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The beginning of a long night.


Taleena's nipples had become painfully engorged with blood, so big and hard she thought they were going to burst, and she had become sexually aroused beyond imagining. She felt herself become very, very wet inside as she imagined each stroke of the knife with each stoke of the feather. Even so, the strokes, countless to her, continued to drive her further and further into both agony and ecstasy at the same time.

"It was a terrible torture, Taleena," he explained, "as the next cuts of the razor sharp knife would move to the rest of the torso. The first cut to be made was a long cut from the breastbone to the pantyline."

He slowly drew the stiff feather, which had started out as a regular large feather but was stiffened by cutting off the soft edges and applying some expoxy cement to the newly created edges, down the midline of her body from her neck to her genitals, stopping painfully short of her private parts.

"This long cut divided the front of the body into two symmetrical halves," he told her, "which would then serve as a guideline for several hundred cuts to come."

He began to trace the feather along her ribs, carefully following the contour of each bone and the soft, sensitive space between every two bones, first the right side and then the left. It tickled, of course, especially on the little fleshy spaces between her ribs, and Taleena tried to twist her body from side to side. It was a wasted effort being strapped down as she was.

"When they finished with her ribs, they would move down to her stomach and sides," he said, "as they would make long cuts from the center of her torso across her belly to her sides."

While he was explaining this to her, he made dozens of strokes of the stiff feather from the center of her stomach to the right side and down to the top of the table. Each stroke was a few millimeters from its predecessor. First, the right side and then the left.

"Please, stop torturing me like this," pleaded Taleena, painfully aroused and in agony, "it tickles so bad I can't even laugh. It's so terrible."

"Your body appears to disagree," he told her, as he looked at her genitals, "as you are becoming very aroused sexually. Your nipples are hard and firm and you are sopping wet down here."

"Please, I'm in agony," she pleaded, "I can't stand it anymore!"

"I think you'll be fine," he said, as he started stroking her right leg, "after they were done with the stomach and sides, they would move on to the woman's legs, making spiral cuts around each leg from her ankles to the tops of her thighs."

He started to stroke the terrible feather in circles around her right ankle and slowly, every so slowly, worked his way up her right leg, making perfect circles only millimeters apart. Taleena bit her lip, squeezed her eyes and clenched her fists every time the feather approached the very sensitive inside of her thighs, stiffening her body and flexing her toes as the feather crossed that very delicate part of each leg. When he finished with her right leg, he moved onto the left and repeated his work.

When he finished with her legs, having spent nearly an hour on them, he moved to her arms. He drew the same spiral pattern on each arm, slowly working from her wrists to her armpits. Taleena didn't even realize that the inside of her upper arms was as sensitive as the inside of her thighs.

Next, he moved the very tip of the terrible feather into her armpits, stroking so lightly and so softly that it made her agonizingly uncomfortable but kept her just short of bursting out in laughter. The man was an absolute expert in the art of sexual tickle torture, keeping her from laughing, driving her deeper and deeper into agony and higher and higher into sexual arousal. He didn't even look at the tears flowing down her face or take notice of her terrible anguish and suffering.

All over her body, he had traced each stroke of the knife he described with the sh

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