The-Tickling-Master
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- Joined
- Apr 22, 2017
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Hello! I'm a deviantart fetish writer.
I've decided to post all my stories here for your enjoyment.
I take commissions! If you want to commission me a story, please contact me THROUGH DA. My profile is: http://the-tickling-master.deviantart.com/gallery/
Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you liked (And especially if you disliked) the story, leave a comment!
This story is a personal project. I used to write for a Writing.com interactive story called "The Facility" and I loved it, but unfortunately the owner had to delete it for personal reasons. I tought that was a setting too good to go to waste, and revived it through my own personal story. The project is more or less on-hold, but I'll post what I have so far.
Rebecca 1: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?285713-The-Facility-Introduction-and-Rebecca-1
---------------------
- Name: Rebecca, Hair: Brown, Skin: Caucasian, Height: 1,48 meters or 4’10’’, Weight: 44 kg or 97 pounds, petite stature, medium bust, medium hips – muttered the writer in front of Rebecca, sitting in a desk. The man took glances at her, writing in a sheet. It was, as she was told by the two male guards escorting her, her criminal profiling within the Empire, which was apparently the place she was. – Ninja captured trying to infiltrate The Capital – Ninja? She wasn’t a Ninja. She wasn’t even asian, according to what he just said! She also wondered why would her bust and hip size be relevant to her criminal profile – To be sent to interrogation with the other four. – He concluded. Then, the writer handed the sheet to the soldier to her right.
Interrogated? She didn’t like the sound of that. Considering the militaristic ways of this city, this probably meant torture, and from what she had seen about this world so far, this probably meant tickling. The girl wondered – how bad was it going to be? Being just born, she obviously haven’t been tickled already, except by the moment she was captured. It was an unpleasant feeling, but it’s not like it was the worst thing they could do to her.
After her profiling was complete, she was roughly escorted downstairs. As she descended, the temperature got colder, as walls made of brick gave way to walls made of stone. The corridoors she was guided through were tight and claustrophobic, the place’s only source of light were artificial and faint – not even a drop of sunlight.
But, above everything else, what scared her the most was not the visual atmosphere, but the sound. Her confidence vanished as she heard the tortured laughter, the cries for mercy and the begging pleas of those locked in the interrogation rooms. Those were not the sounds she usually associated with tickling. They were chilling, terrifying, desperate. Rebecca gulped, her eyes widened.
- Wait, you can’t do this to me! I didn’t do anything! – She protested for the first time, now that she was facing what awaited her.
- Shut up, Ninja. Your kind deserves the worst tortures. – One of her guards replied, poking her in the back with his feather-sword, making Rebecca squeal and jump. – Now keep walking.
Not wanting to receive that again, she complied. The guards took her past the cells – where prisioners laid in the corner, most of them crying or looking desperate – and into another floor, even deeper underground: The interrogation chambers. There, the sounds were even higher, since that place was the source.
The interrogation rooms only had three walls, leaving their front end exposed for new prisioners to witness the horrors inside. In one room, she saw an asian girl strapped to a medieval rack, from which metallic hands tickled her all over. In the wall, a white feather-blade was hanging. In another, a man, his wrists chained to the ceiling, while his interrogator teased him with a yellow feather-blade. The prisioner’s own blade was also yellow – maybe a traitor or deserter?
Finally, she arrived at an empty chamber, with a table with shackled in the center. The guards began pulling her to it, as she struggled fiercely, trying to escape. However, it was in vain – she was far too small and weak, and the guards were far too strong. Finally, she was chained to the table, spread-eagled, and her own feather-sword was confiscated and hanged up on the wall. After tying her up, the guards vanished, leaving the girl to squirm alone.
While she laid there, waiting for her interrogator to arrive, Rebecca became aware of just how vulnerable and uncomfortable she was. She gulped as she kept listening the shrieks and howls around her, starting to fantasize about what terrors were about to be unleashed upon herself. What Rebecca herself didn’t catch on at the time is that the wait was purposeful. It allowed the victim’s imagination to do half the job of breaking their own willpower.
It took over twenty minutes before she had any company again. A man entered the room, bald and muscular, with a truculent expression and a sadistic smirk in his face.
- Oh my, you’re very cute. And so small... There’s been a long time since I’ve had a victim like you... – He said, his voice absolutely creepy and full of malice. – I really hope you don’t spill the beans any time soon, sweetie. Usually they break so fast... I barely have time to have any fun... – He lamented. Rebecca’s breath deepened and accelerated. The man’s very presence was unnerving, making her want anything more than simply go away.
- Please, I am innocent, I don’t know anything! – She pleaded, desperately.
- Yeah, like I’m going to believe that. You are the fourth Ninja trying to infiltrate our city just this week! This is a much bigger level of activity than usual. You are planning something... Some of your friends spilled some things already, and you are going to give me all the pieces, and much more... – He said, going to the wall right ahead of Rebecca, looking at the many instruments she didn’t notice before. Feathers and feather-blades of all shapes and sizes, brushes, sponges, those metallic wheels with bristles to test sensitivity, among objects she really didn’t know, like metallic rods, and weird ones, like a pair of metallic boots.
- Why is everyone calling me a Ninja? I’m not a Ninja! I’m just a girl! – She responded, trying to make him understand she didn’t have a clue of what was going on. The man just laughed.
- Are you REALLY trying to convince me you just spawned here? Come on sweetie, this is the first thing everyone does... – He said, finally deciding to pick nothing – for now – and turning to Rebecca. – But enough talk. Let’s begin, shall we?
- No, please, listen to me, pleHEHHEHEHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHSHSSEEHHEHE!!! – She was interrupted mid-sentence as the man’s fingers made contact with the soles of her feet. That was worse than she expected it to be. She buckled in the table, doing her best to try to get away, but it was useless. The chains would not bulge. There was no escape for her.
Without escape, all she could do was laugh, and wriggle her feet around the best she could – which wasn’t much – to try to escape. But the torturer was skilled and followed her feet wherever it went, as if it could predict where it was going to flee. And she laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
After some minutes, the man stopped.
- Oh thank yoohhiohohohohuhuhuh!!!! – She couldn’t even catch a breath as his fingers descended into her thighs. She moved her legs desperately, trying to brush him off, making it look like she had stepped on hot coal. However, that area was not as bad as her feet – it was tolerable, even. She hoped he would stay there a lot longer instead of venturing to other spots.
Her hopes were crushed as he almost immediately stopped, going for her hips next. Once again, she howled and buckled as the tickling came right back to terrible levels. And not only on her hips – the interrogator tried in quick succession her sides, ribs, stomach and navel, all of them elicting huge responses. She wasn’t really sure what was worse: There or on her feet. All she knew is that she wanted it to stop.
It took minutes for her to catch another break, however. When he finally stopped probing her midsection, her head fell to the side, motionless, as she panted heavily, trying to catch her breath.
- For the love of god.... – She started, stopping to pant again. – I beg you... don’t do this.... please....
- Oh, hush you! I haven’t even started yet, you crybaby. I’m just checking your spots.
Her eyes widened. Not even started?! She was already ready to give him anything he wanted!
- Please, I just arrived... to this place... I don’t know anythHIHIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAANNNN NGHGHGHGHGH!!!!! – She haven’t noticed it, but this pause was long because the man was moving to the upper side of the table, right above her. And he did that because there was only one spot left:
Her armpits.
And this time, it wasn’t laughter that poured out of her mouth, but a single, high-pitched, sustained scream of pure agony. She tried pulling her arms down with strenght that she didn’t have, and felt the ligaments in her arm screaming as she put more pressure on them than they could sustain. But she didn’t feel the pain – she was too focused on one primal need coming from deep within her brain:
- MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHKEKEHEHEHEHEH THHIHIHIHISS STOOOOHOOHOHOHOHOHPPP!!!!! – She begged to whoever would listen, the torturer, the prisioners in the other cells, the guards or God himself. She needed SOMEONE to listen. Because that feeling was unbearable. She wriggled left and right on the table, trying to turn her body and cover at least one of her underarms, without success. She bucked foward, trying to jump out of the torture table, also without success, as her chains grasped her. She tried, by all means, to get up, trying to at least sit on that cursed table, but this was also impossible.
Finally, the reality hit her. That torture session was going to be absolutely horrible, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
- Oohhh boy, a jackpot! – The torturer exclaimed, happily. – I swear, I have never seen someone as ticklish as you on their underarms, sweetie. And I don’t think I’ve met many people who were as sensitive as you overall. This is going to be such fun.... – He said. That man was wickedly skilled. He alternated techniques constantly – gently spidering her armpits, then digging deep, making circular motions – he even blew a raspberryl on her armpit, which was weird, and also terrible.
And it kept going on. Surely he had tortured her for 15 minutes already. She screamed for him to stop, screamed for mercy, screamed for understanding, and generally just screamed. And laughed. She laughed until her throat got sore, she laughed until her stomach ached, she laughed until she couldn’t laugh anymore, and then she laughed a little more.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, he stopped.
- I think I’ve probed you enough in these five minutes, sweetie. – “FIVE MINUTES?!” she exclaimed in her mind – because she was still out of breath and couldn’t talk. – So, look here in my eyes... – He said, as he leaned foward from her left side, grabbing her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. His expression was terrifyingly serious. – Spill the beans now, or we’ll start the real torture.
- I don’t.... – She started, and he released her, going back to the wall full of instruments. – No... please.... – She tried to beg, but she was too weak.
- Very well, sweetie. Remember... – He said, as he placed the instruments from the wall to a table right beside it. – You have only yourself to blame. – He said, stepping to the side. Rebecca took a glance at the table. She could see a very small feather-sword (more of a “feather-dagger” to be honest), two of those strange metallic rods with a ball on the tip, the pair of metallic boots, and a box, whose contents she couldn’t see.
- I beg you... Stop this.... – She tried to start, but was interrupted as the man approached and put a ballgag in her mouth.
- I’m tired of hearing you bag. Now I just want to hear you scream and laugh – He said, as he placed another thing on her – a bildfold. She couldn’t see anything else now, but she could feel the man leaning closer, whispering in her ear. – Welcome to hell, sweetie. I am your god.
I've decided to post all my stories here for your enjoyment.
I take commissions! If you want to commission me a story, please contact me THROUGH DA. My profile is: http://the-tickling-master.deviantart.com/gallery/
Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you liked (And especially if you disliked) the story, leave a comment!
This story is a personal project. I used to write for a Writing.com interactive story called "The Facility" and I loved it, but unfortunately the owner had to delete it for personal reasons. I tought that was a setting too good to go to waste, and revived it through my own personal story. The project is more or less on-hold, but I'll post what I have so far.
Rebecca 1: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?285713-The-Facility-Introduction-and-Rebecca-1
---------------------
- Name: Rebecca, Hair: Brown, Skin: Caucasian, Height: 1,48 meters or 4’10’’, Weight: 44 kg or 97 pounds, petite stature, medium bust, medium hips – muttered the writer in front of Rebecca, sitting in a desk. The man took glances at her, writing in a sheet. It was, as she was told by the two male guards escorting her, her criminal profiling within the Empire, which was apparently the place she was. – Ninja captured trying to infiltrate The Capital – Ninja? She wasn’t a Ninja. She wasn’t even asian, according to what he just said! She also wondered why would her bust and hip size be relevant to her criminal profile – To be sent to interrogation with the other four. – He concluded. Then, the writer handed the sheet to the soldier to her right.
Interrogated? She didn’t like the sound of that. Considering the militaristic ways of this city, this probably meant torture, and from what she had seen about this world so far, this probably meant tickling. The girl wondered – how bad was it going to be? Being just born, she obviously haven’t been tickled already, except by the moment she was captured. It was an unpleasant feeling, but it’s not like it was the worst thing they could do to her.
After her profiling was complete, she was roughly escorted downstairs. As she descended, the temperature got colder, as walls made of brick gave way to walls made of stone. The corridoors she was guided through were tight and claustrophobic, the place’s only source of light were artificial and faint – not even a drop of sunlight.
But, above everything else, what scared her the most was not the visual atmosphere, but the sound. Her confidence vanished as she heard the tortured laughter, the cries for mercy and the begging pleas of those locked in the interrogation rooms. Those were not the sounds she usually associated with tickling. They were chilling, terrifying, desperate. Rebecca gulped, her eyes widened.
- Wait, you can’t do this to me! I didn’t do anything! – She protested for the first time, now that she was facing what awaited her.
- Shut up, Ninja. Your kind deserves the worst tortures. – One of her guards replied, poking her in the back with his feather-sword, making Rebecca squeal and jump. – Now keep walking.
Not wanting to receive that again, she complied. The guards took her past the cells – where prisioners laid in the corner, most of them crying or looking desperate – and into another floor, even deeper underground: The interrogation chambers. There, the sounds were even higher, since that place was the source.
The interrogation rooms only had three walls, leaving their front end exposed for new prisioners to witness the horrors inside. In one room, she saw an asian girl strapped to a medieval rack, from which metallic hands tickled her all over. In the wall, a white feather-blade was hanging. In another, a man, his wrists chained to the ceiling, while his interrogator teased him with a yellow feather-blade. The prisioner’s own blade was also yellow – maybe a traitor or deserter?
Finally, she arrived at an empty chamber, with a table with shackled in the center. The guards began pulling her to it, as she struggled fiercely, trying to escape. However, it was in vain – she was far too small and weak, and the guards were far too strong. Finally, she was chained to the table, spread-eagled, and her own feather-sword was confiscated and hanged up on the wall. After tying her up, the guards vanished, leaving the girl to squirm alone.
While she laid there, waiting for her interrogator to arrive, Rebecca became aware of just how vulnerable and uncomfortable she was. She gulped as she kept listening the shrieks and howls around her, starting to fantasize about what terrors were about to be unleashed upon herself. What Rebecca herself didn’t catch on at the time is that the wait was purposeful. It allowed the victim’s imagination to do half the job of breaking their own willpower.
It took over twenty minutes before she had any company again. A man entered the room, bald and muscular, with a truculent expression and a sadistic smirk in his face.
- Oh my, you’re very cute. And so small... There’s been a long time since I’ve had a victim like you... – He said, his voice absolutely creepy and full of malice. – I really hope you don’t spill the beans any time soon, sweetie. Usually they break so fast... I barely have time to have any fun... – He lamented. Rebecca’s breath deepened and accelerated. The man’s very presence was unnerving, making her want anything more than simply go away.
- Please, I am innocent, I don’t know anything! – She pleaded, desperately.
- Yeah, like I’m going to believe that. You are the fourth Ninja trying to infiltrate our city just this week! This is a much bigger level of activity than usual. You are planning something... Some of your friends spilled some things already, and you are going to give me all the pieces, and much more... – He said, going to the wall right ahead of Rebecca, looking at the many instruments she didn’t notice before. Feathers and feather-blades of all shapes and sizes, brushes, sponges, those metallic wheels with bristles to test sensitivity, among objects she really didn’t know, like metallic rods, and weird ones, like a pair of metallic boots.
- Why is everyone calling me a Ninja? I’m not a Ninja! I’m just a girl! – She responded, trying to make him understand she didn’t have a clue of what was going on. The man just laughed.
- Are you REALLY trying to convince me you just spawned here? Come on sweetie, this is the first thing everyone does... – He said, finally deciding to pick nothing – for now – and turning to Rebecca. – But enough talk. Let’s begin, shall we?
- No, please, listen to me, pleHEHHEHEHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHSHSSEEHHEHE!!! – She was interrupted mid-sentence as the man’s fingers made contact with the soles of her feet. That was worse than she expected it to be. She buckled in the table, doing her best to try to get away, but it was useless. The chains would not bulge. There was no escape for her.
Without escape, all she could do was laugh, and wriggle her feet around the best she could – which wasn’t much – to try to escape. But the torturer was skilled and followed her feet wherever it went, as if it could predict where it was going to flee. And she laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
After some minutes, the man stopped.
- Oh thank yoohhiohohohohuhuhuh!!!! – She couldn’t even catch a breath as his fingers descended into her thighs. She moved her legs desperately, trying to brush him off, making it look like she had stepped on hot coal. However, that area was not as bad as her feet – it was tolerable, even. She hoped he would stay there a lot longer instead of venturing to other spots.
Her hopes were crushed as he almost immediately stopped, going for her hips next. Once again, she howled and buckled as the tickling came right back to terrible levels. And not only on her hips – the interrogator tried in quick succession her sides, ribs, stomach and navel, all of them elicting huge responses. She wasn’t really sure what was worse: There or on her feet. All she knew is that she wanted it to stop.
It took minutes for her to catch another break, however. When he finally stopped probing her midsection, her head fell to the side, motionless, as she panted heavily, trying to catch her breath.
- For the love of god.... – She started, stopping to pant again. – I beg you... don’t do this.... please....
- Oh, hush you! I haven’t even started yet, you crybaby. I’m just checking your spots.
Her eyes widened. Not even started?! She was already ready to give him anything he wanted!
- Please, I just arrived... to this place... I don’t know anythHIHIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAANNNN NGHGHGHGHGH!!!!! – She haven’t noticed it, but this pause was long because the man was moving to the upper side of the table, right above her. And he did that because there was only one spot left:
Her armpits.
And this time, it wasn’t laughter that poured out of her mouth, but a single, high-pitched, sustained scream of pure agony. She tried pulling her arms down with strenght that she didn’t have, and felt the ligaments in her arm screaming as she put more pressure on them than they could sustain. But she didn’t feel the pain – she was too focused on one primal need coming from deep within her brain:
- MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHKEKEHEHEHEHEH THHIHIHIHISS STOOOOHOOHOHOHOHOHPPP!!!!! – She begged to whoever would listen, the torturer, the prisioners in the other cells, the guards or God himself. She needed SOMEONE to listen. Because that feeling was unbearable. She wriggled left and right on the table, trying to turn her body and cover at least one of her underarms, without success. She bucked foward, trying to jump out of the torture table, also without success, as her chains grasped her. She tried, by all means, to get up, trying to at least sit on that cursed table, but this was also impossible.
Finally, the reality hit her. That torture session was going to be absolutely horrible, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
- Oohhh boy, a jackpot! – The torturer exclaimed, happily. – I swear, I have never seen someone as ticklish as you on their underarms, sweetie. And I don’t think I’ve met many people who were as sensitive as you overall. This is going to be such fun.... – He said. That man was wickedly skilled. He alternated techniques constantly – gently spidering her armpits, then digging deep, making circular motions – he even blew a raspberryl on her armpit, which was weird, and also terrible.
And it kept going on. Surely he had tortured her for 15 minutes already. She screamed for him to stop, screamed for mercy, screamed for understanding, and generally just screamed. And laughed. She laughed until her throat got sore, she laughed until her stomach ached, she laughed until she couldn’t laugh anymore, and then she laughed a little more.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, he stopped.
- I think I’ve probed you enough in these five minutes, sweetie. – “FIVE MINUTES?!” she exclaimed in her mind – because she was still out of breath and couldn’t talk. – So, look here in my eyes... – He said, as he leaned foward from her left side, grabbing her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. His expression was terrifyingly serious. – Spill the beans now, or we’ll start the real torture.
- I don’t.... – She started, and he released her, going back to the wall full of instruments. – No... please.... – She tried to beg, but she was too weak.
- Very well, sweetie. Remember... – He said, as he placed the instruments from the wall to a table right beside it. – You have only yourself to blame. – He said, stepping to the side. Rebecca took a glance at the table. She could see a very small feather-sword (more of a “feather-dagger” to be honest), two of those strange metallic rods with a ball on the tip, the pair of metallic boots, and a box, whose contents she couldn’t see.
- I beg you... Stop this.... – She tried to start, but was interrupted as the man approached and put a ballgag in her mouth.
- I’m tired of hearing you bag. Now I just want to hear you scream and laugh – He said, as he placed another thing on her – a bildfold. She couldn’t see anything else now, but she could feel the man leaning closer, whispering in her ear. – Welcome to hell, sweetie. I am your god.
