Rockauthor
TMF Master
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Messages
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BRITNEY SPEARS
Starring in
“A Fear of Being Tickled: A Ticklish Nightmare 2”
(ticklish celebrity fiction)
“Britney Spears is here to see you, Dr. Ross.” announced the receptionist out of the speaker atop the therapist’s desk.
“Thank you, Kelly, please send her in,” answered 43-year-old licensed psychotherapist Dr. Marilyn Ross.
This was Marilyn’s first session with the troubled Pop singer, and Dr. Ross was a well-known and respected counselor who was referred to Britney by her mother. It had been a tumultuous period for the party girl. From the time her controversial kiss with fellow diva Madonna made headlines to her impulsive and brief marriage to her childhood friend Jason, Britney has been an unpredictable wild child. But not even her closest friends knew the real reason for her out-of-control behavior. She’s been suffering from these bizarre, recurring nightmares for several weeks now, and finally decided to seek professional help.
The office door opened. The 22-year-old entered, and for the first time Marilyn saw the beautiful girl in person. She was wearing a white T-shirt studded in a green and red crystal design, a pair of torn, faded blue jeans, and white sneakers. Britney’s expression was indeterminable to Marilyn; she didn’t smile, but she didn’t appear to be distraught either.
“Hello, Britney,” said the doctor in a warm, non-judgmental tone.
“Hi,” said Britney with a child-like innocence.
“Please, have a seat.” Marilyn offered, and Britney made herself comfortable on the plush black couch a few feet from Dr. Ross’ desk. There was an awkward moment briefly as Marilyn looked at her folded hands resting on the desk, searching for the best approach while Britney scanned around the office aimlessly, sighing, and playing with her hair. “Britney, I want you to know that this session is totally confidential. What’s said here is completely between you and me, and there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I really want you to open up to me and tell me what‘s on your mind.”
“Well...” said Britney and paused in contemplation, “It all started about six months ago...”
She went on to explain the vivid, disturbing dreams. They all began the same way. She would find herself in a dark void, lonely and confused. In her very first startling encounter, Britney was stretched out on her back atop a queen-size bed, her wrists and ankles were held down by pairs of hands that protruded out of the bed spread, formed out of the very material. The Pop star was completely naked, and she tried to free herself from the clench of the eerie bondage, but to no avail.
A soft light, originating from some unseen source, shone down on her and out of the shadows a mysterious figure appeared. He was a bearded man dressed in a black T-shirt and black pants; his hair was dishwater blonde and he wore a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses. Little did Britney know that the identity of her uninvited visitor was none other than psychic, M.I.T. alumnus Gary Steward.
Gary was a gifted illusionist who on many an occasion entered the dreams of beautiful, unsuspecting women with a technique called Dream Writer. Gary loved to use his incredible abilities to create seemingly real scenarios and then tickle torture his victims ‘til his heart’s content. He often entered the dreams of Pop music diva Madonna, and explored her ticklish tummy, but when Gary discovered the gateway to Britney Spears’ subconscious he found an irresistible playtoy that he couldn’t let go.
Gary approached the bound girl with a wicked beam.
“Who are YOU?” demanded Britney, her breaths rapid and panicky.
“Someone who’s wanted you for a long time,” he said in an echoing voice, climbing atop the bed and hovering over her.
Britney shrieked. “DON’T TOUCH ME!!!” she protested, squirming and tugging.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” he assured, then he held out his hand and a bottle of lotion appeared. He poured a generous amount in his other hand then made the bottle vanish in a cloud of smoke; he rubbed the lotion all over his hands making them soft and slippery.
He began just above the armpits, dragging his fingers down with a resolute stroke in the dangerously ticklish basins.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! STOP! DON’T! THAT TICKLES!” Britney screamed, futilely trying to turn away and evade the stimuli.
Gary ignored her objection and continued tickling Britney’s armpits, letting his fingers gallop along the shaved hollows like horses charging into battle.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HEEHEEHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! *gasp* STOP!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *hiccup* OH MY GOD! *gasp* WAIT!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HAHA!!! STOP TICKLING ME! NOOOOOOOOOO! NOT UNDER THE ARMS! NOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
The hallucinating hottie jerked her head back and forth, biting in vain at the master illusionist’s tickling fingers; no matter how much she arched or sunk her body there was no escaping the maddening sensations inflicted upon her hopelessly ticklish underarms.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! C’MON! WHO HAHAHAHAHAHA ARE YOU! *gasp* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? NOOOOOOOOOOOO! GET AWAY FROM ME! AAAAAAAAAGH! HEEHEEHEEEEEE! PLEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEEEEEASE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!”
Suddenly, Gary disappeared in a puff of smoke, but his disembodied hands remained; they continued to stroke Britney’s underarm area in a gentle, swift motion. Then magically a new pair of slippery hands spawned from the original pair and slowly crawled down to Britney’s ribs.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HOOHOOHAHAAAAAAAAAAAGH! AAAAAAGH! OH! OH! *gasp* OH, PLEASE STOP! AAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” she laughed as the second pair of disembodied hands dug firmly in the sides of her ticklish ribcage.
And subsequently, a third pair of ghostly hands emancipated themselves from the pair that tormented the Pop idol’s ribs and did an ant-like march down to her hyper-sensitive belly button. the lubricated hands circled the susceptible dimple a little bit for foreplay, then methodically dipped their index fingers in her navel like party-goers testing the heat of a hot tub.
“HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *hiccup* OKAY, I’VE HAD ENOUGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! STOP IT! I’M GONNA PEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHP IIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTT!”
Britney cackled and screeched as three pairs of dream-induced hands tickled her and tickled her, driving her absolutely crazy. But what was even more alarming was when a fourth pair of hands were deployed and sent in to attack Britney’s volatile and vulnerable region around her waist. She bucked up and down and twisted from side to side but there were too many wraithlike hands around to occupy her.
“ *gasp* OH NO, NOT THERE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE! *gasp* PLEEEEEEEEASE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! I’M TICKLISH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
“I don’t think I can stop, Britney” Gary’s echoing voice boomed. “Tickling you is too much fun. I think I’m addicted.”
“...and that’s when I would wake up,” Britney concluded, sitting on the therapist’s couch with a traumatized look on her face and trapping her hands defensively under her arms as she recalled the haunting ordeal. “It was all just a bad dream...but it seemed so real. Even that man seemed like a real person. Like he was a magician or something who could enter my dreams. I never would’ve thought in a million years I’d have that nightmare again...but I did. Sometimes four nights in a row. Sometimes five. I’d fall asleep in my bed, and he’d be there. And all he did was just tickle me. In all kinds of different ways, too...that’s why I’ve been out all night partying so hard lately. I’m afraid to go to sleep. I’m afraid that guy will be in my dreams again, and he’ll tickle me more.”
The attractive, raven-haired psychologist sat behind her desk with a serious, authoritative look on her face, hanging on every word the sexy singer conveyed; but on the inside, Marilyn was getting very turned on. Perhaps the young Pop star aroused some hidden tickling proclivity that the doctor never knew was within her. Her nipples puffed up like freshly-baked muffins. Her most intimate of areas grew moist, and her whole body tingled.
Britney began to sob. “I just gotta stay awake. I know it sounds like I’m crazy, but I’m a very ticklish person, and I just have this fear that I’ll be tickle-tortured in my dreams again...I thought that if I married Jason I could be protected somehow...he’s been one of my best friends, ever since we were kids. But that didn’t stop the nightmares, and I couldn’t stay married to Jason anymore *sob* help me.”
This had been the most erotic account Dr. Ross had ever heard in all her years of counseling. Marilyn’s thoughts betrayed her; on one hand, listening to Britney talk about being tickled in her dreams was making her body hot with desire, but on the other hand, she was a trusted analyst, and she had to maintain a professional disposition. She fidgeted in her chair, uncrossing and crossing her legs again to gratify her sexual urges. She pushed her glasses up a little better on her face and cleared her throat.
She started to explain to Britney that her recurring episodes probably stemmed from a repressed guilt complex that manifested itself in this unusual manner. She said the mysterious visitor who determinedly tickle-tortured her in her nightmares represented the critical public that had watched Britney throughout her career and judged her for flaunting her sexuality so explicitly.
Dr. Ross’ eyes averted Britney for a moment as she thought out loud, sorting through a detailed list of possible solutions to the Pop princess’ dilemma. She broke off when her eyes came back over to the couch and saw that Britney had fallen sound asleep. The poor thing must have gone so long trying to stay awake that her body finally shut itself down to recuperate. Marilyn observed her patient as she was obviously having one of her episodes again.
Britney twitched and moaned in her sleep; she giggled and wrapped her arms protectively around her body saying, “No. Not there. It tickles.” The therapist was getting turned on again and once more her thoughts betrayed her. She tried to study Britney’s experience professionally, but there was still that part of her, deep down inside, that ached to reach a hand down between her legs and pleasure herself. But the hour was almost over and Dr. Ross had to go over and awakened the nightmare-plagued beauty, adjourning her persistently titillating cravings - at least until the next session.
THE END
Starring in
“A Fear of Being Tickled: A Ticklish Nightmare 2”
(ticklish celebrity fiction)
“Britney Spears is here to see you, Dr. Ross.” announced the receptionist out of the speaker atop the therapist’s desk.
“Thank you, Kelly, please send her in,” answered 43-year-old licensed psychotherapist Dr. Marilyn Ross.
This was Marilyn’s first session with the troubled Pop singer, and Dr. Ross was a well-known and respected counselor who was referred to Britney by her mother. It had been a tumultuous period for the party girl. From the time her controversial kiss with fellow diva Madonna made headlines to her impulsive and brief marriage to her childhood friend Jason, Britney has been an unpredictable wild child. But not even her closest friends knew the real reason for her out-of-control behavior. She’s been suffering from these bizarre, recurring nightmares for several weeks now, and finally decided to seek professional help.
The office door opened. The 22-year-old entered, and for the first time Marilyn saw the beautiful girl in person. She was wearing a white T-shirt studded in a green and red crystal design, a pair of torn, faded blue jeans, and white sneakers. Britney’s expression was indeterminable to Marilyn; she didn’t smile, but she didn’t appear to be distraught either.
“Hello, Britney,” said the doctor in a warm, non-judgmental tone.
“Hi,” said Britney with a child-like innocence.
“Please, have a seat.” Marilyn offered, and Britney made herself comfortable on the plush black couch a few feet from Dr. Ross’ desk. There was an awkward moment briefly as Marilyn looked at her folded hands resting on the desk, searching for the best approach while Britney scanned around the office aimlessly, sighing, and playing with her hair. “Britney, I want you to know that this session is totally confidential. What’s said here is completely between you and me, and there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I really want you to open up to me and tell me what‘s on your mind.”
“Well...” said Britney and paused in contemplation, “It all started about six months ago...”
She went on to explain the vivid, disturbing dreams. They all began the same way. She would find herself in a dark void, lonely and confused. In her very first startling encounter, Britney was stretched out on her back atop a queen-size bed, her wrists and ankles were held down by pairs of hands that protruded out of the bed spread, formed out of the very material. The Pop star was completely naked, and she tried to free herself from the clench of the eerie bondage, but to no avail.
A soft light, originating from some unseen source, shone down on her and out of the shadows a mysterious figure appeared. He was a bearded man dressed in a black T-shirt and black pants; his hair was dishwater blonde and he wore a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses. Little did Britney know that the identity of her uninvited visitor was none other than psychic, M.I.T. alumnus Gary Steward.
Gary was a gifted illusionist who on many an occasion entered the dreams of beautiful, unsuspecting women with a technique called Dream Writer. Gary loved to use his incredible abilities to create seemingly real scenarios and then tickle torture his victims ‘til his heart’s content. He often entered the dreams of Pop music diva Madonna, and explored her ticklish tummy, but when Gary discovered the gateway to Britney Spears’ subconscious he found an irresistible playtoy that he couldn’t let go.
Gary approached the bound girl with a wicked beam.
“Who are YOU?” demanded Britney, her breaths rapid and panicky.
“Someone who’s wanted you for a long time,” he said in an echoing voice, climbing atop the bed and hovering over her.
Britney shrieked. “DON’T TOUCH ME!!!” she protested, squirming and tugging.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” he assured, then he held out his hand and a bottle of lotion appeared. He poured a generous amount in his other hand then made the bottle vanish in a cloud of smoke; he rubbed the lotion all over his hands making them soft and slippery.
He began just above the armpits, dragging his fingers down with a resolute stroke in the dangerously ticklish basins.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! STOP! DON’T! THAT TICKLES!” Britney screamed, futilely trying to turn away and evade the stimuli.
Gary ignored her objection and continued tickling Britney’s armpits, letting his fingers gallop along the shaved hollows like horses charging into battle.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HEEHEEHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! *gasp* STOP!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *hiccup* OH MY GOD! *gasp* WAIT!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HAHA!!! STOP TICKLING ME! NOOOOOOOOOO! NOT UNDER THE ARMS! NOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
The hallucinating hottie jerked her head back and forth, biting in vain at the master illusionist’s tickling fingers; no matter how much she arched or sunk her body there was no escaping the maddening sensations inflicted upon her hopelessly ticklish underarms.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! C’MON! WHO HAHAHAHAHAHA ARE YOU! *gasp* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? NOOOOOOOOOOOO! GET AWAY FROM ME! AAAAAAAAAGH! HEEHEEHEEEEEE! PLEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEEEEEASE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!”
Suddenly, Gary disappeared in a puff of smoke, but his disembodied hands remained; they continued to stroke Britney’s underarm area in a gentle, swift motion. Then magically a new pair of slippery hands spawned from the original pair and slowly crawled down to Britney’s ribs.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HOOHOOHAHAAAAAAAAAAAGH! AAAAAAGH! OH! OH! *gasp* OH, PLEASE STOP! AAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” she laughed as the second pair of disembodied hands dug firmly in the sides of her ticklish ribcage.
And subsequently, a third pair of ghostly hands emancipated themselves from the pair that tormented the Pop idol’s ribs and did an ant-like march down to her hyper-sensitive belly button. the lubricated hands circled the susceptible dimple a little bit for foreplay, then methodically dipped their index fingers in her navel like party-goers testing the heat of a hot tub.
“HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *hiccup* OKAY, I’VE HAD ENOUGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! STOP IT! I’M GONNA PEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHP IIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTT!”
Britney cackled and screeched as three pairs of dream-induced hands tickled her and tickled her, driving her absolutely crazy. But what was even more alarming was when a fourth pair of hands were deployed and sent in to attack Britney’s volatile and vulnerable region around her waist. She bucked up and down and twisted from side to side but there were too many wraithlike hands around to occupy her.
“ *gasp* OH NO, NOT THERE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE! *gasp* PLEEEEEEEEASE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! I’M TICKLISH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
“I don’t think I can stop, Britney” Gary’s echoing voice boomed. “Tickling you is too much fun. I think I’m addicted.”
“...and that’s when I would wake up,” Britney concluded, sitting on the therapist’s couch with a traumatized look on her face and trapping her hands defensively under her arms as she recalled the haunting ordeal. “It was all just a bad dream...but it seemed so real. Even that man seemed like a real person. Like he was a magician or something who could enter my dreams. I never would’ve thought in a million years I’d have that nightmare again...but I did. Sometimes four nights in a row. Sometimes five. I’d fall asleep in my bed, and he’d be there. And all he did was just tickle me. In all kinds of different ways, too...that’s why I’ve been out all night partying so hard lately. I’m afraid to go to sleep. I’m afraid that guy will be in my dreams again, and he’ll tickle me more.”
The attractive, raven-haired psychologist sat behind her desk with a serious, authoritative look on her face, hanging on every word the sexy singer conveyed; but on the inside, Marilyn was getting very turned on. Perhaps the young Pop star aroused some hidden tickling proclivity that the doctor never knew was within her. Her nipples puffed up like freshly-baked muffins. Her most intimate of areas grew moist, and her whole body tingled.
Britney began to sob. “I just gotta stay awake. I know it sounds like I’m crazy, but I’m a very ticklish person, and I just have this fear that I’ll be tickle-tortured in my dreams again...I thought that if I married Jason I could be protected somehow...he’s been one of my best friends, ever since we were kids. But that didn’t stop the nightmares, and I couldn’t stay married to Jason anymore *sob* help me.”
This had been the most erotic account Dr. Ross had ever heard in all her years of counseling. Marilyn’s thoughts betrayed her; on one hand, listening to Britney talk about being tickled in her dreams was making her body hot with desire, but on the other hand, she was a trusted analyst, and she had to maintain a professional disposition. She fidgeted in her chair, uncrossing and crossing her legs again to gratify her sexual urges. She pushed her glasses up a little better on her face and cleared her throat.
She started to explain to Britney that her recurring episodes probably stemmed from a repressed guilt complex that manifested itself in this unusual manner. She said the mysterious visitor who determinedly tickle-tortured her in her nightmares represented the critical public that had watched Britney throughout her career and judged her for flaunting her sexuality so explicitly.
Dr. Ross’ eyes averted Britney for a moment as she thought out loud, sorting through a detailed list of possible solutions to the Pop princess’ dilemma. She broke off when her eyes came back over to the couch and saw that Britney had fallen sound asleep. The poor thing must have gone so long trying to stay awake that her body finally shut itself down to recuperate. Marilyn observed her patient as she was obviously having one of her episodes again.
Britney twitched and moaned in her sleep; she giggled and wrapped her arms protectively around her body saying, “No. Not there. It tickles.” The therapist was getting turned on again and once more her thoughts betrayed her. She tried to study Britney’s experience professionally, but there was still that part of her, deep down inside, that ached to reach a hand down between her legs and pleasure herself. But the hour was almost over and Dr. Ross had to go over and awakened the nightmare-plagued beauty, adjourning her persistently titillating cravings - at least until the next session.
THE END
