Mistress Omega and Mistress Nicole lock their slave into a straitjacket so those useless hands cannot save him. We strap him to the Saint Andrew’s cross with his chest pinned, arms trapped, and every tender spot we want left wide open. Bare feet. Sides of the neck. Inner thighs. Soft backs of the knees. That is the menu.
We start slow so he thinks he can take it. Fingertips along the arches. Nails skating the soles. A single stroke up the instep that makes him jerk against the jacket. Then we stop being kind. We work both feet at once, heels to toes, between the toes, that helpless little hollow under the ankle while he twists and cannot close anything. When the feet are ruined we climb. Light scratches along the sides of the neck until he squirms his head like an idiot. Firm circling on the inner thighs until the muscles jump. Relentless flicking behind the knees until they buckle in the straps.
We take turns. One of us holds his face and makes him look while the other wrecks a new spot. We switch without warning. Feet to thighs. Neck to knees. Both Mistresses on him at once until the laughter turns ugly and wet. No safe word show. No mercy break. Just more tickling, more targeting, more tears running down while the straitjacket keeps him exactly where we put him.
He cries. He begs. He laughs until he cannot breathe. We keep going. Tickled to Tinkles on our cross, dripping, shaking, and still not allowed to close those feet. Watch him break. Thank your Mistresses for every helpless giggle.
Mistress Omega and Mistress Nicole lock their slave into a straitjacket so those useless hands cannot save him. We strap him to the Saint Andrew’s cross with his chest pinned, arms trapped, and every tender spot we want left wide open. Bare feet. Sides of the neck. Inner thighs. Soft backs of the knees. That is the menu.
We start slow so he thinks he can take it. Fingertips along the arches. Nails skating the soles. A single stroke up the instep that makes him jerk against the jacket. Then we stop being kind. We work both feet at once, heels to toes, between the toes, that helpless little hollow under the ankle while he twists and cannot close anything. When the feet are ruined we climb. Light scratches along the sides of the neck until he squirms his head like an idiot. Firm circling on the inner thighs until the muscles jump. Relentless flicking behind the knees until they buckle in the straps.
We take turns. One of us holds his face and makes him look while the other wrecks a new spot. We switch without warning. Feet to thighs. Neck to knees. Both Mistresses on him at once until the laughter turns ugly and wet. No safe word show. No mercy break. Just more tickling, more targeting, more tears running down while the straitjacket keeps him exactly where we put him.
He cries. He begs. He laughs until he cannot breathe. We keep going. Tickled to Tinkles on our cross, dripping, shaking, and still not allowed to close those feet. Watch him break. Thank your Mistresses for every helpless giggle.