tickledorange
2nd Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Oct 4, 2002
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I've always enjoyed stories like this. If anyone knows of any others, Id greatly appreciate if you could direct me to them. As always, my other stories can be found here:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/forumdisplay.php?f=182
The lights quickly flash on within your cell, blinding you at first with their illuminating presence, but your eyes quickly adjust to the brightness. You realize that you are alone in a room, which looks to be designed like some sort of prison cell. The walls of this room are very white, no decorations or trinkets adorn any of them. The ceiling is even covered in white, its tiles separated by short strips of black in the separation.
As you begin to awaken more, you realize that your limbs are unable to be stretched. You can faintly see the restraints that hold your arms and legs in place. A padded set of cuffs adorns your arms, which are bound to one end of the table. Your ankles are locked in similar cuffs, but a strap is placed along your ankles to decrease your mobility. As you flail even more, you realize that straps have also been placed around your knees, elbows, and waist, leaving you totally immobile and helpless. Only your head has the freedom to be lifted from the table's hold on your body.
You also notice that after your abduction, you have been redressed. Your feet have been bared, removed of the shoes that you used when you tried to run from me. Well, you must realize that these are mine now, along with the other clothes that I have received from capturing you. You lay there topless, wearing only a pair of gray cotton gym shorts, reaching almost to your private area, baring most of your ticklish legs and knees.
As you take a deep breath, you can hear the door to your cell open quickly to your left. You can see my full figure as I pace around you, admiring my own handiwork. I watch you as you struggle at your bonds. I see you staring at the legs not covered by my black skirt. I admire my black, open toed shoes along with you. I can sense your gazes upon my bare arms and visible curves as you look at my body in the sleeveless pink top. You also study the focused expressions on my face, as I pace around your tied form and plan your ticklish fate.
“Good morning,” I say to you. “How are you feeling today?”
I can see you shaking as you watch me, my fingers tapping and testing the bonds that restrain you. My fingernails drum on the end of the table, as I stand close to your feet. “No answer, huh? Let's see if this gets a reaction.”
I slowly drag two nails against each of your feet. You squirm and pull, resisting the urge to laugh. I can tell by the pursed lips and bulging eyes that you are fighting it, not wanting me to know the secret of your ticklishness. “Awww, are you ticklish?” I ask now, scratching the bottoms of your feet with my nails as you squirm and giggle beneath them.
“Good,” I say, starting back at you. “I was hoping that you were. See, I have a habit of abducting people that I know have the tendency to be ticklish. I knew you were just by looking at you, and I knew that I had to have your ticklish body for myself. See, I love to tickle people, everyone, anyone that I can get my hands on.”
I giggle. I see the fear building up within you. “See, I can tell by your reaction that you are very ticklish, but love to be tickled. Of course, everyone love it, to a point, then it becomes so unbearable that you can't take it anymore. You beg me to stop, cry while you're laughing, even hyperventilate to get me to stop. None of that fazes me. In fact, I feed off of it. I'll find your worst spot and exploit it, get everything I can out of it until you become numb to your own laughter.”
Your eyes widen. You know yourself that you are incredibly ticklish, but can only take so much. The thought of actual tickle torture excites you, but frightens you at the same time. “Enough talk, lets get started,” I say, moving toward your stomach.
You watch my fingers wiggle closer and closer to your stomach. The hair on your arms stands up as you can already feel my fingers upon your skin, wiggling around on every surface. Laughter pours from you once I finally begin scraping my nails gently, but rapidly on every inch of your ticklish tummy. “Oooo, does that tickle?” I ask, as I watch you helplessly turn from side to side to try to escape from my fingers. “There's no way out of this.”
My fingers slip now around your ribcage, fluttering up and down your ribs. Your body now twists below me, but there is no way to roll yourself away from the rib torture. “Haha, this is torture for you,” I say, digging into your ribs. “ You love it, I can tell.”
I laugh at your agony. I close my eyes while tickling your upperbody, listening and taking in your ticklish laughter as I methodically torture your sides. I feel your body, lifting and twisting from the tickle torture, writhing beneath me from the insane rib torture. “C'mon, laugh for me. I know you can do better than that.”
“I guess I'm just going to have to try something else,” I say teasingly as I move toward your underarms.
You beg me not to. After all, It has already been about 20 minutes of the most unbearable rib tickle torture that you have ever endured. Your sides ache from laughing. Your head feels heavy after you had lifted it from laughing so hard. You take deep breaths to compensate for future lack of air, but you know that is a futile move. You want me to continue, but cannot bear the thoght of feeling the effects of low air supply again. You also know that you have no choice.
“Are you ready, tickle toy?”
I don't give you a chance to answer. I immediately begin to roll my fingers around within your underarms. You painstakingly pull at restraints, attempting to find the one magic move that will cover your armpits. “You can't make this stop,” I remind you, moving my fingers around within your underarms. You struggle and beg me to stop once again, but I just tickle up and down your sides. Your body bucks up and down, but that just makes me squeeze your hips.
“This should slow you down,” I say, kneading at your hips and waist. You immediately press your body against the padding of the table, pulling wildly at the cuffs holding your arms. “You'll never break free from me. I'm going to tickle you as long as I want, possibly forever, and there's nothing you can do to make me stop. So, just enjoy it while you're still conscious.”
Then, I abruptly stop. I watch you try to catch your breath. I can hear you wheeze and pant, unable to speak a word. Unable to beg me to stop tickling you. You can't even struggle against the chains anymore. “Are you ready for your finale?” I ask you, moving down toward your feet.
“You are too weak to answer me now. I own you, I own every piece of your ticklishness. I control everything that is going to happen to you. I even control when you are going to breathe and laugh. There is nothing you can do or say to make me stop, either. All you can do is lay there and take it. I enjoy watching you suffer, I enjoy watching you laugh yourself hysterical until your numb. The tickling will only stop when I want it to, do you understand?”
Before given a chance to answer, you feel my fingers tickling all over the soles of your feet. The tickling is gentle at first, but gradually becomes more rapid and random in movement. You pull at all restraints, trying to lift your knees from the table. I quickly squeeze both of your knees, causing your legs to spasm. The restraints on your knees cause you to bend them toward your table, putting your feet closer to me once again. I rake and scribble my nails all over your feet and toes once again, watching you curl your toes against me. None of that matters to me, I just tickle the sides of your feet, then begin tickling the soles of them again at the same time. You beg me to stop, banging your head against the padding, but that just makes me laugh. “Hehe, does that tickle?” I ask, slowly tickling the soles of your feet.
Your breath gets shorter and your face gets redder as your eyes begin to bug out of your head. Your laughter turns to wheezing and short screams as you beg me to end the tickling in short, incoherent sentences. Your eyes water and your fists clench as you beg me for a breath of air. You watch in fear as all I do is shake my head and smile as your feet are tickled. I see your muscles relaxing beneath me as you gradually shut your eyes while you enter tickling oblivion.
Then, I stop once again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly. Your tear filled eyes are still closed as short gasps and giggles exit your lungs. Your elbows and knees attempt to bend as you try to regain some sort of sanity. Instead, your body relaxes as you drift off. “There you go, tickle toy,” I say, rubbing your stomach before shutting off the lights and leaving the room. “You get some rest. You're going to need it for later.”
http://www.ticklingforum.com/forumdisplay.php?f=182
The lights quickly flash on within your cell, blinding you at first with their illuminating presence, but your eyes quickly adjust to the brightness. You realize that you are alone in a room, which looks to be designed like some sort of prison cell. The walls of this room are very white, no decorations or trinkets adorn any of them. The ceiling is even covered in white, its tiles separated by short strips of black in the separation.
As you begin to awaken more, you realize that your limbs are unable to be stretched. You can faintly see the restraints that hold your arms and legs in place. A padded set of cuffs adorns your arms, which are bound to one end of the table. Your ankles are locked in similar cuffs, but a strap is placed along your ankles to decrease your mobility. As you flail even more, you realize that straps have also been placed around your knees, elbows, and waist, leaving you totally immobile and helpless. Only your head has the freedom to be lifted from the table's hold on your body.
You also notice that after your abduction, you have been redressed. Your feet have been bared, removed of the shoes that you used when you tried to run from me. Well, you must realize that these are mine now, along with the other clothes that I have received from capturing you. You lay there topless, wearing only a pair of gray cotton gym shorts, reaching almost to your private area, baring most of your ticklish legs and knees.
As you take a deep breath, you can hear the door to your cell open quickly to your left. You can see my full figure as I pace around you, admiring my own handiwork. I watch you as you struggle at your bonds. I see you staring at the legs not covered by my black skirt. I admire my black, open toed shoes along with you. I can sense your gazes upon my bare arms and visible curves as you look at my body in the sleeveless pink top. You also study the focused expressions on my face, as I pace around your tied form and plan your ticklish fate.
“Good morning,” I say to you. “How are you feeling today?”
I can see you shaking as you watch me, my fingers tapping and testing the bonds that restrain you. My fingernails drum on the end of the table, as I stand close to your feet. “No answer, huh? Let's see if this gets a reaction.”
I slowly drag two nails against each of your feet. You squirm and pull, resisting the urge to laugh. I can tell by the pursed lips and bulging eyes that you are fighting it, not wanting me to know the secret of your ticklishness. “Awww, are you ticklish?” I ask now, scratching the bottoms of your feet with my nails as you squirm and giggle beneath them.
“Good,” I say, starting back at you. “I was hoping that you were. See, I have a habit of abducting people that I know have the tendency to be ticklish. I knew you were just by looking at you, and I knew that I had to have your ticklish body for myself. See, I love to tickle people, everyone, anyone that I can get my hands on.”
I giggle. I see the fear building up within you. “See, I can tell by your reaction that you are very ticklish, but love to be tickled. Of course, everyone love it, to a point, then it becomes so unbearable that you can't take it anymore. You beg me to stop, cry while you're laughing, even hyperventilate to get me to stop. None of that fazes me. In fact, I feed off of it. I'll find your worst spot and exploit it, get everything I can out of it until you become numb to your own laughter.”
Your eyes widen. You know yourself that you are incredibly ticklish, but can only take so much. The thought of actual tickle torture excites you, but frightens you at the same time. “Enough talk, lets get started,” I say, moving toward your stomach.
You watch my fingers wiggle closer and closer to your stomach. The hair on your arms stands up as you can already feel my fingers upon your skin, wiggling around on every surface. Laughter pours from you once I finally begin scraping my nails gently, but rapidly on every inch of your ticklish tummy. “Oooo, does that tickle?” I ask, as I watch you helplessly turn from side to side to try to escape from my fingers. “There's no way out of this.”
My fingers slip now around your ribcage, fluttering up and down your ribs. Your body now twists below me, but there is no way to roll yourself away from the rib torture. “Haha, this is torture for you,” I say, digging into your ribs. “ You love it, I can tell.”
I laugh at your agony. I close my eyes while tickling your upperbody, listening and taking in your ticklish laughter as I methodically torture your sides. I feel your body, lifting and twisting from the tickle torture, writhing beneath me from the insane rib torture. “C'mon, laugh for me. I know you can do better than that.”
“I guess I'm just going to have to try something else,” I say teasingly as I move toward your underarms.
You beg me not to. After all, It has already been about 20 minutes of the most unbearable rib tickle torture that you have ever endured. Your sides ache from laughing. Your head feels heavy after you had lifted it from laughing so hard. You take deep breaths to compensate for future lack of air, but you know that is a futile move. You want me to continue, but cannot bear the thoght of feeling the effects of low air supply again. You also know that you have no choice.
“Are you ready, tickle toy?”
I don't give you a chance to answer. I immediately begin to roll my fingers around within your underarms. You painstakingly pull at restraints, attempting to find the one magic move that will cover your armpits. “You can't make this stop,” I remind you, moving my fingers around within your underarms. You struggle and beg me to stop once again, but I just tickle up and down your sides. Your body bucks up and down, but that just makes me squeeze your hips.
“This should slow you down,” I say, kneading at your hips and waist. You immediately press your body against the padding of the table, pulling wildly at the cuffs holding your arms. “You'll never break free from me. I'm going to tickle you as long as I want, possibly forever, and there's nothing you can do to make me stop. So, just enjoy it while you're still conscious.”
Then, I abruptly stop. I watch you try to catch your breath. I can hear you wheeze and pant, unable to speak a word. Unable to beg me to stop tickling you. You can't even struggle against the chains anymore. “Are you ready for your finale?” I ask you, moving down toward your feet.
“You are too weak to answer me now. I own you, I own every piece of your ticklishness. I control everything that is going to happen to you. I even control when you are going to breathe and laugh. There is nothing you can do or say to make me stop, either. All you can do is lay there and take it. I enjoy watching you suffer, I enjoy watching you laugh yourself hysterical until your numb. The tickling will only stop when I want it to, do you understand?”
Before given a chance to answer, you feel my fingers tickling all over the soles of your feet. The tickling is gentle at first, but gradually becomes more rapid and random in movement. You pull at all restraints, trying to lift your knees from the table. I quickly squeeze both of your knees, causing your legs to spasm. The restraints on your knees cause you to bend them toward your table, putting your feet closer to me once again. I rake and scribble my nails all over your feet and toes once again, watching you curl your toes against me. None of that matters to me, I just tickle the sides of your feet, then begin tickling the soles of them again at the same time. You beg me to stop, banging your head against the padding, but that just makes me laugh. “Hehe, does that tickle?” I ask, slowly tickling the soles of your feet.
Your breath gets shorter and your face gets redder as your eyes begin to bug out of your head. Your laughter turns to wheezing and short screams as you beg me to end the tickling in short, incoherent sentences. Your eyes water and your fists clench as you beg me for a breath of air. You watch in fear as all I do is shake my head and smile as your feet are tickled. I see your muscles relaxing beneath me as you gradually shut your eyes while you enter tickling oblivion.
Then, I stop once again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly. Your tear filled eyes are still closed as short gasps and giggles exit your lungs. Your elbows and knees attempt to bend as you try to regain some sort of sanity. Instead, your body relaxes as you drift off. “There you go, tickle toy,” I say, rubbing your stomach before shutting off the lights and leaving the room. “You get some rest. You're going to need it for later.”
