The Tickle Dungeon @tickleslaver - Tumblr Blog

Tickle Slaves – Chapter 5 (F/F)

VERY cruel and sadistic. CW: tickle torture, nudity, humil, forced groping, noncon, slave, vulgar language, violence

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 (in progress)

Tickling is a harmless, childish affair. You participate when young and fragile and outgrow it as you age. If you use it still, it is to cultivate a relationship or play a prank on a friend. But it is not dark. It is nothing sinister. It cannot cause any real harm or shock or misery. The effect it has on the body is short term. It cannot damage the mind. Whatever it is, it is not something that can be used for torture.

But we know better, don’t we?

In any other kind of story Amelia would not be where she is. Strung upside down like a fish. A dirt floor under her head. Pale torches shined dim circles around themselves, showing only drab bricks, once bright crimson and now dull reddish grey, and the reflection of her own darting eyes. She would not be trapped. She would not have spoiled milk on her tongue, the rancid taste of impending terror. That is to say, it didn’t smell foul where she was. Actually, it smelt lovely. Like cinnamon sticks and violets. A hint of lemon. Even the vain odor of precious metals.

Amelia yelped as she fell to the floor. The chains that had suspended her had suddenly released her. She groaned into the dirt and clawed dirty nails through thick soil. Slowly, she rose to her feet and proceeded. It was dark, but through the iron gate that squeaked open was a hall with more faint, flickering torches. It was just bright enough to keep her from tripping on loose rocks or running into a wall.

Maze-like was her path. A series of corridors and cells. The last thing she remembered was her feet. Being tickled. She shuddered. And then her eyes grew wide. Had she been taken to Lilith’s master? If so, had she been taken to Devon?

At once she ran back. She peered into every cell. Some were empty. Others had men and women caught in seizures, young and old. And others had creatures that may have once been human before being turned into comatose shells who did not react to her footsteps, or her voice, or her taking of a torch and shining it into their cells. Eyes like watery glass and faces aged by centuries. Wherever she was, it was a place of hopelessness, and to that end, she hoped Devon was not here.

“Madam?”

Amelia turned from the cell and shone the torch, wielding it like a sword. It illuminated a hunched figure in a black cloak, standing further down the dark hall. Their hood concealed their face.

“This way, please,” the figure said with a scratched, harsh voice. They turned and walked onwards.

Amelia watched them for a moment more, her grip on the torch absolute, and the look on her face uncompromising. She peered back into the cell. Once a human. Now a...Amelia couldn’t bear to call it what she wanted to: a thing, a broken thing, dead on the inside and waiting for the outside to die. Amelia followed the figure.

The hunched, cloaked being led them up a brick staircase, curving up to the right. This place reminded Amelia of the nightmare castles she had read about as a girl. Where tyrants live. Where monsters dwell. Where witches brew and prowl.

“Where are we?” she asked.

The figure did not answer.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Yes. I can.”

“What is this place? How did I...” Amelia looked down. She was wearing nothing but faded brown rags that drooped to her knees and left her muscular arms bare. Her feet–thick with short, chubby toes–slapped against the brick steps.

“You were brought here four days ago. You’ve been resting since. And we’ve been waiting for you to wake.”

“We?”

She couldn’t see the figure’s head, and wouldn’t have been able to even if they had turned around to face her. Still, she swore the figure nodded.

“That girl brought you in a shape that wasn’t intended.”

“That girl? Lilith?” asked Amelia.

Another unmistakable nod. “The witch.”

“Witch?” Amelia licked dry lips. “I thought that-”

“That only Light Witches and their Mage Knights showed their faces now? Oh no, Dark Witches are still a’ plenty throughout the land. Their perverted covens gluttonous and cruel.”

“And who are you?” Amelia asked as they reached the top of the stairs and came to a long bridge of stone. Amelia held the torch over the side and looked down. Far below were racks of weapons. Red wood shelves shoved against the wall and overflowing with tomes and spell books. Thick rugs laid across the floor. She walked ahead, past the figure, and saw human shaped dummies covered in cuts and burns and missing pieces. “You never told me where we are,” Amelia muttered as a dull thump echoed behind her. She spun around.

The figure’s cloak had been discarded alongside their hunch. They were tall and so much taller than Amelia. And the wide brimmed, pointed black hat upon their head, a purple ribbon wrapped around the tip, didn’t help matters.

“Who...are you?” Amelia asked, holding the torch towards the figure.

It was a woman, more powerful looking than any human or other living creature she had ever seen. Dark steel and purple leather covered her shoulders and breasts, which were large enough to make any man or woman drool. Black trousers looked painted to her long legs and ended as stirrups on her feet, exposing black nails. Milky white skin. Gold toe rings. More gold and diamonds shined on her fingers and arms. A narrow waist and limbs, and yet, she was as muscular as Amelia if not more so. Slender muscle covered every inch of skin, and her exposed stomach showed hard abs. And then she raised her head. The hat’s wide brim hid her face no longer.

The woman had no eyes. Only a sick emerald glow where eyes should be. A purple scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face, hiding her mouth and nose and all lower features. Only a smattering of freckles on her pale skin marked her as human. And her voice?

“It would be rude not to introduce myself.”

Like smoked honey dripping down silk.

“I have been called many names. Good and bad. Right and wrong. Titles reserved for the gods and insults cast only at demons. But you may call me Morgana.” The woman stepped forward.

Amelia approached as well, holding the torch like a weapon once more. “You’re the woman from the book,” she said harshly. “The one who spoke to me with Lilith’s failed spell.”

“Oh no, it did not fail.” The scarf shifted as she spoke but continued covering her lower features. “She succeeded in having us communicate. A simple spell, really. One of the first that I taught her.” She halted her approach, standing still on the bridge. Gods, she towered over the brave knight.

“You? Are her master?” Amelia asked.

“Master, mistress, owner, let us not complicate such matters. It is self-evident what I am. Your precious Devon has come to understand that.”

Amelia calmly took the last few steps she needed. She flared her nostrils and let out a war cry as she swung the torch downward. Morgana leapt back, the flame missing her entirely. Amelia swiped the torch left to right and missed, right to left and Morgana ducked out of the way, she raised the torch and Morgana snapped her fingers.

The flame died as if doused by water, the torch swooshing past and clacking against brick. Amelia stared at it, betrayed. Morgana raised her foot and brought it down on the torch’s mid-point, snapping it in half. Amelia leapt back. Damn it. Damn it all.

She roared once more and punched Morgana’s hard stomach. The force pushed the Dark Witch backwards. Amelia kept up her assault, fists colliding with the Dark Witch’s chest, her sides, her face with satisfying thuds and thumps that echoed throughout the chamber. Amelia grinned and swung and Morgana caught her fist with ease. She lost her joy and felt her strong hand creak and her knuckles pop in Morgana’s grip. The witch squeezed, the heavy golden rings of her left hand–adorning the pinky, middle finger, and index finger–pressing into Amelia’s flesh. The young woman bowed her head as if in worship. She fell to her knees, unable to pull her hand free of the witch’s vice grip.

“You went on a quest to save your love without testing your mettle. Brave,” Morgana said. “But shortsighted.”

She turned on her heel and swung Amelia over the edge of the bridge. With a shriek, the knight vanished.

Morgana stepped closer and peered over the side of the bridge with those glowing green eyes. Below her, Amelia hung to the ledge of brick with her right hand, dangling high over the chamber below.

“Maybe I would have done the same. Hm.” Morgana cast her eyes up as if to consider that–her wide brimmed hat casting a shadow over her face–then dropped them back down to Amelia, who helplessly kicked her legs. “Indeed, you are a brave knight, destined to triumph in some children’s story.”

Amelia threw her other hand up, looking for purchase, but her fingers slipped, and she remained hanging by a single hand.

“Instead you came here, doomed to be a foolish woman, broken under my heel,” Morgana said, mockingly, as she raised her foot and slowly lowered it towards Amelia’s fingers. The knight gasped. The witch laughed.

Amelia saw what some might call beauty. The witch’s foot was long, thin, and softer than silk. Wrinkles like deep rivers ran from the soft heel to the firm ball of the foot, with a bridge in the form of the oily stirrup covering her deep arch. Her toes were similarly long and soft, with three thick gold bands adorning the second, third, and fourth toes.

She stepped on Amelia’s fingers and twisted her foot back and forth, slowly eroding the poor woman’s grip on the ledge. Amelia shut her eyes and grit her teeth. The only sounds of the room were of a stirrup subtly creaking, a woman grunting, and a witch’s soft, sinister chuckle.

“Do not fret, my dear.” Morgana looked down at Amelia with sadistic glee. She rested her bejeweled hands on wide hips while twisting her worship worthy foot upon Amelia’s trembling fingers. “The heroic death you were promised during your knightly training? It will not find you here. I shall hide you away. And show you something much more...well. Something more.” She raised her foot and stomped down on Amelia’s fingers, then twisted her foot once more. Amelia looked up, the sweat on her brow running down her cheeks, teeth clenched and pained eyes squinting at the witch. “As soon as you let. Go.”

And with that, Amelia lost her grip and she took a great fall to the hard floor.

Fortunately, she landed onto one of the carpets. It was impossibly, almost supernaturally thick, and cozy. It took the impact of her fall. It did the same for Morgana, who landed beside the prone Amelia. Morgana stirred her back to her feet with a firm kick to her side. The knight cried out, rolled over, and clamored to her feet.

“You evil woman!” She raised her fists. “You wicked bitch. How dare you-”

“Oh my,” Morgana murmured. She ducked under Amelia’s punch and threw her elbow into the knight’s back. Amelia stumbled forwards and caught herself on a shelf of weapons: swords, shields, and spears. Morgana raised her arms, stretching, thick gold bangles sliding down her wrists and clacking together, a heavy armband around her left bicep glinting in the dim light of torches. “You don’t even have any original banter to provide. Wicked? Why, yes, of course, are all witches not called that? Bitch? Hardly the first hundred to deem me such a title. Evil? Flattering, but–”

“Get on with it,” Amelia snarled, still clinging to the shelf and looking back with red hot eyes. “I did not come to listen to you prattle. I came for the love of my life. And damn you if you think that fighting and breaking a knight will prove something about your–”

“Fighting a knight?” Morgana asked, genuinely confused. “Breaking a...knight?” Her laugh wasn’t dissimilar to the obnoxious chortle of a pampered and spoiled noblewoman, only more baffled in this instance. “My dear, sweet girl. I have danced upon the bare, wrinkled soles of bound and gagged giants. Helped put a cute redheaded Pet in her place. Taken part in insidious institutions where heartless women forced tortures–both tickling and other liquid torments I find myself less fond of–on committed men and women. I have worked with a masked tickle terrorist, accompanied spacewomen in their torture treks, watched doctors of random deviousness work, and witnessed animals be ruined in bondage and by machines for the masses to watch. My favorite might've been a foot cult, which led to orcs, which led to elves, which led to angels.”

Amelia’s hands traced the shelf, moving over blades and war hammers.

“You are not a grand achievement, Amelia. Your lovers taking that has consumed your life? It is the most boring quest I’ve had in quite some–”

Amelia spun around with a shield in one hand.

And a spear in the other.

She hurled it at Morgana’s throat and it came dangerously close before the witch held up her hand, summoning a black portal before her. The spear sunk through the swirling vortex of shadows and another portal opened behind the shelf that Amelia had retrieved the spear from. The spear tore through the shelf and towards Amelia and she raised her shield. The weapon and shield collided with a clang. Amelia stumbled. The spear rolled to the side. Morgana laughed merrily, like a delighted schoolgirl.

“My! Dear!” she uttered, glowing green eyes crinkled with delight.

Amelia panted and gazed at the witch.

“You almost got me there! Hahahaha, you were this close while I was off rambling and just-hahahaha, that is magnificent!”

Amelia roared and charged at Morgana, throwing all of her weight into the witch’s lower torso. Morgana’s feet slid across the carpet and then over the cold stone floor. She effortlessly turned and flipped Amelia over and onto the ground. Amelia closer her eyes from pain, opened them to see Morgana’s heel hovering over her head, and rolled away before her foot stomped down.

Again Amelia raised her fists. Again she swung. Again she went down, this time falling to a knee.

“You know,” Morgana said languidly, “I did not have to give you a chance.”

Amelia’s mouth hung open with gasping breaths.

“I applauded your quest so much so that I decided, well, to give you a sporting chance. If you could best me, then Devon–that absolute cutie–could go free. It only seemed right to me, you see? Anything else, well...it simply would not sit right with me. But it seems that I overestimated you.”

“You...gaudy, soulless, patronizing, puke eyed–”

Morgana placed her left hand on a hip and lifted her balled right fist. “Well, let us see.” She extended her pinky, a wide gold band with a large diamond rising from the top adorning it. “Gaudy? Ha, spoken like a knight who delights in sleeping under sandpaper blankets and eating moldy bread. I love heavy, shiny things, the way they make others stare, the knowing that I could assist those starving on the streets and instead have needlessly chosen my own vanity and beauty.” She lifted a ringed ring finger. “Soulless? I’m honest. More than most.” Her bare middle finger. “Patronizing? I apologize, I must be getting carried away. I truly am trying to be polite. I promise.” Another diamond on her index finger. “Puke eyed? I admit, that is a new one!” And then her gold ringed thumb and she backhanded Amelia to the floor and placed her foot on the knight’s chest, pinning her down.

“Take a good look at my toes, my dear.” Morgana rested her arm on her raised knee, while Amelia’s grabbed at the witch’s leg, attempting to push her off. “You’ll be sucking them for moisture and toe jam until I decide you deserve real food.”

“You–You–You–”

“I grow bored of you.” Morgana clapped once.

Amelia’s hands, grasping at the witch’s strong yet slender leg and smacking her pale foot, went still. She couldn’t open her mouth. She could blink. She could only blink.

Morgana removed her foot and grabbed Amelia by the ankle. She dragged the knight along the floor with minimal effort.

“A highly powerful paralyzing spell,” she told the muted knight. “It takes some time to charge and lasts not long at all. But no matter. You will find yourself moving even less where you’re going. But do not fret, my dear. We’re off to have a lot of fun. At least, I am.” She laughed once more.

Amelia, the battle hardened knight who had conquered a great many evils, who only sought to rescue the one man she truly loved, was dragged along the cold floor like a ragdoll. She could not flail her limbs, nor open her mouth, nor do anything but feel a single tear roll down her cheek.

The place that Amelia was taken to was the dungeon. But surely the place she had awoken at, those dark cells and dirt floors, was quite clearly the dungeon?

“Oh, goodness, no,” Morgana said, as if understanding what she must be thinking. “That is where I throw away my trash. The things that no longer work. Broken toys and such, hm? Where I’m taking you is much nicer, I assure you.”

True to her word, Amelia was soon dragged over polished floors of wood, polished to a shine and then some. Red brick walls were lined with paintings and framed poems (“Do you like them?” Morgana asked. “A few I bought or bargained for, but some of them are my own. I’m quite proud of that one over-Oh. You cannot turn your head, can you?”). A high vaulted ceiling with wooden beams, adorned with chandeliers carrying waxy white candles. Bondage contraption like something out of a nightmare were in every room that they passed. Amelia helplessly groaned and cast her eyes to her apathetic gods as Morgana turned and pulled her into one such room.

It was a red leather bench that Amelia was sat on, with a wooden backboard that was pushed against. Morgana hummed a tune that Amelia hadn’t heard since she was a girl while pulling her frozen arms up above her head. Amelia’s arms were bent at the elbow and pulled over her head, being fastened to an iron bar that topped the backboard. There they were secured with black leather straps that Morgana tightened until Amelia thought that she might bruise. Her legs were next. They were pulled forward, over the bench, and similar black straps fastened to the sides of the bench were pulled over her paralyzed legs and secured.

Amelia felt naked sitting there, unable to move or speak and half restrained regardless. Perhaps Morgana’s powers involved the ability to read minds since she then said, “Good pets don’t need clothes.”

Her strong, ringed fingers grabbed at the rags covering Amelia’s body and pulled in either direction. The brown garments fell to the floor, leaving the scared, young knight as barren as the day of her birth. Her ample breasts hung freely, her round pink nipples going hard at the dungeon’s cold draft.

“There.” More straps came from behind the backboard and fastened around Amelia’s stomach. Her chest. Her throat. Her forehead. “Much better.”

Amelia heard a loud pop and opened her mouth, gasping. She could move once more!

But she could not. Her arms, her legs, her torso, her head, every inch of her body locked in those damned restraints. Movement was further away than ever.

Cold, clammy hands reached around the backboard and cupped either side of Amelia’s face. The young woman gasped, shivered, and whimpered. They stroked her face, almost maternal in tenderness. One hand dropped and squeezed her left breast, eliciting a mortified moan from Amelia.

“My my.” Morgana lifted her breast and cupped it from below. “You were truly wasted, being a silly little knight. Here is where you will truly belong.” She dropped the breast and then, slowly, brought her ringed thumb and forefinger together, letting Amelia watch, pant, gasp, and then groan as her nipple was pinched tight. “A good little pet.”

“Wait,” Amelia said, hoping Morgana was a rational woman who could be reasoned with. Also, fear shook her words. “You do not have to do this.”

At the same time she was speaking, Morgana was wiggling her spider-like fingers over Amelia’s armpits. Amelia felt the tension, the urge to get away, to at least lower her damn arms. But she was stuck. Trapped like a fly in a web. Despite it all, it was truly the nonconsensual bondage, erasing the will of her own body, that caused her eyes to bulge.

And then, Morgana pressed her fingers to Amelia’s armpits. Perhaps it was Lilith already having tickled her. Perhaps fatigue. Or ever the setting that broke her composure. But no, Amelia knew the truth.

Morgana was a prodigy at tickle torture.

The second her fingers touched, chuckles and snorts escaped Amelia. She attempted to bargain with the Dark Witch, who, so very, very slowly, dragged her nails down the exposed underarms. The straps were so secure that Morgana felt not an ounce of resistance. Amelia felt horror at not being able to even twitch her arm pits.

Morgana’s long fingers reached the base of Amelia’s armpits, so she extended them once more and took it from the top. Again her fingers glided down the young woman’s unwilling arm pits. Morgana watched her own fingers at work, strong and adorned with gems, amazed by how soft and smooth the knight’s skin was. It was like hanging her arm over the side of a boat and letting her fingers be dragged across the soft warm waters.

Again she reached the bottom of the armpits and again she returned to the top, dragging her fingers down the knight’s skin, and turning her into a cackling madwoman.

“Nohohohohhohooooooo!” Amelia cried out. “Hahahahaha, no, plea–please stop before I–I–hihihihihahahahahaha!”

To make it more unbearable for the poor girl, Morgana wrapped her fingers around the girl’s upper ribs and dug her thumbs deep into the underarms, kneading hard circles into the girl’s tender skin. Like kneading fresh dough.

“OH!” Amelia gasped. “Oh gohohohohohahahads! Please, make it stohohohahahahap! No, no more, plehehehehese! Oh no! Nohohohohoh! Stohohohahahahahahahahhahahap! Sure–Surley we can–cahahahahahan–Plehehehehahahase just–just lehehehehehet mehehehehe spehehehehehehek! Nohohohohohahahahaha!”

“What could you possibly say that would interest me?” Morgana asked.

“We–We can–can mahahahahahake a dehehehehehehahahal!”

“Hmmmm, of what kind?” the witch asked, never once pausing to let the knight breathe, her cruel thumbs pressing in deeper and pulling the taut skin to and fro, back and forth, suffering and sad.

“I–I–I don’t–I dohohohohohahahahaha nohohohohohahahat knohohohohohohohohohohw! You do nohohohohohot hahahahahave to do thihihihihihahahahahashahaha!”

Only then did Morgana stop. She stood up, came around to the front of the bondage device so that the giggling Amelia could see her, and only due to the head restraints was Amelia’s head not knocked aside from Morgana slapping her across the face. It sobered the knight up instantly. All traces of laughter vanished.

“I understand,” Morgana told her.

Amelia looked up at the glamorous, muscular, hourglass woman in her fine leathers and golds. She gazed up at her as she gasped for breath.

“You believe that you are still the main character of your own life. A valiant knight out to rescue her love. That surely, somehow, it will all work out and you will both go free and get married and go on to live on a farm with many wonderful little poets and knight children.”

Amelia swallowed her last gasp and tried to speak. It only hurt her throat.

“They all believe that, you know. Every. Single. Person that I break. That think that they’re special. It can happen to others but, surely, it cannot happen to them.” Morgana’s bright emerald eyes darkened into a rotten apple green. “But it does happen to them. It happened to Devon. It will happen to you.”

The certainty with which she spoke made Amelia sick. She wanted to vomit. It couldn’t be true, and yet, what other ending could she see from where she sat, trapped and nude and molested and tortured. And the mere idea–that she would spend the rest of her days here to be tortured–almost made her want to die. The only worse fate she could imagine was never seeing her love again.

“Don’t fret, my dear.” Morgana reached out.

Amelia would’ve tried to run or fight back. But in her state, she could not even turn her head. No way to stop the witch from slowly wrapping her fingers around Amelia’s cheeks and squeezing her mouth open.

“You have done nothing wrong to meet such an accursed fate. In fact, you did what any good women would do.”

She uncupped Amelia’s face and began to slowly wiggle her index finger under her chin. Amelia’s giggles began anew, accompanied by an occasional weak, “Stop,” which Morgana heard and ignored.

“But I have no sane or reasonable reason to be doing this. The sad truth is; I am a very, very ill woman. I have no grander reason for why I have chosen to do this to you.” She titled her head. “You exist...to be tortured.”

The bench shook with Amelia, so weak and pathetic there, unable to even save her chin from being tickled. Another pin in her hopes of freedom came with knowing–not seeing, not under the scarf–but knowing that Morgana was smiling as she said these things.

“The only reason I do this to you–”

“Is because we enjoy it!”

Morgana’s eyes widened. She turned so that both women saw the dark haired Lilith enter the cell. Her pleasant pink lips smiled in a schoolgirl fashion. She raised her gloved hand, her wide gold bangles falling down her thin wrist and the wide gold bands on her ring and middle fingers, and fixed her glasses. Wherever she had come from, it hadn’t even wrinkled her black button up dress, or required her to remove the thick gold anklets that covered most of the young woman’s lower legs.

“Hello again, Amelia,” she said with a musical lilt. “I see you finally decided to awaken.”

“Yes,” Morgana said. She glanced at Amelia and saw she was poised to speak. That would not do. Morgana reached down and flattened her hand against Amelia’s stomach, then slowly pulled her fingers together, her black-painted nails tickling the knight’s taut and ticklish tummy.

“Hahahahahahahaha!” was all that Amelia could say now.

“I distinctly remember telling you, my dear Lily pad, that she was to be brought to me unharmed.”

Lilith had a seat at the stool placed at the far end of the bench. She crossed her knees, rested her right elbow on her left crossed arm, and bit the tip of her index finger, grinning. “I know, Master. But I think you can see just why I had to–”

“Lilith,” Morgana said sternly, “the only thing I currently see if your insubordination.”

“But you would’ve tickled her too,” Lilith said, shy and confused.

“Rules for thee, not for me.”

“But that’s not fair.”

“You want fair, Lily Pad? Go build a utopia. Trust me, you can’t. I tried. In fact, the only thing you seem to be presently wanting is another night in her stead.”

Lilith, who had begun tracing lazy shapes on Amelia’s trapped foot, jumped into an upright position and clutched her knees, her face rigid and submissive.

“No, Mistress Morgana.” She said, removing her glasses and wiping the excited fog from the lenses on her dress.

“And why not?”

“Be–Because you would surely take great pleasure in slowly torturing me beyond my limits and making me plead for your impossible mercy.”

“Good girl.” Morgana continued to tickle Amelia’s belly, proceeding to stick her pinky into the belly button and twist it back and forth.

“HAHAHAHAHA! NO! NOT THEHEHEHERHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

“Ohhhhhh, yesssssss. Right there,” Morgana cooed. She kept her little finger in Amelia’s belly button for another twenty or thirty seconds, although to Amelia, it was like her knightly training: planks, jogs, staying put in stress positions. It felt like hours to the poor girl.

Morgana finally removed her finger. Amelia was left gasping for breath. Both Dark Witches looked down at her, amused. Amelia looked back, her flood of fear held back by a meager dam of knightly honor and righteous anger.

“Where is he?” she asked, her stern voice trembling. “Where is Devon?”

“Hm. You truly wish to know?” Morgana asked. “I love what a new toy holds out and gives me more to work with. It’s like painting with a new color, writing in a new voice, drinking unique wines and wearing different silks! You will be an amazing pet.”

“I am no one’s pet, Witch!” Amelia snarled.

“And, if you prove good,” Morgana continued, “perhaps I will let you see your long lost love once more. But only if you be good for what comes next.”

Amelia bared her teeth and narrowed her eyes, yet, could not keep the anxious tremble from her voice. “And what comes next?”

Morgana kneeled down so that they could be eye level. Lilith came up beside her, wrapping her thin arms around her Master’s chest and resting her chin on her Mistress’s shoulder.

“Is it not obvious my dear?” Morgana cooed. Both Witch’s chuckled. “We are going to torture you now.”

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