Tickling — Submission

The first few minutes were almost playful. Lady Vane used just the tips of her nails, tracing spirals on Lyra’s sides, behind her ears, along the backs of her knees. Lyra squirmed, biting her lip, suppressing the giggles that bubbled in her throat. It was embarrassing, not painful. She could endure embarrassment.

Finally, mercifully, Lady Vane stopped.

“No,” Lyra gasped, pulling at her bonds. “Don’t—”

Lady Vane paused, holding the feather still. The silence was almost worse than the tickling. “I want you to mean it when you apologize. I want that sharp, clever mind of yours to collapse into nothing but the need to please me. I want your submission .”

Lady Vane didn’t answer. She just kept the feather moving, maddeningly slow, from arch to toes and back again. She knew exactly where the nerves were most raw. Lyra’s laughter grew louder, more frantic. It wasn’t joy anymore. It was a tide rising past her control.

“Why should I?” Lady Vane asked, switching to the other foot. “You haven’t given me what I want.”