Shem the Penman
Verified
- Joined
- Apr 3, 2001
- Messages
- 1,020
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MECHANICAL MIRTH
another one of those stories
UNDER 18? THE DOOR'S THAT WAY. DON'T LET IT HIT YOU ON THE WAY OUT.
"You want me to do _porn_? Are you out of your mind, Manny?"
"Look, Jen -- you've run two comics into the ground now. Do you really want to hang around doing guest shots when some writer thinks he needs a little cheesecake? Do you want to have to compete with all those 'Bad Girls'? Anyway, it's not like what you think. You won't have to get naked -- no more than you used to in comics -- and there's no sex."
"So what is there?"
"Um ... a little bondage ..."
"Ah. I see. Manny, before I slam the phone down in your ear, would you do me a favor and recommend a new agent?"
"Oh, come on. Am I talking to the same woman who let Byrne dress her in a different fetish outfit every issue?"
"Byrne had a guaranteed minimum of 50,000 readers. What's this guy got?"
"Er ... three. Four maybe."
"Thousand?"
"Well, actually, no."
"Nice talking to you, Manny."
"Wait! Wait! Come on, Jen. Do this and I swear I'll get you that Shi crossover. I was just talking with Bill Tucci and he might be interested ................. Jen?"
"Oooooookay. But if it doesn't work out, Manny, _you're_ going to regret this. Capisce?"
"Don't worry, baby, it'll be -- " <click>
Jen Walters, the She-Hulk, turned away from the phone and went to her closet, opening the doors. Then she stopped and stared. All her clothes had been replaced by endless duplications of the same outfit: a loose white silk blouse, short dark skirt, white hose, underwear, and flat slippers to match the skirt, all sized for her seven-foot frame. "Let me guess -- I'm supposed to wear this." Sighing, she dressed, glancing at herself in the full-length mirror along the inside of the door. "Pretty formal for porn," she commented, tucking the blouse in. "So bring on the handcuffs, or whatever. Let's get it over with."
No sooner had the words passed her lips than her bedroom wall exploded inward as a huge metallic form burst through it. "PREPARE FOR SAMPLING, EARTH FEMALE!" boomed an inhuman voice. It was a gleaming robot, a head taller than her, eyes glittering coldly as it moved toward her.
"You jerk!" Jen snarled at the writer. "_You're_ going to pay for that wall. _And_ replacing my clothes. And could you possibly be any more cliched?" she demanded as the robot's hands came up to grab her. "I don't need this." She seized its wrists, exerting all her gamma-powered strength --
And a bolt of energy tore through her, knocking her head over heels. She slammed against the far wall, somehow not going through it, sticking to it like a thrown strand of well-done spaghetti.
"All right, that's enough -- " Jen pulled mightily at her limbs, moved not an inch. Glancing down, she saw that a thick band of pinkish energy circled each wrist and ankle, pasting her spread-eagle to the wall. Another energy band wrapped her neck like a collar. "Okay. Cute. So now I'm supposed to squirm around a bit and act helpless, right?" The robot approached. "Buzz off, Robbie."
Metal fingers clamped in the material of the blouse, tearing it like cobwebs. The robot paused as if studying the broad expanse of green skin revealed, then reached out. "What the hell -- ?" Jen tugged harder at the bonds, but they only flared brighter as she threw her strength against them. The hands paused inches from her quivering belly, and with a faint click, each finger sprouted flexible metallic tentacles, each tapering to a fine, blunt tip. The tentacles touched her skin, tracing seemingly random patterns. Two prodded gently at the skin just below her ribs, and one burrowed into her navel.
"Hey, quit it, that tickles!" Jen yelped, and then realization struck her, horror spreading over her features. "Oh, no. No way. Let me out of heeeeee -- " She broke off, swallowing giggles as the tentacles continued their dance across her stomach. Her hips switched back and forth as she tried to pull away, but the robot didn't even move; the tentacles tracked her movements perfectly, never deviating from their chosen spots.
"I take back what I said -- oh God -- about the wall!" Jen shouted. "Just let me down from here, and we're quits!" As if in response, two larger tentacles rose, swaying like cobras, to drive delicately but firmly into her ribs. Their tips vibrated softly as if they were nuzzling her body, and Jen writhed anew as some belly-tentacles skated upward to help cover her ribs, digging and relaxing in rhythm with her own pounding heart. Small, inquisitive metal worms had burrowed beneath the skirt's waistband to tease the delicate flesh there, and the tentacle in her belly-button was a steady, tormenting presence.
"STOP! STOP IT!" Jen squealed, voice high-pitched and breathless with effort. "Dammit, I'm too tih -- tih -- heehee -- don't -- no more!" The energy bands flared like small suns as she pulled on them with hysterical strength, her face dark and contorted. The network of branching tentacles now spread from the tops of her thighs to her breasts; her bra had been shredded and tiny, hair-fine tentacles brushed her ivy-green nipples to hardness. "I can't staaaaaand it!" Her body gyrated wildly, buttocks slamming a crater in the wall behind her, but as far as the tentacles were concerned, she might as well have stayed stock-still. Not a single tentacle was jarred away from its post, providing a constant, uninterrupted flow of ticklish sensation.
Something brushed her legs. Looking down through blurred eyes, Jen saw two thick metal cables had sprouted from the machine's knees and were coiling down her calves like snakes, their destination obvious. The tickling of her body seemed to lessen, as if the robot wanted her to appreciate what was to come without too much distraction. The sight sent her into a frenzy of exertion, managing to move her ankles half an inch before the blazing bands pulled her back into position. "Stop! Please don't! Please!" Tentacle tips gently insinuated themselves into the sides of her shoes, curling under her arches. She flipped and twisted her feet wildly; to her horror, one shoe flew off.
"Plea -- eeeep!" While Jen had been distracted by what was going on at her feet, sneaking tentacles had found their way up under her arms. Suddenly, each sensitive hollow was filled with tracing, probing, wriggling, teasing tips. Giggles poured out of Jen, louder and louder the more she tried to control them. Her spine arched as she strove to break loose, but a storm of tickles from the tentacles that covered her ribs drove her back down again, gasping with laughter. And then the all-but-forgotten tentacles at her feet began to move, gliding across each white-stockinged sole. Jen threw her head back and screamed, barely aware that she had lost her other shoe in her struggles.
More tentacles wrapped her feet, tips digging into her toes, splitting the fabric to crawl into the spaces between her toes. Soon every gap had a tentacle in it, vibrating happily and driving Jen mad; their larger cousins swept all over her feet, some burrowing inside the stockings to tickle her skin directly, others working through the thin fabric. . The tentacles around her body had almost completely ceased their motion, save for a few distracting tickles here and there, but that was no comfort for Jen -- they would start again, and the only question was when.
A thicket of silver metal filled the air between Jen and the machine, covering her all the way from the tips of her toes almost to the crown of her head -- there were even tentacles in her ears and lined along her neck, their light touch supremely distracting. In an instant, a tickle could strike anywhere -- or everywhere. The robot's metal face gave no clue to where the tentacles would stir to life next, and Jen almost never guessed right. A tentacle across her belly would twitch, and she would tighten her abdominal muscles in anticipation -- only to be caught completely unawares as the tentacles under her arms went into action, like a double handful of fingers scratching away in each armpit, making her howl and buck. And before she could catch her breath, the belly tickle would come, but now she was totally unprepared for it and was once more reduced into a squealing, squirming mass in the space of a heartbeat. Another time, tentacles began to lightly flicker over her nipples and clitoris with a delicacy that made her breath catch in her throat and her skin rise in goosepimples. Her hips twitched forward involuntarily and a moan rose from her throat unbidden -- and became a shriek of laughter as half a dozen metal tips drove into each side of her ribcage, ruthlessly kneading, while others raked across the arches of her feet.
Sweat slicked her emerald flesh, and her soaked hair hung limp around her face as she glared at the robot during one of the quiet spaces. A dozen tentacles were lightly tracing circles around as many ticklish spots, waiting for the right moment to strike. "Come on," she pleaded, then giggled helplessly as two tentacles kootchy-kooed her underarms. "Have mercy. I can't take much more of this." Tentacles played with her toes, and even though she knew it would be futile, she couldn't keep from wriggling in her bonds, trying to pull away. "Please ... please, just stop." Begging for mercy from a machine ... a silly idea, almost as silly as being tickled loopy by one. How much longer was this going to go on?
No sooner had the thought come to her when the tentacles on her feet began to torment her again, all working in unison. The robot seemed to have kept some kind of catalog of her most sensitive spots and how best to tickle each ... at least, that was what it felt like. Jen gave a single convulsive heave upward, as if trying to jump out of her skin, hysterical laughter echoing off the apartment's walls. "NOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP! STOP! YOUHAHAHAHAHAHAH!" After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the robot stopped, and the tentacles at her feet withdrew. Jen had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, and then the machine began to tickle her knees with the same merciless exactitude.
It went that way all up the seven-foot length of her body: each vulnerable place was thoroughly tickled, pushing Jen to the brink of madness, and then the tentacles dropped away as the robot started in on the next target. Jen's screams would have deafened any ordinary human in the room, and the violence of her thrashing would have broken even adamantium cuffs. The robot took no notice of her reactions, moving relentlessly upward.
Finally, the machine removed the last tentacles, from her ears, and studied Jen, now limp and giggling in the energy bonds. "HUMAN SPECIES PROVES SUITABLY VULNERABLE TO TICKLING," it announced. "INVASION ARMADA DISPATCHED. ARRIVAL IN TWELVE STANDARD HOURS." It turned and exited through the hole it had made. A few seconds later, the bonds vanished, dumping Jen to the floor.
She sat for a moment with her back to the wall, legs splayed out in front of her, the shreds of her clothing hanging loosely on her frame, staring at the hole. Then she closed her eyes, gave a single shudder, and crawled across the room to the phone stand where the Yellow Pages were kept. Flipping through it, she found the number she wanted and pulled the phone down beside her, punching in the number.
"DC Comics? I want to apply for asylum."
another one of those stories
UNDER 18? THE DOOR'S THAT WAY. DON'T LET IT HIT YOU ON THE WAY OUT.
"You want me to do _porn_? Are you out of your mind, Manny?"
"Look, Jen -- you've run two comics into the ground now. Do you really want to hang around doing guest shots when some writer thinks he needs a little cheesecake? Do you want to have to compete with all those 'Bad Girls'? Anyway, it's not like what you think. You won't have to get naked -- no more than you used to in comics -- and there's no sex."
"So what is there?"
"Um ... a little bondage ..."
"Ah. I see. Manny, before I slam the phone down in your ear, would you do me a favor and recommend a new agent?"
"Oh, come on. Am I talking to the same woman who let Byrne dress her in a different fetish outfit every issue?"
"Byrne had a guaranteed minimum of 50,000 readers. What's this guy got?"
"Er ... three. Four maybe."
"Thousand?"
"Well, actually, no."
"Nice talking to you, Manny."
"Wait! Wait! Come on, Jen. Do this and I swear I'll get you that Shi crossover. I was just talking with Bill Tucci and he might be interested ................. Jen?"
"Oooooookay. But if it doesn't work out, Manny, _you're_ going to regret this. Capisce?"
"Don't worry, baby, it'll be -- " <click>
Jen Walters, the She-Hulk, turned away from the phone and went to her closet, opening the doors. Then she stopped and stared. All her clothes had been replaced by endless duplications of the same outfit: a loose white silk blouse, short dark skirt, white hose, underwear, and flat slippers to match the skirt, all sized for her seven-foot frame. "Let me guess -- I'm supposed to wear this." Sighing, she dressed, glancing at herself in the full-length mirror along the inside of the door. "Pretty formal for porn," she commented, tucking the blouse in. "So bring on the handcuffs, or whatever. Let's get it over with."
No sooner had the words passed her lips than her bedroom wall exploded inward as a huge metallic form burst through it. "PREPARE FOR SAMPLING, EARTH FEMALE!" boomed an inhuman voice. It was a gleaming robot, a head taller than her, eyes glittering coldly as it moved toward her.
"You jerk!" Jen snarled at the writer. "_You're_ going to pay for that wall. _And_ replacing my clothes. And could you possibly be any more cliched?" she demanded as the robot's hands came up to grab her. "I don't need this." She seized its wrists, exerting all her gamma-powered strength --
And a bolt of energy tore through her, knocking her head over heels. She slammed against the far wall, somehow not going through it, sticking to it like a thrown strand of well-done spaghetti.
"All right, that's enough -- " Jen pulled mightily at her limbs, moved not an inch. Glancing down, she saw that a thick band of pinkish energy circled each wrist and ankle, pasting her spread-eagle to the wall. Another energy band wrapped her neck like a collar. "Okay. Cute. So now I'm supposed to squirm around a bit and act helpless, right?" The robot approached. "Buzz off, Robbie."
Metal fingers clamped in the material of the blouse, tearing it like cobwebs. The robot paused as if studying the broad expanse of green skin revealed, then reached out. "What the hell -- ?" Jen tugged harder at the bonds, but they only flared brighter as she threw her strength against them. The hands paused inches from her quivering belly, and with a faint click, each finger sprouted flexible metallic tentacles, each tapering to a fine, blunt tip. The tentacles touched her skin, tracing seemingly random patterns. Two prodded gently at the skin just below her ribs, and one burrowed into her navel.
"Hey, quit it, that tickles!" Jen yelped, and then realization struck her, horror spreading over her features. "Oh, no. No way. Let me out of heeeeee -- " She broke off, swallowing giggles as the tentacles continued their dance across her stomach. Her hips switched back and forth as she tried to pull away, but the robot didn't even move; the tentacles tracked her movements perfectly, never deviating from their chosen spots.
"I take back what I said -- oh God -- about the wall!" Jen shouted. "Just let me down from here, and we're quits!" As if in response, two larger tentacles rose, swaying like cobras, to drive delicately but firmly into her ribs. Their tips vibrated softly as if they were nuzzling her body, and Jen writhed anew as some belly-tentacles skated upward to help cover her ribs, digging and relaxing in rhythm with her own pounding heart. Small, inquisitive metal worms had burrowed beneath the skirt's waistband to tease the delicate flesh there, and the tentacle in her belly-button was a steady, tormenting presence.
"STOP! STOP IT!" Jen squealed, voice high-pitched and breathless with effort. "Dammit, I'm too tih -- tih -- heehee -- don't -- no more!" The energy bands flared like small suns as she pulled on them with hysterical strength, her face dark and contorted. The network of branching tentacles now spread from the tops of her thighs to her breasts; her bra had been shredded and tiny, hair-fine tentacles brushed her ivy-green nipples to hardness. "I can't staaaaaand it!" Her body gyrated wildly, buttocks slamming a crater in the wall behind her, but as far as the tentacles were concerned, she might as well have stayed stock-still. Not a single tentacle was jarred away from its post, providing a constant, uninterrupted flow of ticklish sensation.
Something brushed her legs. Looking down through blurred eyes, Jen saw two thick metal cables had sprouted from the machine's knees and were coiling down her calves like snakes, their destination obvious. The tickling of her body seemed to lessen, as if the robot wanted her to appreciate what was to come without too much distraction. The sight sent her into a frenzy of exertion, managing to move her ankles half an inch before the blazing bands pulled her back into position. "Stop! Please don't! Please!" Tentacle tips gently insinuated themselves into the sides of her shoes, curling under her arches. She flipped and twisted her feet wildly; to her horror, one shoe flew off.
"Plea -- eeeep!" While Jen had been distracted by what was going on at her feet, sneaking tentacles had found their way up under her arms. Suddenly, each sensitive hollow was filled with tracing, probing, wriggling, teasing tips. Giggles poured out of Jen, louder and louder the more she tried to control them. Her spine arched as she strove to break loose, but a storm of tickles from the tentacles that covered her ribs drove her back down again, gasping with laughter. And then the all-but-forgotten tentacles at her feet began to move, gliding across each white-stockinged sole. Jen threw her head back and screamed, barely aware that she had lost her other shoe in her struggles.
More tentacles wrapped her feet, tips digging into her toes, splitting the fabric to crawl into the spaces between her toes. Soon every gap had a tentacle in it, vibrating happily and driving Jen mad; their larger cousins swept all over her feet, some burrowing inside the stockings to tickle her skin directly, others working through the thin fabric. . The tentacles around her body had almost completely ceased their motion, save for a few distracting tickles here and there, but that was no comfort for Jen -- they would start again, and the only question was when.
A thicket of silver metal filled the air between Jen and the machine, covering her all the way from the tips of her toes almost to the crown of her head -- there were even tentacles in her ears and lined along her neck, their light touch supremely distracting. In an instant, a tickle could strike anywhere -- or everywhere. The robot's metal face gave no clue to where the tentacles would stir to life next, and Jen almost never guessed right. A tentacle across her belly would twitch, and she would tighten her abdominal muscles in anticipation -- only to be caught completely unawares as the tentacles under her arms went into action, like a double handful of fingers scratching away in each armpit, making her howl and buck. And before she could catch her breath, the belly tickle would come, but now she was totally unprepared for it and was once more reduced into a squealing, squirming mass in the space of a heartbeat. Another time, tentacles began to lightly flicker over her nipples and clitoris with a delicacy that made her breath catch in her throat and her skin rise in goosepimples. Her hips twitched forward involuntarily and a moan rose from her throat unbidden -- and became a shriek of laughter as half a dozen metal tips drove into each side of her ribcage, ruthlessly kneading, while others raked across the arches of her feet.
Sweat slicked her emerald flesh, and her soaked hair hung limp around her face as she glared at the robot during one of the quiet spaces. A dozen tentacles were lightly tracing circles around as many ticklish spots, waiting for the right moment to strike. "Come on," she pleaded, then giggled helplessly as two tentacles kootchy-kooed her underarms. "Have mercy. I can't take much more of this." Tentacles played with her toes, and even though she knew it would be futile, she couldn't keep from wriggling in her bonds, trying to pull away. "Please ... please, just stop." Begging for mercy from a machine ... a silly idea, almost as silly as being tickled loopy by one. How much longer was this going to go on?
No sooner had the thought come to her when the tentacles on her feet began to torment her again, all working in unison. The robot seemed to have kept some kind of catalog of her most sensitive spots and how best to tickle each ... at least, that was what it felt like. Jen gave a single convulsive heave upward, as if trying to jump out of her skin, hysterical laughter echoing off the apartment's walls. "NOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP! STOP! YOUHAHAHAHAHAHAH!" After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the robot stopped, and the tentacles at her feet withdrew. Jen had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, and then the machine began to tickle her knees with the same merciless exactitude.
It went that way all up the seven-foot length of her body: each vulnerable place was thoroughly tickled, pushing Jen to the brink of madness, and then the tentacles dropped away as the robot started in on the next target. Jen's screams would have deafened any ordinary human in the room, and the violence of her thrashing would have broken even adamantium cuffs. The robot took no notice of her reactions, moving relentlessly upward.
Finally, the machine removed the last tentacles, from her ears, and studied Jen, now limp and giggling in the energy bonds. "HUMAN SPECIES PROVES SUITABLY VULNERABLE TO TICKLING," it announced. "INVASION ARMADA DISPATCHED. ARRIVAL IN TWELVE STANDARD HOURS." It turned and exited through the hole it had made. A few seconds later, the bonds vanished, dumping Jen to the floor.
She sat for a moment with her back to the wall, legs splayed out in front of her, the shreds of her clothing hanging loosely on her frame, staring at the hole. Then she closed her eyes, gave a single shudder, and crawled across the room to the phone stand where the Yellow Pages were kept. Flipping through it, she found the number she wanted and pulled the phone down beside her, punching in the number.
"DC Comics? I want to apply for asylum."
