Paul Jones
TMF Poster
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- Nov 3, 2005
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The prequel to this story was called Method Tickling at MI9.
(Some readers were kind enough to request a sequel, so I came up with this.)
You might also like to check out my story, James Bond vs. M.
============================================
Mark, a foreign operative, had previously fallen into the Director’s clutches. On that
occasion, she had extracted information by describing some of her favorite forms
of tickle torture, (and demonstrating a couple on him).
Now, the tables were turned. For she was at Mark’s mercy this time, sprawled out
on her own interrogation table. Mark had applied restraints to her wrists and ankles.
Except for her panties, she was naked.
He commented, “Aren’t you cute? Particularly your breasts.” She squirmed in
embarrassment.
Then he tickled her breasts, making her laugh uncontrollably. “So, you’re ticklish
yourself. There is justice after all!” She squirmed.
“Now the tickler gets tickled,” he mocked. “I’m going to give you the tickling that you
so richly deserve.” The Director groaned at the thought of the ordeal ahead of her.
“Soon, you’ll have no dignity left. You’ll be totally humiliated when I reduce you to a
lump of squirming, shrieking protoplasm. You’ll be begging me for mercy,” he taunted,
in delighted anticipation.
“Oh, Mark, please don’t” she pleaded.
Ignoring her, he continued, “You know, I never would have thought of this form
of retribution if you hadn’t instructed me in the art of tickle torture at our last
encounter.” She winced at the irony.
Then her ordeal began.
She shrieked as he skillfully tickled her underarms and breasts for several minutes.
Next, he deftly tickled her inner thighs. Squealing with laughter, she blushed deeply,
prompting Mark to observe, “You like that, don’t you, bitch?”
Then he began tickling her ribs devilishly. She howled boisterously. Seeing how
ticklish her ribs were, he kept it up awhile.
He tickled her stomach, covering it with short, rapid tickling strokes. This made her
bellow and squirm for many minutes.
Finally, he began a merciless foot-tickling assault. Her feet were exceedingly
ticklish, and she went wild, screaming with riotous laughter, and writhing vigorously.
Delighted by her hysterics, he kept it for quite a while.
“Mark, please stop!” she screamed. “Agonizing, isn’t it?” he teased. “Just what MI9’s
Mistress of Tickle Torture deserves!”
“You should have known that someday you might fall into the hands of one of your
victims, who would subdue and tickle-torture you, as you had so many others.
You know you deserve this.”
He kept up the intense tickling for a long time, revisiting all her vulnerable spots
over and over.
She shrieked as the tickling sensations exploded in her brain. Tears were in her
eyes, and she laughed louder and longer than ever before in her life.
Throughout the session, she wiggled her torso as much as the bonds would allow,
and wailed with frenzied laughter. “Look at the witch twitch!” Mark taunted.
When he paused briefly, his prediction about her loss of dignity came true. Utterly
demoralized, totally humiliated, and bereft of any pride, she begged frantically, “Mark,
have mercy! I can’t stand it! I’m too ticklish for this! I’M TOO TICKLISH!”
“So, you’re too ticklish for this, eh?” he chided, with cruel sarcasm. “You should have
thought of that when you were mercilessly tickle-torturing others!”
Then he said, “At first, I thought of tickling you to death.” She trembled, for she
was sure that he could do it.
“But then I changed my mind.” She was relieved, but only momentarily.
“I decided to tickle you to insanity instead. By tickling you beyond
endurance, I’ll turn your sinful brain into mush, and you’ll live out your life in madness.
That’s what your years of sadism deserve.”
“Mark, no! Don’t do that! Don’t punish me that way! DON’T!”” she
shouted frantically, in genuine terror of the fate he had in store for her.
Unmoved, he began his final assault. He tickled her far more vigorously
(and sadistically) than he had earlier.
She went wild, screamed with truly maniacal laughter, and struggled violently
(and vainly) against her restraints.
She shook the room with the vibrations of her howling, shaking her head from side
to side, and writhing wildly. “Stop it! STOP IT!!!” she bellowed. But he pressed
on without mercy.
Finally, she cried out loudly in ticklish agony, agony so intense that she lost
consciousness. Mark smiled in grim satisfaction.
When the Director awoke, she was in a padded cell. She’s still there.
(Some readers were kind enough to request a sequel, so I came up with this.)
You might also like to check out my story, James Bond vs. M.
============================================
Mark, a foreign operative, had previously fallen into the Director’s clutches. On that
occasion, she had extracted information by describing some of her favorite forms
of tickle torture, (and demonstrating a couple on him).
Now, the tables were turned. For she was at Mark’s mercy this time, sprawled out
on her own interrogation table. Mark had applied restraints to her wrists and ankles.
Except for her panties, she was naked.
He commented, “Aren’t you cute? Particularly your breasts.” She squirmed in
embarrassment.
Then he tickled her breasts, making her laugh uncontrollably. “So, you’re ticklish
yourself. There is justice after all!” She squirmed.
“Now the tickler gets tickled,” he mocked. “I’m going to give you the tickling that you
so richly deserve.” The Director groaned at the thought of the ordeal ahead of her.
“Soon, you’ll have no dignity left. You’ll be totally humiliated when I reduce you to a
lump of squirming, shrieking protoplasm. You’ll be begging me for mercy,” he taunted,
in delighted anticipation.
“Oh, Mark, please don’t” she pleaded.
Ignoring her, he continued, “You know, I never would have thought of this form
of retribution if you hadn’t instructed me in the art of tickle torture at our last
encounter.” She winced at the irony.
Then her ordeal began.
She shrieked as he skillfully tickled her underarms and breasts for several minutes.
Next, he deftly tickled her inner thighs. Squealing with laughter, she blushed deeply,
prompting Mark to observe, “You like that, don’t you, bitch?”
Then he began tickling her ribs devilishly. She howled boisterously. Seeing how
ticklish her ribs were, he kept it up awhile.
He tickled her stomach, covering it with short, rapid tickling strokes. This made her
bellow and squirm for many minutes.
Finally, he began a merciless foot-tickling assault. Her feet were exceedingly
ticklish, and she went wild, screaming with riotous laughter, and writhing vigorously.
Delighted by her hysterics, he kept it for quite a while.
“Mark, please stop!” she screamed. “Agonizing, isn’t it?” he teased. “Just what MI9’s
Mistress of Tickle Torture deserves!”
“You should have known that someday you might fall into the hands of one of your
victims, who would subdue and tickle-torture you, as you had so many others.
You know you deserve this.”
He kept up the intense tickling for a long time, revisiting all her vulnerable spots
over and over.
She shrieked as the tickling sensations exploded in her brain. Tears were in her
eyes, and she laughed louder and longer than ever before in her life.
Throughout the session, she wiggled her torso as much as the bonds would allow,
and wailed with frenzied laughter. “Look at the witch twitch!” Mark taunted.
When he paused briefly, his prediction about her loss of dignity came true. Utterly
demoralized, totally humiliated, and bereft of any pride, she begged frantically, “Mark,
have mercy! I can’t stand it! I’m too ticklish for this! I’M TOO TICKLISH!”
“So, you’re too ticklish for this, eh?” he chided, with cruel sarcasm. “You should have
thought of that when you were mercilessly tickle-torturing others!”
Then he said, “At first, I thought of tickling you to death.” She trembled, for she
was sure that he could do it.
“But then I changed my mind.” She was relieved, but only momentarily.
“I decided to tickle you to insanity instead. By tickling you beyond
endurance, I’ll turn your sinful brain into mush, and you’ll live out your life in madness.
That’s what your years of sadism deserve.”
“Mark, no! Don’t do that! Don’t punish me that way! DON’T!”” she
shouted frantically, in genuine terror of the fate he had in store for her.
Unmoved, he began his final assault. He tickled her far more vigorously
(and sadistically) than he had earlier.
She went wild, screamed with truly maniacal laughter, and struggled violently
(and vainly) against her restraints.
She shook the room with the vibrations of her howling, shaking her head from side
to side, and writhing wildly. “Stop it! STOP IT!!!” she bellowed. But he pressed
on without mercy.
Finally, she cried out loudly in ticklish agony, agony so intense that she lost
consciousness. Mark smiled in grim satisfaction.
When the Director awoke, she was in a padded cell. She’s still there.
