Light as a Feather

Darkness.

Darkness that breathed. The ever-present blackness stuttering with the anxious and ragged exhalation of breath. Panting, soft frightened and chopped by brief choked whimpers.

The spotlight slashes through the darkness and we see the girl. She is bound, suspended; in a room not too much bigger than she is. The walls all padded in leather the color of blood. The girl's arms have been drawn behind her, shackled into cuffs on the back wall about five feet from the floor. Around her neck is a thick collar tethering her to the ceiling. Her body has been scooped up, legs together, and ankles also shackled by further suspension wires. Her eyes are sightless, closed by a padded blind also the color of blood and fringed with black lace. Beyond the blindfold there is not a stitch upon her. The exhalation softened whimpers come from her lips, from her throat, the cord of tendons disappearing under the collars as she suspends tense in her bonds. Her chest rising and falling in anxiety and fear. Her pale flesh is prickled sharply in anticipation, awaiting the unexpected.

She was alone. No one was attending her. Her leg cramped. Her foot giving an involuntary twitch allowing the wires holding her to rattle softly like cabling. Her head tilts as the sound echoes in the tiny room.

Fear gripped her. The combination of waiting and the knowledge of the devious mind of her captor instilling in her a spine ramming pulse of dread. It mattered little that she trusted her captor more than anything imaginable. Such surprises were her captor's forte, and they were always devised for the purpose of keeping her in that state of awe and instinctual dread.

She cocked her head as she heard the briefest of soft electronic beeps, almost like the sound test doctor's put one through to examine one's quality of hearing. After this beep, there was the gentle whine of a motor. She could not tell exactly where the sound was coming from. Sounds were dulled by the rooms padding.

All of a sudden, she felt the lightest brush of material in a circular swish against the left side of her torso; just faintly against her bottom-most rib. Regardless, of the supreme lightness of this touching motion, it was like a toggle switch had moved to "ON". The girl thrashed and howled. Legs kicking out and fiercely jarring the whole apparatus that tethered her in the air.

After mere moments the tickling ended, but it took a good while longer for the girl to calm. Gulping down air as if she had been deprived, fingers and legs twitching as if to itch that offended spot, or to clutch at her heaving sides. The rattle of the cabling kept her on edge, every movement wracking the different wired tethers.

She was almost completely back at her still point when another whir brought about the soft circular touches upon the arch of her feet, and again she began to thrash without control, her body bucking within its harness wildly, her laughter beautifully delightful and tinged with fright, bouncing off the walls. She bucked and jarred and finally gave one hard kick that managed to dislodge whatever was attacking her feet and end this round of the torment.

She panted breathlessly. Her body shivering as it succumbed to this tickling idea motivated by her captor. She could only imagine what might come next. The fear left her unable to calm. Shivering and jittery within her restraints. Flesh prickled, nipples tight and her core fluttering in agitation. Her toes instinctively curled imagining some further plight in this region. She felt the tickling apparatus break under the onslaught of her foot. This was not some person standing there with feathers abound. She was bound before some dispassionate machine. The metal and plastic had jarred from her kick. She turned her sightless eyes to and fro, fearful of what the controller of this machine would do next.

Minutes passed; pulse pounded.

Her head turned frantically back and forth shivering in wait. Straining to hear the telltale whir of motors in motion that would signal the next device of torture. But she could hear nothing, nothing but the exasperated out of control bursts of her breathing. For a moment she felt eyes on her, and she knew that this was not an out of the ordinary sensation. She knew her captor must be watching, enjoying every uncomfortable moment of her charge's apprehension. But she could see nothing. She cleared her mind of all this detritus of thought and focused on hearing. She wanted to be ready for the next round regardless of whether she could stop it. She could at least prepare for the sensation.

More time passed. She figured she had been waiting for almost a quarter of an hour. Perhaps, knowing just how fiendishly sensitive her body was to the torment of tickling, her captor was not going to subject her to much of it. After all, she might leave a mess to be cleaned up if subjected to an overabundance of the wicked feather touches.

It was during this train of thought that she almost missed the third whir of motors. She could almost envision the mechanical arm sliding into place just millimeters from her flesh as if taking pause and regarding her before applying its torture. She shrieked as the teensy tines pricked her spine, starting at the nape of neck and travelling downwards over her tail bone. Her body arching deeply. She, trying her damndest not to buck and put pressure on those sharp spines, gritting her teeth and setting about to keep still despite the singing of her nerves.

No sooner had the wheel run its course to her ass, then two more sets of tines ran slowly up her feet from heel to toes; and two further sets of tines ran in a circle just a hair outside of each areola.

Her body gave up its resistance instantly and began to convulse. Her heart hammering against her ribs as she jostled and jerked within her bonds, howling out against the ceiling. Her body in ache, her core hot with the excitement of each dreaded touch.

In the midst of her crescendo of thrashing she swore she heard the static-infused sound of laughter as if from an intercom, but there was no mistaking the assured inflection of that laugh. The amusement dancing within the breathy pitch of the sound.

Her uncontrollable howl against the wheel tines dissolved into a whimpering cry for her owner. The bucking of her limbs less of an outrage from the torture and more of a need to get to the creator of the intercom laugh.

As if hiding under the skirts of her tormentor would save her from torment.

So absorbed in the attempt to extricate herself from her harness, so deep in thought and the sound of her panting, that she missed the next whir of machinery. She felt the merest touch of feather tip against the left side of her sex. As it registered, her eyes shot wide open under the blind and she squealed for mercy. The fevered frantic sound of her begging causing another intercom chuckle. Her fingers and toes flexed for a moment before the tickling began in earnest. The multiple feather tips swirled along the flushed lips of her pussy. Her body thrashed and kicked but there was no way for her to dislodge this arm from the apex of her thighs. She howled and sang, all coherent pleas for her captor to stop lost in the pitched moans of her body.

This time the onslaught did not relent. The arm would even periodically push and prod against the opening of her body as the feathers continued to spin against the softness of her lips. It did not take much to send her hyper-sensitized body over the edge. She could not quell her thrashing. Her moans and cries frantic as the machine continued to tickle at her netherbits. She arched deeply and hung there suspended almost trance-like, toes pointed almost stretching before an amazing arc of fluid rushed from between her thighs. Quivering, a slick sheen of sweat glistening upon her features, she let out an exasperated sigh of relief as she heard the whir of mechanics and felt the feathertips leave the immediate area of her sex.

Yet, she prickled in that familiar state of dread when she heard the satisfied purr seep from the grill of the intercom.