Although she wasn't one to toss and turn in bed all night, she normally did change position from time to time. Taleena liked to sleep on her side, turned half-way onto her stomach, facing to the right. After a few hours, she would turn into a similar position on the other side, facing to the left. She rarely slept on her back, a position she didn't find at all comfortable, for more than a minute or two. It was no surprise, then, that she tried to turn onto her right side as soon as she sensed that she was sleeping on her back. The funny thing, though, was that she couldn't do it.

She tried to turn, but something wasn't right - something was holding her. Taleena’s eyes flashed open and she was instantly awake. She immediately realized that she was no longer in her bed, or even her bedroom. She tried to move but even that was impossible. She looked up at her arms and saw that there were foam-lined, stainless steel restraints holding her wrists and upper arms. Then, she lifted her head and saw similar foam-lined stainless steel restraints holding her legs widely apart, perfectly securing them at her ankles and thighs, the latter slightly above her knees. She was naked and helpless.

As she looked about the room, she noticed various cabinets, tables, trolleys, control panels, computer terminals and lights. All of the fixtures in the room were either stainless steel or baby blue, reminding her very much of the operating room in a hospital, bright and spotlessly clean.

Taleena could see herself and the device on which she was confined in the gleaming stainless steel doors of the cabinets along the wall to her left. It was a large X-shaped table made of light blue metal with a soft baby-blue leatherette top perhaps three or four inches thick. It was clearly designed to helplessly secure a woman in the most compromising position imaginable, spread-eagled with her arms high above her head and her legs held widely apart. She had no idea how she had come to this place, remembering only that she had dropped onto her bed and gone to sleep almost immediately. She started to get scared, very scared.

Some time after she had awakened, probably twenty or thirty minutes of futile struggling and squirming against her restraints, a man entered the chamber. She recognized him immediately. He was a regular customer at the supermarket in which she worked several evenings each week. She always thought it was nice that he would come to her till. A handsome, articulate, educated and kind older gentleman, he always complemented her on her eyes or the unique little blonde streak in her otherwise auburn-brown hair. She had a blonde streak in her long hair over the temples just in front of her ears which somehow seemed to frame her face. She could tell that he was quite enamored with her and, somehow, she liked that.

"What the hell is this," she started, "how did I get here? Why am I strapped down like this?"

"All in due time, little one," he answered, softly and kindly, as he picked up a large, stiff ostrich feather from one of the wheeled tables along the wall and approached her.

"Let me go, please," she pleaded, trying desperately to move against the foam-lined stainless steel restraints that perfectly held her arms and legs.

"You know, I have loved you since the moment I first saw you," he told her, "I was deeply affected by the very unique beauty that I saw in you, not only your physical beauty but also the inner beauty that I saw in your eyes. I was deeply and passionately taken with you."

As he spoke, he started to stroke the big ostrich feather across her stomach and along her sides, working the entire front of her body from below her breasts to the creases where it met her thighs, and her sides from below her armpits to her hips, carefully avoiding her breasts, her armpits and her genitals. He was intentionally stroking her soft and flawless skin more to intimidate her than to tickle her, clearly demonstrating to her subconscious mind that she was very, very vulnerable and he was totally in control of her.

"No," she pleaded, "please don't. That tickles!"

"I knew then that I wanted you for myself," he told her, softly, "Of course, I also realized that a beautiful young college girl would not be likely to have a great deal of interest in a man of my age. College girls normally want to go with the boys they associate with in their schools, and, therefore, I could only proceed with my desires by taking you rather than asking you. I hope you understand."

Taleena squirmed and fidgeted on the X-shaped table holding her as the man continually drew the terrible stiff ostrich feather across the soft skin of her stomach and sides, slowly and purposefully, in long, agonizing strokes as he spoke. She tried everything she could think of to ease the intensity of the sensations - she stiffened her body, clenched her fists and flexed her toes. Nothing seemed to help. She felt her nipples start to swell and harden, her sexual arousal beginning deep inside her belly. Unknown to her, that was the sign he was looking for, the sign he was waiting for. Also unknown to her, it had already been forty minutes of the incessant stroking at this point.

"In China, one of history’s most terrible tortures was the ling-che, the death of a thousand cuts," he told her, as he turned his attention to her breasts, "which would begin with one hundred cuts of a very sharp knife across each of a woman’s breasts, each cut a little longer and a little deeper than the one before, building up into a level of pain in which each subsequent cut would continue to contribute to the ever-increasing pain that she would feel, starting by making fifty cuts in the top half of each breast, then another fifty starting at the bottom, slowly working toward the nipple but never actually touching it. Can you imagine, Taleena, how that would feel?"

As he spoke, agonizingly taunting her with his detailed description, he began to draw the edge of the large, stiff feather across the top half of her right breast, in a diamond pattern, mimicking the movements of the knife he was describing. The anguish and the agony building in Taleena’s mind and body built with each successive stroke as she squirmed and mewled and pleaded with him to stop. Slowly, ever so slowly, with incredible patience and restraint, he drew the feather across the top half of her breast fifty times, then the top of her left breast fifty times, then the lower half of her right breast fifty times, and, finally, the lower half of her left breast fifty times, coming painfully close to her nipples but never actually touching them. Taleena had bitten her lip and wet herself during the process.

"It took many hours to complete the thousand cuts," he continued, softly and passionately explaining the process, "using a razor-sharp knife, and the pain was indescribable, sometimes lasting the entire night before the woman would die from shock and loss of blood."

"Oh, please don't do this to me," pleaded Taleena, "please let me go."

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 stroke 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 where the first cut to be made was a long cut from the breastbone to the pantyline."

"Aah, God," she cried, arching her back as he drew the stiff feather vertically down her stomach and abdomen, "please stop this!"

He slowly drew the stiff ostrich feather, which had started out as a regular large feather but was considerably stiffened by cutting off the soft edges and applying epoxy 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. She bit her lip again, clenching her fists as she felt the feather track down her body.

"This long cut divided the front of her 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 contours of the bones and the soft, sensitive intercostal spaces between the bones, first on the right and then on the left. It tickled, of course, and Taleena tried to twist her body from side to side. It was a wasted effort, though, 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 body in a criss-cross pattern to her sides."

While he was explaining this to her, he made dozens of strokes of the stiff ostrich feather from the center of her stomach to her 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 her stomach and sides, they would move to the woman’s legs, making spiral criss-cross cuts from her ankles to the tops of her thighs."

He started to stroke the terrible ostrich feather around her right ankle and slowly, ever 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 thigh, 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 on to the left and continued his ministrations.

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 hadn't even realized that the inside of her upper arms was equally sensitive to the inside of her thighs. Next, he moved the tip of the terrible feather into her armpits, stroking so lightly and so softly that it made her terribly, 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, yet driving her deeper and deeper into agony, and higher and higher into sexual arousal. He didn't even appear to see the tears flowing down her face or take notice of her terrible anguish and suffering.

All over her body, which was now soaked in sweat, he had traced each stroke of the knife he had described with the sharp, stiff edge of the ostrich feather. Her sexual arousal had continued to build and build and build but he had been careful not to touch any part of her that would take her all the way to an orgasm.

Taleena was close, so terribly close, but this man was an expert. He was thoroughly familiar with the female anatomy - the female body and its incredible nervous system. She was so close, and yet she could not climax. The agony was indescribable.

"If only she could touch her genitals," she thought, "Oh God, if only he would touch her genitals!"

"After the woman’s legs and arms," he explained, as he stroked the awful feather across her nose and mouth, "they would move onto her feet. Did you know that the soles of a woman’s feet are one of the most sensitive parts of her body?"

"Please," she pleaded, "don't touch my feet. Haven't you done enough to me already?"

Her pleas, understandably, fell on deaf ears, so to speak. The man brought a wheeled stool from the side of the room and seated himself at the foot end of the table. Taleena’s whole skin absolutely tingled from the stroking of the feather and she flexed her toes over and over, sensing his presence so close to her very sensitive feet with abject terror.

Like the rest of her, Taleena’s feet were very pretty, size 8 1/2 and in perfect proportion, beautifully cleaned and pedicured with no dead tissue or calluses of any kind. They were perfectly kissable and he did all he could to restrain himself from kissing and licking her feet. With the sheen of her sweat glistening on her skin, however, her feet looked absolutely delicious.

"I can't help myself, little one," he told her, "I have to taste these pretty feet of yours."

Slowly, longingly, he kissed and licked both of her feet, sucking on her toes and lovingly licking the soft soles of her feet, being quite careful not to tickle her.

"Delightful and delicious," he said as he began to stroke the feather across the sole of her left foot, drawing it from one side to the other slowly and carefully, between the folds of skin on her soft instep while she flexed her toes as far as she could to avoid the sensation of the feather on her very sensitive skin. Suddenly, she felt another feather on the top of her foot drawn across the same way and causing her to bring her toes back up. He anticipated that, of course, and as the skin of her instep tightened, he drew his first feather across once again, leading her to flex her toes all over.

"Please sto-ho-ho-hop," she laughed, squirming and moving her foot about as best she could, "I can't stand to be tickled there."

After some twenty minutes of tickling her left foot this way, with Taleena squirming, laughing and pleading, he repeated the process on her right foot. Then he put the feather that he had used on the tops of her feet down and simply took hold of her left foot, between his thumb and forefingers, preventing her from flexing her toes. He began to draw the remaining feather across the sole of her left foot, over and over, as she howled with laughter, laughing so hard she couldn't even plead for him to stop. Every few minutes, he would draw the feather across the groove below her toes and in between each of her toes, driving her to new heights of laughter. Soon, her right foot received the same treatment, then alternating between her feet.

By the time he had finished with her feet, some two hours after he had started, Taleena was a sweating, straining and exhausted mess. She had pissed a number of times, once even hitting him with the stream while he was on the stool between her legs.

Moving to the soft and very tender flesh of her inner thighs, he began to stroke from her knees to her genitals with the feather, in very delicate but purposeful upward strokes. Her nipples were painfully stiff and gorged with blood, her clitoris was more painfully erect than it had ever been and her vagina was sopping wet with the fluids of sexual arousal - no, excitement.

"Aah! Ooh!," she panted, clenching her fists and squeezing her eyes, "why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I love you," he explained, getting up, moving to her side and very lightly kissing her nipples, "and I want you to experience all that it is to be female. Not like the schoolboys who want to get in, jump up and down a few times and then simply leave you behind as another conquest. The female body was designed for pleasure; it was made to experience intense sexual pleasure, and I want to take you to heights of ecstasy that you never even dreamed possible, pleasures that few woman today can ever even imagine, let alone experience."

"Please let me go," she pleaded, as he again started to stroke the inside of her thighs, "I'm so aroused right now I can't stand it. It’s going to kill me if I can't touch myself and finish it. Please, please let me come."

The stroking of the feather on the inside of her thighs was maddening. She was so unbelievably close to an orgasm and yet she couldn't reach it.

"Oh, the agony and the ecstasy," she thought, "please, God, please let me come!"

"I can't release you quite yet, little one, because you haven't climaxed," he said, "but if you like I can kiss and lick your genitals, and bring you to the end. All you have to do is ask me."

"Oh, God! Oh, please, please finish it!" she begged, "I can't stand it! I'm so close! Please do it! Please, do it now!"

He went back to his stool and seated himself between her legs. He quickly brought her to the throes of the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced by kissing and licking her most sensitive parts, delicately licking her clitoris, gently forcing his tongue into her vagina, savoring the aroma and the juices of her arousal, the exceptional sweet taste of her very essence.

It wasn't long before she arched her back and stiffened her entire body, uncontrollably trembling with the throes of the most intense sexual climax she had ever had, even within the bonds that held her so perfectly. When she came down from the heights of ecstasy, she lay on the X-shaped table, panting, sweaty and exhausted.

"Is that all you have, little one," he taunted, as he started to lick and suck on her clitoris again, "surely you have more than that!"

"No," she screamed, "my God, you'll kill me!"

In this way, he brought the girl, physically and emotionally drained, to sexual climax seven times. After that, he released the restraints and carried her to a Japanese-style bath which had been filled with lovely and fragrant warm water. Carefully holding the exhausted girl, on the verge of unconsciousness, he gently washed her long hair and every part of her lithe, young body, softly massaging as he did so. Taleena purred like a kitten and drifted off to sleep in his arms, still in the soothing, warm water of the bath.

"Good night, little one," the man said, as he gently kissed the top of her head, savoring the smell of her wet hair, "we will share another adventure soon."

Suddenly, remembering her experience, Taleena’s eyes flashed open. It was two thirty in the morning, only three hours after she fell asleep.

"Wow," she said to herself, "was that only a dream? Even my muscles are sore. I can still smell the bath, too. Why am I wearing red panties? I had black panties on when I went to sleep."