Cousin Laura's Revenge 2

by milagros317

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© Copyright 2012 - milagros317 - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+m; D/s; captive; bond; cuffs; tickle; torment; foot; straitjacket; coffin; nappies; enslave; voy; reluct/nc; XX

(story continues from )

Part Two

Friday, May 24, 2002

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

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

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

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

The tall woman with brown hair spoke first. She was taller than Kim, perhaps 6'1", and looked even more athletic. "I'm Becky, but you'll call me 'Ms. Rebecca.' I bolted the bed to the floor, added the rings, and installed the hoist. It will be a pleasure to join in the torture of a nasty perv like you--Laura told us all about you." She also seemed to be 19 or 20.

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you have to say, Mikey?"

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

"What else?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Me, too," said Jen.

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

"Go ahead, Becky," said Kim, "I'll start him off, but I'll leave most of his lunch for you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Prop his head up, so he can drink his tea," said Becky, with a huge grin. Kim did so, holding up Mike's shoulders and head. Becky held the cup to his lips, and he drank it all down.

"What do you have to say, Mikey?"

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

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

"What do you have to say to Becky, Mikey?" asked Kim.

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

Becky just laughed at him, and closed the lid of the coffin. Mike was lying comfortably on the mattress, with only a little light coming through the air holes near his head. His ankles were firmly held in the padded holes. He could feel the women tying twine around each one of his toes, and he could feel the toes being pulled back and tied, rendering them immobile. He couldn't see the metal eyeholes screwed into the wood, but he knew that his soles were now flexed and taut, utterly vulnerable. His toes were now also vulnerable. Laura opened the lid for a moment, and smiled down at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this news, Mike began to cry, softly. Laura laughed at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, July 14, 2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Make that 366 days on leap years," said Becky, as she closed the lid of the coffin. Eight hands began to tickle his feet, without mercy. Soon that became ten hands, as Becky joined in the fun.

The End


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