Part 1
The black shape beneath her grew rapidly as it approached, until she could make out the outline of a black-clad woman rising to meet her, it could even have been the same one that had dumped her in the tank but she couldn’t tell from this angle. Panicked, Fiona tried to run, her feet pounding the empty air below her as she tried to find a way to move, to escape the seemingly inevitable fate that the rising shape promised. Suddenly, in a moment of clarity that almost left her breathless she realised what she was doing wrong and took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she struggled to bring her body back under control.
Her eyes snapped open and she willed herself upwards, concentrating her mind on moving, rather than relying on her body. After all, in VR, what was the difference between flesh and spirit? There was a pause, a timeless instant when she though she’d guessed wrong, that she’d squandered her only chance at escape. Then an unseen force grabbed her and she soared up and away from her would-be attacker, flying through the air as gracefully as if she’d been born to it, the white strands of her dress dancing in the air like wings as she felt a sense of freedom, of pure joy wash over her as her mind gave up fighting against the impossible reality and started to believe she was actually flying.
Looking up she saw the roof of the vast chamber coming rapidly closer and with barely a conscious thought rolled over in midair, as easily as an athlete clearing a high jump bar, then she shot downwards, on a collision course with the woman in black who had remained motionless in the centre of the room. The distance closed with a speed that was dizzying, then she was on her, her right hand stretched out as she went past like a bullet, fingers grabbing a handful of cloth as she passed and a gentle tearing noise following her down in her swan dive.
Fiona had been aiming for the woman’s mask, but as the last second her target and moved back and away, turning as she did so, her own hand coming out with a knife blade twisting upwards to meet the descending angel. As Fiona pulled out of her headfirst rush and hung motionless fifty feet above the floor she felt the cool air caress her now bare right side, the cloth cut cleanly where it met the collar around her throat, leaving it hanging from the waist of the dress like a forgotten party streamer. But in Fiona’s right hand was a length of black cloth, and a glance back up showed the ninja looking at her arm, now exposed from shoulder to wrist, the black glove still covering her hand. The contrast between the deep black of the costume and the almost porcelain white of her skin was breathtaking, and for a few seconds the two women hung in mid-air, each evaluating the other anew.
Then the ninja raised her knife hand to her forehead, saluting Fiona in what appeared to be a genuine display of admiration, followed almost immediately by a fast, shallow dive straight towards her. Fiona sped for the wall of the chamber, a plan forming in her mind. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her adversary speeding along behind her, slowly gaining on her. She looked back towards the wall, now only seconds away and tried to concentrate, the timing would have to be perfect for this to work. Seemingly so close to the wall she could touch it, Fiona flipped in mid air, turning through a tight arc, facing back the way she’d come as her momentum carried her to the wall. She let her knees absorb what speed was left, then pushed off like a swimmer kicking away from the side of the pool, her hands once again grasping downwards.
Only to find the ninja had somehow anticipated her move and reacted before she made it. She was above Fiona, lying motionless in the air, knife blade facing down towards her body as she sped past, the blade perfectly positioned to slice through the waist of the dress, leaving it hanging by a single strand of fabric connected to both collar and waist. Fiona didn’t stop to asses the situation though, she could practically feel her opponent behind her, getting ever closer as they danced through the chamber. Whatever she tried she found herself unable to do anything to shake the woman, and with every turn she made, every duck and dive, she found herself losing a little more ground.
Knowing it was only a matter of time until she was overtaken, Fiona threw her head back and headed upwards, as fast as she could manage, then repeated her earlier dive bomb, this time flashing around her opponent, concentrating on avoiding the blade rather than claiming a prize of her own, a last ditch plan forming in her mind. She headed down and this time didn’t stop until she reached the floor of the chamber, alighting gently and turning to face the falling woman. She didn’t have long to wait as the ninja collapsed on top of her, sending them both rolling across the floor in a mass of arms, legs and fluttering fabric.
They stood a few feet apart, the woman in black now naked from the throat to her waist, her silk top lying on the floor some distance away, the irregular lines of Fiona’s nails clearly visible on the garment where they’d ripped it away from her body. Lying next to it though was the vast majority of Fiona’s dress, the knife had found its mark and Fiona was now naked other than the thin white collar left around her neck.
From above came a strange noise, a metallic rustling and both women looked up at the distant top of the chamber, a strange silver mass barely visible. It grew rapidly as it came closer to them, then Fiona realised with a burst of shock and adrenaline what she was looking at. They were tentacles, metal tentacles, thousands of them in different shapes and sizes and they were coming straight for her! She looked around, trying to find a way out, and her gaze fell on her adversary as she realised there was no trace of panic, of nerves in the woman’s body language. At that moment realisation dawned, and Fiona understood the rules of the game. She’d set them herself when she’d removed the ninja’s sleeve, the first person to loose their clothing, looses the game.
Fiona shot into the air, a small, distant, analytical part of her mind noting that the ninja was just standing in place, almost casually observing what was going to happen. Fiona banked and dived through the air, but it was hopeless, the tentacles were closing her down, always reducing her manoeuvring space and it was only a matter of time before they caught her. Then, as she glanced back towards them she saw something that made her heart sing with hope, a door had opened on the far side of the writhing mass, a small dark hole in the white walls that promised freedom if she could only reach it.
She didn’t think about her next move, she just did it. Flipping over she shot back towards the tentacles, trusting to her reactions to get her through. There were a couple of small outlying arms, then she was past and into the thick of them. Steel glinted at her from all directions as the tentacles dove and grasped at her body, but always she managed to slip away from their grasp, aiming for the brief patches of white she saw through the forest of silver, ducking and diving at a speed that would have terrified her if she had time to indulge such emotions. Then, suddenly, miraculously a gap opened and she shot forward, her fingers outstretched as she hurtled towards the waiting door, reaching out to embrace the blackness.
Her fingers touched it, gravity reclaiming her hands as she passed through, then an irresistible force closed around her right ankle, dragging her back into the room. A single tentacle had managed to grasp her as she felt her freedom, and with a terrible swiftness it pulled her back in, plunging her deeper and deeper into the forest of grasping arms, steel limbs wrapping around her wrists and ankles like serpents, holding her spread-eagled in the centre of the chamber as the smaller arms descended on her, the tips of each tentacle resting against her now bare flesh until she was encased from throat to toes in a steel cocoon.
She knew what was about to happen, but it still took her by surprise when the tentacles started to move and pulse against her, all of them at once, vibrating and wriggling against her skin, sending shockwaves through her body as every muscle and nerve strained as one to escape. Each tentacle ended in a fine, blunt tip and they were all vibrating as they traced seemingly random patterns across her skin, overlapping with those next to them but never actually touching each other. It was as if every last nerve ending in her body was being tickled at once and Fiona could do nothing but howl with laughter, her head thrown back, her hair falling like a curtain over the steel arms covering her back, her mouth stretched wide as the laughter poured from her in an unstoppable flood.
Just as suddenly as it had started the sensations stopped, the tentacles becoming still as whatever intelligence was driving them paused for her to get her breath back. Fiona was slow to recover though, the intensity of that first attack greater than anything she’d experienced in her life, driving the air from her lungs in seconds. Finally she managed to draw a breath normally, and that single act seemed to set the tentacles off on their next sequence.
This time only one arm at a time came to life, starting at the very tip of her right hand, dancing over her right thumb, dropping down far enough to caress the skin between thumb and forefinger, then back up. Under other circumstances Fiona doubted she’d have even noticed such a delicate touch, or at most found it mildly erotic. Now though, with her body and mind reeling from her experiences it was as if her entire body had become one giant ticklish playground for anyone, or anything, to exploit. Even this delicate touch was enough to start her giggling, a process that continued as the next tentacle took up the gentle tickling on her forefinger, then on over each finger in turn, and down the back of her hand, looping round to the palm and finally to the wrist.
To cover such a small area had taken nearly ten minutes, and each tentacle had a slightly different action, never allowing her to adapt to a particular feeling or sensation. She was giggling constantly, fighting to retain control, knowing that this was only a warm-up, that anywhere else on her body would be far, far more ticklish, would be a far worse experience than this gentle tease. The tickling passed on to her wrist, causing her to bite her lip in an effort to keep from breaking out into laughter, her body trying to pull away from that maddening sensation, her efforts increasing as the focus moved further down her arm. Slowly, inexorably it passed down her forearm and over her elbow, lingering over any area that caused a greater-than-expected reaction as she fought to escape before it reached her body. Now the tickling was barely a fraction of an inch above her smooth, silky armpit and she gritted her teeth, knowing she couldn’t take it, knowing that her only option was to give in and laugh.
Without warning the arms wrapped stopped in place, holding just above that supremely sensitive skin, as the same, slow, agonising process was repeated on her left arm. Minutes seemed to stretch to eternity as she shook her head from side to side, the certain knowledge of what was waiting when the tickling reached her left armpit echoing in her mind as she sought some way, any way, to retain control. Finally, an hour or more after it had started the tickling reached her armpit once more, and this time it did not stop but was joined by a matched tickle on her right side.
The tips of the tentacles stroked and tweaked the taut skin of her underarms, wriggling and writhing, the vibrations coursing through her helpless body as she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, the last vestiges of self-control rapidly ebbing away from her. The sensations swung down and round, slowly circling her body, one on the front, one on the back. The feeling on her back was almost pleasant, a massaging motion that seemed to relax her muscles even as they tensed under the touch. The other one though was a far different story, and started to rove over her right breast, exploring every single angle, every curve, every rise and fall of her body, testing her reactions.
Fiona shook her head back and forth, her eyes shut so tightly it was almost comical, lips pressed together into a thin line, as she fought to hold back, just for one more second. Then the tickling reached her nipple, and the last of her resolve, her control fell away in a rush, leaving only laughter in its place. She howled, she begged, she pleaded, but there was no one to hear her cries, no-one to grant mercy, just the machine performing it’s programming. The twin ticklish probes moved down, matching their motions as they explored her sides, brushing along each and every rib with a torturous slowness that left her praying for this to end, for something, anything to happen to stop her suffering. And yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice echoed against the curtain of laughter, growing steadily louder with it’s simple, one word demand: More.
The tentacles continued their relentless exploration, joined now by two more pulses as groups of four tentacles swept across her flat stomach and waist, poking and prodding with a grace and ease that she would never have believed possible from a mere machine before today. They swept downwards, over her ribs and between her thighs, curving up and around her ass, cataloguing every inch of their journey. As they tickled her most private, sensitive areas Fiona found herself lost in confusion, her laughter joined now by moans of desire, of a need so primal words could not begin to define it. The sense of loss as the tickling moved down her thighs was like a physical blow, and she felt a sob rack her body as she realised what was about to happen.
The tickling continued to head downwards, sliding over her thighs and knees, curving around her calves to her feet. There it slowed, reducing to a single tickle at a time as it first explored the top of her foot. Fiona gasped at the touch, but at this point there was little she could do about it, even laughter was denied to her now as her lungs were empty and her throat felt raw from the continuous demands placed on it. The tickling reached her toes and, just as it had with her fingers, started to explore one toe at a time, first around the sensitive skin, then delving deeply into the unexplored softness between each of them. Her eyes bugged out, her mouth open in a silent scream as her head hung limply, all energy and fight driven from her, an acceptance of her fate replacing her usual battling personality. The tickling swept down her sole, poking and prodding all the way back to her ankle, then the process was repeated on her left foot, leaving her in tears, finally broken after her torment.
The machine paused, as if deciding on it’s next course of action. Suddenly the tentacles shifted, the majority moving back and up, disappearing into the holes they’d emerged from. Those that remained shifted position until what felt like every major ticklish spot on her body was covered by at least one of the steel arms. Her wrists and arms were still held by the thickest of the tentacles, but now smaller ones reached to both armpits, her left flank from ribs to hip, behind her right kneecap, both soles, both breasts, one was inside her belly button and several had positioned themselves at her pussy.
At an unseen signal they all started moving at once, each stimulating her body in a different, ticklish way, each designed and targeted to provide maximum stimulation to a specific area. She thrashed in her bonds, fingers spread wide, head thrown back, mouth wide open, eyes rolled up into her skull as the combination of torturous tickles and extreme erotic pleasure shot through her, her mind unable to cope with the seemingly contradictory feelings. She felt herself sinking, drowning in sensation, overloaded by the stimulation, her need building inside her, the one small voice now a symphony of angles in her head, all praying for a release, a small mercy after all she’d been through.
As if reading her mind the tentacles at her breasts and pussy started to increase their attentions, speeding up but also changing their patterns until the erotic stimulation they caused far outweighed the ticklish ones. Fiona felt herself ride the wave to its peak, the pause as she hung on the edge for a moment, then the crashing fury of her orgasm swept over her, leaving her weak as a kitten, barely aware of her surroundings as she twitched involuntarily, random nerves firing from the overload of stimulation that coursed through her body.
She was vaguely aware of falling, slowly, through the air as the tentacles released her and pulled back into the wall, an impression of the bottom of the chamber swinging open and the gentle thud as she touched down like a feather in the room below. She never felt the gentle stroke of a white silk outfit, the exact mirror of the ninja’s in every way other than the colour, appearing around her naked form, or the brief hum of the hatch above her closing. The fact that she lay there, still and silent for at least fifteen minutes as her body recovered from her ordeal passed her by, and only when she had regained her senses did she start to look around the room. After the first glance her heart sank, the knowledge that this wasn’t yet over flashing though her as she gazed at the stone walls, the racks of instruments illuminated by the flickering torchlight as the black ninja stepped forward into the middle of the dungeon…
The black shape beneath her grew rapidly as it approached, until she could make out the outline of a black-clad woman rising to meet her, it could even have been the same one that had dumped her in the tank but she couldn’t tell from this angle. Panicked, Fiona tried to run, her feet pounding the empty air below her as she tried to find a way to move, to escape the seemingly inevitable fate that the rising shape promised. Suddenly, in a moment of clarity that almost left her breathless she realised what she was doing wrong and took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she struggled to bring her body back under control.
Her eyes snapped open and she willed herself upwards, concentrating her mind on moving, rather than relying on her body. After all, in VR, what was the difference between flesh and spirit? There was a pause, a timeless instant when she though she’d guessed wrong, that she’d squandered her only chance at escape. Then an unseen force grabbed her and she soared up and away from her would-be attacker, flying through the air as gracefully as if she’d been born to it, the white strands of her dress dancing in the air like wings as she felt a sense of freedom, of pure joy wash over her as her mind gave up fighting against the impossible reality and started to believe she was actually flying.
Looking up she saw the roof of the vast chamber coming rapidly closer and with barely a conscious thought rolled over in midair, as easily as an athlete clearing a high jump bar, then she shot downwards, on a collision course with the woman in black who had remained motionless in the centre of the room. The distance closed with a speed that was dizzying, then she was on her, her right hand stretched out as she went past like a bullet, fingers grabbing a handful of cloth as she passed and a gentle tearing noise following her down in her swan dive.
Fiona had been aiming for the woman’s mask, but as the last second her target and moved back and away, turning as she did so, her own hand coming out with a knife blade twisting upwards to meet the descending angel. As Fiona pulled out of her headfirst rush and hung motionless fifty feet above the floor she felt the cool air caress her now bare right side, the cloth cut cleanly where it met the collar around her throat, leaving it hanging from the waist of the dress like a forgotten party streamer. But in Fiona’s right hand was a length of black cloth, and a glance back up showed the ninja looking at her arm, now exposed from shoulder to wrist, the black glove still covering her hand. The contrast between the deep black of the costume and the almost porcelain white of her skin was breathtaking, and for a few seconds the two women hung in mid-air, each evaluating the other anew.
Then the ninja raised her knife hand to her forehead, saluting Fiona in what appeared to be a genuine display of admiration, followed almost immediately by a fast, shallow dive straight towards her. Fiona sped for the wall of the chamber, a plan forming in her mind. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her adversary speeding along behind her, slowly gaining on her. She looked back towards the wall, now only seconds away and tried to concentrate, the timing would have to be perfect for this to work. Seemingly so close to the wall she could touch it, Fiona flipped in mid air, turning through a tight arc, facing back the way she’d come as her momentum carried her to the wall. She let her knees absorb what speed was left, then pushed off like a swimmer kicking away from the side of the pool, her hands once again grasping downwards.
Only to find the ninja had somehow anticipated her move and reacted before she made it. She was above Fiona, lying motionless in the air, knife blade facing down towards her body as she sped past, the blade perfectly positioned to slice through the waist of the dress, leaving it hanging by a single strand of fabric connected to both collar and waist. Fiona didn’t stop to asses the situation though, she could practically feel her opponent behind her, getting ever closer as they danced through the chamber. Whatever she tried she found herself unable to do anything to shake the woman, and with every turn she made, every duck and dive, she found herself losing a little more ground.
Knowing it was only a matter of time until she was overtaken, Fiona threw her head back and headed upwards, as fast as she could manage, then repeated her earlier dive bomb, this time flashing around her opponent, concentrating on avoiding the blade rather than claiming a prize of her own, a last ditch plan forming in her mind. She headed down and this time didn’t stop until she reached the floor of the chamber, alighting gently and turning to face the falling woman. She didn’t have long to wait as the ninja collapsed on top of her, sending them both rolling across the floor in a mass of arms, legs and fluttering fabric.
They stood a few feet apart, the woman in black now naked from the throat to her waist, her silk top lying on the floor some distance away, the irregular lines of Fiona’s nails clearly visible on the garment where they’d ripped it away from her body. Lying next to it though was the vast majority of Fiona’s dress, the knife had found its mark and Fiona was now naked other than the thin white collar left around her neck.
From above came a strange noise, a metallic rustling and both women looked up at the distant top of the chamber, a strange silver mass barely visible. It grew rapidly as it came closer to them, then Fiona realised with a burst of shock and adrenaline what she was looking at. They were tentacles, metal tentacles, thousands of them in different shapes and sizes and they were coming straight for her! She looked around, trying to find a way out, and her gaze fell on her adversary as she realised there was no trace of panic, of nerves in the woman’s body language. At that moment realisation dawned, and Fiona understood the rules of the game. She’d set them herself when she’d removed the ninja’s sleeve, the first person to loose their clothing, looses the game.
Fiona shot into the air, a small, distant, analytical part of her mind noting that the ninja was just standing in place, almost casually observing what was going to happen. Fiona banked and dived through the air, but it was hopeless, the tentacles were closing her down, always reducing her manoeuvring space and it was only a matter of time before they caught her. Then, as she glanced back towards them she saw something that made her heart sing with hope, a door had opened on the far side of the writhing mass, a small dark hole in the white walls that promised freedom if she could only reach it.
She didn’t think about her next move, she just did it. Flipping over she shot back towards the tentacles, trusting to her reactions to get her through. There were a couple of small outlying arms, then she was past and into the thick of them. Steel glinted at her from all directions as the tentacles dove and grasped at her body, but always she managed to slip away from their grasp, aiming for the brief patches of white she saw through the forest of silver, ducking and diving at a speed that would have terrified her if she had time to indulge such emotions. Then, suddenly, miraculously a gap opened and she shot forward, her fingers outstretched as she hurtled towards the waiting door, reaching out to embrace the blackness.
Her fingers touched it, gravity reclaiming her hands as she passed through, then an irresistible force closed around her right ankle, dragging her back into the room. A single tentacle had managed to grasp her as she felt her freedom, and with a terrible swiftness it pulled her back in, plunging her deeper and deeper into the forest of grasping arms, steel limbs wrapping around her wrists and ankles like serpents, holding her spread-eagled in the centre of the chamber as the smaller arms descended on her, the tips of each tentacle resting against her now bare flesh until she was encased from throat to toes in a steel cocoon.
She knew what was about to happen, but it still took her by surprise when the tentacles started to move and pulse against her, all of them at once, vibrating and wriggling against her skin, sending shockwaves through her body as every muscle and nerve strained as one to escape. Each tentacle ended in a fine, blunt tip and they were all vibrating as they traced seemingly random patterns across her skin, overlapping with those next to them but never actually touching each other. It was as if every last nerve ending in her body was being tickled at once and Fiona could do nothing but howl with laughter, her head thrown back, her hair falling like a curtain over the steel arms covering her back, her mouth stretched wide as the laughter poured from her in an unstoppable flood.
Just as suddenly as it had started the sensations stopped, the tentacles becoming still as whatever intelligence was driving them paused for her to get her breath back. Fiona was slow to recover though, the intensity of that first attack greater than anything she’d experienced in her life, driving the air from her lungs in seconds. Finally she managed to draw a breath normally, and that single act seemed to set the tentacles off on their next sequence.
This time only one arm at a time came to life, starting at the very tip of her right hand, dancing over her right thumb, dropping down far enough to caress the skin between thumb and forefinger, then back up. Under other circumstances Fiona doubted she’d have even noticed such a delicate touch, or at most found it mildly erotic. Now though, with her body and mind reeling from her experiences it was as if her entire body had become one giant ticklish playground for anyone, or anything, to exploit. Even this delicate touch was enough to start her giggling, a process that continued as the next tentacle took up the gentle tickling on her forefinger, then on over each finger in turn, and down the back of her hand, looping round to the palm and finally to the wrist.
To cover such a small area had taken nearly ten minutes, and each tentacle had a slightly different action, never allowing her to adapt to a particular feeling or sensation. She was giggling constantly, fighting to retain control, knowing that this was only a warm-up, that anywhere else on her body would be far, far more ticklish, would be a far worse experience than this gentle tease. The tickling passed on to her wrist, causing her to bite her lip in an effort to keep from breaking out into laughter, her body trying to pull away from that maddening sensation, her efforts increasing as the focus moved further down her arm. Slowly, inexorably it passed down her forearm and over her elbow, lingering over any area that caused a greater-than-expected reaction as she fought to escape before it reached her body. Now the tickling was barely a fraction of an inch above her smooth, silky armpit and she gritted her teeth, knowing she couldn’t take it, knowing that her only option was to give in and laugh.
Without warning the arms wrapped stopped in place, holding just above that supremely sensitive skin, as the same, slow, agonising process was repeated on her left arm. Minutes seemed to stretch to eternity as she shook her head from side to side, the certain knowledge of what was waiting when the tickling reached her left armpit echoing in her mind as she sought some way, any way, to retain control. Finally, an hour or more after it had started the tickling reached her armpit once more, and this time it did not stop but was joined by a matched tickle on her right side.
The tips of the tentacles stroked and tweaked the taut skin of her underarms, wriggling and writhing, the vibrations coursing through her helpless body as she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, the last vestiges of self-control rapidly ebbing away from her. The sensations swung down and round, slowly circling her body, one on the front, one on the back. The feeling on her back was almost pleasant, a massaging motion that seemed to relax her muscles even as they tensed under the touch. The other one though was a far different story, and started to rove over her right breast, exploring every single angle, every curve, every rise and fall of her body, testing her reactions.
Fiona shook her head back and forth, her eyes shut so tightly it was almost comical, lips pressed together into a thin line, as she fought to hold back, just for one more second. Then the tickling reached her nipple, and the last of her resolve, her control fell away in a rush, leaving only laughter in its place. She howled, she begged, she pleaded, but there was no one to hear her cries, no-one to grant mercy, just the machine performing it’s programming. The twin ticklish probes moved down, matching their motions as they explored her sides, brushing along each and every rib with a torturous slowness that left her praying for this to end, for something, anything to happen to stop her suffering. And yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice echoed against the curtain of laughter, growing steadily louder with it’s simple, one word demand: More.
The tentacles continued their relentless exploration, joined now by two more pulses as groups of four tentacles swept across her flat stomach and waist, poking and prodding with a grace and ease that she would never have believed possible from a mere machine before today. They swept downwards, over her ribs and between her thighs, curving up and around her ass, cataloguing every inch of their journey. As they tickled her most private, sensitive areas Fiona found herself lost in confusion, her laughter joined now by moans of desire, of a need so primal words could not begin to define it. The sense of loss as the tickling moved down her thighs was like a physical blow, and she felt a sob rack her body as she realised what was about to happen.
The tickling continued to head downwards, sliding over her thighs and knees, curving around her calves to her feet. There it slowed, reducing to a single tickle at a time as it first explored the top of her foot. Fiona gasped at the touch, but at this point there was little she could do about it, even laughter was denied to her now as her lungs were empty and her throat felt raw from the continuous demands placed on it. The tickling reached her toes and, just as it had with her fingers, started to explore one toe at a time, first around the sensitive skin, then delving deeply into the unexplored softness between each of them. Her eyes bugged out, her mouth open in a silent scream as her head hung limply, all energy and fight driven from her, an acceptance of her fate replacing her usual battling personality. The tickling swept down her sole, poking and prodding all the way back to her ankle, then the process was repeated on her left foot, leaving her in tears, finally broken after her torment.
The machine paused, as if deciding on it’s next course of action. Suddenly the tentacles shifted, the majority moving back and up, disappearing into the holes they’d emerged from. Those that remained shifted position until what felt like every major ticklish spot on her body was covered by at least one of the steel arms. Her wrists and arms were still held by the thickest of the tentacles, but now smaller ones reached to both armpits, her left flank from ribs to hip, behind her right kneecap, both soles, both breasts, one was inside her belly button and several had positioned themselves at her pussy.
At an unseen signal they all started moving at once, each stimulating her body in a different, ticklish way, each designed and targeted to provide maximum stimulation to a specific area. She thrashed in her bonds, fingers spread wide, head thrown back, mouth wide open, eyes rolled up into her skull as the combination of torturous tickles and extreme erotic pleasure shot through her, her mind unable to cope with the seemingly contradictory feelings. She felt herself sinking, drowning in sensation, overloaded by the stimulation, her need building inside her, the one small voice now a symphony of angles in her head, all praying for a release, a small mercy after all she’d been through.
As if reading her mind the tentacles at her breasts and pussy started to increase their attentions, speeding up but also changing their patterns until the erotic stimulation they caused far outweighed the ticklish ones. Fiona felt herself ride the wave to its peak, the pause as she hung on the edge for a moment, then the crashing fury of her orgasm swept over her, leaving her weak as a kitten, barely aware of her surroundings as she twitched involuntarily, random nerves firing from the overload of stimulation that coursed through her body.
She was vaguely aware of falling, slowly, through the air as the tentacles released her and pulled back into the wall, an impression of the bottom of the chamber swinging open and the gentle thud as she touched down like a feather in the room below. She never felt the gentle stroke of a white silk outfit, the exact mirror of the ninja’s in every way other than the colour, appearing around her naked form, or the brief hum of the hatch above her closing. The fact that she lay there, still and silent for at least fifteen minutes as her body recovered from her ordeal passed her by, and only when she had regained her senses did she start to look around the room. After the first glance her heart sank, the knowledge that this wasn’t yet over flashing though her as she gazed at the stone walls, the racks of instruments illuminated by the flickering torchlight as the black ninja stepped forward into the middle of the dungeon…
