Paul Jones
TMF Poster
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- Nov 3, 2005
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M/F Story: James Bond vs. M
James and Director M were locked in the enemy torture room. It would be hours before they could be rescued. Without prelude, James approached her, and began tickling her ribs ferociously. She roared with laughter and struggled violently.
But he held her in his grip, lifted her, and placed her on the padded table. He held her down, and quickly fastened her wrists and ankles with the table’s restraints.
As she protested, he undid the buttons that ran down the front of her dress, beneath which she was wearing only a brassiere, panties, and stockings.
“How very thoughtful of you not to be wearing a slip,” he quipped.
“Oh you scoundrel!” she replied.
He removed her shoes and stockings. Then he undid her brassiere, and slipped it up. To his delight, her breasts were simply enchanting!
“Double-0! What do you think you’re doing?” she roared.
“I’m tickling the wickedest woman in the world,” was his rejoinder.
His eyes twinkled with merriment as he surveyed the helpless woman before him, “the formidable M,” completely at his mercy, which is exactly where he wanted her.
For he had recently discovered that she had a tickling fetish, and James knew all about a tickling fetish.
“I’LL HAVE YOU SHOT!” she bellowed.
“Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe not. I saw you tickling that lad the other day, and I saw the look on your face,” he said.
“I was afraid that you had,” she replied, somewhat sheepishly. She closed her eyes, deeply embarrassed that her secret had been discovered.
He continued, “That’s when I knew we had something in common.” Her tongue remained silent, but her eyes assented.
He smiled ominously, while wiggling his fingers teasingly. She gulped in dismay. “Oh please, James, not that! I’m so frightfully ticklish!” she cried.
”Oh, good! I’m so glad to hear it. Because I’m going to find every spot you wish I wouldn’t, and give you the tickling that you so richly deserve!”
“Truth is, I love to tickle, and I’m going to have the most delicious fun with you! You may think you know what tickle torture is, but you don’t, not yet. You’re about to find out.
He began by deftly drawing his nails across her tummy, making her laugh uncontrollably. “What a lovely commotion you make!” he laughed.
“Oh, you devil!” she cried out, humiliated by how easily he could reduce her to a lump of squirming, laughing protoplasm.
He pressed into her tummy with his thumbs, and wriggled them to create a deep tickling effect. She bellowed hysterically.
She giggled and blushed with embarrassment as he adroitly tickled her inner thighs. “Well, now. You like that, don’t you, you vixen?” he teased.
She cried out with laughter, as he skillfully tickled her tempting underarms. Then he deftly tickled her lovely breasts, making her howl with laughter.
Next, he playfully tickled her feet. “No! Please! Not my feet!” she cried out. But he began a merciless foot-tickling assault. She went wild, and screamed with riotous laughter. “Oh, you beast!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t you think you deserve it?” he chided. “Remember that ticklish lad? And how many others, I wonder? Other young men? Enemy prisoners, perhaps?” Once again, her eyes confirmed his words.
Then he started gently biting her toes, bringing forth peals of hysterical laughter from his victim. “Oh, how scrumptious!” he exclaimed.
Once again, he started tickling her inviting ribs vigorously, while regaling her with “Itchee-kitchee-kitchee!” She screamed with frenzied laughter.
“Oh, James, please stop! This is so humiliating,” she cried. “Exactly,“ he laughed, “humiliating! How you encourage me!”
Next, he began tickling her tummy devilishly. He was delighted by the way the muscles of her tummy seemed instantly to “knot up” wherever he touched it.
She wiggled her torso as much as the bonds would allow, and wailed with frenzied laughter. “My, what a ticklish tummy you have!” he teased.
When he attacked her super-ticklish belly button, she went ballistic. He could not help but laugh at her antics.
“Ahahahaahahah! Please! Nooooooahahahahaahah! Ahha! Ahahaahahaa,” she cried. “Goochee-goochee-goo!” he replied.
He resumed tickling her most sensitive spots. This assault drove her to new levels of hilarity.
She shrieked in ticklish agony as the sensations exploded in her brain, and shook the room with the vibrations of her howling laughter. Tears were in her eyes, and she laughed louder and longer than ever before in her life.
He stopped to let her rest. She lay exhausted from her tickling ordeal while he stood above her, smiling mischievously. Her eyes rested on him, pleadingly.
“Oh, you’re such a ticklish creature! Nobody as ticklish as you are should ever become an intelligence officer,” he observed. “Suppose you fell into enemy hands, and they did this to you!”
“James, please stop! It’s torture,” she pleaded.
“Precisely, dear lady,” he laughed, “torture! You may be the Mistress of Torture at the Ministry, but
I’m giving you a lesson in the fine art of tickle torture, don’t you think?
“How delicious!” he exclaimed. “The “formidable M,” reduced to a laughing, squirming, ticklish lump of putty. Oh, if only your staff (and your enemies) could see you now!”
“How they would enjoy this! They would be overjoyed to see how exquisitely ticklish you are. They would just love to see you laughing like a hyena! Moreover, they would simply adore your utter humiliation.” She blushed deeply.
“Perhaps I’ll invite them next time. I might even let them participate in the festivities.”
“Oh, no!” she cried out, utterly humiliated by the prospect. She blushed, and silently prayed that it would never happen.
He had reached the point where merely wiggling his fingers near her hyper-ticklish body made her squirm, giggle, and beg, “Oh, please, no!”
“I always knew that, if you were subdued and tickled unmercifully, your antics would be delicious to behold. I must say, I was so right!”
When he finally stopped, she was nearly out of her mind from the devilishly skillful tickle torture. He regarded her with sinful satisfaction, delighted by her exhaustion and humiliation.
“This is the way I’ve always wanted you,” he taunted her. “Actually, I’ve often fantasized about tickling the living daylights out of you, just like this.”
Utterly demoralized, totally humiliated, and bereft of any pride, she begged frantically, “Please stop, James! I can’t stand it!”
But then he began what was to be his final assault. This round of tickling was far more vigorous than anything that had gone before.
Finally, she cried out loudly in ticklish agony, agony so exquisitely intense that she lost consciousness.
When she awoke, she had been unfastened. She lay on the table, and slowly recovered as he sat by quietly.
She decided not to have him shot, after all. After all, she knew a better way to get even with him.
For she remembered everything he had done to her in this encounter, everything. When her turn came, she would repay Double-O in kind.
James and Director M were locked in the enemy torture room. It would be hours before they could be rescued. Without prelude, James approached her, and began tickling her ribs ferociously. She roared with laughter and struggled violently.
But he held her in his grip, lifted her, and placed her on the padded table. He held her down, and quickly fastened her wrists and ankles with the table’s restraints.
As she protested, he undid the buttons that ran down the front of her dress, beneath which she was wearing only a brassiere, panties, and stockings.
“How very thoughtful of you not to be wearing a slip,” he quipped.
“Oh you scoundrel!” she replied.
He removed her shoes and stockings. Then he undid her brassiere, and slipped it up. To his delight, her breasts were simply enchanting!
“Double-0! What do you think you’re doing?” she roared.
“I’m tickling the wickedest woman in the world,” was his rejoinder.
His eyes twinkled with merriment as he surveyed the helpless woman before him, “the formidable M,” completely at his mercy, which is exactly where he wanted her.
For he had recently discovered that she had a tickling fetish, and James knew all about a tickling fetish.
“I’LL HAVE YOU SHOT!” she bellowed.
“Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe not. I saw you tickling that lad the other day, and I saw the look on your face,” he said.
“I was afraid that you had,” she replied, somewhat sheepishly. She closed her eyes, deeply embarrassed that her secret had been discovered.
He continued, “That’s when I knew we had something in common.” Her tongue remained silent, but her eyes assented.
He smiled ominously, while wiggling his fingers teasingly. She gulped in dismay. “Oh please, James, not that! I’m so frightfully ticklish!” she cried.
”Oh, good! I’m so glad to hear it. Because I’m going to find every spot you wish I wouldn’t, and give you the tickling that you so richly deserve!”
“Truth is, I love to tickle, and I’m going to have the most delicious fun with you! You may think you know what tickle torture is, but you don’t, not yet. You’re about to find out.
He began by deftly drawing his nails across her tummy, making her laugh uncontrollably. “What a lovely commotion you make!” he laughed.
“Oh, you devil!” she cried out, humiliated by how easily he could reduce her to a lump of squirming, laughing protoplasm.
He pressed into her tummy with his thumbs, and wriggled them to create a deep tickling effect. She bellowed hysterically.
She giggled and blushed with embarrassment as he adroitly tickled her inner thighs. “Well, now. You like that, don’t you, you vixen?” he teased.
She cried out with laughter, as he skillfully tickled her tempting underarms. Then he deftly tickled her lovely breasts, making her howl with laughter.
Next, he playfully tickled her feet. “No! Please! Not my feet!” she cried out. But he began a merciless foot-tickling assault. She went wild, and screamed with riotous laughter. “Oh, you beast!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t you think you deserve it?” he chided. “Remember that ticklish lad? And how many others, I wonder? Other young men? Enemy prisoners, perhaps?” Once again, her eyes confirmed his words.
Then he started gently biting her toes, bringing forth peals of hysterical laughter from his victim. “Oh, how scrumptious!” he exclaimed.
Once again, he started tickling her inviting ribs vigorously, while regaling her with “Itchee-kitchee-kitchee!” She screamed with frenzied laughter.
“Oh, James, please stop! This is so humiliating,” she cried. “Exactly,“ he laughed, “humiliating! How you encourage me!”
Next, he began tickling her tummy devilishly. He was delighted by the way the muscles of her tummy seemed instantly to “knot up” wherever he touched it.
She wiggled her torso as much as the bonds would allow, and wailed with frenzied laughter. “My, what a ticklish tummy you have!” he teased.
When he attacked her super-ticklish belly button, she went ballistic. He could not help but laugh at her antics.
“Ahahahaahahah! Please! Nooooooahahahahaahah! Ahha! Ahahaahahaa,” she cried. “Goochee-goochee-goo!” he replied.
He resumed tickling her most sensitive spots. This assault drove her to new levels of hilarity.
She shrieked in ticklish agony as the sensations exploded in her brain, and shook the room with the vibrations of her howling laughter. Tears were in her eyes, and she laughed louder and longer than ever before in her life.
He stopped to let her rest. She lay exhausted from her tickling ordeal while he stood above her, smiling mischievously. Her eyes rested on him, pleadingly.
“Oh, you’re such a ticklish creature! Nobody as ticklish as you are should ever become an intelligence officer,” he observed. “Suppose you fell into enemy hands, and they did this to you!”
“James, please stop! It’s torture,” she pleaded.
“Precisely, dear lady,” he laughed, “torture! You may be the Mistress of Torture at the Ministry, but
I’m giving you a lesson in the fine art of tickle torture, don’t you think?
“How delicious!” he exclaimed. “The “formidable M,” reduced to a laughing, squirming, ticklish lump of putty. Oh, if only your staff (and your enemies) could see you now!”
“How they would enjoy this! They would be overjoyed to see how exquisitely ticklish you are. They would just love to see you laughing like a hyena! Moreover, they would simply adore your utter humiliation.” She blushed deeply.
“Perhaps I’ll invite them next time. I might even let them participate in the festivities.”
“Oh, no!” she cried out, utterly humiliated by the prospect. She blushed, and silently prayed that it would never happen.
He had reached the point where merely wiggling his fingers near her hyper-ticklish body made her squirm, giggle, and beg, “Oh, please, no!”
“I always knew that, if you were subdued and tickled unmercifully, your antics would be delicious to behold. I must say, I was so right!”
When he finally stopped, she was nearly out of her mind from the devilishly skillful tickle torture. He regarded her with sinful satisfaction, delighted by her exhaustion and humiliation.
“This is the way I’ve always wanted you,” he taunted her. “Actually, I’ve often fantasized about tickling the living daylights out of you, just like this.”
Utterly demoralized, totally humiliated, and bereft of any pride, she begged frantically, “Please stop, James! I can’t stand it!”
But then he began what was to be his final assault. This round of tickling was far more vigorous than anything that had gone before.
Finally, she cried out loudly in ticklish agony, agony so exquisitely intense that she lost consciousness.
When she awoke, she had been unfastened. She lay on the table, and slowly recovered as he sat by quietly.
She decided not to have him shot, after all. After all, she knew a better way to get even with him.
For she remembered everything he had done to her in this encounter, everything. When her turn came, she would repay Double-O in kind.
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