Paul Jones
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2005
- Messages
- 89
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M/F Story: The Tickling Machine
Miss Finch awoke to find herself tied to a padded table. Her bare feet were in an
enclosure of some sort.
The aging spinster couldn’t move or turn her feet so much as a centimeter in any
direction. Even her toes were completely immobilized.
She had a terrible premonition that the enclosure was a tickling machine! She
shuddered at the thought.
Paul, one of her former students, was present, and said to her, “Welcome back, Miss
Finch. You’re no doubt wondering about the machine in which your pretty feet are
encased.”
“It’s my own invention, perfected after a lot of work. It’s a tickling machine!”
She gasped.
“And you’re going to be its first subject.” He stressed the euphemism for victim.
“You know, Miss Finch, I’ve often daydreamed about tickling you to pieces. And now,
I will—through my invention.”
She groaned in anticipation of what lay ahead. For had always been extremely ticklish,
especially on her feet .
In her youth, boys had often taken sadistic pleasure in overpowering her, and tickling
her feet unmercifully. The memories were still vivid.
Such ordeals continued well into adolescence. To this day, visiting a podiatrist or
pedicurist was invariably embarrassing because of her extreme foot ticklishness.
But never before had she been tickled by a machine!
Her extreme ticklishness is what had led to her use of tickling as a means of
disciplining and humiliating her students, a practice that made her known in the school
as the “Wicked Witch.”
She was the terror of her students because she took pleasure in tickle-torturing them.
She knew that young people tend to be immoderately ticklish, and she took sadistic
advantage of the fact. She inflicted tickle torture heartlessly (particularly on boys),
driving her charges into hysterics.
Now, it was her turn to be tickle-tortured. Paul would see to that, thereby gratifying
his own tickling fetish.
Her eyes widened. She was adorably frantic as she cried out, “Oh no, Paul! Please
don’t do that to me! PLEASE DON’T TICKLE MY FEET Anywhere but there!”!
“You know, dear Miss Finch, if your feet are so ticklish, you should be very careful
about tickling others. Otherwise, one of your victims might find a way to subdue you,
and then tickle your feet —without mercy,” he teased pointedly.
He explained, “The machine’s interior is studded with over a dozen electric
toothbrushes of a type noted for its brisk vibrations.”
“They make superb tickle tools. As a matter of fact, for the ultimate in tickling,
nothing is more effective than electric toothbrushes.“
He let this sink in for a moment. Then he continued, “They’re positioned at all your
feet’s most vulnerable spots: soles, heels, arches, toes, tops, and sides.
“Moreover, I’ve programmed the tickle tools to attack and withdraw randomly.
For the effect of static tickling soon wears off, and I want to keep your experience
alive and fresh,” he said pointedly.
“Soon, you’ll have no dignity left. You’ll be totally humiliated when I reduce you to
a lump of squirming, laughing, shrieking protoplasm. You’ll be beggingme for mercy,”
he taunted, with obvious delight.
She implored him, “Dear Paul, please don’t tickle my feet! That’s AGONY for me!”
“How wonderful! AGONY! How you encourage me!” Paul chuckled in wicked
amusement.
Then he pressed a button on the machine, and the schoolmarm’s ordeal began.
At once, she started bellowing with tortured laughter as she felt the machine’s tickle
tools attack her feet devilishly.
She struggled vainly against her bonds, and her mind nearly snapped under the cruel
sensations. “Ahahahaah! Please stop!” she cried.
Paul clasped his fingers before his chest, and laughed with wicked glee. “Isn’t it
fiendish? Oh, I’m enjoying this so much!”
The mechanized tickling was hideously effective, and made her shriek and writhe
uncontrollably. The sensations penetrated her immobilized feet like electric currents.
Paul was right about the effectiveness of the tickle tools. They unerringly attacked
the most ticklish spots.
It was uncanny how the infernal machine found all the most ticklish parts of her feet—
tops and bottoms, heels and arches, toes and sides—with being subjected to the
most electrifying—and excruciating—tickling sensations imaginable.
Especially maddening was the way the machine targeted her smooth, hyper-ticklish
soles, as well as the region beneath her exquisitely sensitive toes.
“Oh, please stop! STOP IT! I can't stand it!” she cried between screams of tortured
laughter.
“I’m sorry, but you know you deserve this, Miss Finch,” he chided.
Until now, she had never realized that the human body could experience such
sensations: an astonishing blend of ecstasy and agony. Her feet had been tickled
before (though not often in recent years), but nothing in her experience had prepared
her for this!
She experienced the most maddening sensations imaginable, and bellowed with
agonized laughter as the tickling sensations exploded in her brain.
She wriggled her torso as much as the bonds would allow, and wailed with frenzied
laughter. “Look at the Witch twitch!” he teased.
“Please stop! It’s torture!” she pleaded. “Precisely,” Paul laughed, ’torture!’
I’ll teach you to tickle-torture defenseless young people! Are you sorry now for
tickling us? She blanched in guilty embarrassment.
Soon, she was nearly out of her mind. Tears filled her eyes, and she laughed louder
and longer than ever before in her long life.
When he stopped the machine briefly, she screamed hysterically,
“So, the tickler’s feet are too ticklish for this, eh?” he chided, with cruel sarcasm.
“Old maids like you tend to be exceptionally ticklish.” She blushed at the reference.
"That’s because you're not used to having your sensitive spots touched, let alone
tickled.”
“After all these years, you must still be a virgin. Isn’t that so, dear, sweet, chaste
Miss Finch? Oh, what is sweeter than innocence tickled?”
“Oh, you beast!” she wailed in utter mortification. She knew that he was right,
but wondered how he had learned of such things.
“How delicious!” he exclaimed. “The poised, dignified Miss Finch, reduced to a
laughing, squirming, ticklish lump of silly putty.”
“If only your other students could see you now! How they would enjoy this! They
would be delighted by how exquisitely ticklish you are. They would just love to watch
you laughing like a hyena!”
“Moreover, they would simply adore your utter humiliation. Perhaps I’ll invite them
next time.“
“Oh, no!” she cried out, utterly humiliated by the prospect. She blushed, and silently
prayed that it would never happen.
“Oh, what delicious revenge this is! How you deserve to be tickle-tortured!” said Paul.
"Please, no more,” Miss Finch said, hoarse from laughter. “Agonizing, isn’t it, you
Witch?” he teased.
Then he started the machine again. She screamed for mercy while he regaled her
with “Koochee-koochee-koo!”
“Oh, how I love it when you shriek, and squirm, and beg for mercy,” he teased.
For many minutes, she suffered dreadfully. She shook the room with the vibrations
of her howling laughter, shaking her head from side to side, and writhing wildly.
“STOP IT!” she bellowed.
Finally, she cried out loudly in ticklish agony, agony so intense that she lost
consciousness.
Paul smiled wickedly, and was overwhelmed by a fiercely passionate orgasm.
(Previously published elsewhere)
Miss Finch awoke to find herself tied to a padded table. Her bare feet were in an
enclosure of some sort.
The aging spinster couldn’t move or turn her feet so much as a centimeter in any
direction. Even her toes were completely immobilized.
She had a terrible premonition that the enclosure was a tickling machine! She
shuddered at the thought.
Paul, one of her former students, was present, and said to her, “Welcome back, Miss
Finch. You’re no doubt wondering about the machine in which your pretty feet are
encased.”
“It’s my own invention, perfected after a lot of work. It’s a tickling machine!”
She gasped.
“And you’re going to be its first subject.” He stressed the euphemism for victim.
“You know, Miss Finch, I’ve often daydreamed about tickling you to pieces. And now,
I will—through my invention.”
She groaned in anticipation of what lay ahead. For had always been extremely ticklish,
especially on her feet .
In her youth, boys had often taken sadistic pleasure in overpowering her, and tickling
her feet unmercifully. The memories were still vivid.
Such ordeals continued well into adolescence. To this day, visiting a podiatrist or
pedicurist was invariably embarrassing because of her extreme foot ticklishness.
But never before had she been tickled by a machine!
Her extreme ticklishness is what had led to her use of tickling as a means of
disciplining and humiliating her students, a practice that made her known in the school
as the “Wicked Witch.”
She was the terror of her students because she took pleasure in tickle-torturing them.
She knew that young people tend to be immoderately ticklish, and she took sadistic
advantage of the fact. She inflicted tickle torture heartlessly (particularly on boys),
driving her charges into hysterics.
Now, it was her turn to be tickle-tortured. Paul would see to that, thereby gratifying
his own tickling fetish.
Her eyes widened. She was adorably frantic as she cried out, “Oh no, Paul! Please
don’t do that to me! PLEASE DON’T TICKLE MY FEET Anywhere but there!”!
“You know, dear Miss Finch, if your feet are so ticklish, you should be very careful
about tickling others. Otherwise, one of your victims might find a way to subdue you,
and then tickle your feet —without mercy,” he teased pointedly.
He explained, “The machine’s interior is studded with over a dozen electric
toothbrushes of a type noted for its brisk vibrations.”
“They make superb tickle tools. As a matter of fact, for the ultimate in tickling,
nothing is more effective than electric toothbrushes.“
He let this sink in for a moment. Then he continued, “They’re positioned at all your
feet’s most vulnerable spots: soles, heels, arches, toes, tops, and sides.
“Moreover, I’ve programmed the tickle tools to attack and withdraw randomly.
For the effect of static tickling soon wears off, and I want to keep your experience
alive and fresh,” he said pointedly.
“Soon, you’ll have no dignity left. You’ll be totally humiliated when I reduce you to
a lump of squirming, laughing, shrieking protoplasm. You’ll be beggingme for mercy,”
he taunted, with obvious delight.
She implored him, “Dear Paul, please don’t tickle my feet! That’s AGONY for me!”
“How wonderful! AGONY! How you encourage me!” Paul chuckled in wicked
amusement.
Then he pressed a button on the machine, and the schoolmarm’s ordeal began.
At once, she started bellowing with tortured laughter as she felt the machine’s tickle
tools attack her feet devilishly.
She struggled vainly against her bonds, and her mind nearly snapped under the cruel
sensations. “Ahahahaah! Please stop!” she cried.
Paul clasped his fingers before his chest, and laughed with wicked glee. “Isn’t it
fiendish? Oh, I’m enjoying this so much!”
The mechanized tickling was hideously effective, and made her shriek and writhe
uncontrollably. The sensations penetrated her immobilized feet like electric currents.
Paul was right about the effectiveness of the tickle tools. They unerringly attacked
the most ticklish spots.
It was uncanny how the infernal machine found all the most ticklish parts of her feet—
tops and bottoms, heels and arches, toes and sides—with being subjected to the
most electrifying—and excruciating—tickling sensations imaginable.
Especially maddening was the way the machine targeted her smooth, hyper-ticklish
soles, as well as the region beneath her exquisitely sensitive toes.
“Oh, please stop! STOP IT! I can't stand it!” she cried between screams of tortured
laughter.
“I’m sorry, but you know you deserve this, Miss Finch,” he chided.
Until now, she had never realized that the human body could experience such
sensations: an astonishing blend of ecstasy and agony. Her feet had been tickled
before (though not often in recent years), but nothing in her experience had prepared
her for this!
She experienced the most maddening sensations imaginable, and bellowed with
agonized laughter as the tickling sensations exploded in her brain.
She wriggled her torso as much as the bonds would allow, and wailed with frenzied
laughter. “Look at the Witch twitch!” he teased.
“Please stop! It’s torture!” she pleaded. “Precisely,” Paul laughed, ’torture!’
I’ll teach you to tickle-torture defenseless young people! Are you sorry now for
tickling us? She blanched in guilty embarrassment.
Soon, she was nearly out of her mind. Tears filled her eyes, and she laughed louder
and longer than ever before in her long life.
When he stopped the machine briefly, she screamed hysterically,
“Paul, please have mercy! I can’t stand it!
My feet are too ticklish for this! I’M TOO TICKLISH!”
My feet are too ticklish for this! I’M TOO TICKLISH!”
“So, the tickler’s feet are too ticklish for this, eh?” he chided, with cruel sarcasm.
“Old maids like you tend to be exceptionally ticklish.” She blushed at the reference.
"That’s because you're not used to having your sensitive spots touched, let alone
tickled.”
“After all these years, you must still be a virgin. Isn’t that so, dear, sweet, chaste
Miss Finch? Oh, what is sweeter than innocence tickled?”
“Oh, you beast!” she wailed in utter mortification. She knew that he was right,
but wondered how he had learned of such things.
“How delicious!” he exclaimed. “The poised, dignified Miss Finch, reduced to a
laughing, squirming, ticklish lump of silly putty.”
“If only your other students could see you now! How they would enjoy this! They
would be delighted by how exquisitely ticklish you are. They would just love to watch
you laughing like a hyena!”
“Moreover, they would simply adore your utter humiliation. Perhaps I’ll invite them
next time.“
“Oh, no!” she cried out, utterly humiliated by the prospect. She blushed, and silently
prayed that it would never happen.
“Oh, what delicious revenge this is! How you deserve to be tickle-tortured!” said Paul.
"Please, no more,” Miss Finch said, hoarse from laughter. “Agonizing, isn’t it, you
Witch?” he teased.
Then he started the machine again. She screamed for mercy while he regaled her
with “Koochee-koochee-koo!”
“Oh, how I love it when you shriek, and squirm, and beg for mercy,” he teased.
For many minutes, she suffered dreadfully. She shook the room with the vibrations
of her howling laughter, shaking her head from side to side, and writhing wildly.
“STOP IT!” she bellowed.
Finally, she cried out loudly in ticklish agony, agony so intense that she lost
consciousness.
Paul smiled wickedly, and was overwhelmed by a fiercely passionate orgasm.
