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  1. #1
    Join Date
    Dec 2016
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    Nowhere, Everywhere
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    Drag Me To (Tickle) Hell, ****/F, All Over, Nudity




    It started out as fairly normal as days went for Serena Lemaris. She woke around six A.M., Saturday, took a shower, did her morning routines, brushed her lovely golden hair, and headed out for work. Due to a major case her firm, Jordan, Cooper & Associates, was working on, involving the mayor and several high profile individuals, Serena was working the entire weekend. At the least, her boyfriend, Damien West, was going to be there too. If anything else, at least she wouldn't be alone, as Damien was an even worse workaholic than she was. She took the bus, and settled in around the middle area of the bus, looking out the window, when it happened.

    A deafening low hum like a subwoofer going off. Deafening, and yet, so low, she could hear everything else. Her vision turned red, flickering back-and-forth between red and normal. As one, the heads of every single person on board the bus turned to stare at Serena. She was reading a book that she carried with her, but the young woman was all-too-aware of the occurence. Raising her head slowly, she adjusted her spectacles as she looked at all the people. Men and women, young and old, were all staring at her with unreadable expression. Suddenly, with a feral cry, they all lunged forward, their faces turning into hideous shades of grey, and their eyes and mouths looked like gaping dark holes of sheer black. With a scream of horror, Serena raised a feeble attempt at self defense before the next assault. The mob raised her arms over her head, gripping her wrists firmly, her ankles held apart as she was violently stripped of her clothing, and her screams were drowned by their own roar of fury and rage.

    The next part always drove her insane as fingers scratched lightly at her underarms, and her ribs and belly were tormented with incessant tickling, and her feet. Oh, how they tickled her feet mercilessly. Her laughter and cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, the men and women desperately reached over each other to get a piece of her, covering the entirety of her bared flesh with their wriggling, scratching, tickling fingers. She bucked, thrashed, and twisted to-and-fro as she frantically sought escape and relief from the torment, screaming and crying until tears poured freely, her glasses knocked askew during her struggles.

    Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over, and Serena was right back in her seat, dressed, with her book in hand. She jumped with a start when someone coughed and cleared his throat, but no one was looking at her. They all looked perfectly normal, and it was as if the attack had never happened. Yet, the blonde-haired young attorney could still feel those cruel fingers and the residual sensation on her skin, especially in the places where she was most ticklish. Despite the relative warmth, she shivered, feeling abject terror fill her person. When the bus stopped at the corner by her workplace, she resisted the urge to leap out in a panic, but she headed over to a small stall owned by a Native American man selling dreamcatchers. He looked at her impassively, but with a small hint of acknowledgement and recognition.

    “Ahanu,” said Serena, “It's getting worse...”

    Ahanu nodded gravely once, and turned to look at his table full of his wares, and then spoke in a gravelly voice, “The darkness follows you, from here, only three days remain, before the curse reaches completion.”

    “Th-three days?” Serena stammered, “Th-there's got to be something I can do, right? Why is this happening to me?”

    He looked at her seriously. “Do you recall meeting anyone of particular significance? Over the last week?”

    As she looked up, trying to recall everyone or anyone that she had met outside of the norm, she finally shook her head, “Nothing, no one, certainly not someone who'd go 'round putting curses on people...or me.”

    Ahanu accepted this with an imperceptible nod, hands resting against each other by the fingertips while he leaned back in his seat. “Think back to when it all began, did anyone give you a gift?”

    Now this she considered with deeper thought. Gifts, gifts, she had gotten one or two, since her birthday was just last week. That was when the strange tickle assaults began. The very first one had been on last friday, right after she'd spoken to Damien, he was smiling, telling her that the future was bright, and he loved her. He also thanked her for being his girlfriend. She had been giddy, and a little drunk, as they made love, something she both cherished and hated, because she was so ticklish, she was always giggling at the least, to her boyfriend's amusement; and he gave her a birthday present, a gold necklace with beautiful ivory and a chain. She couldn't quite recall how he got it around her, since it didn't appear to have a link and was a single loop. But he did assure her it was waterproof and genuine gold, and that it was supposed to bring good fortunes.

    She'd fallen asleep, and then she was awakened by a very insistent tickling on her right side, just below the ribs. It felt like a hand kneading her flesh and muscle insistently, and she kicked and laughed, thinking Damien was teasing her. Except when the twisted and flipped herself around to retaliate, she was shocked to find Damien's back turned to her, soundly asleep, and the tickling on her right side was still going on, the side that she was now lying on. The attack got worse, as she saw a shadowy figure looming over her and as she screamed for help, Damien just remained asleep, and her hysterical laughter as the figure delved its many many hands onto her body, denuding her before it began a long torturous tickling, going straight for her weak spots that drove her mad, she suddenly sat upright with a shriek, discovering that it was a dream.

    It grew more frequently over the next few days, escalating from nightly dreams to daytime attacks. Pedestrians on the street would suddenly turn their heads as one to stare at her, and next she was pinned on the ground by countless attackers, all reaching for her to tickle her into oblivion, before she'd come to and find nothing happened...except for the memory and the sensations on her skin, and the marks of many fingers having touched her.

    As she remembered this event, her fingers caressed the pendant and chain around her neck, but she shook her head, suddenly remembering, “Carrie...she gave me a strange gift from her travels through Europe.” She looked down at Ahanu, “She told me it was something she bought from gypsies. It's got to be that. She gave it to me the day the first er...attack happened.”

    “Bring me the gift.” said Ahanu, “I will do what I can to stop the evil from haunting you.”

    She thanked the elderly man and hurried away. Planning to ask for emergency time off, since it was only her life in danger. She could only assume that when Ahanu said the curse would complete on the third day, she was probably not going to like the results. But her plans went awry the minute she set foot in the firm. The case had escalated and all attorneys were called to. “We're gonna be here all night, honey,” said Damien when he saw her and his hand rested in the small of her back.

    “But-” she tried to protest that it was an emergency, but Stanley Jordan himself called her and Damien in to discuss an affidavit from a disgruntled staff member of the political administration. From there she was stuck in meeting after meeting, until an exhausted pair came home to their apartment. She tried looking for Carrie's gift, a strange hilt with three red feathers and a key ring. But it eluded her search.

    “C'mon, Serena,” said Damien, his hands slipping around her slender waist, “let's go to bed. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow, with the mayor and his entourage.”

    Slightly frustrated, and slowly beginning to panic, the blue-eyed blonde did her best not to show as she turned to smile at her boyfriend and followed him to bed. They had thrown off all clothing as he lay on top of her, and she started giggling madly as they made love, and Damien grinned at her, “You've got to be the most ticklish girl alive. I just love that about you.”

    She couldn't give him any proper response, being that she was between laughter and a climax.

    “Hold me, Damien,” she asked softly, as they drifted to sleep. She was afraid of the dreams. He complied with her request, and wrapped his hands around her, and she rested her bare form against him. But it did no good.

    She heard the thrumming subwoofer sound and when she tilted her head back, Damien's face was sunken, and hollow, and he grinned at her, saying, “Tickling time.”

    “Oh God, NO!!!” she shouted and tried to push away from him with both hands, but his arms were like a steel vice, and from his back, dozens of black hands emerged, attached to tentacle-like limbs. Two of them grabbed at her wrists and raised them high, two more reaching for her sensitive underarms, and two more started kneading her ribs, the fingers expertly reaching for each joint, and two more hands teased her nipples. She was throwing her head back and shrieking with laughter as she kicked hopelessly. The torment lasted for hours, with no rest, and when she started awake, there was Damien, peacefully dozing, arms still wrapped protectively around her.

    The next morning, she tried in vain once more to search for the gift from her friend, and couldn't for the life of her remember where she'd last seen it. Beginning to suspect that the cursed object was hiding itself from sight, she resorted to seeking out her friend Carrie, to question her on the gift and her motives. But not before an even more intense attack on the street, between the bus and the street approaching Ahanu's stall. Passengers from the bus growled and held her wrists, while the street pedestrians stripped her and began to tickle her breasts, belly and sides, hands reaching for her inner thighs and the backs of her knees. She felt feathers and brushes exploring her body as she cried and thrashed frantically. When she came to, she'd tripped on a loose gravel, helped back up by none other than Carrie.

    “Where did that gift come from? Why give me a cursed object?!?” She demanded from her startled friend.

    “Cursed? Serena, what on earth?” The woman explained it was nothing more than a tourist item that the gypsies sold to everyone. It had no cultural origin, nor was it old, and neither was it cursed, blessed or remotely mystical in any way.

    Serena wasn't entirely convinced that this was the case, but she decided to take Carrie's word for it at the moment.

    “You must find the gift and bring it to me. Time is running out for you.” Ahanu told her gravely.

    Yeah no pressure.

    She was stuck at work until evening, when she made an excuse and fled to her home, enduring yet another attack. This time it was the environment and animals. The trees and the grass bound her, and all manner of creatures arrived to send her into hysterics. She was truly puzzled about where the gorilla came from.

    It was growing worse, and more intense each time. Now she could feel a temperature drop, and her field of vision darkened around the edges. She could also hear a hissing and wheezing voice speaking in a language she couldn't understand. But the voice terrified her.

    She found it at last, in a drawer. The gift was well hidden, and in a place she didn't remember putting it in. But she called Ahanu to make sure he was still there, and she raced to him, bearing another assault before she could reach him. “It's becoming more frequent!” she said in fright, “Please make it stop!”

    “You were just in time,” said Ahanu, “any later, and it might not be possible to end it.”

    He picked up a dreamcatcher and a rattle, murmuring a chant in his native tongue, he waved the rattle over the gift that Serena placed on the table. Next he held the dreamcatcher over it, and to the young woman's shock, she saw something like a golden light pass from the object to the dreamcatcher.

    Lowering the objects in his hands, the old man turned to look at Serena and nodded. She heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God...”

    She returned home that night without incident, and felt at peace, sleeping happily in Damien's arms, and when she awoke, she got ready, headed for work, and jumped when she heard a deafening thrum, and looked around in horror, but to her surprise, no one was looking at her, and they were all facing instead another direction, where the sound was coming from. It was an actual subwoofer, which a bunch of street performers were using. Shaking her head and smiling, she disembarked from the bus, and went over to greet Ahanu, and thank him. “I'm so glad I met you.” she said, unconsciously fingering the necklace of gold and ivory around her neck, and the old man slowly rose to his feet, removing her hand from the pendant, his face pensive.

    “I did not see that earlier,” said Ahanu, “this is an object of great evil.”

    Her face blanched as he said that and she stepped back, away from him, towards the streets, he mutely stared at her as she did this. Serena felt the temperature dropping, her field of vision became blurry and dark, and the thrumming sound of a subwoofer could be heard. Everyone's heads turned to stare at her. “No, no no no no no no no....” she said hopelessly. It was the third day.

    They descended as one, only Ahanu did not participate, as he watched helplessly. Shrieking and screaming, Serena was powerless to stop the countless grey hands that lunged for her wrists and ankles as she fell...and fell, and fell, and fell...into an abyssmal darkness. She couldn't see, but what she found so odd right then was the lack of weight, and the immobility of her arms and legs. Though she could still twist her torso about, and her head too. But there was nothing to see at all. It was pitch black. Blacker than black. She felt unseen assailants ripping her clothing away, then her bra, and something cleanly sliced through her underwear without nicking her skin at all.

    And then silence, and nothing.

    That lasted for only a few seconds. She felt fingers skittering over her underarms, and as she shook her head frantically, the giggles escaped her pursed lips. She was too ticklish to even offer token resistance. Blinking her eyes repeatedly did nothing to change the perfect darkness in which she now dwelt, and the cold bony fingers running all over the smooth hollows of her underarms grew more intense and clever. No matter how she twisted her body, those fingers followed.

    Then it stopped.

    Next she felt hands with fingernails running along the exteriors of her breasts, scratching her undersides, which tickled like mad, and she yelped and bounced in her weightless prison, unable to protect herself in any way, and cackling helplessly as those fingers gently pinched and teased her erect nipples, sharp but efficient nails trailing her swollen areolas. “PLEASE STOP!” she managed to yell between her laughter. But the tickling hands did not heed her pleas. Her breasts were overly ticklish to the touch, something that Damien used to love exploiting, now that she thought about it. She tittered and yelped as the fingers now gently massaged her nipples, it felt like the thumbs and index fingers rubbing the nubs between them and no matter how much she shook, twisted and threw her body about, the fingers kept tickling those sensitive nipples, while the rest of the fingers scratched at the undersides of her breasts or the sides of them.

    It stopped after some time, but she wasn't sure for how long, and she was panting and crying and pleading, when she felt the same fingers, trailing down her belly, tracing in and around her belly button, down to her waist, teasing the hip area, and fingers dug into the joints between the sockets, making her yip with protest, but her eyes widened as she realized the final destination of those hands, “No please...Oh God nooo...” she tried hopelessly to appeal for mercy, as they went for her absolute most ticklish spot. The torturous fingers taunted her though, as she felt them skirt along the flesh, avoiding the kill spot. Instead they trailed along the regions just around it, but never ever touching, expertly avoiding breaching the zone.

    When the fingers moved away, she clenched her eyes shut, knowing what came next. They didn't disappoint.

    It felt like a long, wet and scratchy cat tongue, and it lapped first at her labia, making her jump and scream in a shrill voice. At first it was a few laps at a time, then it began to just run back and forth continuously over the smooth clean shaven folds of her womanhood, and she lost all coherence or the ability to even plead as the tongue unleashed tickle hell upon her. It dipped right between the folds to tickle the insides of her clitoris, somehow going impossibly deep, and finding that G-spot, which only amplified the tickling sensation, which sent back a torrent of ticklish shockwaves into her brain and she fell into silent laughter, struggling for breath, which she found in the next instant and the vast darkness filled with her screams.

    It grew worse from there. While the tongue relentlessly tickled in and around her crotch without pause or slowing down, she felt hands descending onto her armpits again, and this time something like feathers and electrict toothbrushes dove in, covering the entire region where others missed. Scores of hands, some with nails, some bony, and some with sharp fingernails, and brushes dug into her ribs, grazed her sides and breasts, scratched and kneaded her belly, and what felt like an electric toothbrush with a rotating head dipped into her navel, while fingers ran around her ticklish tummy unobstructed by the brushes and feathers grazing her skin. She screamed and laughed herself hoarse, yet her throat did not give out, and neither did she seem to run out of breath as laugh after ticklish laugh poured out of her.

    Fingers and feathers tickled all around and in between her butt and the entirety of her back, including the back of her knees. Fingers around and all over her helpless feet and toes...and either more tongues or feathers and fingers explored all around her legs, especially the inner thighs, causing her octave of shrieks to rise higher and higher, and then they rediscovered her nipples, which they pinched and flicked and brushed, relentlessly following every minute movement of hers as she tried to escape them for even a second, but they showed her no mercy. More brushes and feathers than she could count traced the rest of her oh-so-sensitive breasts. But nothing compared to the raspy tongue working between her legs.

    Her skin should have desensitized by now, but she was still supremely ticklish and as her arousal interspersed her laughter with frantic moans, she cried out as she climaxed and collapsed, before wailing with renewed laughter as the tickling not only did not stop, but intensified. The tongue moved faster and more insistently than before, dipping in and out of her clitoris, covering the labia in a sea of tickles, and the fingers, feathers and brushes moved with greater gusto. All she could do was just laugh, in a perpetual state of tickle hell...




    Damien, Stanley and Gordon Cooper watched a mythical mirror, the reflection showing a naked and helpless Serena Lemaris, her wrists and ankles bound and held apart in an X-formation, while she struggled and thrashed in vain against a veritable sea of ticklers, screaming for mercy and an end to her torment. But the mirror's reflection began to zoom out, and there were scores of other women in there with her, all in a similar state of ticklish torment. Stanley chuckled and shook his head, “You really impress me, Damien.”

    He looked at the young man, “I didn't think you had it in you to sacrifice someone you loved so easily to achieve success.”

    “Now you do,” Damien said to Stanley, “She will fuel the price required?”

    Stanley nodded, “Indeed. As promised, all the power, prestige and authority of our partnership is yours. Equal to myself and Cooper alone, you are going to become an overnight sensation, son.”

    They clinked their glasses and drank in celebration, then Stanley clapped Damien on the back, “Now, let's attend to the mayor and his family, shall we? What say we cast his wife and daughters after the lovely Miss Lemaris?”

    The End
    Last edited by User100486; 06-11-2018 at 03:49 PM.

  2. #2
    Join Date
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    Feedback, criticism and reviews appreciated, folks.

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