Part Two
Saturday, August 2, 2003
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Harold woke up. He didn't have any idea what time it was, and he opened his eyes to see only the black padding on the inside of the blindfold, which was still strapped around his head. He was more comfortable than he had been in the hogtie, but he still couldn't move much. He wriggled, and felt canvas all around him, from his neck to his groin. His arms were in front of his chest, and he could only wriggle them a bit. A straightjacket, then. When he tried to move his whole body sideways on the bed, he realized that the straightjacket was anchored, tied to the bed somehow. He could feel ankle cuffs around his ankles, and that they had been locked together and tied to the bed also. His legs were bound together above and below the knees, but with something softer than the athletic tape. His mouth was filled with a ball gag, and he felt the drool all over his chin. He waited; he could do nothing else.
He felt somebody unbuckling the crotch strap of his straightjacket. He tensed, but didn't even try to say anything through his gag.
"Don't be afraid, silly," said a voice, and he recognized it as Becky. "I'm just going to put a bedpan under you. It is good that you remembered that you're not allowed to talk, and didn't try to. You've already got a punishment session coming for talking back yesterday."
She eased the bedpan under him, and he urinated with great relief. She went away, and refastened the strap when she came back.
"Now for some fun before breakfast," she said.
He felt her tying his big toes together, and then tying them back to his ankle cuffs. She began by running her fingernails furiously up and down his flexed soles. He howled with laughter, and thrashed in his bonds, but she kept right on tickling his vulnerable soles.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle, Harry-poo. That's what I'm going to call you from now on. My own ticklish little Harry-poo, to tickle and play with. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Do you wish that I would stop? Do you? Tickle, tickle, tickle. I'm not going to stop. Oh, no. I'm just going to tickle your poor defenseless soles all morning. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Or until Ms. Hansen comes, and says it's time for your breakfast. It's only 8am now, and I do think that she'll be sleeping late today. Tickle, tickle, tickle. So I'll just have fun until she gets here. You're even more ticklish on your soles than in your armpits! Tickle, tickle, tickle. How amusing. Now I'm going to try using different implements on your soles, and see what works best. Tickle, tickle, tickle, and tickle, tickle, tickle even more, Harry-poo. That's part of my job, to discover the best methods for driving you mad with tickling. Tickle, tickle, tickle. To tickle you insane, Harry-poo. Tickle, tickle, tickle."
True to her word, she began trying out different implements. A soft bristled toothbrush was not as good as her fingernails, but a stiff bristled toothbrush was better. When raked over his soles slowly, a wooden backscratcher produced violent thrashing, and shrieks that could be heard through the ball gag. A knitting needle proved disappointing, and a dry ballpoint pen wasn't much better.
Becky struck gold with the last implement: dragging the tines of an ordinary table fork slowly over his soles drove him wild. Experimenting with the pressure, she soon found just the right touch, and had him howling and thrashing like a madman.
She kept it up, with no break, until he was bright red in the face with tears streaming down his cheeks. Unable to struggle any longer, too weak, he just suffered in ticklish agony, laughing silently, quivering, a defeated, helpless lump of ticklish flesh, listening to her taunts.
"Suffer, Harry-poo. Tickle, tickle, tickle. That's what you're here for, to suffer and be tickled. Tickle, tickle, tickle. This is so much fun, I can't believe that I'm getting paid for it. Tickle, tickle, tickle. $8 an hour, the same as any senior would get for a job from the financial aid office. Tickle, tickle, tickle. My, my, you're quite the ticklish one, aren't you, Harry-poo. Tickle, tickle, tickle. Ms. Hansen had told me to flirt with you, and then tickle you on the boat trip, but I never dreamed it would become a paid job. Tickle, tickle, tickle. No rest for you, Harry-poo, and no hope of escape. Tickle, tickle, tickle."
"Excellent, Becky, you've got him on the edge, nearly unconscious, and wishing he were, but suffering unbearably. Carry on."
Harry recognized the new voice as that of Dr. Chang from the night before. As Becky continued to tickle him, he felt fingers on his neck, taking his pulse.
"Keep right on Becky," said Dr. Chang, "his pulse rate is elevated, but not dangerously. This is a really good workout for him." She chuckled, and then left the room.
Alice came in about ten minutes later, at 9am, and told Becky to stop, because it was time to feed him. Then she addressed Harold.
"Your punishment session is scheduled for after lunch, although I have something else planned as additional punishment right after breakfast. You will learn to never speak, unless we order it or ask you a direct question. In case you have any ideas of escaping, let me give you a few facts. Each of your ankle cuffs has a locator beacon in it, and we'll never take off both at the same time. The location of those beacons is monitored 24/7 by our island security people. Not that you'd ever get past Becky, or the other student keepers that I've hired to watch you. Each room in this house has its own purpose. This is your bedroom, where you'll be secured each night. It's also used for light ticklings, as you've been getting this morning."
Alice paused to let that sink in. Harold, who believed that Becky had nearly tickled him to death that morning, shivered in fear.
"After breakfast, you're getting a shower. Then you'll go to the extreme tickling room. I'm now going to remove your gag, so that Becky can feed you, and then your blindfold. Open your eyes slowly, so you don't get hurt by the light. Nod your head if you understand."
Harold nodded, and felt his gag being removed, and then his blindfold. He squinted, and let his eyes get accustomed to the light again. He could see that D-rings in the shoulders of his straightjacket were tied to the headboard of the sturdy brass bed, and the D-rings on the sides were tied to the sides of the bed. D-rings in his ankle cuffs were tied to the footboard. The bedroom window had thick iron bars outside the glass, he noted.
Becky proceeded to untie these, so that he was loose in the bed, still in his straightjacket and cuffs. She propped him up against the headboard, and fed him cold cereal, juice, and a corn muffin. She wiped his mouth and chin carefully.
"Now I'm going to let you take a shower by yourself," said Becky. "Keep in mind that I'm 6'4", 180 pounds, and that I have a third degree black belt in karate. Also, there's no mirror in the bathroom, and a plastic cup. It's an interior bathroom with no window. No glass for you to break and use as a weapon. Do you promise to behave, and take your shower like a good little boy? You may answer."
"Yes, Becky."
"I'll let it go this time, but in the future address me as 'Ms. Rebecca'. It's also 'Ms. Hansen', 'Ms. Cooper', and 'Dr. Chang' should you ever be allowed to talk to them."
It took a bit of time to get him out of the jacket, and Becky left on one ankle cuff, as promised. He found the bathroom exactly as described, with nothing in that could remotely be used as a weapon. Depressed, he took a shower, used the toilet, and came back into the bedroom.
"Sit on the bed, I want to put the cuff back on," said Becky. He did, and she locked it back around his ankle. Two more cuffs were produced and put on his wrists.
"Now," said Alice, "the first punishment for your talking without permission yesterday. I had intended to use the ball gag again until lunch, but we'll do something else instead. Ready, Becky?"
"Yes, Ms. Hansen," said Becky, and she sat in a chair and began to remove her sneakers.
"Stick your tongue out, way out," said Becky, and Harold obeyed.
She removed both of her white gym socks. They looked far too grimy and soiled to have been worn only that morning.
"These are the same socks that I wore all day yesterday," said Becky with a grin, as she turned one of them inside out. "Now the part that my big, size 12 sole was pressed against is going around your tongue."
She wrapped the sole of the sock around his tongue, and shoved both tongue and sock into his mouth.
"Close your mouth," she ordered, and he was just barely able to do so, with the top part of the sock, that had been around her calf, sticking out.
Becky then wrapped athletic tape, 4" wide, around his head three times, securing the sock inside his mouth. She turned the other sock inside out as well, and pressed the sole against his nose. More athletic tape held it in place there, loosely, so he could breathe through it.
"There!" said Becky, "you can taste my foot sweat, and every breath of air you have is filtered through it as well. Serves you right, for talking out of turn!"
"Now get down on your hands and knees," said Alice, "and crawl behind us."
Harold crawled, following them out of the room, down the hall, and into the next bedroom. It was furnished with a rack, and a half dozen folding chairs. Rather than flat, the bed of the rack was arched upward in the middle.
"Get up on the rack," said Alice, and Harold obeyed.
Becky produced an adult sized diaper, and put it on him. She explained that he would not get any bathroom breaks during his extreme tickling sessions. The blindfold was put back over his eyes. His wrist cuffs were locked together, and then locked to the large wheel at the head of the rack. His ankle cuffs were locked down to rings in the bed of the rack. A horizontal bar was placed over his ankle cuffs, and they were locked to it as well. It attached to both sides of the rack. Each of his toes was tied back; the bar had ten metal rings on it for that purpose. A broad leather strap went around his forehead, and held his head to the padded surface of the rack.
Harold heard a cranking noise, and his wrists were now being pulled towards the head of the rack. They stretched him taut, but it was not painful. The arched bed of the rack made his ribcage protrude upward. Cold sweat ran down his forehead. He heard more people coming into the room, but of course couldn't see them.
"We're about to begin, Harry-poo," said Becky, "and I'll give you one hint about what you're about to experience. I'll be at your left foot, and my friend Barbara will be at your right foot, and we'll each have two forks."
"OK," said Alice, "it's just 10am, so we'll give him a nice, three hour torture session. Ready, on your marks, get set .... go!"
Becky and Barbara went to work on his flexed soles, with a fork in each hand. That alone would have been worse than his earlier tickling. Alice was on his left side, digging into his rib cage with one hand, and into his armpit with the other. Cathy Cooper was on his right side, doing the same. Dr. Chang sat near his knees, tickling them with one hand and his belly with the other. A sixth woman was near his head, tickling his collarbones with both hands. He was extremely ticklish on the collarbones, and he wondered how they knew that, it wasn't a cliche tickle spot, and Becky hadn't discovered it earlier.
He went wild, attempting to thrash, but unable to move much. He couldn't even move his head; he would have pounded it on the rack to distract himself from the maddening tickling. He was totally overloaded. The grimy sock in his mouth was now sodden with his own saliva, and kept any laughter from getting out.
Becky was in heaven, watching him squirm and wriggle futilely, knowing that, as he labored for air, that it was pungent with her foot sweat when it got to his nose.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle, Harry-poo. Does the sweat of my feet taste good? Tickle, tickle, tickle. Does it smell good, too? Are you enjoying this? Tickle, tickle, tickle. I don't think so! It's so much worse that just me tickling you with just one fork, isn't it? Tickle, tickle, tickle, baby boy! This is so much fun, yes, it is. Tickle, tickle, tickle, and then even more tickling for you, Harry-poo."
"You really like to taunt him, don't you, Becky?"
"Yes, Dr. Chang. It's good to let him know that I savor his helplessness, that I just love torturing him this way, that I know that he wishes it would stop, and that it's not going to stop, not for hours. Hours and hours, Harry-poo. Tickle, tickle, tickle. No hope for you, no way to stop us, no escape. Tickle, tickle, tickle, endlessly."
Harold fervently wished that he could faint, but Dr. Chang warned the other women when to slow down because he was to fainting. At 11:45, she even removed the sock from over his nose, so that he could breathe more easily, and stay awake, and suffer more tickle torture. His armpits ached, his ribs ached, his soles were on fire, and his diaphragm ached as well. Each minute seemed like forever to him, as they tickled him more and more. He never even noticed when he wet his diaper.
The women were having such a good time tickling him, that they lost track of time and kept it up until twenty minutes past the appointed stopping time of 1pm.
They released the wheel on the rack, and he lay inert, tickled out of his senses, too weak to move. Becky removed the tape from around his head, and then the sodden sock from his mouth. Dr. Chang took out her medical bag, and checked his heart with her stethoscope.
"He's in very good physical condition, and there's he can easily survive these extreme tickling sessions, twice a day. No problem," she pronounced.
Harold felt his heart sink, but wisely said nothing. Barbara had left the room, and now returned with his lunch. He happily ate the hamburger and coleslaw that she fed him, still blindfolded. Then she and Becky helped him to stand up, and led him to a bathroom which was nearby. They removed his soiled diaper, and cleaned him up, but did not put on a clean diaper. They led him down the hall to a room. Alice was waiting there, and spoke to him.
"This is the punishment room, and you'll see it when your blindfold is taken off after your punishment session. You'll dread this room, and hate the thought of being brought here. That will inspire you to behave well. If I ever have to tell you that you're going to spend the night in this room, then start praying."
To Barbara and Becky she said, "Secure him to the horse."
Harold was lifted up, and placed so that his stomach rested on a padded surface, with his arms hanging over it on one side and his legs on the other. Soon his wrist- and ankle cuffs were locked to rings in the base of the horse, and he was immobilized, stretched over the device, with his bare bottom pointing upwards. Alice gave him a firm smack on the bottom with her bare hand.
"All ready for your spanking, Harry," she said, "and let me make a few things clear to you. You are still not allowed to talk. You'll likely scream, and cry, but not one word is to come from your lips. I'll just be watching. Your punishment will come from the woman who was tickling your collarbones, that I told you that you'd meet today. She's going to give you your spanking. When she's all done, she's going to take your blindfold off and introduce herself. If she gives you permission to speak, the first thing you must do is thank her for taking the time and effort to correct your disobedient behavior. If you don't thank her properly, then you get double the punishment all over again. Now, as to your sentence. First offense, speaking without permission. One hundred spanks."
Harold heard some shifting around in the room, and then silence. Then came a whack that caused him to scream out loud. A very painful whack on his right buttock. Then one on his left. Right, left, right, left, and then several more, harder than ever, all on the left. His screams continued with each blow, but now he was crying also.
"Ten. You're not doing so well, Harry-poo," said Becky. "I'll be counting for you. Didn't expect you to be crying already."
Now came a long succession on the right buttock, and he quaked and sobbed, and screamed until his throat was sore. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, when he distantly heard Becky say thirty, the whack came on his upper thighs, which hurt him tremendously. He was in real agony now, sobbing as hard as he could.
"Forty. You're likely not going to make it, Harry. And you're not even bruised yet. Your bottom is bright red, but not bruised."
Harry was too stunned and hurt to scream any more, he just hung there in despair, and sobbed. The blows now went up again to his buttocks, and the spanker, perhaps taking pity on him, seemed to ease up a bit.
"Eighty."
I'm going to get through this, he thought, it's not as bad as it was.
"Ninety."
The last ten were savage, the hardest of all, five in a row on each cheek. He screamed like a damned soul.
"One hundred," said Becky. "You made it."
She and Barbara removed him from the horse, and deposited him, on his back, on the floor, naked except for the blindfold and the cuffs. For the next five minutes they just let him sob, and Becky wiped his nose for him.
"On your hands and knees, now," said Alice, and Harry managed to comply.
Alice removed the blindfold, and he opened his eyes to a terrible sight: Karen, his ex-wife, Karen Fletcher, standing in front of him with a thick wooden paddle, covered in leather, in her hands. The women all laughed at the look on his face.
She looked great at, he did a quick mental calculation, 28 years old. She had cut her blonde hair fairly short, and now wore glasses instead of the contacts she had worn when they were married. She stood 5'11", making her the shortest woman in the room, an unusual situation for her, no doubt. She looked as if she weighed the same 160 pounds as when he last saw her. She was wearing blue jeans, and a Distaff College Class of 1996 t-shirt, and she was barefoot.
"Hello, Harry," she said, "it's such a joy to see you under these particular circumstances. You don't know how much I enjoyed that. Oh, my, what a great pleasure it was to beat your sorry rump and see you cry. Now speak to me."
Remembering Alice's instructions, Harry came out with "Thank you so much for taking the time and effort to correct my bad behavior."
"Not good enough, Harry," said Alice. "Address her properly, and add a request that she continue to correct your behavior in the future. She will be the sole judge of whether your thanks are sincere enough, and thus whether you get another 200, no, make that 400, right now."
Harry gulped, as Karen whacked the paddle softly against her own hand.
"Ms. Fletcher, it is a great pleasure to see you again, and to see that you are well, and more beautiful than ever. You have my deepest thanks for taking the time and effort to correct my bad behavior. I humbly request that you continue in that role, and punish me in the future, whenever I do anything wrong."
"I'll accept your thanks, Harry, and spare you the 400 more spanks, on two conditions. I want you to remedy two particular grievances from when we were married. Will you?"
"Of course, Ms. Fletcher."
"Fine. You'll find out one of the conditions right now, and the other during your dinner. And let me clear some things up for you, since you're not allowed to ask questions. You may wonder what I'm doing here at my alma mater. When the dotcom bubble burst, I became unemployed. I got a job here, at Computer Services. I maintain the software for the registrar's office. You may wonder why the College pretended to hire you, and kidnapped you. Ah, we're not so stupid here at Distaff. After losing that lawsuit by the philosophy professor, the administration realized that men would try to set us up for more such suits. This house was adapted to be a prison two years ago. One of our last male employees, who was planning to sue us, spent a miserable year here, and then we dumped his body into the ocean. It's a big ocean, Harry. He was never found. When you applied for a job here, a job for which you were clearly overqualified, that was a red flag. The administration circulated your name, and asked if anybody knew you. Knew you! I was married to you for a year. And I remembered that you commented on the article in my alumnae magazine about the suit, too. So it was very clear what you were doing. I told them that you were extremely ticklish Harry, and that you hated to be tickled. Absolutely hated it! So that's a form of torture that can last a long time, a lot longer than the guy who lived here before you. We can keep you alive, without a mark on you, for years and years here. And what fun it will be! Officially, you're one of two assistant trainers, and Cathy is the other. We decided to hire you both, and your duties are all on the island here. Isn't that convenient? Don't speak, Harry, that was a rhetorical question."
"Don't forget to tell about the reconciliation," said Alice.
"Oh, yes, Harry, we're going to be married again. Or at least the records will show it. Dr. Chang will submit our blood tests, and the College chaplain will perform the ceremony and send the certificate to Sacramento. You don't need to attend. We'll have a joint checking account, and all of your funds, present and future, will go into it. So I'll be glad of your salary as assistant trainer. And I won't be working for Computer Services any longer. As of today, I move into this house, and do just what you asked me to: devote my time to training you, correcting your bad behavior, and seeing to it that you become a decent human being and a model husband. Speaking of which, it's time for you to satisfy the first condition. Bring him to my bedroom, ankles cuffed together and wrists behind his back."
Karen left the room. Barbara and Becky wasted no time in locking his wrist cuffs together behind his back, and cuffing his ankles together. They also put a clean diaper on him. They carried him down the hall to the largest bedroom, the only one that was furnished normally.
Karen was waiting for him, stark naked, in bed. Becky and Barbara were somewhat embarrassed, but just put him down on the foot of the bed.
"When this creep was my husband," Karen said to them, "he never once gave me oral sex. He said he didn't like the taste. As if I liked the taste of his private parts! I did it to please him, because I loved him. He claimed to love me, but never satisfied me. Not once! And he wouldn't even try by giving me head. So, Harry, now is when you make up for that. Are you willing, or should they carry you back to the punishment room?"
"Very willing, it will be an honor, Ms. Fletcher," said Harry.
"Put him in position, and then close the door behind you," said Karen.
Giggling, Barbara and Becky stuck Harry's head between her legs, and left the room.
Harry went at his task with energy, if not eagerness. He still hated the taste, but his sore bottom kept his mind on satisfying her. He licked and licked, traced all the letters of the alphabet onto her clitoris with his tongue, as he'd read it was a good technique.
Quite excited already by the joy of tickling him senseless, and then beating his sorry rump, she came when he reached 'Q'.
"Don't stop, I want another orgasm," she ordered.
The second climax took longer, and Harry's tongue felt a bit sore when he got to 'M' for the third time, which was when it happened.
"Enough," she said, and Harry wriggled a few inches away from her private parts.
"You may speak, Harry, and make it good. Tell me why you're sorry, and what you promise to do in the future to make it up to me. Or else."
"It was a very great honor to give you pleasure, Ms. Fletcher," said Harry. "I am extremely sorry that I never did so when we were married. It was a terrible flaw on my part, and entirely my fault. I am ever so sorry. I will make it up to you by following your orders to give you pleasure in this manner, as often as you wish, whenever you want."
"Very good, Harry, it seems you can learn. I'll see you at dinner."
19.11.11
story continues in The Trainer 3
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