• The TMF is sponsored by Clips4sale - By supporting them, you're supporting us.
  • >>> If you cannot get into your account email me at [email protected] <<<
    Don't forget to include your username

The TMF is sponsored by:

Clips4Sale Banner

The Tickling Games

oneortheother

TMF Expert
Joined
Sep 16, 2008
Messages
375
Points
18
Based on a series of pictures from Yurihausen

---

The Tickling Games

One month before the annual Hunger Games, curious fliers appeared all over District 12. They were stamped with the Capitol’s official seal, and they promised riches and renown for those “brave souls” willing to volunteer for an ordeal of will, strength, and endurance.

Katniss had initially disregarded it as a new spin on the Hunger Games—the Capitol were continually rebranding and reselling their grotesque traditions to the populace. However, when she asked the guards about it, they claimed it was something completely different. This would not be some deathmatch with other challengers, but a solo event. Not to mention that the flier specifically stated that all participants in the event would be physically unharmed. Katniss wasn’t sure how much she could trust the Capitol’s word when it came to anything, anything at all, but they wouldn’t tell such a bald-faced lie if they were planning on broadcasting such an event to all the districts, would they? People would surely complain if there was such a blatant bait and switch.

She rolled it over in her head, spoke to Gale, spoke to Prim, spoke to her mother. But when she looked at the dwindling food supplies in her home, she knew that she had to give it a try. Besides, if it really wouldn’t leave her without a mark on her skin like the poster promised… it would probably be some tacky new gameshow type thing for Capitol television. Maybe Katniss would have to wear revealing clothing and pick up objects with her elbows or something. Surely a bit of embarrassment was worth not starving in anyone’s book—the poster boasted of food supplies being a reward for those who performed well, and Katniss was certain that if she put her mind to it, she could excel at whatever challenge was offered. After all, she was nimble and strong for her size, and with her long dark brown hair, olive skin and grey eyes, she knew she wasn’t unattractive, and that could only be for the better for her status as an applicant for this competition.

When Gale heard she had put her name forth for this ordeal, he entered as well, though it seemed he had not been accepted as guards came to collect Katniss and Katniss alone for the trip towards the Capitol. As she went on the train, with District 12 fading away in the distance, her heart pounded in her chest as she wondered if this would be the last time she saw the dreary, grimy land that had been her home all her life. Just how far could she trust the Capitol? About as far as she could throw them, Katniss knew.

At the bright lights, shimmering surfaces, and queer fashions of the Capitol, Katniss Everdeen was escorted to some kind of strange booth where a variety of creams, massagers, and distressingly enough, shavers awaited her. Katniss almost punched the technicoloured woman who approached her with the intentional of shaving the hairs down her lady spot, but after she struggled for a bit, she felt a pinch in her neck, and she woke up without a hair on her body aside from her long dark locks. She groaned as she examined herself in the waiting room of the contest hall.

Her hands were softer, and her nails were clean and shiny, including her toenails which were now painted a glossy black. All the dirt from under her fingernails had gone, too. Her feet had always been tough with callus on the heel and the balls of her feet from her frequent forays into the forest for hunting, but they were pinker, smoother, and pillow-soft. The same was true for the soft, hairless flesh under her toned arms. Her hair was sleek and brushed out, and it was absent of any tangles in what felt like the first time in years. One long brown braid was across her left shoulder. The skin on her face seemed smoother and healthier, and the blackheads on her nose had cleared up overnight as had the blemishes on her skin.

The change from the tougher and able huntress to this pretty, soft-looking and sweet-smelling, girl who would look good on Capitol cameras was not one Katniss could say she honestly liked. At least the outfit they had given her was not too embarrassing. Thick-soled black boots that looked like they would be good for hiking up mountains. She wore a black and white tight jumpsuit with hexagonal patterning that covered her from the neck to the palms of her hands. Whatever happened next, it was comforting to know that she was dressed for athletic endeavours.

Soon enough, it was her time to go on stage. She entered into a white featureless room with nothing inside but a white chair. She was a little relieved that there wasn’t a live audience gawking at her, but she was sure there were cameras hidden around her somewhere. She sat down in the chair where metal and leather straps bound her down to the chair at the ankles, just under the knees, the waist, the neck, and the forehead. They were a bit like the ones she saw on automobiles on the way over here when she had been flown in via airplane. Further binds at her biceps and wrists bent her arms behind her head so her elbows were pointed up at the ceiling. The Capitol was nothing if not thorough. She could wriggle her hands and ankles a bit, but that was about all the movement given to her.

“Welcome, contestant!” said a cheery female voice. It had to be some kind of recording, Katniss realized, as there was certainly no one in the room with her. “Contestant must endure sixty minutes of tickling in four phrases. She may give up at any time, but failure to last sixty minutes will result in a reduced food reward. The more tickling she can bear, and the less laughter she produces, will yield more food for her district. Good luck!”

Tickling? That’s what this ordeal was about?

Katniss searched her memories for when she had ever tickled or been tickled. Tickling was juvenile, tickling was childish, and tickling was silly, she knew. Overall, District 12 was not the kind of place where people spent a lot of time laughing, but there had been a moment once with her younger sister, Prim. Katniss’s dear sister was a sweet girl, almost too sweet for the cruel and unforgiving world they found themselves in—especially such a world where such entertainment as this and the Hunger Games existed—but she did have one flaw. Early in the mornings, she was a notoriously heavy sleeper. You could shake her shoulder, shout at her, pinch her, but either that would have no effect, or she would rise up only to fall back into bed the second you turned your back. Throwing water on her was an option, but it was often quite a waste of a precious commodity, so Katniss had found a new way to ensure her dear sister woke up promptly. Katniss had tossed back her sister’s covers, found her petite feet, sat on them, and ran her rough fingers all over those pale feet till Prim started squeaking and giggling so hard half the district might have heard. After a while, Prim would always sit up with her blonde hair a wild, untamed mess and her blue eyes bright with mirth, giggling. One day, Prim had vowed a giggly revenge, and the next morning, Katniss was amused to be woken up by fingers on her bare feet. Katniss had chuckled good-naturedly, letting her sister bask in her success for a while before the older girl struck out with her foot, pushed Prim to the ground, straddled her midsection, and tickled her armpits and sides till the rom had rang with her raucous laughter.

There was another time as well, and this one was with her best friend, Gale. They had gone hunting together into the forest for game, but Katniss had accidentally tripped on a low branch and had tumbled headfirst into a rotten log. She had gotten well and truly stuck, with only her boots sticking out of the wooden prison. After checking that she was unharmed aside from her pride, Gale had chuckled and told her that she was too stressed, and she needed to lighten up on occasion. Katniss had shot back that they didn’t really live in the kind of situation that allowed her to just blow off steam all willy-nilly—she had duties, responsibilities, and far too people counting on her. Gale had replied with a laugh, saying that was exactly why she needed some time to herself to relax, to laugh, to smile. Katniss had not worked out what he meant till he started unlacing her boots. She had squirmed and shouted that she would kill him, but he had kept going till her stripped off her thick socks, and he danced his finger all over her damp and musky feet. He had even picked up and twig and tried running it through her toes a few times, and he had guffawed with laughter when it had such explosive results. After a while, he had pulled Katniss out of the log, where she had promptly slugged him hard in the arm.

They were fond memories, memories which spurred Katniss on. She had to win this for Prim, for her friends, for everyone.

But one full hour of this? Katniss had no idea of she could take it, no idea at all. If the challenge had been to survive in the wilderness for a week, Katniss at least had some measurement of her capabilities but for this, she had nothing.

But she supposed how difficult could it be? The Capitol hadn’t lied, at least not in this, and she wouldn’t die as a result of this, which couldn’t be said for the annual Hunger Games. With her smooth and soft skin, she might even go back to District 12 looking better than when she had come in, though she now realised all the treatments they had given her earlier was to amplify her sensitivity. Well, she supposed that was their prerogative. They had to ensure they had a good and entertaining product to sell to the mindless masses. It wouldn’t work if they had a contestant who wasn’t ticklish. Well, it didn’t matter even if they had multiplied Katniss’s sensitivity by a thousand. It didn’t matter a lick. She would endure, she would persevere, and she would take their best shot and then some.

She noticed a blue, glowing timer on the wall opposite here. It read:

Phase: 1

Time Remaining: 60:00

Food Prize: 100%

Sixty minutes was all she had to take. She took a deep breath as the time began to tick. Well, here we go, she thought.

A pair of wired robotic hands protruding from the sides of the chassis of her metal chair, and at the ends of these hands were lasers. They began to tear holes in her suit—their first target was at her armpits. She didn’t think it made very much sense that the Capitol would have given her this attire just so they could tear holes in it, but she supposed they were the kind of people who had no qualms about wastage. The lasers quickly shredded through the thin, tight fabric of her suit, but it didn’t hurt her softened skin aside from a slightly warm tingling.

As the cool, refrigerated air of the room blew on her bare underarms, she waited. She watched as two more robotic arms appeared, and they equipped with soft-looking brushes, the kind she had seen some of her attendants use for dusting on makeup. She bit her lip as they hovered closer and closer to the exposed skin of her armpits.

At the first stroke of those several inch-long bristly brushes, she felt her face tighten into a tight, ticklish grin. A light groan passed her lips as the second brush began its machinations. It tickled ridiculously. Those mechanised brushes were highly methodical, sweeping from left to right as they went up and down her armpits, yet somehow, these thorough, meticulous approach was driving her crazy. They were zero chance of them missing any spots on Katniss’s surprisingly ticklish armpits as they diligently swept up and down them.

After a while, just when Katniss was starting to get her shuddering, flinching reactions under control, the brushes began to alter their approaches. Had these robots somehow picked up her reactions and adjusted accordingly? Or were they simply programmed to do a variety of patterns? It was beyond Katniss’s comprehension, especially while her underarms were being so expertly brushed. The one in her left armpit was spiralling clockwise from the edges into the hollows then back out again, but at an agonisingly slow pace that seemed to draw out the suffering of every spot. The right armpit was spiralling anticlockwise in a similar fashion, but it moved ten times as quickly, the swirling bristles of the brush feeling like her whole smooth, soft armpit was being tickled at the same time.

She gnashed her teeth together, wanting to do so much more. She wanted to scream, wanted to toss her hide from side to side, wanting to pull her arms away from those accused brushes whizzing along them, but she couldn’t do any of those things. All she could do was grind her teeth together, clench her fingers into fists, and shut her eyes to try to take her mind off everything. She opened an eye and took a peek at the timer. It had only been a little over six minutes! How could that possibly be? Katniss was certain it had been at least fifteen. The injustice of all the energy being required to keep her body’s reactions under control after five odd minutes was outrageous. Maybe this wouldn’t be quite so easy after all…

And the soft bristles in her underarms were changing patterns again—this time, they were tracing letters and symbols in there, she felt a star in her right armpit while the letter Z was drawn again and again in her left. It was fast growing too much to take. Katniss’s lower lip trembled, she scrunched her eyes shut, and a little whimpering giggle escaped her throat. Her eyes opened to glance at the timer. It had already dropped by a percent. No! Surely, that didn’t count! She wanted to say, but talking was a mistake for as soon as her lips parted the laughter came shooting out of her.

Phase: 1

Time Remaining: 53:47

Food Prize: 98%

Ugh, she hadn’t lasted long at all! She wanted to shout at herself, wanting to slap herself in the cheeks to tell her to get her head in the game, but laughter continued to spill from her weak lips. The brushes were moving faster now, constantly changing patterns. Her right armpit had gone back to the spiralling clockwise scrubbing while the left armpit kept getting crossed drawn across the centre of her quivering hollows.

When the brushes finally, finally stopped to give her a breather, she frowned as she saw the food prize had dwindled to 88%, and she still had fifty or so minutes left. She could feel her cheeks were red and flushed, so she took deep inhalations to try to settle herself down, try to get her pounding heart under control. Her underarms were still tingling. But she couldn’t let that happen again, couldn’t let herself lose control like that. She tried not to imagine her disgrace if she had to return to District 12 all made-up and pretty but without a single morsel of food for her efforts. They would think she had just gone out joyriding…

The lasers returned again, this time cutting away her boots. The robots wielding the lasers slashed around her ankles and plucked off the sole covering that protected her feet. They had not provided her with socks, so her feet were now bare and exposed to whatever insidious design the Capitol gameshow people had in store for them. But before they began, Katniss’s metal chair clanked and whirled as it shifted to give the viewers a better look at the next area to be targeted for tickling torture. Her arms were brought down and pinned to her sides, which was a relief of sorts, albeit a small one. At least they wouldn’t be tickling her there anymore. The chair elevated so her legs were at about a forty-five-degree angle into the air. The final change was cool metal bars protruded from the chair about to about where her toe knuckles were, which would mean her feet wouldn’t really be able to wriggle back to escape what every torment awaited them, though at least they could still wiggle and scrunch and move around a bit.

Katniss looked down. She had always been a short girl, though her feet had been fairly large for her size, especially her toes. She stared at the black nail polish that now lined her toes. She couldn’t say she liked the look of her new feet, though she had to admit the colour went well with her olive skin tone and dark hair. But the nail polish reminded her of how her feet had been pampered, been rubbed in all kinds of strange oils, and had become soft and vulnerable. And as the same bristly brushes that had done such unspeakable things to her armpits appeared over her feet, Katniss’s grey eyes grew wide with trepidation at the ticklish fate that awaited her immaculate soles.

The timer blinked to indicate Phase 2 had begun, and the brushes moved in right away. The one on her left foot focused on her wrinkled, soft arch, with unhurried up and down motions along it, while the one of her right swept horizontally across the fleshy ball of the foot. Her hands shook and her toes clenched. Thankfully they hadn’t been restrained, so she was able to evade the brushes a little bit by flexing her feet to and fro, though she would never be able to elude those brushes for too long, as they were clearly programmed to deal with such squirmy feet.

After a near miss when a brush had stroked between a toe and had nearly made Katniss let loose a shrill scream that she had only been able to hold it at the very last moment, her long toes scrunched up whenever those soft brushes dusted anywhere near them. Her hunter’s reflexes were put to get use here, unlike that anguishing ordeal at her armpits.

She wasn’t able to do much when the brushes tracing along her deep arches, which she had fast learned were an especially tender and weak spot for her, but she tried to keep her soles wrinkled up for as much as she could, though it tired her feet after she held them like that for a while. By clenching her soles up, the wrinkles would make the skin a bit thicker so the tickling couldn’t get in quick as easily. It was an imperfect strategy, but when pressed with the decision between a wooden shield and no shield at all, you had to make the most of what you had.

Despite her efforts, the foot tickling was awful, awful, awful, but somehow, she managed to keep her reactions under control aside from some fierce teeth clenching—she clenched so hard she was worried she might crack a tooth.

When those godawful brushes finally stopping their probing. Katniss saw the timer:

Phase: 2

Time Remaining: 33:77

Food Prize: 88%

She hadn’t lost a single percentage of the food prizes in twenty whole minutes! She wanted to whoop for joy and cheer, but she felt far too tired for such behaviour. She was sucking air in in through her throat, like she had just been running in the forest near her home for hours. Her brow was damp with sweat. Not to mention the fact was that there was still over half an hour left to endure. And they were still only at phase 2… things were surely going to get worse before they got better.

She gasped in shock as she saw tiny metallic tendrils come out of the metal bars to latch around her black-painted toes. They wound several times at each one before pulling back. Now Katniss’s bare feet were utterly helpless. She couldn’t even scrunch them, which had been an invaluable defence mechanism as her feet were under siege from those brushes. The brushes took full advantage of her soft feet’s new immobility, sweeping up and down the high arches which now held taut and still for their terrible touch, with Katniss only just being able to hold on, by the very skin of her teeth. She was only just able to keep her reactions in check.

She felt relief when she saw the familiar 88% on the timer, but then she saw those brushes going away, and her twisted into a big, open-mouthed frown when it looked like they were being replaced by something far nastier. They were three times as long as the makeup brushes had been, and the bristles looked much tougher and bristlier on them.

Katniss wasn’t sure what they were. They sort of looked like a bit like toilet brushes, though not nearly as big. They’re probably toe brushes, Katniss thought, looking at these new brushes that looked like they would be perfect for poking their way through ticklish toes to clean the sensitive flesh in between them. And with Katniss’s long toes tied back and spread like this, they could go wherever they damn well pleased.

As soon as these new brushes make contact, Katniss couldn’t stop herself from letting loose a squealing laugh. More chuckling followed when she came to the unfortunate revelation was that these brushes were not stationary, unlike the makeup brushes from before. They rotated around as they were applied to Katniss’s feet, which intensified the ticklish sensations tenfold.

Those brushes slowly began to roll across her soles, starting from her rosy heels up, with Katniss’s composure taking a battering after each inch it went up. With those wires around her toes keeping her feet firmly in place, all she could do as quiver as the brushes spun and spun.

The brushes made their way from the heels, up through her deep and structured arches, across the balls of her feet till they reached the pads of her painted toes. Then, it was back down again, all the while Katniss wondered why people in the Capitol possibly found this entertaining. Her feet were shaking, sweat was tricking down her cheeks, and her nails were leaving marks in her palms when she clenched them tightly to try to take her mind off what was being done to her poor feet. Yet those brushes continued to roll up and down.

Katniss’s giggling was steady now, and every attempt to stifle it was like trying push the morning tide back with your bare heads. She blinked and saw 79%, another blink and it was 71%, another blink and it was 62%. When the brushes started exploring her toes, running from the highly sensitive base of her long toes to their tips, Katniss’s laughter reached a high shriek she hadn’t known she could even make. It was such a girlish, humiliating noise for a tough girl like to make The same could be said for the squeaking and squealing noises she made afterwards, when those damn brushes pushed through the gaps of her toes, one at a time, to spend a good long while spinning away at the undersides. Before long, they quickly found out which nooks and crannies were the most sensitive (the gap between first and second toe on each foot) and simply took up residence there, only occasionally pulling out to run along her arches and the balls of her feet when her sensitivity seemed to be waning from being tickled in the same spot continuously for so long.

Katniss kept her eyes shut for most of this, as it was far preferable than watching the sight of such diabolical devices positioned over her feet, but when her bleary eyes opened again as the brushes stopped, what she saw on the timer was not pleasant:

Phase: 3

Time Remaining: 20:00

Food Prize: 48%

She wanted to slam her head back into something hard. She would have, had her neck not been strapped down. She had lost half her prize already! There were only twenty minutes left, and she had to do her utmost to ensure as much of that invaluable food remained for her to take back to District 12. But could she keep her body under control? They knew the spots on her armpits and her feet now, didn’t they… Katniss took a deep breath, shook a stray lock of dark hair out of her face and decided it didn’t matter if they knew. With the lives of everyone on the line, she would not fail.

Her resolve was immediately tested as the mechanical chair started its clanking transformation again. This new position left her more exposed than ever—her legs were spread as were her arms, and her toes remained bound by that infernal wire. The straps around her neck, forehead, stomach, knee, thigh, ankle, elbow, and wrist remained stubbornly intact, so again, the only part of her body she could really move was her fingers, and they weren’t much use at all right now.

The lasers appeared again, and they seared off the fabric around her… breasts? Katniss should have guessed. Was there no limit to the depravities of the Capitol? Watching a young girl getting tickle tortured wasn’t enough for them? They needed such lewdness as well? She supposed she really ought not to be surprised as the lasers cut around her jumpsuit to expose her white bra. That was next to go to, courtesy of a pair of three-pronged robot pincers.

Katniss grit her teeth and tried to think of Prim as those cold, silver claws came around poking at her breasts, which were now bared and nude. She shivered as they brushed across her skin as goosebumps came prickling along her olive skin. By themselves, they might have been semi-tolerable, but as those claws poked and pinched at her breasts, the whirling the brushes at her feet never stopped. Her body was too tense to play at resistance with those ungodly things rampaging across her super soft soles, so she laughed and laughed, shivering as the cold claws teased her heaving chest, paying particular attention to her rapidly stiffening nipples. It disgusted her that her body was getting aroused by this, but physical stimulation was physically stimulating, and her body had been dealing with far too much of that over the past forty minutes.

Every now and then, the claws would dispense with tickling and simply caress and stroke her breasts. Those cold claw tips of these would take special care to stroke her along her areolas, pinching and flicking as best as those cumbersome things could handle. One wouldn’t have thought those cold, pincers would be effective in drawing such a lover’s reaction from her, yet her perky nipples were erect all the same, not to mention that growing ache in her loins. Were they pumping something into the room to make her more lustful? Some kind of airborne aphrodisiac? Katniss wouldn’t put anything past those freaks from the Capitol.

And the worst part was meanwhile as those claws groped across her chest, the savage scrubbing at her feet never ceased. And the electric tingles that emanated from her breasts as they were teased seemed to do queer things to the rest of the body, for Katniss found herself jumping and gasping to spots on her feet that she had been able to handle before. Was the tickling up there somehow making her more sensitive all over? Was that the effect of the liquid arousal dripping from between her legs? Or had the Capitol people pumped in some other insidious substance to heighten her sensitivity? She didn’t know, nor did she truly have the brain capacity to work it out as the brushes continued to sweep across her feet and toes and as the pincers continue to poke and prod her bosom.

Yet she couldn’t help but watch it all happen—watching probably made it worse, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off it as stared at her pretty, black-painted toes being tormented, or her breasts being scraped. She had to keep an eye on the danger. Everyone knew that was the first rule of the jungle, yet here, she had a feeling this habit was doing her more harm than could. When she tore her eyes away to look at the timer, this was what she saw:

Phase: 3

Time Remaining: 14:56

Food Prize: 39%

Scarcely over a third of her total food prize remained. How could she have squandered so much of it already? She would have resolved to clamp her jaw shut and not make a noise for the rest of the fifteen minutes, had she not known that vow would be broken in seconds.

And the tickling was changing again. Did the robots themselves recognising that her body was starting to react favourably to the pincer’s cool touches on her breasts? Or had they simply been programmed to change at the fifteen-minute mark? Did the people running this farcical show implement the change?

Katniss didn’t know, but she knew that the three-pronged claws had relocated to her sides and ribcage, and it was not a change she welcomed. She felt sweat beading all over her flushed body. Her stiff nipples were suddenly aching, tingling, because of how they had suddenly been left alone after all that stimulation.

And the constant stimulation at her bare feet hardly made up for it. Her long toes strained hard against the wire, but it remained as strong as steel as the brushes continued to sweep in their patterns. Again, it was either the robot’s programming or directed by the Capitol directors of this mad programme, but it seemed Katniss’s secret spot on her arches, the one right under the balls of the foot, were not so secret anymore. Both feet were being ruthlessly tormented in that spot, with the brushes only occasionally meandering up to tease her toes for a while or down to brush at her heel to keep her off-guard.

There was some new stimulation as well, though perhaps it could have been thought of as old. The smaller, wider makeup brushes had return to their old haunts in her bare armpits, and they were happily twirling away in all their old favourite spots. Katniss’s hands opened and closed, her arms straining to free themselves, but she made no more progress than she had ever had. Tears of laughter crept out of the corner of her eyes as the tickling overwhelmed her, overwhelmed her plays at resistance. How could anyone possibly take this? The Katniss of District 12, perhaps, but not the Katniss that had been made soft by all the evil devices of the Capitol—she couldn’t believe people possibly went to such places voluntarily and even paid money to be make weaker and more sensitive! It went against all the laws of nature. But then again, when had the Capitol ever tried to do things that made sense? This bizarre game of theirs was a prime example of just how backward they were.

To try to occupy her mind, she tried to focus on other things, on Prim’s smile, Gale’s laughter, but no, that was wrong, smiles and laughter were tickling, and tickling was here, trapped in this chair. Her mind just couldn’t think of anything, and Katniss’s tattered consciousness was driven by the ticklish train of thought to a topic station she really wasn’t sure she wanted to be at—what tickled worse?

The claws grabbed at her ribs and slim sides for a while as she writhed about in ticklish frustration, all the while all too aware of her stiff and aching nipples. The ribs were bad, definitely. They triggered her animal reaction to get her vitals away from dangerous sharp things like claws and pincers—that was the evolutionary imperative that tickling had grown out of, she knew. Every pinch and prod made her flinch and twitch. It also drew the breath from her lungs, every single time.

The armpits were bad, definitely very bad. It felt like half a lifetime ago when she had been tickled there, back in the golden days of Phase 1 when she had been able to keep her rabid laughter contained, but she was fast remembering just how excruciating it was. Those bristles were soft, her armpits were softer, and she laughed and laughed.

The feet almost didn’t warrant mention. They were a special kind of awful. Katniss was starting to figure out why the foot people had obsessed over her feet so much at that strange clinic she had needed to go to before participating in this contest. They had spent twice as long on her feet as they had anywhere else, and the reason was because her feet were now as soft as sensitive as they had ever been in her entire life. And that was exactly how it felt as those brushes scrubbed slow and scrubbed in her endless trove of ticklish soft spots on her feet.

The breasts, well, they still tingled and seemed to long for touch, any touch, but they were spared for now. But Katniss held serious reservations they would be left in peace for long. That most certainly wasn’t the Capitol’s way.

Just as Katniss felt she was leaning one way for answer, she felt something whirl on her chair, and she glanced down through blurry, bleary eyes and saw that the timer had reached the final stage.

Phase: 4

Time Remaining: 5:00

Food Prize: 22%

There was five minutes left that she would have to remain here in this chair. Only five. She could keep it together for five minutes, couldn’t she? She tried not to focus on the 22%, tried not to focus on the fact that it was only a fifth of the foodstuffs she had hoped to take back to her friends and family. That kind of negative thinking would do her no good. A fifth was better than nothing, she told herself, at least you’ll have something to show for all your suffering, all your laughter, all your tears in this chair… Just keep yourself together for five measly minutes. Katniss Everdeen, you can do this, you can surely do this!

She closed her eyes and tried to think of home, tried to picture herself in her happy place, tried to imagine herself anywhere but here in this ghastly room, with her sensitive, intimate spots picked at by robots to the wanton delights of anonymous strangers…

The sound of the lasers buzzing away and cutting away more fabric could be heard, yet the other tickling implements did not stop as the lasers did their business, and Katniss didn’t even realise that she was suddenly unclothed from mid-thigh to her navel before it was done. You lost track of things under a hurricane of ticklish sensations. She strained against the straps that held her in. They wouldn’t even give her the modesty of not showing her more intimate of areas, it seemed. Katniss wished she could say she was surprised that the Capitol viewers would stoop so low, that they would want to see something like this, but she honestly hadn’t. As soon as she been shaved down there by the Capitol clinic people, she had known this was almost guaranteed to happen. She had hoped she might be wrong, but hope was a dangerous, misguided thing here.

A pair of feathers spawned from the chair. She thought they might go for her toned stomach, but she soon found out they had somewhere else in mind. They danced over her thighs and around her womanhood, two spots where she had never even known she might be ticklish. And only did those soft, soft feather tickle terribly, but their light touch felt almost good, a tantalisation that was fast driving Katniss to the end of her wits. Those feathers alone would have been enough to drive her crazy, but those feathers were far from alone. She had never imagined herself as being the kind of person who might be sensitive enough to being tickled by something as dainty and wispy as feathers—it seemed the sort of thing that only powdered and perfumed Capitol divas might possibly be vulnerable to—yet here she was, squeaking and squealing as those feathers twirled from knees to thighs, along with deft strokes right by her womanhood. The crook between thigh and hip proved to be an especially sensitive spot to the feathers as well.

At her throbbing breasts, two new devices had appeared. They looked like glass tubes at first, a bit similar to the vials of medicine that Katniss’s mother had stored away, but they soon proved to have a very different kind of application. They affixed themselves to her stiff, tingling nipples and as the red light on top of them flashed to indicated they were on, a new sensation shot through her chest. Katniss would have arched her back and howled if the multitude of straps had allowed it. They felt like some kind of suction cups, creating a pressure vacuum which tugged and teased at the bare skin of her trapped nipple constantly, causing them to lengthen and grow even harder. There was also something electrical about them, for she felt a tingly zapping feeling trickle through each one at regular intervals. Just what were those things? Had they been designed for the express purpose of tormenting ticklish little girls? Whatever the answer was, it sent prickles of pleasure through her, enough to set her womanhood to dripping at an even faster rate. She didn’t know what about those awful things her sensitive, panting chest seemed to adore, but as this and a thousand other questions rushed through her mind, she had more pressing concerns at the present, such as the growing fire in her belly.

And as if the thorough and relentless torment of her two most intimate of spots weren’t possibly enough, all the other implements and all the other spots continued the tickling frenzy.

Her long feet were too tired to ever fight against the wires that helped her pedicured toes back, too tired to twitch as those narrow, whirling brushes stroked up and down her arches that had reddened from such persistent scrubbing.

Her hands shook as the makeup brushes at her armpits dusted every single spot, dusting right, left, up, down, and everywhere.

The tri-pronged metal pincers that had played such a prominent a hand in teasing her nipples till they got into such an excited state where those weird suction cups could evoke such a reaction from her were busy with her midsection, scrabbling all along them and grabbing at her sides. They even wandered lower to torment her toned and muscular stomach, where Katniss quickly learned that her abs provided little protection against questing metal claws.

How was she supposed to endure all this? How was anyone supposed to? This contest was rigged in the Capitol’s favour, Katniss’s outraged mind realised. No one could possibly take this much stimulation without laughing. 100% of the food prize would forever be a dream for her, and every other poor, desperate soul who was suckered into this challenge.

The final nail in the ticklish coffin that reinforced this fact was a new device that slithered out of the chair and positioned itself around her legs. It looked a bit like a Capitol peacekeeper’s truncheon, though it was perhaps only a quarter of the length, and it a firm plastic head.

When Katniss saw it, her hazy, tickled-added mind’s first reaction was confusion. How could such a thing be used to tickle her? But like the suction cup devices that made it feel as though a lover were insistently kissing and tugging on her stiff nipples, not every device was intended for that purpose. Arousal was a weapon too, a weapon used to erode will and one’s mental defences. The device pressed against her weeping womanhood. It had a strong thrum that sent shivers through her body, as even as it pressed delicately across her exposed intimate parts, the two feathers alongside it never ceased their teasing along her thighs or behind. The feathers facilitated the hammering sensations with strokes just under or above her womanhood which amplified the feelings even more.

Her eyes kept threatened to roll back in her head as the pulsing sensations continued. She had never felt this way before, never even on her loneliest nights, and she could feel something crawling inside her that made her hips grind together as best she could even strapped down in dozen places. She felt her stomach churning inside her as a potent, powerful, tickle-fuelled orgasm reared its fearsome head.

Not here, Katniss thought, begging in her mind. Not now, please, not when she had to keep her body under control for the good of everyone back home… not in front of everyone who might be watching. She would have begged aloud to the showrunners had her throat not gone dry from so much laughter. Her spluttering laughter had scarcely stopped since Phase 3 had begun, and that was almost twenty minutes ago. Her laughter had started out so defiant, all stop and go as she tried to fight to contain every giggle or chuckle that had wanted to come out. She realised now that had been her mistake. It was like trying to keep in a cough—it wouldn’t work, for it had to come out. And the more you tried, the more you were simply making yourself uncomfortable and wearing yourself out. That was what Katniss had done. She had wasted all her energy in the onset, so that now that she really needed it, she had nothing to fall back on. So here she was, laughing and giggling like a silly little girl who had heard a good joke.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t quite true. That girl wouldn’t be huffing and moaning with every other breath. Such sounds were akin to laughter after all—they were all a body’s reaction to stimuli, powerful stimuli that could not be ignored.

She cracked open a bleary eye and glanced at the timer:

Phase: 4

Time Remaining: 1:16

Food Prize: 10%

Ten percent was pathetic. There was no sugar-coating it. Ten percent might not even last a week if she shared with all the people she cared about. And the worst fact of all was Katniss feared even ten percent might be unattainable.

What had started as a tingling in her breasts had grown to a maelstrom between her legs, a raging inferno that threatened to burn out her brain. The vibrating device was humming away at her womanhood, which dripped and drooled hungrily with every potent thrum.

The suction cups kept her round and firm breasts tingling and longing for touch, any touch, especially the stiff, swollen, and sensitive dark buds that stood out from her chest. Katniss never knew they could ache so much, but she was learning a lot from her time in this chair—many painful lessons she wished she could unlearn.

The only reason an orgasm had not come yet was because of the tickling, Katniss suddenly realised. The incessant scrubbing at her pampered feet, the brushing at her smooth armpits, the claws goosing her toned sides, even the feathers dancing at her soft thighs. They were all tearing her down even as the vibrator and the suction cups built her up. Katniss was stuck right in the middle, being pulled in two directions at once.

But the stalemate was breaking, the sexual teasing was fast becoming too much. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks as orgasm neared. It was so close. She tried to ignore the long brushes working between her black-painted toes, though they tickled so bad. She tried to ignore the makeup brushes spinning away in the very centres of the hollows of her armpit, though they tickled so very bad. She tried to ignore the claws squeezing up and down her ribcage, though they tickled so so bad. She tried to ignore the light kiss of feathers at her thighs, though they tickled so unreasonably bad.

And it happened. A mighty groan passed her lips along with a shudder. An immense warmth surged through her body like the warmth of the midday sun but far better. She could have basked in its glow for hours, but it passed, far too quickly for her liking. If not for the straps still binding her to the chair, she would have curled up in the foetal position. She hoped that they wouldn’t count her great gasping moan as laughter.

When she came back down to earth, she suddenly realised every nerve was standing on end, like the orgasm had woken every sense receptor in her body. And the tickling hadn’t stopped—far from it, they were now tickling even faster! And Katniss was beginning to come to the dreadful revelation that the orgasm had made her much more sensitive. She could feel every bristly bristle’s scratch, every soft feather’s light flick, every metal pincer’s cold grab. It was like she had been wearing a full-body rubber jumpsuit the whole time, but only now she was naked.

And the suction cup was still sucking away, the vibrator between her legs was still buzzing away, and a fresh orgasm was starting to make its presence felt in her belly. Katniss glanced up at the timer and her mouth gaped open at what she saw:

Phase: 4

Time Remaining: 20:11

Food Prize: 7%

Katniss thrashed and twisted, shouting through strained laughter that the time was wrong, that was due to be released. After letting Katniss sit and laugh herself silly for a bit longer, the smooth female voice spoke again—the one Katniss had heard at the beginning that had explained the rules.

“Reminder to all contestants: unauthorised orgasms will result in twenty minutes being added to the timer.”

“Whahat do youhoho mehehean! Nohohooo one tohohold mehee thahahat!”

“All contestants are reminded to read closely the terms and conditions of the contest.”

Katniss whimpered. She wanted to weep, but all she could do was laugh and laugh. Her womanhood was starting to drip again as a second orgasm started to build up, like a rolling storm.

And the phases hadn’t even reset. Could she possibly take twenty full minutes at phase four, with those suction cups unleashing tantalising ecstasy to her nipples while that vibrator continued sending mind-melting shockwaves between her legs? It had only taken five minutes at phase four to bring her to orgasm the first time…

She had thought she would only be in here for an hour, and that thought had kept her going throughout—just a bit longer, she had thought, I’m almost done… I can keep the food prize if I can just hold on for a bit more…

But suddenly, Katniss realised she might be here for a long, long time indeed, especially with those damnable things at her breasts and ladyparts. 7% of the food prize was left, she thought, hoping against hoping that there was still a chance at some kind of minor victory. All she needed to do was to endure the long brushes whirling away in her arches, the makeup brushes sweeping in her armpits, the claws poking her sides, the feathers at her inner thighs, the suction cups at her breasts, and the vibrator between her legs. That was all.

All she had to do was last twenty minutes…
 
That was pretty fun. Good work!
I wonder what it would be like if they were in the arena with TM's? Would there be a way to turn the TM's on each other? Good thoughts.
 
Great story! Wonderful premise and the descriptions of each part were very vivid! More please:)
 
Great work!!! I loved the story. Great descriptions of the torcher. Fun read
 
Oh God, that was a fantastic story! While reading it I had the 2nd 'Hunger Games' movie on TV so kept gazing at Jennifer Lawrence as I switched back and forth between the movie and your story. Well done!
 
What's New

3/28/2024
Stop by the TMF Welcome Forum and take a second to say hello!
Tickle Experiment
Door 44
NEST 2024
Register here
The world's largest online clip store
Live Camgirls!
Live Camgirls
Streaming Videos
Pic of the Week
Pic of the Week
Congratulations to
*** brad1701 ***
The winner of our weekly Trivia, held every Sunday night at 11PM EST in our Chat Room
Back
Top