching his sole with the other. Kim poked, with toothbrushes, into both of his armpits. Mike went ballistic, screetching and yanking on his bonds. He howled, and laughed, and couldn't stop laughing. The women were relentless, and inside of 15 minutes he was out of breath, gasping, and red in the face. He laughed silently, and could only struggle feebly. Five more minutes, and he was just like a huge jello, only quivering, in agony. They kept him 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 he finally fainted, that they stopped and let him recover.
Kim left the room, and came back, grinning, holding a can of shaving cream and a disposable razor. A few minutes later, when Mike woke up, Kim addressed him.
"Keep quite still now, Mikey. 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."
Mike froze in place, and whimpered at the application of shaving cream. In minutes, his armpits were shaved smooth. Kim 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 Mike's cheeks. They decided that his underarms would be shaved every day, to keep them smooth and sensitive, and informed him of this decision.
"And now it's time for lunch," announced Laura, "but first there is the matter of your disobedience."
Mike gasped, but knew better than to speak. He couldn't remember disobeying. Laura removed his blindfold. Kim wheeled a TV/VCR set up on a cart over to where Mike could see it, and pushed 'play'. Mike saw himself lying on the bed, grasping the bars of the headboard. Then he saw himself let go and scratch, before returning to the position he 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. Kim's going to wallop you with her hundred right now."
Mike was heartsick with the thought of the pain that he was about to endure, and at the thought that the rest, the other parts of his punishment, had not yet been specified.
They transfered him to the hoist again, and did tell him that the other parts of his punishment would be the same as the day before: a very dirty sock of Kim's in his mouth as a gag, and being hoisted up an extra few inches, to force him to stand on tip-toe.
The filthy sock tasted acidic--just awful. The pain in his feet and calves began to build. But it was all forgotten as soon as Kim connected with the first spank. She used the same leather-covered paddle, but swung it in a longer arc, and harder. Mike was sobbing after the first ten strokes, and thought that he would die after 50. But Kim had no pity, and carried on regardless.
When it was over, and they cranked down the hoist and released him, he collapsed to the floor, still sobbing, unable to move. For a few minutes, they let him lie there, and then helped him up, took out the gag, and let him eat lunch in the study.
After lunch, as Kim put a new diaper on him, she pinched his very sore bottom, causing a loud scream. Laura laughed.
"Poor Mikey. 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 Kim. 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." Mike was surprised at the sound of his own voice, after not speaking for so long.
"So you had better be very obedient, and I do mean _very_, Mikey. From now on, refer to us as 'Ms. Laura' and 'Ms. Kim.' Now, put this on."
She handed him a straight jacket, one of the more expensive items that she had bought from Cheryl's employer. Mike put his arm in its sleeves, and wrapped it around himself as best he could. Kim came up, and fastened all of the buckles and straps. She also locked his ankle cuffs together again, and tied his knees together. The women carried him back to the bedroom, and put him on his back on the floor. Kim placed a chair over him, so that his head was protruding out in front of the seat.
"Now, I'm going to test your obedience, Mikey," said Kim as she sat in the chair. Mike wondered what orders he 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, Mikey. And lick hard, because I want them spotless."
She placed one large foot right over his lips, and, as he began to lick, taunted him.
"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, Mikey. Under my feet, obeying my orders. Terrified of the consequences of any further disobedience. My humble slave. 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-torture. Ah, that is so soothing. And you're going to give my soles this tongue bath for hours."
Mike's bottom was able to recover from the fierce spanking as the afternoon passed, and his aching diaphragm felt better, too. It was now his tongue that got sore, as he was obliged to lick and lick Kim's soles. When she got done taunting him, she just sat there reading a book, changing feet every half hour. She never noticed when he wet his diaper, and never let him have a rest or a drink of water.
At 5:30pm, Laura came back with Mike's dinner on a tray. Kim 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 he'll eat by licking them clean, over and over again."
"Great idea, Kim," 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 Mike his dinner in this manner, even though it did take over an hour. They let him drink lots of water, through a straw, but all his solid food came smushed from the blender, and licked off their soles. When the meal was done, Kim grinned and spoke to him.
"What do you have to say, Mikey?"
"Um, thank you for dinner, Ms. Kim."
She kicked him the head, softly, and said, "What else?"
As she rubbed her feet on him, one in his hair and one on his cheek, Mike realized what she wanted him to say. "And thank you ever so much for allowing me to lick your lovely soles, Ms. Kim. And the same thanks to you, Ms. Laura. I'm ever so grateful to be allowed to lick your pretty feet, too."
Kim now smiled, and whispered to Laura. Laura nodded to Kim, and then addressed Mike.
"Well, Mikey, 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 him to the hoist. By 7pm, he was stretched up on his toes, gagged with a dirty sock, blindfolded, and ready for his evening tickle-torture. Laura decided to sit behind Mike, and dig into his rib cage, leaving Kim to torment his shaven armpits. They went at it with great relish, and soon the howls of laughter from behind his gag became muted, as he weakened. As he became a mere quivering mass of ticklish flesh, a plaything in their hands, Laura began to taunt him.
"You're in for a long, long evening Mikey. 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, Mikey, decades of compound interest. Your regime of tickle-torture has just begun--this is only the second day of your captivity. And you have hours to go before you sleep, even today."
Kim had dinner first, and rushed a bit, anxious to get back to tickle-torturing her unlucky cousin Mike. Laura then took her time at dinner, as she enjoyed watching his torture on a TV monitor. By the time she returned, Mike's calves had cramped up, and his legs were in spasm. She cranked him down a few inches, just barely enough so that his heels were returned to the floor. She then went to his armpits, and Kim switched to his ribs.
Mike was in tickle hell, in sheer agony, unable to breathe well, wishing to faint, yet still conscious. They kept him in that state, on the ghastly edge of fainting, as long as they could. At about 11:30, he fainted dead away. Laura left Kim to clean him up. Kim put him to sleep wearing the straightjacket, in a clean diaper, with both ankles locked to the footboard, with no gag, but still blindfolded.
story continues in part two
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