Chapter 2 http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...or-Tickling-Chapter-2-F-f-nonconsensual-NC-17
Chapter 1 http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...ng-Chapter-1-F-f-*-m-*-f-non-consensual-NC-17
Prologue http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?260381-Haven-for-Tickling-Prologue
Chapter 3:
The Tournament Mistress of First Mating Tournament 10545, otherwise known as Ms. Molly Clayborn, sat behind her desk, completing the forms required of an arena supervisor. She was aware that the contest had just begun, but barely glanced over at the bank of monitors. Everything was ready at this point. The contestants were in their places and the special gadgets had been scattered through the arena like Easter eggs. There was little chance the First Timers would know enough to try and cheat. The supervisors in the Arena would be able to handle any problems that arose.
After fifteen years in her current position, she found the First Mating Tournaments exceptionally dull. The participants were inexperienced and their tactics virtually nonexistent. They would probably just stumble on each other in the dark, exchange a few quick tickles, than pair off. It didn’t even matter who won. First Pairings almost never lasted longer than a year or two. They were as much of a learning experience of how to be a Dom or Sub as a true struggle for domination.
Now the regular Tournaments , those were worth watching! In those games, men and women who had been battling for decades used tactics so new and creative that she often wanted to take notes. She would spent hours thinking up of new gadgets to hide, knowing someone would find a way to use one on their prey in a way never seen before. They played for higher stakes, too. Regular pairings could last years. If the Dom wanted and was clever enough, they could even become permanent.
No, a First Mating Tournament couldn’t hold a candle to that. Besides, she had work to do. The sooner, she got all her figures to add up, the sooner she could go home. Samantha wanted her home early tonight, and had made that known so clearly that the longing to go to her was almost tangible.
Something was wrong though. The more she went over the paperwork, the more things didn’t add up. Some of the details were slightly off, the facts not ringing true. It was subtle really, small things only an arena director with much experience would notice, and even Ms. Clayborn didn’t know what it meant. The discrepancy was there, however, and she should t find its root cause, even if it meant opening the main database and double checking every line. That was her duty.
She really didn’t want too, however. That would take time. Time she could be spending at home with her Dom, pleasing her master anyway she wished. And it was probably nothing. What could go wrong in a First Mating Tournament? Surely, she was overreacting. Best just to ignore it and finish up.
Except…Molly got a nagging feeling, deep in in her stomach. She had learned long ago that little discrepancies could point the way to big problems. It was probably nothing…but damn it, she had to figure out what it meant. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t. Time to get to work.
* * * * * *
“HA AHAHA AHAHA G GGGAHAH AHAHAHAHAH HAHA GAWWWWDDDD STAWWWWPPPPP AHAHAHAH GEEHEHEHEHETTT EHEHEHEHE EHE GEHEHEHEHEHEETETTTTTT OFFFFFFFFF AHA AHAHAHAHHAHA N AWWWOOOOOO MOORRRREEEEE HAHAH AHAHAHA HEEEEHEHEHEHEELLLLPPPP AHAH AHAHAH AHAH HEEHEHEHELLLPPPPP MEHEHEHEHEHEH PLLEEAASSSEEEEEHEHEHEHEH!!!!”
She was slender, a couple of inches shorter than Clara without the curves. The man straddling her legs and tickling her sides outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. Maybe if she’d been on her back, able to tickle her tormentor back, she would have a chance. Lying face down, unable to see or reach her assailant, she had no chance.
“Spread your legs,” the man said smugly, “Spread them my little Sub, and this can all be over, and you can be mine,” The bottoms the woman was wearing, little more than a thong, did nothing to stop his fingers from poking and probing into her hips. That was one of the few places on her body she had any padding, and it was obviously an incredibly ticklish spot on her.
“HE EHEHEHE EHEHEHEHEEH GOHOHOHOHHOHO HEHEEH GOHOHOHO TOHUHUHUHUHU HE EHEHEHEHE HEHEEEHEHEHEEELLLLLLLL EHE EHEHEHEHEH NAWWOOOOOOO SUHUHUHUHUBBB EHEHEHEH EHEHE EHE YUUHUHUHUHUULLLLL HE EHEEHH NEHEHEHHVVEERRRR HEHEHEH AHAHAH HAAAATTTTEEEEE HAHAHAHH HAAAAATTTTTEEEE YOUHUHUHUHUHU DOONNN’TTTT TOUUUCHCHHHH EHE EHEHEH MEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!”
“I doubt it, honey,” Clara whispered. She was watching the scene through a grate from a duct in the ceiling. In one of the old dramas on the video, it would have been called an air shaft or maintenance tube, but in the tournament no one pretended it had some other purpose. The duct was a place to hide and a way to move through the arena unseen.
The last thing she should be doing was wasting time watching this, but Clara couldn’t help herself. The sight of the two nearly nude adults, locked in ticklish combat, was almost hypnotic. The woman was frantically trying to escape. The man looked like he was riding a bull as the slender woman bucked and reared, desperate to escape his tormenting touch. Despite her best efforts, however, the woman just wasn’t strong enough to dislodge her heavier opponent. All she could do was shriek with laughter.
Clara had never seen anything like it. Haven did keep its children sheltered of sexual imagery, not from any moral sense but because they believed it enhanced proper psychological development. Adolescents were given just knowledge to satisfy their natural curiosity and meet their simple needs. Despite studying the Tournament, she had never seen an actual match, until right now.
It affected her deeply, almost as if she were a part of it. Every peal of laughter that erupted from the woman’s mind was like a bolt of lightning, sharp and too bright to look at directly. Clara could sense how each one wore down the woman’s will and lessened her ability to resist. Her hysteria grew greater than her anger at being forced and her humiliation at being a Sub. It started consuming her, filling every inch of the woman’s being.
The man’s emotions too, were unguarded. In him, Clara could see a growing, building lust. It was a lust from having a mostly naked woman between his legs, a lust from feeling her gyrations grind against his manhood, a lust from hearing her babbles and shrieks, but mostly his lust came from the knowledge that soon she would break and submit to him. He would be dominant.
Clara felt her own libido inflamed, both her fear of submission and his desire to dominate became one within her. It was all she could do to resist crying out and to repress her own feelings as they could draw others to her.
The man, sensing victory was near, went in for the kill. Keeping one hand prodding near her waist, the man reached back and started dancing his other five fingers over the backs of the slender woman’s thighs, revving up her cries of laughter even more.
“Tickle, tickle tickle little baby,” he teased, “Open up! Open up for your new Dom!” His hands danced, sliding over her sweaty body, drawing out more and more hysterical shrieks and bellows. The lightning flashes became blinding. Her psyche was in turmoil.
In the cloud of emotion, Clara couldn’t tell if the woman gave in or just lost the strength to keep her thighs squeezed together, but soon the man had managed to slide his hand between her legs and was rubbing her nether reason. Clara couldn’t see exactly what the man was doing, but the change was immediate. The bolts of laughter were gone. They were replaced by wave after wave of pure lust, radiating off the woman like heat from a stove. It was so intense, Clara had to look away.
“oohhhh OOOHHHHHHH,” she moaned, “NooOOHHHHH mmmmmmmm AAAAHHHHHH I I n n nooOOOHHHH it I I shouldn’t OOOOOOOHHHHH tttOOOOOOOOOO AAAAAHHHHH TOOOO MUUCCHHHH CAAANNNN’TTTTT OOOOHHHHH CANNNNNN’TTTTT”
The woman’s bucking and resisting stopped. Her lithe body was now writhing under the man’s touch, twisting from side to side, though whether in an effort to avoid his touch or to embrace it not even she could see. The man’s lust exploded too, his partner’s obedient moans setting them on fire.
The woman’s pleasure kept growing, the waves of heat growing hotter and hotter. Soon, Clara felt a purr slip from her lips, her hand starting to slip underneath her own thong. She was as much on fire as either one of them.
“No! Restrain your libido!” a voice screamed inside Clara’s head. If she let herself get too into it, she would want to touch herself, the only way she had ever had to quell her desires. That would activate her own collar, disqualifying her from the Tournament. With an act of will, Clara pulled her hand away. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her desires under control.
It wasn’t easy. Clara could still feel every the woman’s every pant and moan. Her heart beat faster and her palms grew sweaty. Several times her hand started moving back to her crotch, as if it had a mind of its own. She honestly didn’t know how long she could last!
Fortunately, it didn’t take long. Whatever he was doing, the man was quite skilled at it. Soon, he had the woman’s libido became the sun, hot enough to melt steel, then it exploded in a nova of lust and pure sexual desire. In that instant, Clara could sense a deeper change in the woman. Her emotions had been like a cacophony of fear, shame and anger, but as she came, all those notes merged to form a perfect harmony. Then those feelings were gone, replaced by an emotional craving for the man on top of her, a desire to be with him and a need to please him in every way.
Her collar had activated.
As soon as he started standing up, she turned around quickly, pouncing on him and kissing him with a wild passion that had been nonexistent seconds ago. Her hands rubbed his back as her mouth tasted his lips and nibbled on his neck.
“Oh, darling, thank you! Thank you so much for taking me! Yes, oh yes I’ll be your Sub! I’ll do anything…everything you want! Oh god, I love you!” Her ardor now burned as hotly as her lust had moments before.
For Clara, that was the moment the pressure on her own libido ended. Her thoughts cleared, and she no longer needed to struggle with the need to touch herself.. She pulled herself away from the vent and shook her head from side to side.
“Wow! That was more powerful than I would have thought!” She had never seen a domination up close and personal, and knew she’d never be the same again. Still, for all that, she was no close to finding her own Sub. She couldn’t wait any longer.
Knowing all she had to show for her voyeurism was a loss of time and energy, Clara crawled on through the vent,
* * * * *
How? Molly Clayborn, Tournament Mistress for the First Mating Tournament currently in progress could not believe what she was reading from her computer screen. How had that Clara girl and the other one been put into the same Tournament?
There were hundreds of First Mating Tournaments every year, in Arena’s scattered all across Haven. It was customary to mix up the new adults as much as possible, not allowing them to be in the same a Tournament as someone from the same Juvenile Center. It helped to diversify the population, exposing the Participants to new people from regions outside of the one they had grown up in. It was not unusual for First Pairings to be between two people who had grown up hundreds if not thousands of miles away.
But Clara and Zoe had not only grown up together, but had been close friends. This fact should have automatically separated them. It was not good for First Matings to be between close friends. Your first pairing should be a time of discovery, but with someone you’ve known since before puberty.
Perhaps it was because this Zoe had switched Centers. Could that have the situation to slip past the algorithms used to determine Tournament placing? Unlikely, but possible, accept…
Except there was a question. Why had this Zoe was forced to change Juvenile Centers in the first place. Highly unusual, that. It seemed like there was some kind of…incident, but the records on it were sealed.
Well, Ms. Molly Clayborn hadn’t been a Tournament Mistress to be stymied by a sealed record. There were ways around that, to get at the truth. They would just take time.
Maybe there would be no need to pursue it. After all, it seemed that this Clara had gone into the ducts. In some Tournaments, that proved a good strategy, but not in this one sadly. Ms. Clayborn had set a few traps in those narrow tunnels, just to mix things up. It was possible those would wear her down quickly, delivering the smaller woman up on a silver platter as it were to the first other Participant that stumbled on her. Then this Zoe person and her odd past wouldn’t matter at all.
Except…if there was one thing that Ms. Molly Clayborn couldn’t stand was a mystery. She just had to find answers. It seemed like she would be disappointing her Dom that night after all.
* * * * *
“It’s only an air duct!” Clara whispered in frustration, “How confusing can it be?!” She had spent minutes crawling through the increasingly stuffy, dark and narrow shaft on her hands and knees, looking for another vent or hatch, anyway out of the maze she found herself in to no avail. Now she was starting to feel claustrophobic, with the walls and ceiling only inches from her shoulders and head and the dim light fading more and more every moment.
She was desperate for a way out, but the only one she’d seen since entering the shaft had been the one she’s used to witness the slender woman being dominated. She had no way of knowing how far back that had been, but it felt like miles through the twisting, turning tunnels, and Clara knew she’d never be able to trace her way back to it.
It seemed to be going so well at first. The air duct had been the best hiding place she could have hoped for. Setting up an ambush from such a spot had seemed like child’s play. Plus, she had found a hand full of glowing dust. Given how meticulously the arena was maintained, that probably one of the mysterious “gadgets” the tournament directors scattered through the arena to keep things interesting. Clara wasn’t exactly what it was used for, but it had to give her some kind of advantage, didn’t it?
Of course, neither the hiding spot nor the dust could be of any value if she couldn’t find a way out and Dale and all the other good targets were already Paired!
“Calm down, Clara,” she told herself as she tried to breathe deeply in the stagnant air, “You’re panicking! You haven’t been in here that long, may ten or fifteen minutes!” That was probably true, Clara knew, but the clock was still tickling. Eventually, if she couldn’t find a vent, the Tournament would end, and she’d be ruled as ‘Timed Out’.
Timed Out. Short of breaking the rules, it was the most humiliating thing that could happen to you. It was rare, but once in a great while a Tournament ended without every participant being Paired. Usually, this was because some found too good a hiding spot or hatched too clever a plan, waiting for a perfect moment to attack that never came. They were still waiting when the whistle blew. When that happened, the Tournament administrators would Pair up the remaining contestants and would designate the one who did the least to engage another participant as the Sub.
Becoming a Sub by being Timed Out gave a person the reputation of being a coward. Worse, to activate the collar, the Timed Out Sub would have to consent. They would have to allow the Dom to pleasure them, to lie there willingly as they were touched, permitting the bond to form instead of struggling against it. The thought made Clara’s skin crawl.
To be tickled senseless, held down and forced was right and proper. Doing so willingly? Never!
Scurrying forward on all fours, Clara took a left hand turn at an intersection, then a right at the next. Still, she saw nothing! No sign of a way out of this maze! Damn it! How humiliating! More time was slipping away, the clock counting down. No! it would not end this way! Out of frustration, she slammed her hand into the wall of the shaft, venting her frustration on the cold, hard metal.
She expected to hear the muffled sound you get when punching a wall. Instead, the entire metal duct rang like a bell. The vibrations lasted for several seconds, and Clara was sure they could be heard by everyone in the arena. The ringing was followed by an earth-shattering silence.
“I…I probably shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, shocked at the result.
As if in response to her outburst, a dim grey light suddenly filled the shaft, emanating from a spot behind her. Having insufficient room to turn around, Clara cranked her head, trying to get a good look at the source. She still couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it seemed to be coming from the floor. She started backing up, desperate for any egress, when she heard a noise that sounded like the vibrating of metal on metal.
“Oh Uh!” she whispered, a cold sensation spreading through her chest. Swallowing hard, Clara quickly stopped backing up and started crawling forward as fast as she could get her hands and knees to move. She thought she knew what might be making that noise, and it wasn’t good.
The sound came grew louder and Clara tried to make herself to go faster, but escape was impossible. She just couldn’t crawl fast enough in the tight space. Soon she felt it, a brushing on her left butt check, a piece of anatomy left largely uncovered by the thong she was wearing. The brush whisked lightly across her skin, the bristles gliding across smoothly but leaving prickly streaks, their ends textured to attract dirt.
“Cleaning Bot,” she whispered in dread. The duct was too narrow to allow her to reach around and place her hand on her behind, so Clara started wildly kicking her left leg, hoping to somehow knock the small machine down the hall. Her foot made contact only with thin air. The brushing continued.
“oh…heh ehe bother ehe…” she giggled, kicking backwards with her other leg and still impacting nothing. Cleaning bots were small automatons, programmed with only the most rudimentary of directions. They were used to dust, scrub and vacuum dirt from enclosed spaces, like the vent Clara now found herself in. They had no artificial intelligence, and if programmed improperly could get caught in a loop and clean the same spot until their power supply was drained.
This one had apparently been set to clean the first human posterior that wandered by.
“HHNNGGRRRRR” Clara stifled an involuntary peal of laughter. The brush was spinning now, moving faster, its rough fibers covering more of her ass cheek. She shook her buttocks vigorously, hoping to escape the cleaning attachment or knock it off her skin, but the duct didn’t give enough room to shake the thing off.
“he eheehh th ehehehe heeelllll with theheh eheh thiisss heheheheh,” Clara reached back, trying to twist and turn her body to enough to allow her to reach the damnable bot , but her hands couldn’t find the thing either. She thought she caught a glimpse of the thing, however, clinging to the ceiling, about a foot above her in a spot she would have to be triple jointed to contort her body to reach.
Oh damn. It was time to try something else. Clara started crawling forward, as fast as she could, trying to get away from the thing. Unfortunately, it kept up with her effortlessly, brush staying on her behind stroking up and down.
“he ehe ehehehe oohohohohho stawwwpppp aha ahah ahahah staahahwwwppp itt ahahahahah!!!!!!” she giggled, still crawling. It was too fast! The only thing to do now was get out of the airshaft. The bot wouldn’t follow her if it was only programmed to clean the shaft. Even if it did, out in the open, she would have no problem getting rid of her tiny tormentor. That meant she had to keep crawling, keep moving until she finally found the hatch she was searching for.
The alternative was to lie there and let the thing tickle her possibly forever. If Clara did that, the only question would be whether another participant found weak and unable to resist or if she lay there undiscovered until she was Timed Out.
As if reading her thoughts, the cleaning bot picked that moment to send down a second brush, this one finding the sole of one of her feet. The tickling instantly doubled, forcing a deep guffaw from the young redhead .
“HA AHA aha AHAHAH NAWoooo ahahh NAwtwtwt aha ahahah A NAAawwtwttttt ahahah myyyy ah ahahaha myheheheyyyyyyyy aha ahahaha ahahahah foooooootttt wwahahahaaahhh rgrgrgrha aha!!”
Her feet had always been Clara’s worst spot, and now she had hundreds of bristles swooping over it’s bottom. The raspy tendrils drifted over the soft wrinkles, gliding down her instep. Lightning shot up and down Clara’s leg, mingling with the ticklish energy pulsating from her bottom. There was nothing, however, she could do to make it stop. All she could do was escape.
It was the hardest thing she had ever tried to do. The muscles in her arms and legs, quivering from the sensations that traveled up her slender frame, quickly grew tired. Her chest heaved from the awful prickly sensation on her ass and now up by her toes. Crawling long distances on your hands and knees wasn’t easy even when you weren’t laughing hysterically. Still she had to go on.
The tickling got worse. The brush on her ass zeroed in the crevices formed where her behind merged into her thighs, torso and waist. Bristles wormed into the tiny spaces, zipping back and forth. Clara crawled slower and slower, laughed louder and louder as the tickling continued.
It must detect dirt some part of Clara’s mind reasoned. The sweat from her body must collect there, so that was the spot the damn machine focused on. And it was driving her crazy!
The one on her foot was even worse. It had gotten up to her toes, the strands caressing between, underneath and over their tips. They were so scratchy and abrasive, like the world’s worst pedicure. She couldn’t stand it, she just couldn’t stand !
Clara soon lost all momentum. She was laughing even harder, muscles exhausted from the effort. It was all she could manage was to pull herself forward, one foot, then another. “GGGRRRRRRRA h eheheheh MMMMNNNNNNNNNN eeheheheeh NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNN!!” She didn’t want to laugh, didn’t want to cry out. What if someone heard her? But she couldn’t help it!
Her arms and legs felt like wet noodles from strain of the hysteria as Clara pulled herself a few more feet down the airshaft, reaching the next intersection. Finally she saw it. To the right, about ten feet down the branching tunnel was a hatch, clearly illuminated in the floor. All she had to do was get there, and the damn tickling would end.
Then, Clara farted. The clean bot immediately registered the gas as contamination and both brushes went to the source of the contamination, Clara’s anus.
“HA AHAHAHA AHAHHHAH NAWWWOOWOO AHAAHAHAHAHHH GAHAHAHAHAHAH I I GGGRGRGRR AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!” Clara lost it. Bristles started spinning on that puckered skin, making her entire body writhe with hysteria. Others traced up and down her crack, moving from taint to tailbone, probing for dirt, moving in scratchy swirls. It was maddening! It was…it was…
Clara just couldn’t handle the tickling sensations on her ass. Her entire body was shaking now, her laughter forcing every inch of her lithe frame to vibrate. She stopped crawling and just lay in one spot, screaming with laughter, kicking her legs and pounding her little fists against the metal.
“HAH AHAHAHAH NAWWOOOOO AHA AHAHAHAHAH AHAHAH CAHHAAHHAAHHNNNTTTT HAH AHAHAHAH CAHAHAHAHNNTTTTT HAHAHAHAH STAWWWAAHAHWWWPPP AHAHAH AHAHAH I I AHAHAHAH CAAHAHAHAHNNTTTTTT MUHUHUHUHUHSSSTTT AHAHAHAH KEEEHEHEHEHEEPPP AHAHAHAH GOOINNGGGGG HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
But she couldn’t…couldn’t go, couldn’t move! It tickled! It tickled so damn much! How…how could she…could she go on…
And then she heard it. It was one of those background noises that you usually filtered out, surrounded by cleaning bots at all times. It was the sound a bot makes when it finds a particularly nasty spot of dirt, the sound of the scrubbing wheel activating.
No! For a second, Clara could imagine the hot, soapy water spraying forth, the hard nubbins of the wheel poking into her buttocks, scrubbing and scrubbing, driving her over the edge, unable to do anything but lay there and scream until someone rescued her and mercifully made her there Sub.
No…HAD…TO…GO…ON…
Clara somehow got back on her hands and knees, and blinded by her tears, crept again through the dark tunnel. Any minute she knew she’d feel the water, the nubbins, the end of it all. Crawl more, drag yourself farther. All she could hear were her own hysterical cries echoing off the walls.
“HA AHAHA HAHAH FAAHAHAHARRRRTHHHHERERERER HA AHAHAHAH AHAHAH FARRRTHHERERERE HAHAHAHAHA OOUUHUHUUUTTT HAHAHAHA MUHUHUSSTSTT AHAHAHA GEHEEHEHEHEHTTTT AHAHAHAHA OUHUHUHUHHUTTTTTT!!!!!!”
Her body ached as her laughter made every muscle Clara had spasm and contract. It would have been so much easier to lay there, to be consumed by sensation while she waited for oblivion. Instead, she forced her tired muscles to stretch, arms to extend and pull herself a few inches forward, made quivering, wiggling toes dig into the smooth steel to push forward.
“AHA AH AHAA A AHAHAH I I AHA AAH I WIIHIHHIIHHLLLLL AHA AHAH AHAHAHAH I AHAHAHAHAHA WILLLLLLLL AHA AHAHAHAH A A ANAWAHAHAHAATTTTTT AHAH AHAHAHAH STAAHAHAHAHWWWPP! H A AHAAHAHAHA GOHOHOHOHOHHOH AHAHAHAHAH OOONNNNNNN AHAHAAHA!!!!”
And then it happened. Clara’s fingertips fell upon an upraised ridge in the floor. It was gap between the floor and the hatch! Feeling a sudden urge of adrenaline, she latched onto it and pulled with all her might. In seconds, she could feel the grooves underneath her belly and a wash of air flooding over her damp body.
Clara just lay there relaxing, enjoying the coolness on her skin and the soft light that banished the darkness. It actually took her several seconds to realize that a large part of her bliss was caused by the simple fact that the tickling on her brushes had stopped, the scrubbing wheel never come. The cleaning bot must not have been programmed to come this far.
That was when Clara learned that the most enjoyable experience was simply not being forced to laugh.
Clara let her breathing calm down and her muscles ease. Her mind cleared slower, but soon neurons were firing. The Tournament. She should be planning her next move in the Tournament. That was all that mattered.
“The first thing I need to do is get off this vent,” Clara whispered. Then the world dropped out from under her.
Chapter 1 http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...ng-Chapter-1-F-f-*-m-*-f-non-consensual-NC-17
Prologue http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?260381-Haven-for-Tickling-Prologue
Chapter 3:
The Tournament Mistress of First Mating Tournament 10545, otherwise known as Ms. Molly Clayborn, sat behind her desk, completing the forms required of an arena supervisor. She was aware that the contest had just begun, but barely glanced over at the bank of monitors. Everything was ready at this point. The contestants were in their places and the special gadgets had been scattered through the arena like Easter eggs. There was little chance the First Timers would know enough to try and cheat. The supervisors in the Arena would be able to handle any problems that arose.
After fifteen years in her current position, she found the First Mating Tournaments exceptionally dull. The participants were inexperienced and their tactics virtually nonexistent. They would probably just stumble on each other in the dark, exchange a few quick tickles, than pair off. It didn’t even matter who won. First Pairings almost never lasted longer than a year or two. They were as much of a learning experience of how to be a Dom or Sub as a true struggle for domination.
Now the regular Tournaments , those were worth watching! In those games, men and women who had been battling for decades used tactics so new and creative that she often wanted to take notes. She would spent hours thinking up of new gadgets to hide, knowing someone would find a way to use one on their prey in a way never seen before. They played for higher stakes, too. Regular pairings could last years. If the Dom wanted and was clever enough, they could even become permanent.
No, a First Mating Tournament couldn’t hold a candle to that. Besides, she had work to do. The sooner, she got all her figures to add up, the sooner she could go home. Samantha wanted her home early tonight, and had made that known so clearly that the longing to go to her was almost tangible.
Something was wrong though. The more she went over the paperwork, the more things didn’t add up. Some of the details were slightly off, the facts not ringing true. It was subtle really, small things only an arena director with much experience would notice, and even Ms. Clayborn didn’t know what it meant. The discrepancy was there, however, and she should t find its root cause, even if it meant opening the main database and double checking every line. That was her duty.
She really didn’t want too, however. That would take time. Time she could be spending at home with her Dom, pleasing her master anyway she wished. And it was probably nothing. What could go wrong in a First Mating Tournament? Surely, she was overreacting. Best just to ignore it and finish up.
Except…Molly got a nagging feeling, deep in in her stomach. She had learned long ago that little discrepancies could point the way to big problems. It was probably nothing…but damn it, she had to figure out what it meant. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t. Time to get to work.
* * * * * *
“HA AHAHA AHAHA G GGGAHAH AHAHAHAHAH HAHA GAWWWWDDDD STAWWWWPPPPP AHAHAHAH GEEHEHEHEHETTT EHEHEHEHE EHE GEHEHEHEHEHEETETTTTTT OFFFFFFFFF AHA AHAHAHAHHAHA N AWWWOOOOOO MOORRRREEEEE HAHAH AHAHAHA HEEEEHEHEHEHEELLLLPPPP AHAH AHAHAH AHAH HEEHEHEHELLLPPPPP MEHEHEHEHEHEH PLLEEAASSSEEEEEHEHEHEHEH!!!!”
She was slender, a couple of inches shorter than Clara without the curves. The man straddling her legs and tickling her sides outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. Maybe if she’d been on her back, able to tickle her tormentor back, she would have a chance. Lying face down, unable to see or reach her assailant, she had no chance.
“Spread your legs,” the man said smugly, “Spread them my little Sub, and this can all be over, and you can be mine,” The bottoms the woman was wearing, little more than a thong, did nothing to stop his fingers from poking and probing into her hips. That was one of the few places on her body she had any padding, and it was obviously an incredibly ticklish spot on her.
“HE EHEHEHE EHEHEHEHEEH GOHOHOHOHHOHO HEHEEH GOHOHOHO TOHUHUHUHUHU HE EHEHEHEHE HEHEEEHEHEHEEELLLLLLLL EHE EHEHEHEHEH NAWWOOOOOOO SUHUHUHUHUBBB EHEHEHEH EHEHE EHE YUUHUHUHUHUULLLLL HE EHEEHH NEHEHEHHVVEERRRR HEHEHEH AHAHAH HAAAATTTTEEEEE HAHAHAHH HAAAAATTTTTEEEE YOUHUHUHUHUHU DOONNN’TTTT TOUUUCHCHHHH EHE EHEHEH MEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!”
“I doubt it, honey,” Clara whispered. She was watching the scene through a grate from a duct in the ceiling. In one of the old dramas on the video, it would have been called an air shaft or maintenance tube, but in the tournament no one pretended it had some other purpose. The duct was a place to hide and a way to move through the arena unseen.
The last thing she should be doing was wasting time watching this, but Clara couldn’t help herself. The sight of the two nearly nude adults, locked in ticklish combat, was almost hypnotic. The woman was frantically trying to escape. The man looked like he was riding a bull as the slender woman bucked and reared, desperate to escape his tormenting touch. Despite her best efforts, however, the woman just wasn’t strong enough to dislodge her heavier opponent. All she could do was shriek with laughter.
Clara had never seen anything like it. Haven did keep its children sheltered of sexual imagery, not from any moral sense but because they believed it enhanced proper psychological development. Adolescents were given just knowledge to satisfy their natural curiosity and meet their simple needs. Despite studying the Tournament, she had never seen an actual match, until right now.
It affected her deeply, almost as if she were a part of it. Every peal of laughter that erupted from the woman’s mind was like a bolt of lightning, sharp and too bright to look at directly. Clara could sense how each one wore down the woman’s will and lessened her ability to resist. Her hysteria grew greater than her anger at being forced and her humiliation at being a Sub. It started consuming her, filling every inch of the woman’s being.
The man’s emotions too, were unguarded. In him, Clara could see a growing, building lust. It was a lust from having a mostly naked woman between his legs, a lust from feeling her gyrations grind against his manhood, a lust from hearing her babbles and shrieks, but mostly his lust came from the knowledge that soon she would break and submit to him. He would be dominant.
Clara felt her own libido inflamed, both her fear of submission and his desire to dominate became one within her. It was all she could do to resist crying out and to repress her own feelings as they could draw others to her.
The man, sensing victory was near, went in for the kill. Keeping one hand prodding near her waist, the man reached back and started dancing his other five fingers over the backs of the slender woman’s thighs, revving up her cries of laughter even more.
“Tickle, tickle tickle little baby,” he teased, “Open up! Open up for your new Dom!” His hands danced, sliding over her sweaty body, drawing out more and more hysterical shrieks and bellows. The lightning flashes became blinding. Her psyche was in turmoil.
In the cloud of emotion, Clara couldn’t tell if the woman gave in or just lost the strength to keep her thighs squeezed together, but soon the man had managed to slide his hand between her legs and was rubbing her nether reason. Clara couldn’t see exactly what the man was doing, but the change was immediate. The bolts of laughter were gone. They were replaced by wave after wave of pure lust, radiating off the woman like heat from a stove. It was so intense, Clara had to look away.
“oohhhh OOOHHHHHHH,” she moaned, “NooOOHHHHH mmmmmmmm AAAAHHHHHH I I n n nooOOOHHHH it I I shouldn’t OOOOOOOHHHHH tttOOOOOOOOOO AAAAAHHHHH TOOOO MUUCCHHHH CAAANNNN’TTTTT OOOOHHHHH CANNNNNN’TTTTT”
The woman’s bucking and resisting stopped. Her lithe body was now writhing under the man’s touch, twisting from side to side, though whether in an effort to avoid his touch or to embrace it not even she could see. The man’s lust exploded too, his partner’s obedient moans setting them on fire.
The woman’s pleasure kept growing, the waves of heat growing hotter and hotter. Soon, Clara felt a purr slip from her lips, her hand starting to slip underneath her own thong. She was as much on fire as either one of them.
“No! Restrain your libido!” a voice screamed inside Clara’s head. If she let herself get too into it, she would want to touch herself, the only way she had ever had to quell her desires. That would activate her own collar, disqualifying her from the Tournament. With an act of will, Clara pulled her hand away. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her desires under control.
It wasn’t easy. Clara could still feel every the woman’s every pant and moan. Her heart beat faster and her palms grew sweaty. Several times her hand started moving back to her crotch, as if it had a mind of its own. She honestly didn’t know how long she could last!
Fortunately, it didn’t take long. Whatever he was doing, the man was quite skilled at it. Soon, he had the woman’s libido became the sun, hot enough to melt steel, then it exploded in a nova of lust and pure sexual desire. In that instant, Clara could sense a deeper change in the woman. Her emotions had been like a cacophony of fear, shame and anger, but as she came, all those notes merged to form a perfect harmony. Then those feelings were gone, replaced by an emotional craving for the man on top of her, a desire to be with him and a need to please him in every way.
Her collar had activated.
As soon as he started standing up, she turned around quickly, pouncing on him and kissing him with a wild passion that had been nonexistent seconds ago. Her hands rubbed his back as her mouth tasted his lips and nibbled on his neck.
“Oh, darling, thank you! Thank you so much for taking me! Yes, oh yes I’ll be your Sub! I’ll do anything…everything you want! Oh god, I love you!” Her ardor now burned as hotly as her lust had moments before.
For Clara, that was the moment the pressure on her own libido ended. Her thoughts cleared, and she no longer needed to struggle with the need to touch herself.. She pulled herself away from the vent and shook her head from side to side.
“Wow! That was more powerful than I would have thought!” She had never seen a domination up close and personal, and knew she’d never be the same again. Still, for all that, she was no close to finding her own Sub. She couldn’t wait any longer.
Knowing all she had to show for her voyeurism was a loss of time and energy, Clara crawled on through the vent,
* * * * *
How? Molly Clayborn, Tournament Mistress for the First Mating Tournament currently in progress could not believe what she was reading from her computer screen. How had that Clara girl and the other one been put into the same Tournament?
There were hundreds of First Mating Tournaments every year, in Arena’s scattered all across Haven. It was customary to mix up the new adults as much as possible, not allowing them to be in the same a Tournament as someone from the same Juvenile Center. It helped to diversify the population, exposing the Participants to new people from regions outside of the one they had grown up in. It was not unusual for First Pairings to be between two people who had grown up hundreds if not thousands of miles away.
But Clara and Zoe had not only grown up together, but had been close friends. This fact should have automatically separated them. It was not good for First Matings to be between close friends. Your first pairing should be a time of discovery, but with someone you’ve known since before puberty.
Perhaps it was because this Zoe had switched Centers. Could that have the situation to slip past the algorithms used to determine Tournament placing? Unlikely, but possible, accept…
Except there was a question. Why had this Zoe was forced to change Juvenile Centers in the first place. Highly unusual, that. It seemed like there was some kind of…incident, but the records on it were sealed.
Well, Ms. Molly Clayborn hadn’t been a Tournament Mistress to be stymied by a sealed record. There were ways around that, to get at the truth. They would just take time.
Maybe there would be no need to pursue it. After all, it seemed that this Clara had gone into the ducts. In some Tournaments, that proved a good strategy, but not in this one sadly. Ms. Clayborn had set a few traps in those narrow tunnels, just to mix things up. It was possible those would wear her down quickly, delivering the smaller woman up on a silver platter as it were to the first other Participant that stumbled on her. Then this Zoe person and her odd past wouldn’t matter at all.
Except…if there was one thing that Ms. Molly Clayborn couldn’t stand was a mystery. She just had to find answers. It seemed like she would be disappointing her Dom that night after all.
* * * * *
“It’s only an air duct!” Clara whispered in frustration, “How confusing can it be?!” She had spent minutes crawling through the increasingly stuffy, dark and narrow shaft on her hands and knees, looking for another vent or hatch, anyway out of the maze she found herself in to no avail. Now she was starting to feel claustrophobic, with the walls and ceiling only inches from her shoulders and head and the dim light fading more and more every moment.
She was desperate for a way out, but the only one she’d seen since entering the shaft had been the one she’s used to witness the slender woman being dominated. She had no way of knowing how far back that had been, but it felt like miles through the twisting, turning tunnels, and Clara knew she’d never be able to trace her way back to it.
It seemed to be going so well at first. The air duct had been the best hiding place she could have hoped for. Setting up an ambush from such a spot had seemed like child’s play. Plus, she had found a hand full of glowing dust. Given how meticulously the arena was maintained, that probably one of the mysterious “gadgets” the tournament directors scattered through the arena to keep things interesting. Clara wasn’t exactly what it was used for, but it had to give her some kind of advantage, didn’t it?
Of course, neither the hiding spot nor the dust could be of any value if she couldn’t find a way out and Dale and all the other good targets were already Paired!
“Calm down, Clara,” she told herself as she tried to breathe deeply in the stagnant air, “You’re panicking! You haven’t been in here that long, may ten or fifteen minutes!” That was probably true, Clara knew, but the clock was still tickling. Eventually, if she couldn’t find a vent, the Tournament would end, and she’d be ruled as ‘Timed Out’.
Timed Out. Short of breaking the rules, it was the most humiliating thing that could happen to you. It was rare, but once in a great while a Tournament ended without every participant being Paired. Usually, this was because some found too good a hiding spot or hatched too clever a plan, waiting for a perfect moment to attack that never came. They were still waiting when the whistle blew. When that happened, the Tournament administrators would Pair up the remaining contestants and would designate the one who did the least to engage another participant as the Sub.
Becoming a Sub by being Timed Out gave a person the reputation of being a coward. Worse, to activate the collar, the Timed Out Sub would have to consent. They would have to allow the Dom to pleasure them, to lie there willingly as they were touched, permitting the bond to form instead of struggling against it. The thought made Clara’s skin crawl.
To be tickled senseless, held down and forced was right and proper. Doing so willingly? Never!
Scurrying forward on all fours, Clara took a left hand turn at an intersection, then a right at the next. Still, she saw nothing! No sign of a way out of this maze! Damn it! How humiliating! More time was slipping away, the clock counting down. No! it would not end this way! Out of frustration, she slammed her hand into the wall of the shaft, venting her frustration on the cold, hard metal.
She expected to hear the muffled sound you get when punching a wall. Instead, the entire metal duct rang like a bell. The vibrations lasted for several seconds, and Clara was sure they could be heard by everyone in the arena. The ringing was followed by an earth-shattering silence.
“I…I probably shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, shocked at the result.
As if in response to her outburst, a dim grey light suddenly filled the shaft, emanating from a spot behind her. Having insufficient room to turn around, Clara cranked her head, trying to get a good look at the source. She still couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it seemed to be coming from the floor. She started backing up, desperate for any egress, when she heard a noise that sounded like the vibrating of metal on metal.
“Oh Uh!” she whispered, a cold sensation spreading through her chest. Swallowing hard, Clara quickly stopped backing up and started crawling forward as fast as she could get her hands and knees to move. She thought she knew what might be making that noise, and it wasn’t good.
The sound came grew louder and Clara tried to make herself to go faster, but escape was impossible. She just couldn’t crawl fast enough in the tight space. Soon she felt it, a brushing on her left butt check, a piece of anatomy left largely uncovered by the thong she was wearing. The brush whisked lightly across her skin, the bristles gliding across smoothly but leaving prickly streaks, their ends textured to attract dirt.
“Cleaning Bot,” she whispered in dread. The duct was too narrow to allow her to reach around and place her hand on her behind, so Clara started wildly kicking her left leg, hoping to somehow knock the small machine down the hall. Her foot made contact only with thin air. The brushing continued.
“oh…heh ehe bother ehe…” she giggled, kicking backwards with her other leg and still impacting nothing. Cleaning bots were small automatons, programmed with only the most rudimentary of directions. They were used to dust, scrub and vacuum dirt from enclosed spaces, like the vent Clara now found herself in. They had no artificial intelligence, and if programmed improperly could get caught in a loop and clean the same spot until their power supply was drained.
This one had apparently been set to clean the first human posterior that wandered by.
“HHNNGGRRRRR” Clara stifled an involuntary peal of laughter. The brush was spinning now, moving faster, its rough fibers covering more of her ass cheek. She shook her buttocks vigorously, hoping to escape the cleaning attachment or knock it off her skin, but the duct didn’t give enough room to shake the thing off.
“he eheehh th ehehehe heeelllll with theheh eheh thiisss heheheheh,” Clara reached back, trying to twist and turn her body to enough to allow her to reach the damnable bot , but her hands couldn’t find the thing either. She thought she caught a glimpse of the thing, however, clinging to the ceiling, about a foot above her in a spot she would have to be triple jointed to contort her body to reach.
Oh damn. It was time to try something else. Clara started crawling forward, as fast as she could, trying to get away from the thing. Unfortunately, it kept up with her effortlessly, brush staying on her behind stroking up and down.
“he ehe ehehehe oohohohohho stawwwpppp aha ahah ahahah staahahwwwppp itt ahahahahah!!!!!!” she giggled, still crawling. It was too fast! The only thing to do now was get out of the airshaft. The bot wouldn’t follow her if it was only programmed to clean the shaft. Even if it did, out in the open, she would have no problem getting rid of her tiny tormentor. That meant she had to keep crawling, keep moving until she finally found the hatch she was searching for.
The alternative was to lie there and let the thing tickle her possibly forever. If Clara did that, the only question would be whether another participant found weak and unable to resist or if she lay there undiscovered until she was Timed Out.
As if reading her thoughts, the cleaning bot picked that moment to send down a second brush, this one finding the sole of one of her feet. The tickling instantly doubled, forcing a deep guffaw from the young redhead .
“HA AHA aha AHAHAH NAWoooo ahahh NAwtwtwt aha ahahah A NAAawwtwttttt ahahah myyyy ah ahahaha myheheheyyyyyyyy aha ahahaha ahahahah foooooootttt wwahahahaaahhh rgrgrgrha aha!!”
Her feet had always been Clara’s worst spot, and now she had hundreds of bristles swooping over it’s bottom. The raspy tendrils drifted over the soft wrinkles, gliding down her instep. Lightning shot up and down Clara’s leg, mingling with the ticklish energy pulsating from her bottom. There was nothing, however, she could do to make it stop. All she could do was escape.
It was the hardest thing she had ever tried to do. The muscles in her arms and legs, quivering from the sensations that traveled up her slender frame, quickly grew tired. Her chest heaved from the awful prickly sensation on her ass and now up by her toes. Crawling long distances on your hands and knees wasn’t easy even when you weren’t laughing hysterically. Still she had to go on.
The tickling got worse. The brush on her ass zeroed in the crevices formed where her behind merged into her thighs, torso and waist. Bristles wormed into the tiny spaces, zipping back and forth. Clara crawled slower and slower, laughed louder and louder as the tickling continued.
It must detect dirt some part of Clara’s mind reasoned. The sweat from her body must collect there, so that was the spot the damn machine focused on. And it was driving her crazy!
The one on her foot was even worse. It had gotten up to her toes, the strands caressing between, underneath and over their tips. They were so scratchy and abrasive, like the world’s worst pedicure. She couldn’t stand it, she just couldn’t stand !
Clara soon lost all momentum. She was laughing even harder, muscles exhausted from the effort. It was all she could manage was to pull herself forward, one foot, then another. “GGGRRRRRRRA h eheheheh MMMMNNNNNNNNNN eeheheheeh NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNN!!” She didn’t want to laugh, didn’t want to cry out. What if someone heard her? But she couldn’t help it!
Her arms and legs felt like wet noodles from strain of the hysteria as Clara pulled herself a few more feet down the airshaft, reaching the next intersection. Finally she saw it. To the right, about ten feet down the branching tunnel was a hatch, clearly illuminated in the floor. All she had to do was get there, and the damn tickling would end.
Then, Clara farted. The clean bot immediately registered the gas as contamination and both brushes went to the source of the contamination, Clara’s anus.
“HA AHAHAHA AHAHHHAH NAWWWOOWOO AHAAHAHAHAHHH GAHAHAHAHAHAH I I GGGRGRGRR AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!” Clara lost it. Bristles started spinning on that puckered skin, making her entire body writhe with hysteria. Others traced up and down her crack, moving from taint to tailbone, probing for dirt, moving in scratchy swirls. It was maddening! It was…it was…
Clara just couldn’t handle the tickling sensations on her ass. Her entire body was shaking now, her laughter forcing every inch of her lithe frame to vibrate. She stopped crawling and just lay in one spot, screaming with laughter, kicking her legs and pounding her little fists against the metal.
“HAH AHAHAHAH NAWWOOOOO AHA AHAHAHAHAH AHAHAH CAHHAAHHAAHHNNNTTTT HAH AHAHAHAH CAHAHAHAHNNTTTTT HAHAHAHAH STAWWWAAHAHWWWPPP AHAHAH AHAHAH I I AHAHAHAH CAAHAHAHAHNNTTTTTT MUHUHUHUHUHSSSTTT AHAHAHAH KEEEHEHEHEHEEPPP AHAHAHAH GOOINNGGGGG HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
But she couldn’t…couldn’t go, couldn’t move! It tickled! It tickled so damn much! How…how could she…could she go on…
And then she heard it. It was one of those background noises that you usually filtered out, surrounded by cleaning bots at all times. It was the sound a bot makes when it finds a particularly nasty spot of dirt, the sound of the scrubbing wheel activating.
No! For a second, Clara could imagine the hot, soapy water spraying forth, the hard nubbins of the wheel poking into her buttocks, scrubbing and scrubbing, driving her over the edge, unable to do anything but lay there and scream until someone rescued her and mercifully made her there Sub.
No…HAD…TO…GO…ON…
Clara somehow got back on her hands and knees, and blinded by her tears, crept again through the dark tunnel. Any minute she knew she’d feel the water, the nubbins, the end of it all. Crawl more, drag yourself farther. All she could hear were her own hysterical cries echoing off the walls.
“HA AHAHA HAHAH FAAHAHAHARRRRTHHHHERERERER HA AHAHAHAH AHAHAH FARRRTHHERERERE HAHAHAHAHA OOUUHUHUUUTTT HAHAHAHA MUHUHUSSTSTT AHAHAHA GEHEEHEHEHEHTTTT AHAHAHAHA OUHUHUHUHHUTTTTTT!!!!!!”
Her body ached as her laughter made every muscle Clara had spasm and contract. It would have been so much easier to lay there, to be consumed by sensation while she waited for oblivion. Instead, she forced her tired muscles to stretch, arms to extend and pull herself a few inches forward, made quivering, wiggling toes dig into the smooth steel to push forward.
“AHA AH AHAA A AHAHAH I I AHA AAH I WIIHIHHIIHHLLLLL AHA AHAH AHAHAHAH I AHAHAHAHAHA WILLLLLLLL AHA AHAHAHAH A A ANAWAHAHAHAATTTTTT AHAH AHAHAHAH STAAHAHAHAHWWWPP! H A AHAAHAHAHA GOHOHOHOHOHHOH AHAHAHAHAH OOONNNNNNN AHAHAAHA!!!!”
And then it happened. Clara’s fingertips fell upon an upraised ridge in the floor. It was gap between the floor and the hatch! Feeling a sudden urge of adrenaline, she latched onto it and pulled with all her might. In seconds, she could feel the grooves underneath her belly and a wash of air flooding over her damp body.
Clara just lay there relaxing, enjoying the coolness on her skin and the soft light that banished the darkness. It actually took her several seconds to realize that a large part of her bliss was caused by the simple fact that the tickling on her brushes had stopped, the scrubbing wheel never come. The cleaning bot must not have been programmed to come this far.
That was when Clara learned that the most enjoyable experience was simply not being forced to laugh.
Clara let her breathing calm down and her muscles ease. Her mind cleared slower, but soon neurons were firing. The Tournament. She should be planning her next move in the Tournament. That was all that mattered.
“The first thing I need to do is get off this vent,” Clara whispered. Then the world dropped out from under her.
Fine story.
