CoffeeEmporer
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2007
- Messages
- 78
- Points
- 6
Happy Halloween everyone!
For the approval the tickling society, a dark tale of tickling and revenge.
While not the happiest or the fappiest, I still hope it helps capture the spirit of the season and inspire some good-natured terror.
*Maniacal Laugh*
-------------------------
Today was strange.
It seemed all too simple a statement to fully encapsulate the continuous oddity that plagued Marcus throughout his afternoon. Yet as he stood in the midst of Thick Briar Park, turned around on a trail he had walked a thousand times before, he reflected that it was impossible to describe the series of events that had occurred any better. For while the day had begun normally enough in retrospect, the weather man calling for a bright, sunny day with a 20% percent chance of rain later in the evening, the strangeness evolved in both scope and strength with every hour that passed. His shift at the local sporting goods store was cancelled all of a sudden due to issues with its sewage system, his appointment at the DMV to finally update the address on his license was not recorded and therefore ignored, and his car, which he had taken in to get tuned up just last week, seemed to manifest all sorts of electrical quirks as he made his way to the park for his usual Monday hike. Even then, however, the unusual seemed manageable as he made his way along the number three trail. It was as soon as he was out of sight of the parking lot, that he could swear that the forest changed around him. No matter how far he walked or how many times he retraced his steps, he still found himself in the middle of the entire park. And then, Cynthia happened.
Cynthia, who was the beautiful blonde with sparkling green eyes.
Cynthia, who was being viciously tickled... by a tree.
Cynthia, who was somehow no longer dead.
At first Marcus believed that he must have been drugged, for the sight was simply impossible. Bound to a particularly large elm by long, thick strands of creeping ivy, her golden tassels of hair bounced as she shook her head back and forth as her face contorted itself in a mask of forced laughter. The ivy, which seemed to have a life of its own, was not simply holding the 25 year old woman tightly to the tree; it had taken to snaking in and out of her t-shirt and across her exposed stomach. The lower branches of the elm she was bound to weren’t helping either, as leafy palms adorned with twig fingers scratched wildly on her bare feet.
Marcus took a deep breath and shook his head, hoping to dismiss the insane sight before him. Yet stubbornly it remained, the helpless woman’s laughter echoing high and wild amidst the gentle breeze, just like it had the day before she died. It was distinctly her, despite the foliage magically forced chuckle after guffaw out of her.
The wandering hiker stood stunned, still unsure how to react as his brain desperately tried to make sense of the scene before him. If Cynthia had noticed him, she was unable to indicate such as the creeping vines goosed her sides and played with her taunt tummy. They were relentless, never ceasing in their strange ministrations as they crawled up to tease her ribs and armpits under the close clinging fabric of her faded yellow cotton t-shirt. Odd as they were, it was clear the plant life was clearly an effective tickler as the attention being paid to the captive woman’s feet, sides, and stomach elicited such laughter that tears had started to well up in her eyes. Cynthia struggled feverishly against the sinister strength of her ivy bonds to no avail, until finally amidst her rampant laughter she managed to cry out.
“Pleahahahase! Meheheehehercy!”
Marcus finally broke free from his state of confusion and drew his bowie knife, running toward the blonde captive and the vines that tormented her. Somehow sensing the approach of an attacker, however, the plants reacted in turn. The vines drew themselves back into the foliage of the tree top, taking Cynthia with them. The blonde could only laugh helplessly as she was lifted upwards.
Marcus stared up into the tree, hoping to get a glimpse of the tormented blonde. When he saw no trace of her, despite the caution many might take delving in the midst of such plants, he began to climb. Rapidly he ascended, nearly leaping from branch to branch as he rose toward his target. And when he still did not immediately see her, Marcus tore through the tree top with his knife ready to confront whatever might attack him. Yet there was nothing. No sight of Cynthia. No plants moving to confront him. Nothing.
Only silent swaying branches in the gentle afternoon breeze.
Marcus climbed down the tree after a minute or two, desperately trying to rectify what he’d seen. Cynthia couldn’t be alive. He was there the day the police came to their office to inquire after her, showing around that picture of her pale, lifeless body on a stark gray metal table. Being told of her murder, attending her funeral, wondering what her final thoughts were as she lay bloody and gasping for breath… It was impossible.
And yet as he planted his feet on the ground, he once again heard that crystalline laughter of hers. It echoed from further down the trail in the same frantic candor as before. He saw also the foliage seem to stir for a moment, as if something had been slithering in the underbrush. Holding his knife tightly, Marcus started toward the sound.
He had not traveled far when he came across Cynthia again. Still beset by the ivy, she was now no longer tied to a single tree, but left spread eagle between four different ones. Suspended at least 30ft off the ground, the odd sight grew even more so when he realized that she was nearly nude. Gone were the cotton yellow shirt, faded jean shorts, black bra, and hiking boots. In their place instead was cascading waves of ivy and tree branches that swept across almost every inch of panty clad form. Her underarms were laid bare, open and exposed as leaves scraped across them in an unending parade of hysterical strokes. Her forearms and shoulder blades were teased lightly, while her ribs were mercilessly prodded. The tummy and sides received much the same treatment as they had before, save for now her waist had been invited to join in on the festivities. Her thighs and knees, her calves and feet… All were tickled without pause by the foliage that held her tight as she roared with unrestrained laughter. Her face was bright red and tears streamed down her cheeks like a flood. And yet… There was something that had changed. Cynthia thrashed desperately still, yet her movements coincided with the ticklish torment instead of against it. She laughed wildly as the touches of the plants drew from her every single ounce of mirth they could, but there were no longer any desperate cries for freedom. Even when she locked eyes with him, she made no attempt to acknowledge or even react to the bewildered hiker. Unsure of what course of action to take, Marcus watched as the plants fully enveloped Cynthia. However, a single utterance erupted from the ticklish chaos caught him off guard.
“OH GAHAHAAHAHAHAHWD! PLEAHAHAAHAHSE MAHAHAAHAHAKE MEHEEHEHEHEEH CUM HOHOHOHOHOHOH AHHAAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAAH!”
Marcus was surprised by the bound woman's declaration, and watched in confused fascination as her leafy captors seemed to respond to her request. But similar to the last scene he'd witnessed, they began to pull her away into one of the surrounding treetops. This time, however, he refused to just stand by. With a well practiced motion, he threw his bowie knife toward the bundle of vines that held Cynthia. It found purchase, severing several lengths of vine.
Everything around Marcus screamed in agony.
The intensity of the wail caused him to cover his ears in pain, drawing his attention away long enough for Cynthia to disappear. When it finally subsided, anger furrowed his features into a mask of blood lust. He didn't know what what going on, but he no longer cared. He was done being toyed with, done with watching the woman he worked with and saw every day being tormented and pleasured by living plants. Done with the fear and pain of her last moments being mocked by whatever was going on in this forest.
The underbrush around him seemed to grow anxious as he retrieved his knife, rustling as though thousands of snakes were passing through it. Hissing and taunting him with every step deeper he took into bizarre woodland. It was a crazy thought, sure, but it was no crazier than what he had seen already. No crazier than the dead somehow coming back to life. No crazier than what he was used to.
The wind grew fierce, bringing once again the tinkling of her laughter. He pushed deeper and deeper, loathing the sound as it reverberated in the air and between his ears. It reminded him of being mocked, being rejected. Marcus wiped off his knife again and again on his pant leg, trying to get the blade clean.
And then there she was lying on the ground, sleeping comfortably as she lay on her back. He didn't know how long he had walked or when it had started to grow dark, but sure enough she was alone. No vines, no trees, and no tickling. Just Cynthia, the beautiful blonde with sparkling green eyes.
He lunged forward, and with a manic energy plunged his knife into her.
He stabbed again and again and again. No more of this taunting. No more laughter. She would stay dead this time.
But instead of blood, there was sap. And then she began to slowly dissolve.
Her face was frozen in a mask of horror as her skin began to change color to shades of purple, orange, and brown, cracking and flaking off bit by bit like leaves from autumn's kiss. The look of horror though… That stayed. Even as the wind turned ferocious and the forest hissed and wailed and screamed. Even as the vines that had teased Cynthia burst from the ground and grabbed Marcus, holding him fast despite his violent struggles. Even as a new body began to form from the earth. Bushes and shrubs wrapped around the frozen expression of terror to become a torso and mighty tree branches replaced her arms and legs. A long robe of leaves wrapped around a now 8ft tall humanish shape and hair the color of earth and honeysuckle grew in a wild main. Two green orbs burned brightly in the hollows of a now tree trunk skull as the mask of horror finally fell away, leaving only a creature made up of everything Marcus saw.
In silence it watched Marcus, the bright glow of its eyes narrowing into an expression of disdain as it spoke through lips of smooth bark.
“She came to me by accident, you should know. Bewildered and outcast and lost with the weight of man’s world bearing down upon her soul… That’s when we met. I had been alone for the last century... and her pain spoke to me. It was not uncommon for my kind to grow found of a human... And like the old stories a companionship formed. Our days played out like you saw, as sweet memories of rich syrup cascading from the great maples,” it said, the tone of its voice tinged with sadness.
Marcus felt a vine slither across his collarbone and begin to wrap around his neck.
“Until you… The sick one. The plague ship of a man who has gone from place to place, forest to forest, and left the victims of your disease behind like the trophies of a great hall. You, who some call the Wandering Pines Killer and I an abomination to your kind. Tell me… Why?”
“Because… I wanted her to scream. To utter that symphonic beauty that lesser men call a death rattle. That wonderful sound, which will remain in my head as a sweet memory of blood rubies cascading from throat.” A smile broke across Marcus’s lips even as the vine tightened around his neck.
The creature did not reply, only tightening the vine's hold on his neck. The blood of Marcus's straining heart began to pound loudly in his ears as the vine completely cut off circulation. His head began to swim has his breath grew shorter and shorter, feeling a absolute coldness begin to blossom from his chest and spread over his entire body. He knew what was coming, and as his vision blurred as the final moments of his life drew close, he recalled that night. His last kill… And the sweet melody Cynthia sung. But as the last of his life drained from him, one sound echoed above the screams and terror that his memories invoked, drowning out everything else as the blackness engulfed him finally.
It was laughter. High and wild, dancing with the tree branches amidst a gentle breeze.
For the approval the tickling society, a dark tale of tickling and revenge.
While not the happiest or the fappiest, I still hope it helps capture the spirit of the season and inspire some good-natured terror.
*Maniacal Laugh*
-------------------------
Today was strange.
It seemed all too simple a statement to fully encapsulate the continuous oddity that plagued Marcus throughout his afternoon. Yet as he stood in the midst of Thick Briar Park, turned around on a trail he had walked a thousand times before, he reflected that it was impossible to describe the series of events that had occurred any better. For while the day had begun normally enough in retrospect, the weather man calling for a bright, sunny day with a 20% percent chance of rain later in the evening, the strangeness evolved in both scope and strength with every hour that passed. His shift at the local sporting goods store was cancelled all of a sudden due to issues with its sewage system, his appointment at the DMV to finally update the address on his license was not recorded and therefore ignored, and his car, which he had taken in to get tuned up just last week, seemed to manifest all sorts of electrical quirks as he made his way to the park for his usual Monday hike. Even then, however, the unusual seemed manageable as he made his way along the number three trail. It was as soon as he was out of sight of the parking lot, that he could swear that the forest changed around him. No matter how far he walked or how many times he retraced his steps, he still found himself in the middle of the entire park. And then, Cynthia happened.
Cynthia, who was the beautiful blonde with sparkling green eyes.
Cynthia, who was being viciously tickled... by a tree.
Cynthia, who was somehow no longer dead.
At first Marcus believed that he must have been drugged, for the sight was simply impossible. Bound to a particularly large elm by long, thick strands of creeping ivy, her golden tassels of hair bounced as she shook her head back and forth as her face contorted itself in a mask of forced laughter. The ivy, which seemed to have a life of its own, was not simply holding the 25 year old woman tightly to the tree; it had taken to snaking in and out of her t-shirt and across her exposed stomach. The lower branches of the elm she was bound to weren’t helping either, as leafy palms adorned with twig fingers scratched wildly on her bare feet.
Marcus took a deep breath and shook his head, hoping to dismiss the insane sight before him. Yet stubbornly it remained, the helpless woman’s laughter echoing high and wild amidst the gentle breeze, just like it had the day before she died. It was distinctly her, despite the foliage magically forced chuckle after guffaw out of her.
The wandering hiker stood stunned, still unsure how to react as his brain desperately tried to make sense of the scene before him. If Cynthia had noticed him, she was unable to indicate such as the creeping vines goosed her sides and played with her taunt tummy. They were relentless, never ceasing in their strange ministrations as they crawled up to tease her ribs and armpits under the close clinging fabric of her faded yellow cotton t-shirt. Odd as they were, it was clear the plant life was clearly an effective tickler as the attention being paid to the captive woman’s feet, sides, and stomach elicited such laughter that tears had started to well up in her eyes. Cynthia struggled feverishly against the sinister strength of her ivy bonds to no avail, until finally amidst her rampant laughter she managed to cry out.
“Pleahahahase! Meheheehehercy!”
Marcus finally broke free from his state of confusion and drew his bowie knife, running toward the blonde captive and the vines that tormented her. Somehow sensing the approach of an attacker, however, the plants reacted in turn. The vines drew themselves back into the foliage of the tree top, taking Cynthia with them. The blonde could only laugh helplessly as she was lifted upwards.
Marcus stared up into the tree, hoping to get a glimpse of the tormented blonde. When he saw no trace of her, despite the caution many might take delving in the midst of such plants, he began to climb. Rapidly he ascended, nearly leaping from branch to branch as he rose toward his target. And when he still did not immediately see her, Marcus tore through the tree top with his knife ready to confront whatever might attack him. Yet there was nothing. No sight of Cynthia. No plants moving to confront him. Nothing.
Only silent swaying branches in the gentle afternoon breeze.
Marcus climbed down the tree after a minute or two, desperately trying to rectify what he’d seen. Cynthia couldn’t be alive. He was there the day the police came to their office to inquire after her, showing around that picture of her pale, lifeless body on a stark gray metal table. Being told of her murder, attending her funeral, wondering what her final thoughts were as she lay bloody and gasping for breath… It was impossible.
And yet as he planted his feet on the ground, he once again heard that crystalline laughter of hers. It echoed from further down the trail in the same frantic candor as before. He saw also the foliage seem to stir for a moment, as if something had been slithering in the underbrush. Holding his knife tightly, Marcus started toward the sound.
He had not traveled far when he came across Cynthia again. Still beset by the ivy, she was now no longer tied to a single tree, but left spread eagle between four different ones. Suspended at least 30ft off the ground, the odd sight grew even more so when he realized that she was nearly nude. Gone were the cotton yellow shirt, faded jean shorts, black bra, and hiking boots. In their place instead was cascading waves of ivy and tree branches that swept across almost every inch of panty clad form. Her underarms were laid bare, open and exposed as leaves scraped across them in an unending parade of hysterical strokes. Her forearms and shoulder blades were teased lightly, while her ribs were mercilessly prodded. The tummy and sides received much the same treatment as they had before, save for now her waist had been invited to join in on the festivities. Her thighs and knees, her calves and feet… All were tickled without pause by the foliage that held her tight as she roared with unrestrained laughter. Her face was bright red and tears streamed down her cheeks like a flood. And yet… There was something that had changed. Cynthia thrashed desperately still, yet her movements coincided with the ticklish torment instead of against it. She laughed wildly as the touches of the plants drew from her every single ounce of mirth they could, but there were no longer any desperate cries for freedom. Even when she locked eyes with him, she made no attempt to acknowledge or even react to the bewildered hiker. Unsure of what course of action to take, Marcus watched as the plants fully enveloped Cynthia. However, a single utterance erupted from the ticklish chaos caught him off guard.
“OH GAHAHAAHAHAHAHWD! PLEAHAHAAHAHSE MAHAHAAHAHAKE MEHEEHEHEHEEH CUM HOHOHOHOHOHOH AHHAAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAAH!”
Marcus was surprised by the bound woman's declaration, and watched in confused fascination as her leafy captors seemed to respond to her request. But similar to the last scene he'd witnessed, they began to pull her away into one of the surrounding treetops. This time, however, he refused to just stand by. With a well practiced motion, he threw his bowie knife toward the bundle of vines that held Cynthia. It found purchase, severing several lengths of vine.
Everything around Marcus screamed in agony.
The intensity of the wail caused him to cover his ears in pain, drawing his attention away long enough for Cynthia to disappear. When it finally subsided, anger furrowed his features into a mask of blood lust. He didn't know what what going on, but he no longer cared. He was done being toyed with, done with watching the woman he worked with and saw every day being tormented and pleasured by living plants. Done with the fear and pain of her last moments being mocked by whatever was going on in this forest.
The underbrush around him seemed to grow anxious as he retrieved his knife, rustling as though thousands of snakes were passing through it. Hissing and taunting him with every step deeper he took into bizarre woodland. It was a crazy thought, sure, but it was no crazier than what he had seen already. No crazier than the dead somehow coming back to life. No crazier than what he was used to.
The wind grew fierce, bringing once again the tinkling of her laughter. He pushed deeper and deeper, loathing the sound as it reverberated in the air and between his ears. It reminded him of being mocked, being rejected. Marcus wiped off his knife again and again on his pant leg, trying to get the blade clean.
And then there she was lying on the ground, sleeping comfortably as she lay on her back. He didn't know how long he had walked or when it had started to grow dark, but sure enough she was alone. No vines, no trees, and no tickling. Just Cynthia, the beautiful blonde with sparkling green eyes.
He lunged forward, and with a manic energy plunged his knife into her.
He stabbed again and again and again. No more of this taunting. No more laughter. She would stay dead this time.
But instead of blood, there was sap. And then she began to slowly dissolve.
Her face was frozen in a mask of horror as her skin began to change color to shades of purple, orange, and brown, cracking and flaking off bit by bit like leaves from autumn's kiss. The look of horror though… That stayed. Even as the wind turned ferocious and the forest hissed and wailed and screamed. Even as the vines that had teased Cynthia burst from the ground and grabbed Marcus, holding him fast despite his violent struggles. Even as a new body began to form from the earth. Bushes and shrubs wrapped around the frozen expression of terror to become a torso and mighty tree branches replaced her arms and legs. A long robe of leaves wrapped around a now 8ft tall humanish shape and hair the color of earth and honeysuckle grew in a wild main. Two green orbs burned brightly in the hollows of a now tree trunk skull as the mask of horror finally fell away, leaving only a creature made up of everything Marcus saw.
In silence it watched Marcus, the bright glow of its eyes narrowing into an expression of disdain as it spoke through lips of smooth bark.
“She came to me by accident, you should know. Bewildered and outcast and lost with the weight of man’s world bearing down upon her soul… That’s when we met. I had been alone for the last century... and her pain spoke to me. It was not uncommon for my kind to grow found of a human... And like the old stories a companionship formed. Our days played out like you saw, as sweet memories of rich syrup cascading from the great maples,” it said, the tone of its voice tinged with sadness.
Marcus felt a vine slither across his collarbone and begin to wrap around his neck.
“Until you… The sick one. The plague ship of a man who has gone from place to place, forest to forest, and left the victims of your disease behind like the trophies of a great hall. You, who some call the Wandering Pines Killer and I an abomination to your kind. Tell me… Why?”
“Because… I wanted her to scream. To utter that symphonic beauty that lesser men call a death rattle. That wonderful sound, which will remain in my head as a sweet memory of blood rubies cascading from throat.” A smile broke across Marcus’s lips even as the vine tightened around his neck.
The creature did not reply, only tightening the vine's hold on his neck. The blood of Marcus's straining heart began to pound loudly in his ears as the vine completely cut off circulation. His head began to swim has his breath grew shorter and shorter, feeling a absolute coldness begin to blossom from his chest and spread over his entire body. He knew what was coming, and as his vision blurred as the final moments of his life drew close, he recalled that night. His last kill… And the sweet melody Cynthia sung. But as the last of his life drained from him, one sound echoed above the screams and terror that his memories invoked, drowning out everything else as the blackness engulfed him finally.
It was laughter. High and wild, dancing with the tree branches amidst a gentle breeze.
