The Castle

      My  imagination's  been at work again...  (this  should 
 give you an idea of the things I daydream about!). I'm on  a 
 tour  of  a medieval castle. As the tour  group  enters  the 
 dungeon,  my  eyes immediately light on the stocks.  As  the 
 tour guide is going on about the horrible tortures that used 
 to  take place, I'm trying to imagine what it would be  like 
 to  be in the stocks. As the group files out of the room,  I 
 linger behind, just to try them on for size...
 
      Well,  no  sooner are my ankles in them  then  a  form 
 moves  out of the corner of the dungeon, snapping a  padlock 
 on  the stocks! I try to struggle, but I am trapped! I  look 
 at  him;  he  was also in the tour  group.  "I  noticed  you 
 staring  at  the stocks," he says, "and I was  hoping  you'd 
 stay  behind." He begins to unlace my sneakers, and  I  know 
 what  he is going to do. I start to beg him not to,  but  he 
 ignores me, just smiling. I know yelling won't do any  good; 
 the walls are many feet of solid stone.
 
      I'm not wearing any socks, so I'm now helpless  before 
 him. He takes a large plume from a suit of armor and  begins 
 to  run it up and down my trapped soles without mercy! I  am 
 laughing out of control and begging him to stop, but he goes 
 on.  Then he starts to tickle my toes, and I  go  completely 
 wild! After a while he stops, but doesn't let me go. He just 
 looks over at the rack and smiles...
 
      The man unlocks the stocks, but there is no escape for 
 me  yet. Effortlessly, he drags me to the rack. I'm still  a 
 little  weak  from  the insideous  foot-tickling  I've  just 
 received,  so  there is nothing I can do to  stop  him  from 
 closing the manicles around my wrists. My ankles are  locked 
 into  the  stocks  at  the end of the  rack,  my  bare  feet 
 sticking out. Now I'm even more helpless than before!
 
      He begins to turn the wheel of the rack. Not enough to 
 actually hurt me; just enough to stretch me out and  totally 
 immobilize me. "You don't know how long I've waited to get a 
 lovely woman like you in such a position," he says. I'm  too 
 scared  to  reply.  Then, he begins to  unbutton  my  shirt, 
 slowly.  One button at a time, as if he were savoring  every 
 second of dreaded anticipation he was forcing me to  endure. 
 He  finally unbuttons the whole thing, exposing  my  breasts 
 and  stomach to whatever he chooses to do to me.  He  taunts 
 me,  saying,  "You _have_ gotten yourself  into  a  ticklish 
 situation, haven't you?"
 
      "Say,  `I  love  to be tickled' for me,"  he  says.  I 
 refuse,  even  though it is true. He  repeats  the  command, 
 holding  the large feather in front of my eyes as  a  silent 
 threat.  Still I refuse. I don't know why. Perhaps I  really 
 want  him to tickle me. "Very well," he says, and starts  to 
 run the plume over my sensitive abdomen.
 
      The  torture  is unbearable. I can  feel  the  feather 
 gliding against my tummy, ribs, and belly button, and it  is 
 agony!  "Hahahahahahaha!!!!! Please stop!" I beg, but to  no 
 avail.  He keeps on the devilish tickling, until  tears  are 
 rolling  down my cheeks. "Say it," he insists, as  he  plays 
 the feather across my breasts, adding new tickling agony.
 
      I have to relent. "I love to be tickled! I love to  be 
 tickled!" I confess. "Now please stop! Hehehe!!!"
 
      He  finally relents, giving me time to  gulp  precious 
 air.  "Excellent,"  he says. "Now, since you _do_  admit  to 
 loving  this, perhaps we should pay some more  attention  to 
 these lovely feet of yours..."
 
      I can only sob in frustration, wondering when the next 
 tour  group is due. Then I remember; ours was the last  tour 
 of the day!
 
      It's a night I'll never forget.