melonboobs
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jun 25, 2010
- Messages
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Agent X-18 of the CIA, aka the Telepathic Tickle Man, benchpressed 250 pounds while staring at the perky exercise instructor. His power to tickle people by staring at them failed when his hands were incapacitated. Despite practicing, he could never overcome this weakness in his otherwise useful power. After the sixth contraction, Mark set the barbell on the rack and sat up, feeling frustrated in the shortcoming of his special power. The exercise instructor, a lean woman with a firm shapely bottom and medium-sized tits that needed no bra to keep them from sagging, smiled.
"That's good for your size. Now, let's go to the triceps machine."
Mark followed and felt like having a little fun. He stared at her ass and telepathically tickled it. The exercise instructor turned around, surprised that Mark was too far behind to have touched her. She grinned and covered her mouth as if suppressing a giggle. She put her hand on the machine.
"Now, have you ever used this machine before?" she asked and started chuckling.
"What's so funny?" Mark asked, knowing well what was causing the laughter.
"I'm sorry. It feels like someone is tickling me on the butt."
She sat in the triceps machine and demonstrated how it worked, all the while unable to control her laughter. Other people in the gym began to look at her. She looked at Mark and as if she suddenly understood the cause, said, "stop staring at me. Your stare is what is tickling me."
Mark broke off the telepathic tickling.
"I was just watching you demonstrate the machine," Mark lied.
"There's something weird about you. How do you do that?"
Mark's cell phone rang once. He flipped the screen and discovered from the text that he had a mission overseas--a terrorist organization was laundering money in a Dutch prostitute ring. And the CIA wanted him to bust it and give the information to Interpol.
"I've got to cut my workout short. It's business."
"Seriously," the exercise instructor asked, "how do you do that by just staring?"
"You've got my phone number. Calle me some time and I'll show you...if you dare."
Mark left, knowing it was an ability he was born with. If she came over, he would have all kinds of fun making her laugh. But first, he had to plan a trip to Amsterdam.
****************
The naked fat blonde was doubled over laughing, her enormous boobs swaying as she crawled on the cot away from Mark. But she couldn't escape his stare and she couldn't leave her room...not without a stitch of clothing on her. Mark had been staring at her ever since she'd closed the dark shades that covered her red light store front.
"Tell me who you give your money to. Tell me."
"Please. Please. Stop staring at me."
She collapsed on her back and laughed heartily, kicking her big legs in the air in futility.
"I can't...I can't..." she laughed between her attempts to formulate a sentence. "They'll kill me."
And she laughed even harder as if the threat of death was a hilarious joke cracked by some standup comic.
"Who will kill you?"
"Ma...Ma...Madame Shoenberg, ya hee hee hee."
"Where does she live?"
"Stop...I can't, ya hee hee hee...I can't...say it."
Mark stopped staring long enough for the fat Dutch whore to give him the address. He left her sprawled and drained on the service cot.
***************
Madame Shoenberg lived in a well guarded penthouse apartment. Going through the front door was not an option for it was necessary to have permission from a resident to get past the doorman. Mark waited for dark. He dressed in a black skintight uniform, not unlike a Ninja. Using special suction disks, he scaled the building from the back alley where the shadows from another building made him virtually invisible. He climbed to an 11th floor window. He took out a diamond-edged knife. He cut a big square, slapped his suction disk on the glass and pulled, soundlessly freeing the obstacle. He silently slipped inside and placed the window glass aside. He saw a woman sleeping in a bed. The room was dark, though a bathroom light behind a closed door was on. He saw the gentle rise and fall of large bosoms under the sheet, evidence that she was not conscious. Mark sat on a chair next to the bed and stared.
The woman under the sheets started getting restless. She tossed and turned. She thrashed. Finally, she laughed out loud and awoke. She screamed and continued laughing.
"Who...who are you?"
Mark flipped the light switch and recognized that it was the Madame Shoenberg from the photos he'd obtained from Interpol. Madame Shoenberg sat up, the sheet falling and revealing big pointy boobs. She was a tall, skinny blonde with short hair, and she bared a resemblance to Jamie Lee Curtis.
"What's wrong with me? Why is your stare tickling me? Help!"
"I know you're a terrorist operative. You must tell me who your connection is or..."
A sudden shock from a Taser stunned Mark. He fell out of his chair and convulsed on the floor. A tall beautiful brunette, also with big boobs, quickly hog-tied him with cord. Madame Shoenberg and her lesbian lover yanked the semi-paralyzed Mark on to the bed.
"It's a good think I had to go to the toilet," she said. I heard you laughing and peeked into the room and saw him."
Madame Shoenberg furiously looked at Mark.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Mark stayed silent, frustrated that with his hands tied, his telepathic tickling was incapacitated.
"He must be some kind of pervert," the lesbian lover said.
"No, before you tased him, he said something about me being a terrorist."
A look of fear passed over the Madame's face.
"He knows."
"Who sent you?" she asked.
Mark refused to talk.
"We can make him talk. By the way, why were you laughing."
"His stare tickled me. But it doesn't seem to be working since he's been tied up."
"Well, we can make him talke. Give him a dose of his own medicine. Tickle him."
Madame Shoenberg gave Mark a wicked lusty look.
"Who sent you?"
She tickled his ribs.
Now, Mark was the laughing one. He wiggled, desperately trying to get free.
"Help me tickle him, Marie. We need answers."
Marie pulled Mark's pants down and tickled his balls. Mark let out a high pitched womanly sounding giggle.
Meanwhile, he attempted to work his hands free. If only he could get his hands free. The two women were so intent on tickling him, they didn't notice when Mark's right hand slipped loose. Mark tried to stare but he couldn't retaliate, his uncontrollable laughing still nullifed his power. He had to stop them from tickling him or else they would force him to confess. He couldn't take much more of this. He grabbed Madame's hands and pushed Marie away with his bound feet, stopping the tickling.
"Oh no! He's free!" Madame shouted.
Mark stared at her, then Marie. He backed up against the bed board so they were both in his view.
Both women started laughing.
"STOP STARING AT ME!" Marie screamed.
Bent over from laughing so hard, Marie stumbled toward the nightstand where she'd placed the Taser. Mark picked it up and threw it out the window.
Madame Shoenberg gave in.
"I'll tell you. I'll tell you. Just stop staring."
She told him everything. With this information Interpol could conduct a raid that would shut down the terrorist cell.
Telepathic Tickle Man successfully achieved his goal.
*******************
The next day, safe in America, telepathic tickle man listened to his answering machine. It was the exercise instructor. He rubbed his hands together and grinned.
"That's good for your size. Now, let's go to the triceps machine."
Mark followed and felt like having a little fun. He stared at her ass and telepathically tickled it. The exercise instructor turned around, surprised that Mark was too far behind to have touched her. She grinned and covered her mouth as if suppressing a giggle. She put her hand on the machine.
"Now, have you ever used this machine before?" she asked and started chuckling.
"What's so funny?" Mark asked, knowing well what was causing the laughter.
"I'm sorry. It feels like someone is tickling me on the butt."
She sat in the triceps machine and demonstrated how it worked, all the while unable to control her laughter. Other people in the gym began to look at her. She looked at Mark and as if she suddenly understood the cause, said, "stop staring at me. Your stare is what is tickling me."
Mark broke off the telepathic tickling.
"I was just watching you demonstrate the machine," Mark lied.
"There's something weird about you. How do you do that?"
Mark's cell phone rang once. He flipped the screen and discovered from the text that he had a mission overseas--a terrorist organization was laundering money in a Dutch prostitute ring. And the CIA wanted him to bust it and give the information to Interpol.
"I've got to cut my workout short. It's business."
"Seriously," the exercise instructor asked, "how do you do that by just staring?"
"You've got my phone number. Calle me some time and I'll show you...if you dare."
Mark left, knowing it was an ability he was born with. If she came over, he would have all kinds of fun making her laugh. But first, he had to plan a trip to Amsterdam.
****************
The naked fat blonde was doubled over laughing, her enormous boobs swaying as she crawled on the cot away from Mark. But she couldn't escape his stare and she couldn't leave her room...not without a stitch of clothing on her. Mark had been staring at her ever since she'd closed the dark shades that covered her red light store front.
"Tell me who you give your money to. Tell me."
"Please. Please. Stop staring at me."
She collapsed on her back and laughed heartily, kicking her big legs in the air in futility.
"I can't...I can't..." she laughed between her attempts to formulate a sentence. "They'll kill me."
And she laughed even harder as if the threat of death was a hilarious joke cracked by some standup comic.
"Who will kill you?"
"Ma...Ma...Madame Shoenberg, ya hee hee hee."
"Where does she live?"
"Stop...I can't, ya hee hee hee...I can't...say it."
Mark stopped staring long enough for the fat Dutch whore to give him the address. He left her sprawled and drained on the service cot.
***************
Madame Shoenberg lived in a well guarded penthouse apartment. Going through the front door was not an option for it was necessary to have permission from a resident to get past the doorman. Mark waited for dark. He dressed in a black skintight uniform, not unlike a Ninja. Using special suction disks, he scaled the building from the back alley where the shadows from another building made him virtually invisible. He climbed to an 11th floor window. He took out a diamond-edged knife. He cut a big square, slapped his suction disk on the glass and pulled, soundlessly freeing the obstacle. He silently slipped inside and placed the window glass aside. He saw a woman sleeping in a bed. The room was dark, though a bathroom light behind a closed door was on. He saw the gentle rise and fall of large bosoms under the sheet, evidence that she was not conscious. Mark sat on a chair next to the bed and stared.
The woman under the sheets started getting restless. She tossed and turned. She thrashed. Finally, she laughed out loud and awoke. She screamed and continued laughing.
"Who...who are you?"
Mark flipped the light switch and recognized that it was the Madame Shoenberg from the photos he'd obtained from Interpol. Madame Shoenberg sat up, the sheet falling and revealing big pointy boobs. She was a tall, skinny blonde with short hair, and she bared a resemblance to Jamie Lee Curtis.
"What's wrong with me? Why is your stare tickling me? Help!"
"I know you're a terrorist operative. You must tell me who your connection is or..."
A sudden shock from a Taser stunned Mark. He fell out of his chair and convulsed on the floor. A tall beautiful brunette, also with big boobs, quickly hog-tied him with cord. Madame Shoenberg and her lesbian lover yanked the semi-paralyzed Mark on to the bed.
"It's a good think I had to go to the toilet," she said. I heard you laughing and peeked into the room and saw him."
Madame Shoenberg furiously looked at Mark.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Mark stayed silent, frustrated that with his hands tied, his telepathic tickling was incapacitated.
"He must be some kind of pervert," the lesbian lover said.
"No, before you tased him, he said something about me being a terrorist."
A look of fear passed over the Madame's face.
"He knows."
"Who sent you?" she asked.
Mark refused to talk.
"We can make him talk. By the way, why were you laughing."
"His stare tickled me. But it doesn't seem to be working since he's been tied up."
"Well, we can make him talke. Give him a dose of his own medicine. Tickle him."
Madame Shoenberg gave Mark a wicked lusty look.
"Who sent you?"
She tickled his ribs.
Now, Mark was the laughing one. He wiggled, desperately trying to get free.
"Help me tickle him, Marie. We need answers."
Marie pulled Mark's pants down and tickled his balls. Mark let out a high pitched womanly sounding giggle.
Meanwhile, he attempted to work his hands free. If only he could get his hands free. The two women were so intent on tickling him, they didn't notice when Mark's right hand slipped loose. Mark tried to stare but he couldn't retaliate, his uncontrollable laughing still nullifed his power. He had to stop them from tickling him or else they would force him to confess. He couldn't take much more of this. He grabbed Madame's hands and pushed Marie away with his bound feet, stopping the tickling.
"Oh no! He's free!" Madame shouted.
Mark stared at her, then Marie. He backed up against the bed board so they were both in his view.
Both women started laughing.
"STOP STARING AT ME!" Marie screamed.
Bent over from laughing so hard, Marie stumbled toward the nightstand where she'd placed the Taser. Mark picked it up and threw it out the window.
Madame Shoenberg gave in.
"I'll tell you. I'll tell you. Just stop staring."
She told him everything. With this information Interpol could conduct a raid that would shut down the terrorist cell.
Telepathic Tickle Man successfully achieved his goal.
*******************
The next day, safe in America, telepathic tickle man listened to his answering machine. It was the exercise instructor. He rubbed his hands together and grinned.
