Okay, here's my first ever story posted here.
It took me a long time to write and edit, but I think it's finally ready for you all to read. I'm not much of an artist, otherwise I'd have just drawn it all. This brings me to a major point I want to make - If any artist on this forum wants to use my story for ideas, please do! I'm hoping to inspire you! I'd be thrilled to see art based on my story. I think people who like machine tickling will really like it.
Okay, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure:
The Litterbug
At six pm on a Tuesday evening in late October of 2030, a black unmarked van pulled into a misty driveway which led to a non-discrete, five-story brick building just outside of the city. When the van slowly halted, the driver opened his door, followed shortly by the passenger in the front seat. Both figures were strongly masculine and both wore dark glasses. The two men made their way to the rear of the van, and opened the rear door.
Inside the van, on the floor, sat a young woman in her early twenties. She was about 5’4” with brown hair that just reached the middle of her back. Her wrists and ankles were bound with thick rope, and she was silenced by a makeshift gag.
“We’ve reached our destination,” began the driver to the woman. “I will remove your ankle bindings so that you will be able to walk. Do not make any sudden moves, and your life will not be in any immediate danger.”
“Mmmmmfffmmmff!!!” protested the woman.
“Your gag? Nope, can’t take it off. Our orders are to bring you here - not to chit-chat. If the boss wants you to speak, she will remove the gag herself. Now then, we’ll have not another sound out of you!”
The man reached into his jacket pocket and swiftly produced a Swiss-army knife, with which he proceeded to cut the rope around the woman’s ankles.
“Out you go,” commanded the driver. She did as she was told, scooting to the rear of the van and hopping out. Now, flanked by both men, she had no choice but to allow them to escort her into the large building.
Having expected to have arrived at a large abandoned warehouse or other dark building, the captive woman was surprised to see white tiled walls brightly lit by fluorescent lights. Across from the doors sat a desk, and behind the desk sat an attractive woman with neat, shoulder length blonde hair.
A receptionist, thought the bound woman, What kind of organization is this?
“Hello James,” smiled the receptionist, “what have you got for us this time?”
“Female, 23,” began the driver. “Her ID Transmitter shows her name as Jennifer Mitchells.”
“Jennifer Mitchells? Let me pull up her file,” said the receptionist lightly as she paged through the files on her desktop computer. “Mitchells… Mitchells… Ah! Yes! Here we are. Well, everything seems to be in order here. Give me just a second please.” She hit a button on her desk.
“Yes?” came a sugary voice through the intercom.
“Hi Janet, this is Sally. Is the operating room ready to receive a new patient?”
Operating room?, thought Jennifer. What is this all about?
“Yep, we just finished up with the last one. Have them bring the patient in, but please make sure you sedate her first. The last guy forgot and it got pretty ugly in here.”
The last thing Jennifer could remember about that night was a sharp, stabbing pain in her neck. Then everything slowly swirled into silent blackness.
Jennifer awoke with a start. She was lying down on her back, her arms, legs, and torso strapped tightly to a hospital bed, in a room all by herself. Her eyes watered at the brightness of the lights.
As if someone had sensed she was awake, a key turned in the door.
They’ve had me locked in? What is this place? thought Jennifer.
The doorknob turned; into the room walked a strikingly beautiful red-haired woman who stood about five and a half feet and who appeared to Jennifer to be in her early forties.
“Greetings, Ms. Mitchells!” began the woman. “I am Dr. Rebecca Crawford. I am the chief administrator here at the hospital, and it is my job to see that patients are properly cared for. You are probably wondering why you are here. Do you remember throwing that fast food container out the car window two nights ago? That was number seventeen in a series of similar infractions, as logged here at the hospital and monitored by a secret network of cameras throughout the city. This place is the Federal Environmental Agency’s Therapeutic Hospital of Effective Remedies, or F.E.A.T.H.E.R. It is a treatment center set up by the F.E.A. for non-environmentally-friendly people. Through a series of specialized treatments, we aim to cure those who insist on littering and otherwise polluting the city. The surgery you had last night allowed us to implant and satellite traceable tag into a location in one of your limbs, so that we can monitor your actions at all times. It will remain in place until we feel that you have recovered from your bad habits. Until then, it will allow us to pick you up much easier in the event that we determine that further treatment is necessary. I am most proud to say, however, that our return rate is quite low. Most patients respond to their treatments very well - especially those with such soft feet as your own”
Dr. Crawford walked to the foot of Jennifer’s bed, to examine Jennifer’s bare feet.
“These look to me to be about a size 7? Hmm…that’s the same size as me. I’ll have to look at your shoes…I’ve been needing a new pair.”
Jennifer was not paying attention - her thoughts were still on Dr. Crawford’s previous words.
Treatments? What are they going to do to me? What’s the big deal about a little garbage?
“Well, Ms. Mitchells, I have to be attending now to other patients. Your treatment is being prepared for you and should begin shortly. I do hope it teaches you a lesson.” finished Rebecca with a rather sinister-looking smile, and she opened the door and made a swift exit. No sooner had the door closed, than it opened again, and two women about Jennifer’s age came into the room, rolling a stretcher next to Jennifer’s bed.
“We’re going to bring you to the treatment room now, honey” said one of them, and she pressed a button. The straps holding Jennifer to the bed released instantly, but before she could move, four mechanical arms reached from outside of the stretcher and lifted her onto the rolling platform, and held her down firmly.
What the frikk? thought Jennifer.
“These new automatic stretchers make our jobs so much easier, don’t they?” commented the first technician to the other.
“Yes - Yes they do,” was the reply. They then proceeded to roll Jennifer out of the room and down a series of hallways to and finally through a door, over which large bold letters said “Center for Severe Littering Disorder (SLD).”
Towards the rear of the room they entered, on both side walls, were two elevated openings, which were sealed off by heavy, hydraulic doors. Between them was a platform, on top of which ran a padded conveyor belt, lined with clean plastic which reminded Jennifer of the lining on her mother’s living room sofa. The belt could be seen extending in either direction beneath both sets of doors. The conveyor belt had several automated bindings built into its surface, so that no matter which way a patient lied on it, he or she would be completely immobilized.
The arms from the stretcher lifted Jennifer into place onto the soft belt, and held her in place in a spread-eagle position as the automatic bindings on the belt bound her ankles and wrists. She was now facing one of the doors the belt went under. The stretcher arms then retracted, leaving poor Jennifer firmly secured on the belt. One of the technicians then removed Jennifer’s gag.
“You’ll need your breath,” she smiled politely.
Jennifer was too dumbstruck by everything that had just happened to say a word as the other technician pressed a button which activated the conveyor belt. The set of hydraulic doors in front of Jennifer began to open, and she began to move through them.
“I sure don’t envy her…,” Jennifer heard one of the technicians shudder as the doors closed behind her, sealing her off inside of the machine.
The transport tunnel was dark, and Jennifer felt slightly claustrophobic, but it soon gave way to a large, well lit room. High up the wall to Jennifer’s right was a small balcony, on which stood none other than Dr. Crawford.
The smiling doctor was silent as she removed a key from her pocket, inserted it into a console on the balcony, and turned it, which started a series of mechanical sounds throughout the room. Then Dr. Crawford, having done her job, left through a door behind the balcony, leaving Jennifer in solitude once again.
In the ceiling, a hatch opened, and down towards Jennifer, two mechanical hands lowered, one holding a pair of scissors. They effortlessly removed her gown and slippers, leaving her naked on the belt. They then retracted back through the ceiling, as quickly as they came. Out of the walls, three objects shot vertically out and suspended themselves above Jennifer.
Shower heads?
No sooner had she thought it that the three large shower heads rained warm water onto the length of her body for about thirty seconds. With her eyes closed to shut out the water, she did not notice when four nozzles protruded from the floor and pointed at her. She was taken by surprise when she felt a high-pressure blast of soapy foam from the nozzles all over her body. After a quick blast, her whole body was covered with the fluffy, white foam. The nozzles then retracted back into the floor. Since she had once again shut her eyes to protect them from the soap, she was unaware that now, from the ceiling, six large arms made their way towards her very soapy body. The first four, which hovered over her upper body and legs, ended in soft, large-diameter, round scrub brushes. The last two, which hovered beneath her feet, ended in slightly stiffer, smaller brushes. Jennifer began perceiving a sound like electric motors whining to life, not knowing that this sound was the brushes beginning to rotate and move in closer.
“AAAAAHHHAAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” screamed Jennifer as the spinning brushes began scrubbing her sensitive skin. “THAAAAAT TIIICKKLLEEEESSSS!!!!” Her screams were harmlessly absorbed by the walls of the room. Or so it seemed.
“OOOOOHHH GOD NOOOOO!!!” shrieked Jennifer as the brushes began to spin more rapidly, in response to her screams. Her body was now a mess of thickly lathered foam, which the brushes spun through, exfoliating her already soft skin until it began to take on a pinkish hue.
No part of her body was left unscrubbed. The brushes glided cruelly over all of her most ticklish spots. Her feet, never getting respite from the stiff foot-scrubbers, spasmed out of control as her heels, arches, balls and toes were all mercilessly washed without a moments pause. The stiff bristles on her feet were then replaced by soft conventional scrub brushes which worked over her soles in an up and down motion. Up and down, up and down. Over and over and over.
Meanwhile, two brushes sat scrubbing on top of her soft size C breasts (which tickled her now-swollen nipples horribly), as two others began a path that began at her wrists and wound slowly down her arms towards her sensitive hollows.
“NNNOOOO…PLLLEEASSSEEEE, MAKE THEM STOP! PLEASE!….OOOH SHHHHIIIITTTTTTTT” cried Jennifer, who contorted her face into a tight grimace as the soft brushes began scrubbing her armpits.
It felt like the brushes sat in those places for an eternity before finally slowing and lifting off of her. The shower heads then rinsed the foam off of her, revealing her newly softened and very pink body. The shower heads retracted, and in their place came three large dryers, which began blowing hot air at her, as three new hands appeared from the ceiling with towels to dry her naked body as well as her hair, which had been meticulously shampooed and conditioned.
Once Jennifer was satisfactorily dried, all of the mechanical devices retracted back into the wall and ceiling again. The conveyor belt began to slowly creep back to life, sending Jennifer, who was still breathing heavily and recovering from that awful cleaning, through another doorway, into another dark tunnel, and once again through a hydraulic door.
The new room was smaller than the previous room, and the ceiling was much lower. It was also more dimly lit than the cleaning room. The tunnels to this room were twisty and the belt kept changing speeds, so Jennifer had lost her sense of where in the building she was, or how far she had traveled on the belt to get here. The belt had stopped in the middle of the room, prompting Jennifer to start worrying about what the new room would have in store for her. Before she had two seconds to think, however, a hatch opened in the ceiling, and a pair of mechanical hands appeared, carrying a blind-fold, which it swiftly fastened in place securely over her eyes. Not able to see, Jennifer did not know that the sounds she was hearing now were more hatches opening, this time on the floor. Out of these hatches, several mechanical arms were rising. Some of these arms ended in large, fluffy feather dusters, and others terminated in single long, stiff feathers. The feather dusters moved in towards her thighs and breasts, the stiff feathers lowered towards her armpits and knees, and two robotic hands with fingers tipped with soft fan brushes emerged from the floor and promptly took their place next to her now very deliciously soft, freshly scrubbed, and very pink feet. Jennifer could hear around her all of the hydraulic workings as these arms positioned themselves over her body, but was total unprepared for the ensuing assault on her senses. All at once, the machine came to life, sending poor Jennifer into a laughing frenzy unparalleled with anything she had ever known:
“AIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEAAHAHAHAHAH…NO..NO!..PL…HAHA PLEEAS…AHAHAAHAHHAHAHA
AHAHAAHAAHAHHAHAAHAHAAHAAHAAHHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHA!” Jennifer wailed as the machine triggered every nerve ending in her terribly ticklish body. The feather dusters were spinning over her breasts, a feather had now made its way into her belly-button, and another set of feathers was stroking her soft armpits while two more tickled all around her quivering knees.
“OH GOD! HA HAA AH HA HAHAHAHA C-CAN ANY HAHA ONE H-HEAR ME? PLEASE! MAKE IT STOOOOOPPPPPPAHA HAHAHA!” OH NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
*sniff*
A tear fell down her cheek as she began to feel the eight fan brushes softly stroking between all ten of her toes. She had never been tickled there before, and was not happy to be taught how much it tickled in a situation like this, when she was utterly helpless to defend herself against it. After a lengthy and torturous duration of this, the fan brushes began softly stroking her soles, from heel to toe. Uuuuuuup and doooooown. Uuuuuuuup and dooooown.
Her breathing became very hard as she continued to feel all of the tickling devices thoroughly working her over. Her body now a mess of sweat and tears, Jennifer began seriously regretting her eco-hazardous lifestyle.
After another very lengthy duration, the machine slowed to a stop and Jennifer was able to catch her breath. The conveyor began moving again. Unseen by Jennifer, sensors in the tunnel walls were sensing that she had become quite a mess during the last room, and she was now being re-routed to the cleaning room once more.
Blindfold now removed, Jennifer knew where she was, and was not in the least bit happy to about it.
After another lengthy and thoroughly ticklish scrubbing, Jennifer was coated with a thick layer of body lotion which was massaged in by mechanical hands with softly tipped fingers. These fingers glided all over her body, massaging and tickling her arms, legs, feet, breasts, nipples, and thighs, amongst other places. And it felt good – very good, although she was still too nervous from the tickling to truly enjoy it. At least, until she felt a hand begin to massage between her legs. At this point she gave in to the pleasure and allowed the machine’s wonderful massage to deliver her to a state of supreme ecstasy. This was a smart machine. It knew how much pressure to apply to all of her sensitive areas in order to elicit the maximum amount of pleasure. Despite the monsturization having been completed, that one hand continued massaging her between her legs while two others continued massaging her breasts and lightly pinching nipples in a way that made fireworks appear before her closed eyes. Jennifer soon experienced the first of many orgasms which would shake her body. Time after time she climaxed, each better than the last, until finally the machine, sensing she had been brought almost to a state of utter exhaustion, ceased the massaging.
Jennifer was now at the pinnacle of ticklishness – freshly scrubbed, moisturized, tenderized, and now completely worn out from her orgasmic experience - and she realized what the intentions were here. She knew from past sexual experiences that orgasms made her body so much more sensitive to stimulation. She knew that whatever this place was, it made sure its victims were in prime shape for tickling.
The conveyor moved again, through the tunnel, into a new room this time. When the conveyor stopped, Jennifer winced in anticipation of what was in store for her. But nothing happened. For several minutes, Jennifer was made to wait, staring up at the bright ceiling.
Then a door opened at the side of the room, and Dr. Crawford entered.
“Well, well, you DO look exhausted Ms. Mitchells. But I’m afraid you have one more gauntlet you have to pass – Me.”
“B-B-B-But…please…I’ve learned my lesson…I won’t litter anymore ever! Please, please let me g--mmmff!” cried Jennifer as the wicked doctor fastened her gag back in place, an utterly panicked look in her eyes now.
“No, Ms. Mitchells. I’m afraid you cannot be released without receiving a throughout exam by a doctor. You should feel lucky that I decided to take your case. No other doctor in this institution is as thorough as I am. I think I’ll start with your underarms."
Dr. Crawford flashed her perfectly manicured nails at Jennifer. With a wicked smile, she slowly lowered them towards Jennifer’s underarms. Dr. Crawford proceeded to slowly stroke Jennifer’s hollows, dragging her nails ever so deliberately.
Jennifer, unable to scream, simply began to cry. Never had she experienced such torment at the hands of another human being. The doctor was ruthless as she began using her nails to conduct a most vile method of arm tickling, in which she started by gently tickling Jennifer’s wrists, and then slowly spider walked her fingers down Jennifer’s arms until finishing with a long stroke over her underarms. It was nightmarish. Sometimes the doctor would keep tickling her wrists for a very long time before making a quick rake of her nails all the way down Jennifer’s torso. Finally, after what must have been an hour, the underarm tickling ceased.
Over the next two hours, the doctor proceeded to tickle other parts of Jennifer’s body for long periods of time. Including a half hour of simply stroking her nails lightly over Jennifer’s nipples and at least an hour of torturing her inner thighs with light strokes followed by deep, kneading tickles of a horrendous nature. After each new spot was tickled, the doctor would make a note on her clipboard and say something like “Yes, that will do,” or “Hmm…we might have to work on that.”
After making another note on the clipboard, Dr. Crawford walked to Jennifer’s head and stroked Jennifer’s hair.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Dr. Crawford. Jennifer looked back at her through the eyes of someone who had been truly brought to the brink of sanity. “I just have to examine your feet, and if they check out we can do a final written evaluation and decide where to go from here.”
Dr. Crawford pushed a button on the side of the conveyor belt, and two devices that looked like hands came out of the sides. Instead of fingers, they each terminated in 5 metal rings. The devices slipped the rings over each of Jennifer’s toes, and a shin restraint was put into place. Now her ability to move her feet was reduced to zero.
Dr. Crawford walked to the Jennifer’s feet and flashed her nails at Jennifer one more time before lowering them down to tickle those sensitive spots right under Jennifer’s toes. Unable to move her feet, Jennifer could only flap her hands in response to the brutal assault on this terrible spot. The doctor then began tickling each toe individually with her nails, making sure to get in between each one. Then Dr. Crawford began tickling Jennifer’s heels, using a claw-like scritchy-scratchy motion which elicited more hand flapping from Jennifer. The foot tickling culminated with an hour of sole stroking, during which the doctor slowly raked her nails up and down Jennifer’s immobilized feet. Dr. Crawford expertly varied her speed so that Jennifer could not predict what she would do. Sometimes the strokes would be excruciatingly slow, other times almost painfully fast. But no matter what, they all tickled so much that Jennifer’s hand flapping ceased and now her fingers simply twitched.
Seeing that it was nearing five o’clock, the doctor got up from her seat at Jennifer’s feet, went to the door, and called in the two nurses from earlier, who used their mechanical stretcher to bring the silent Jennifer back to her room, where she promptly fell asleep from exhaustion.
The next day, Dr. Crawford entered Jennifer’s room bright and early, and woke her with a gentle tickle on the forehead.
“Wakey-wakey, Ms. Mitchells. I have excellent news for you!”
“Hmmmmm…?” sighed Jennifer and she rolled her head back, knowing that nothing this woman had to say could possibly be good news. Dr. Crawford continued.
“Your evaluation showed excellent results! If these keep up, you’ll be released in record time! Most patients end up having stays of four to six weeks, but with continued responses like these you should be finished in just six more days! Other patients would be jealous”
“Sssssssssix…………d-d-d-ays?” uttered Jennifer, in disbelief.
“Well, assuming your scores stay up, yes! But if we see declines, you may end up staying as long as 6 months! Well, I’ve got to make rounds. Enjoy your treatment today! The machines learn; they’ll remember everything from yesterday and calibrate themselves to make sure you really get the message!”
“Sssssiiix mm-m-m-m—m-m-m—m-mm—months….MONTHS?” cried out Jennifer as the harsh realities of the doctor’s words set in.
“Yes indeed,” smiled the doctor, “but look on the bright side, it’ll be six months more that the world will be without a little littering fiend. When you are finally let go, it will mean that the planet will no longer have to suffer at your hands the way you have suffered at mine. Otherwise, we can always find you.” And with her last sentence, Dr. Crawford opened the door to leave.
“N-n-nooo….pleasee…….PLEEEEAAASSEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!,” Jennifer’s scream was heard down the hall as Doctor Crawford locked the door, tucked the key safely in her pocket, and strolled towards her office intent on browsing the internet’s vast variety of tickling fetish material for ideas of how to best torture her victims…erm, “patients.”
==============================================================
Thanks for reading! Not sure if I'll be writing anything else for a while, but if feedback is positive I might be motivated!
It took me a long time to write and edit, but I think it's finally ready for you all to read. I'm not much of an artist, otherwise I'd have just drawn it all. This brings me to a major point I want to make - If any artist on this forum wants to use my story for ideas, please do! I'm hoping to inspire you! I'd be thrilled to see art based on my story. I think people who like machine tickling will really like it.
Okay, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure:
The Litterbug
At six pm on a Tuesday evening in late October of 2030, a black unmarked van pulled into a misty driveway which led to a non-discrete, five-story brick building just outside of the city. When the van slowly halted, the driver opened his door, followed shortly by the passenger in the front seat. Both figures were strongly masculine and both wore dark glasses. The two men made their way to the rear of the van, and opened the rear door.
Inside the van, on the floor, sat a young woman in her early twenties. She was about 5’4” with brown hair that just reached the middle of her back. Her wrists and ankles were bound with thick rope, and she was silenced by a makeshift gag.
“We’ve reached our destination,” began the driver to the woman. “I will remove your ankle bindings so that you will be able to walk. Do not make any sudden moves, and your life will not be in any immediate danger.”
“Mmmmmfffmmmff!!!” protested the woman.
“Your gag? Nope, can’t take it off. Our orders are to bring you here - not to chit-chat. If the boss wants you to speak, she will remove the gag herself. Now then, we’ll have not another sound out of you!”
The man reached into his jacket pocket and swiftly produced a Swiss-army knife, with which he proceeded to cut the rope around the woman’s ankles.
“Out you go,” commanded the driver. She did as she was told, scooting to the rear of the van and hopping out. Now, flanked by both men, she had no choice but to allow them to escort her into the large building.
Having expected to have arrived at a large abandoned warehouse or other dark building, the captive woman was surprised to see white tiled walls brightly lit by fluorescent lights. Across from the doors sat a desk, and behind the desk sat an attractive woman with neat, shoulder length blonde hair.
A receptionist, thought the bound woman, What kind of organization is this?
“Hello James,” smiled the receptionist, “what have you got for us this time?”
“Female, 23,” began the driver. “Her ID Transmitter shows her name as Jennifer Mitchells.”
“Jennifer Mitchells? Let me pull up her file,” said the receptionist lightly as she paged through the files on her desktop computer. “Mitchells… Mitchells… Ah! Yes! Here we are. Well, everything seems to be in order here. Give me just a second please.” She hit a button on her desk.
“Yes?” came a sugary voice through the intercom.
“Hi Janet, this is Sally. Is the operating room ready to receive a new patient?”
Operating room?, thought Jennifer. What is this all about?
“Yep, we just finished up with the last one. Have them bring the patient in, but please make sure you sedate her first. The last guy forgot and it got pretty ugly in here.”
The last thing Jennifer could remember about that night was a sharp, stabbing pain in her neck. Then everything slowly swirled into silent blackness.
Jennifer awoke with a start. She was lying down on her back, her arms, legs, and torso strapped tightly to a hospital bed, in a room all by herself. Her eyes watered at the brightness of the lights.
As if someone had sensed she was awake, a key turned in the door.
They’ve had me locked in? What is this place? thought Jennifer.
The doorknob turned; into the room walked a strikingly beautiful red-haired woman who stood about five and a half feet and who appeared to Jennifer to be in her early forties.
“Greetings, Ms. Mitchells!” began the woman. “I am Dr. Rebecca Crawford. I am the chief administrator here at the hospital, and it is my job to see that patients are properly cared for. You are probably wondering why you are here. Do you remember throwing that fast food container out the car window two nights ago? That was number seventeen in a series of similar infractions, as logged here at the hospital and monitored by a secret network of cameras throughout the city. This place is the Federal Environmental Agency’s Therapeutic Hospital of Effective Remedies, or F.E.A.T.H.E.R. It is a treatment center set up by the F.E.A. for non-environmentally-friendly people. Through a series of specialized treatments, we aim to cure those who insist on littering and otherwise polluting the city. The surgery you had last night allowed us to implant and satellite traceable tag into a location in one of your limbs, so that we can monitor your actions at all times. It will remain in place until we feel that you have recovered from your bad habits. Until then, it will allow us to pick you up much easier in the event that we determine that further treatment is necessary. I am most proud to say, however, that our return rate is quite low. Most patients respond to their treatments very well - especially those with such soft feet as your own”
Dr. Crawford walked to the foot of Jennifer’s bed, to examine Jennifer’s bare feet.
“These look to me to be about a size 7? Hmm…that’s the same size as me. I’ll have to look at your shoes…I’ve been needing a new pair.”
Jennifer was not paying attention - her thoughts were still on Dr. Crawford’s previous words.
Treatments? What are they going to do to me? What’s the big deal about a little garbage?
“Well, Ms. Mitchells, I have to be attending now to other patients. Your treatment is being prepared for you and should begin shortly. I do hope it teaches you a lesson.” finished Rebecca with a rather sinister-looking smile, and she opened the door and made a swift exit. No sooner had the door closed, than it opened again, and two women about Jennifer’s age came into the room, rolling a stretcher next to Jennifer’s bed.
“We’re going to bring you to the treatment room now, honey” said one of them, and she pressed a button. The straps holding Jennifer to the bed released instantly, but before she could move, four mechanical arms reached from outside of the stretcher and lifted her onto the rolling platform, and held her down firmly.
What the frikk? thought Jennifer.
“These new automatic stretchers make our jobs so much easier, don’t they?” commented the first technician to the other.
“Yes - Yes they do,” was the reply. They then proceeded to roll Jennifer out of the room and down a series of hallways to and finally through a door, over which large bold letters said “Center for Severe Littering Disorder (SLD).”
Towards the rear of the room they entered, on both side walls, were two elevated openings, which were sealed off by heavy, hydraulic doors. Between them was a platform, on top of which ran a padded conveyor belt, lined with clean plastic which reminded Jennifer of the lining on her mother’s living room sofa. The belt could be seen extending in either direction beneath both sets of doors. The conveyor belt had several automated bindings built into its surface, so that no matter which way a patient lied on it, he or she would be completely immobilized.
The arms from the stretcher lifted Jennifer into place onto the soft belt, and held her in place in a spread-eagle position as the automatic bindings on the belt bound her ankles and wrists. She was now facing one of the doors the belt went under. The stretcher arms then retracted, leaving poor Jennifer firmly secured on the belt. One of the technicians then removed Jennifer’s gag.
“You’ll need your breath,” she smiled politely.
Jennifer was too dumbstruck by everything that had just happened to say a word as the other technician pressed a button which activated the conveyor belt. The set of hydraulic doors in front of Jennifer began to open, and she began to move through them.
“I sure don’t envy her…,” Jennifer heard one of the technicians shudder as the doors closed behind her, sealing her off inside of the machine.
The transport tunnel was dark, and Jennifer felt slightly claustrophobic, but it soon gave way to a large, well lit room. High up the wall to Jennifer’s right was a small balcony, on which stood none other than Dr. Crawford.
The smiling doctor was silent as she removed a key from her pocket, inserted it into a console on the balcony, and turned it, which started a series of mechanical sounds throughout the room. Then Dr. Crawford, having done her job, left through a door behind the balcony, leaving Jennifer in solitude once again.
In the ceiling, a hatch opened, and down towards Jennifer, two mechanical hands lowered, one holding a pair of scissors. They effortlessly removed her gown and slippers, leaving her naked on the belt. They then retracted back through the ceiling, as quickly as they came. Out of the walls, three objects shot vertically out and suspended themselves above Jennifer.
Shower heads?
No sooner had she thought it that the three large shower heads rained warm water onto the length of her body for about thirty seconds. With her eyes closed to shut out the water, she did not notice when four nozzles protruded from the floor and pointed at her. She was taken by surprise when she felt a high-pressure blast of soapy foam from the nozzles all over her body. After a quick blast, her whole body was covered with the fluffy, white foam. The nozzles then retracted back into the floor. Since she had once again shut her eyes to protect them from the soap, she was unaware that now, from the ceiling, six large arms made their way towards her very soapy body. The first four, which hovered over her upper body and legs, ended in soft, large-diameter, round scrub brushes. The last two, which hovered beneath her feet, ended in slightly stiffer, smaller brushes. Jennifer began perceiving a sound like electric motors whining to life, not knowing that this sound was the brushes beginning to rotate and move in closer.
“AAAAAHHHAAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” screamed Jennifer as the spinning brushes began scrubbing her sensitive skin. “THAAAAAT TIIICKKLLEEEESSSS!!!!” Her screams were harmlessly absorbed by the walls of the room. Or so it seemed.
“OOOOOHHH GOD NOOOOO!!!” shrieked Jennifer as the brushes began to spin more rapidly, in response to her screams. Her body was now a mess of thickly lathered foam, which the brushes spun through, exfoliating her already soft skin until it began to take on a pinkish hue.
No part of her body was left unscrubbed. The brushes glided cruelly over all of her most ticklish spots. Her feet, never getting respite from the stiff foot-scrubbers, spasmed out of control as her heels, arches, balls and toes were all mercilessly washed without a moments pause. The stiff bristles on her feet were then replaced by soft conventional scrub brushes which worked over her soles in an up and down motion. Up and down, up and down. Over and over and over.
Meanwhile, two brushes sat scrubbing on top of her soft size C breasts (which tickled her now-swollen nipples horribly), as two others began a path that began at her wrists and wound slowly down her arms towards her sensitive hollows.
“NNNOOOO…PLLLEEASSSEEEE, MAKE THEM STOP! PLEASE!….OOOH SHHHHIIIITTTTTTTT” cried Jennifer, who contorted her face into a tight grimace as the soft brushes began scrubbing her armpits.
It felt like the brushes sat in those places for an eternity before finally slowing and lifting off of her. The shower heads then rinsed the foam off of her, revealing her newly softened and very pink body. The shower heads retracted, and in their place came three large dryers, which began blowing hot air at her, as three new hands appeared from the ceiling with towels to dry her naked body as well as her hair, which had been meticulously shampooed and conditioned.
Once Jennifer was satisfactorily dried, all of the mechanical devices retracted back into the wall and ceiling again. The conveyor belt began to slowly creep back to life, sending Jennifer, who was still breathing heavily and recovering from that awful cleaning, through another doorway, into another dark tunnel, and once again through a hydraulic door.
The new room was smaller than the previous room, and the ceiling was much lower. It was also more dimly lit than the cleaning room. The tunnels to this room were twisty and the belt kept changing speeds, so Jennifer had lost her sense of where in the building she was, or how far she had traveled on the belt to get here. The belt had stopped in the middle of the room, prompting Jennifer to start worrying about what the new room would have in store for her. Before she had two seconds to think, however, a hatch opened in the ceiling, and a pair of mechanical hands appeared, carrying a blind-fold, which it swiftly fastened in place securely over her eyes. Not able to see, Jennifer did not know that the sounds she was hearing now were more hatches opening, this time on the floor. Out of these hatches, several mechanical arms were rising. Some of these arms ended in large, fluffy feather dusters, and others terminated in single long, stiff feathers. The feather dusters moved in towards her thighs and breasts, the stiff feathers lowered towards her armpits and knees, and two robotic hands with fingers tipped with soft fan brushes emerged from the floor and promptly took their place next to her now very deliciously soft, freshly scrubbed, and very pink feet. Jennifer could hear around her all of the hydraulic workings as these arms positioned themselves over her body, but was total unprepared for the ensuing assault on her senses. All at once, the machine came to life, sending poor Jennifer into a laughing frenzy unparalleled with anything she had ever known:
“AIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEAAHAHAHAHAH…NO..NO!..PL…HAHA PLEEAS…AHAHAAHAHHAHAHA
AHAHAAHAAHAHHAHAAHAHAAHAAHAAHHAHAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHA!” Jennifer wailed as the machine triggered every nerve ending in her terribly ticklish body. The feather dusters were spinning over her breasts, a feather had now made its way into her belly-button, and another set of feathers was stroking her soft armpits while two more tickled all around her quivering knees.
“OH GOD! HA HAA AH HA HAHAHAHA C-CAN ANY HAHA ONE H-HEAR ME? PLEASE! MAKE IT STOOOOOPPPPPPAHA HAHAHA!” OH NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
*sniff*
A tear fell down her cheek as she began to feel the eight fan brushes softly stroking between all ten of her toes. She had never been tickled there before, and was not happy to be taught how much it tickled in a situation like this, when she was utterly helpless to defend herself against it. After a lengthy and torturous duration of this, the fan brushes began softly stroking her soles, from heel to toe. Uuuuuuup and doooooown. Uuuuuuuup and dooooown.
Her breathing became very hard as she continued to feel all of the tickling devices thoroughly working her over. Her body now a mess of sweat and tears, Jennifer began seriously regretting her eco-hazardous lifestyle.
After another very lengthy duration, the machine slowed to a stop and Jennifer was able to catch her breath. The conveyor began moving again. Unseen by Jennifer, sensors in the tunnel walls were sensing that she had become quite a mess during the last room, and she was now being re-routed to the cleaning room once more.
Blindfold now removed, Jennifer knew where she was, and was not in the least bit happy to about it.
After another lengthy and thoroughly ticklish scrubbing, Jennifer was coated with a thick layer of body lotion which was massaged in by mechanical hands with softly tipped fingers. These fingers glided all over her body, massaging and tickling her arms, legs, feet, breasts, nipples, and thighs, amongst other places. And it felt good – very good, although she was still too nervous from the tickling to truly enjoy it. At least, until she felt a hand begin to massage between her legs. At this point she gave in to the pleasure and allowed the machine’s wonderful massage to deliver her to a state of supreme ecstasy. This was a smart machine. It knew how much pressure to apply to all of her sensitive areas in order to elicit the maximum amount of pleasure. Despite the monsturization having been completed, that one hand continued massaging her between her legs while two others continued massaging her breasts and lightly pinching nipples in a way that made fireworks appear before her closed eyes. Jennifer soon experienced the first of many orgasms which would shake her body. Time after time she climaxed, each better than the last, until finally the machine, sensing she had been brought almost to a state of utter exhaustion, ceased the massaging.
Jennifer was now at the pinnacle of ticklishness – freshly scrubbed, moisturized, tenderized, and now completely worn out from her orgasmic experience - and she realized what the intentions were here. She knew from past sexual experiences that orgasms made her body so much more sensitive to stimulation. She knew that whatever this place was, it made sure its victims were in prime shape for tickling.
The conveyor moved again, through the tunnel, into a new room this time. When the conveyor stopped, Jennifer winced in anticipation of what was in store for her. But nothing happened. For several minutes, Jennifer was made to wait, staring up at the bright ceiling.
Then a door opened at the side of the room, and Dr. Crawford entered.
“Well, well, you DO look exhausted Ms. Mitchells. But I’m afraid you have one more gauntlet you have to pass – Me.”
“B-B-B-But…please…I’ve learned my lesson…I won’t litter anymore ever! Please, please let me g--mmmff!” cried Jennifer as the wicked doctor fastened her gag back in place, an utterly panicked look in her eyes now.
“No, Ms. Mitchells. I’m afraid you cannot be released without receiving a throughout exam by a doctor. You should feel lucky that I decided to take your case. No other doctor in this institution is as thorough as I am. I think I’ll start with your underarms."
Dr. Crawford flashed her perfectly manicured nails at Jennifer. With a wicked smile, she slowly lowered them towards Jennifer’s underarms. Dr. Crawford proceeded to slowly stroke Jennifer’s hollows, dragging her nails ever so deliberately.
Jennifer, unable to scream, simply began to cry. Never had she experienced such torment at the hands of another human being. The doctor was ruthless as she began using her nails to conduct a most vile method of arm tickling, in which she started by gently tickling Jennifer’s wrists, and then slowly spider walked her fingers down Jennifer’s arms until finishing with a long stroke over her underarms. It was nightmarish. Sometimes the doctor would keep tickling her wrists for a very long time before making a quick rake of her nails all the way down Jennifer’s torso. Finally, after what must have been an hour, the underarm tickling ceased.
Over the next two hours, the doctor proceeded to tickle other parts of Jennifer’s body for long periods of time. Including a half hour of simply stroking her nails lightly over Jennifer’s nipples and at least an hour of torturing her inner thighs with light strokes followed by deep, kneading tickles of a horrendous nature. After each new spot was tickled, the doctor would make a note on her clipboard and say something like “Yes, that will do,” or “Hmm…we might have to work on that.”
After making another note on the clipboard, Dr. Crawford walked to Jennifer’s head and stroked Jennifer’s hair.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Dr. Crawford. Jennifer looked back at her through the eyes of someone who had been truly brought to the brink of sanity. “I just have to examine your feet, and if they check out we can do a final written evaluation and decide where to go from here.”
Dr. Crawford pushed a button on the side of the conveyor belt, and two devices that looked like hands came out of the sides. Instead of fingers, they each terminated in 5 metal rings. The devices slipped the rings over each of Jennifer’s toes, and a shin restraint was put into place. Now her ability to move her feet was reduced to zero.
Dr. Crawford walked to the Jennifer’s feet and flashed her nails at Jennifer one more time before lowering them down to tickle those sensitive spots right under Jennifer’s toes. Unable to move her feet, Jennifer could only flap her hands in response to the brutal assault on this terrible spot. The doctor then began tickling each toe individually with her nails, making sure to get in between each one. Then Dr. Crawford began tickling Jennifer’s heels, using a claw-like scritchy-scratchy motion which elicited more hand flapping from Jennifer. The foot tickling culminated with an hour of sole stroking, during which the doctor slowly raked her nails up and down Jennifer’s immobilized feet. Dr. Crawford expertly varied her speed so that Jennifer could not predict what she would do. Sometimes the strokes would be excruciatingly slow, other times almost painfully fast. But no matter what, they all tickled so much that Jennifer’s hand flapping ceased and now her fingers simply twitched.
Seeing that it was nearing five o’clock, the doctor got up from her seat at Jennifer’s feet, went to the door, and called in the two nurses from earlier, who used their mechanical stretcher to bring the silent Jennifer back to her room, where she promptly fell asleep from exhaustion.
The next day, Dr. Crawford entered Jennifer’s room bright and early, and woke her with a gentle tickle on the forehead.
“Wakey-wakey, Ms. Mitchells. I have excellent news for you!”
“Hmmmmm…?” sighed Jennifer and she rolled her head back, knowing that nothing this woman had to say could possibly be good news. Dr. Crawford continued.
“Your evaluation showed excellent results! If these keep up, you’ll be released in record time! Most patients end up having stays of four to six weeks, but with continued responses like these you should be finished in just six more days! Other patients would be jealous”
“Sssssssssix…………d-d-d-ays?” uttered Jennifer, in disbelief.
“Well, assuming your scores stay up, yes! But if we see declines, you may end up staying as long as 6 months! Well, I’ve got to make rounds. Enjoy your treatment today! The machines learn; they’ll remember everything from yesterday and calibrate themselves to make sure you really get the message!”
“Sssssiiix mm-m-m-m—m-m-m—m-mm—months….MONTHS?” cried out Jennifer as the harsh realities of the doctor’s words set in.
“Yes indeed,” smiled the doctor, “but look on the bright side, it’ll be six months more that the world will be without a little littering fiend. When you are finally let go, it will mean that the planet will no longer have to suffer at your hands the way you have suffered at mine. Otherwise, we can always find you.” And with her last sentence, Dr. Crawford opened the door to leave.
“N-n-nooo….pleasee…….PLEEEEAAASSEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!,” Jennifer’s scream was heard down the hall as Doctor Crawford locked the door, tucked the key safely in her pocket, and strolled towards her office intent on browsing the internet’s vast variety of tickling fetish material for ideas of how to best torture her victims…erm, “patients.”
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Thanks for reading! Not sure if I'll be writing anything else for a while, but if feedback is positive I might be motivated!
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