midrifftickler
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Here is part 4 of Chapter 2 of Dawn's Story. I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading!
Chapter Beginnings
Chapter 1: Perilous Paradise
Chapter 2: The Evil Box
Chapter 3: On the Run
Chapter 4: A New Paradise
Chapter 5: Tummy Testing
Chapter 6: Hidden Citizen
Chapter 7: Tummy Training
Chapter 8: Sessions and Reflections
Chapter 9: Full Citizen
Chapter 10: The Mistress
Chapter 11: Royals and Revelations
Chapter 12: The Rarest Reunion
Chapter 13: Novice Mistress
Chapter 14: Taking Control
Previous Chapter
Chapter 2: The Evil Box, Part 3
Even after Dawn finished what she perceived as a long story, the brushes stayed on her bare belly for a while. The tickle slave quickly wore down once the energizing tickles ceased, and she stayed on the bed, eyes closed, after the restraints on her arms and legs released. Her eyes only flew open when a whip smacked her legs. “Slave, you will thank me whenever I end your tickling from now on!” the monotone voice loudly proclaimed as Dawn’s horrible reality fully returned.
“Okay, Mistress Slaver,” Dawn quickly responded, but instead of appeasing the machine as she expected, this only set off the Stomach Slaver.
The whip went up to her midsection and hit it harder than her legs, and the tickle slave’s hands dashed down to protect her pained tickle spot. “Thank me; your tickling was stopped!” the machine demanded.
“Thank you, Mistress Slaver!” Dawn spat out as quick as she could, and the whip retracted into one of the walls.
‘I hate this jerk of a machine so much,’ the prisoner was disgusted by the ease with which the Stomach Slaver resorted to beating her. “And since it’s so much of a jerk, I might as well just call it that. No other name really works.”
“Finally; you’re way too slow to learn,” the machine continued to admonish its unwilling inhabitant. “Now, get up, go to the bathroom, and then come back out to get some food. I don’t need to set a time limit for you right away, but when your next torture gets close enough, I will give you a warning.”
Within a little bit, Dawn had forced herself off the bed, used the restroom, and eaten. Since she had not yet been viciously reprimanded by the Stomach Slaver, the tickle slave decided that she would try stretching. Her resistance to the previous ticklings had ended up stiffening her joints, and she needed to get them loose if she was going to endure several more hours of tickle torture. After allowing her to do several stretches, the mechanical tormentor addressed its captive, “Slave, you have ten more minutes before your next torture. Within five minutes, you are to be back on the bed. Hurry up!”
Not wanting to anger her tormentor, Dawn hurriedly got ready for her next tickling before laying down with time to spare.
“Finally, you are showing the most basic signs of competence, slave,” Jerk broadcasted. “There’s still a slight chance that you will end up being worth enough to be a tickle slave after all. Now, let’s begin your next torture.” Dawn’s arms and legs were soon stretched back to their limits, but she managed a glance over to the tickle tool compartment, which was currently closed.
“AHA OW!” Dawn yelped in laughter and then in pain when something pinched her right side. Her eyes rushed down to her midsection, and they found one of the pincer hands as the assailant. As she was identifying this hand, a second one grabbed her left side, causing another ticklish shriek to be interrupted by a painful yell. “Stop tha- OUCH- that!”
“No, I dictate the end of your torture, not you, slave scum,” the disembodied voice returned to refuse the demand.
The tickle slave continued to express her discomfort with the painful pinches, not that it helped. However, after a while, the Stomach Slaver apparently decided that it was tired of just hearing short bursts of ticklish laughter before the shrieks of pain, so it added the eleven-fingered hands to the torture. Dawn was grateful to find that the middle hand had kept its knowledge of her outie bellybutton, and her responses became more laughter-focused once the hands started poking her bare belly. However, the pincers did not leave, and whenever they struck, a shriek signaled that they still hurt. The hands and pincers continued to torment Dawn for a very long time, and it was by far the worst torture that the tickle slave had endured so far. She attempted to dive back into her memories to get some relief, but every short side grab interrupted her thought process, leaving her stuck in a horrifying reality.
What felt like several hours later, the pincers and hands departed from Dawn’s middle, and the tickle slave actually meant it when she said, “Thank you, Mistress Slaver.”
“Impressive, scum,” the voice of Jerk gave a backhanded compliment as the chains released their prisoner. “You finally did not need any prompting to know your place. You are allowed to take a short break. There is food and water on the floor for you. I will warn you when your next torture is near.”
The injurious tickle session had thoroughly exhausted Dawn, so she started her break with the sandwich plate on the floor. After eating, she was feeling fuller, but her sides still hurt plenty from the harsh pincers. She took some time to stretch her stomach and sides, but these exercises only somewhat helped quell the pain in the area. She also managed to grab a couple of glasses of water before the Stomach Slaver decided that she needed to go back down on the bed.
As she was tied to the bed, the tickle slave felt thoroughly frightened of what was to come. Just like the eleven-fingered hands that initiated her machine tortures, the pincers were an unexpected tickle tool, but unlike the hands, they had not produced a pleasant tickling for the captive. Dawn’s mind was filled with more fear than she thought she could ever muster, and then that fear was increased by the fact that she knew she was at the mercy of an uncaring machine. In addition to being terrified of her next torture, Dawn was still exhausted and in no position to resist anything; the break had not given her enough time to recover from the insane torment that she had gone through, so her eyes had closed once she had returned to a laying position. “Slave scum, it is time for your next torture,” Jerk broadcasted a few minutes after restraining Dawn.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Dawn was taken by surprise when the next tickling began with something brushing up her bare belly. The tired tickle slave’s eyes shot open, looking down to see that tiny-tipped paintbrushes were the tool of choice. Shortly after the first brush began working roughly halfway between her navel and right side, Dawn felt a paintbrush sliding up and down each of her sides, and then another brush began to work an equal distance from her bellybutton as the first. Without energy or a desire to resist, the ticklee burst into pure laughter, just letting the tickling overwhelm her. It certainly appeared as if the captivated woman was returning to her normal ticklish activities, and, for all the Stomach Slaver could tell, she was going back to a helpless state of submission.
In truth, it was the first time that Dawn was ready to surrender to the tickling with both mind and body. Her exhaustion from the ruthless side pinching had rendered her helpless to mentally resist the paintbrush tickling, even though the tools were not particularly close to touching her tickle button yet. Also, based on her past reactions, she should have been enjoying the soft feel of the tools, but she did not have the strength to consider that fact. Inside her head, the only thing the tickle slave could think of was how ticklish she was and how bad any prolonged tickling was going to be. ‘These paintbrushes are so torturous,’ Dawn groaned internally. ‘And who knows how long this tickling’s going to go on? I can’t take it. I’m just too ticklish and tired right now. Nothing good can come from this continuing for however long it will. I guess the only thing left for me to do is laugh. I’ll never be able to escape, and I’m just destined to be a tickle slave. No one that’s still in my life cares about me. Especially not Jerk, Diana, or Ziva, and they rule my life right now. All they care about is breaking me and molding me into a perfect tickle slave. I guess that they’ll succeed; it’s not like I have any other choice. I should just start to get used to being tickle tortured. It’s going to be the rest of my life.’
Around this time, the harsh words of Lacy, the two ticklers who had tested her, the strong woman who carried her to the ship, the two supervisors of her torture, and Jerk bounced around in the tickle slave’s head. All of them, but especially the speech of Lacy and the Stomach Slaver, worked to confirm Dawn’s desperate thoughts, and she sunk into acceptance of her new, enslaved life.
Outside of the tickle slave’s mind, the tickling was continuing on as normal. The paintbrushes pushed into the ticklish torso so that the bristles were slightly splayed out, and they worked in predetermined and unchanging patterns. On the sides, the tools slid straight up and down from the edges of her ribs to where her bikini bottoms showed a slight bit of hips. In between those paintbrushes and the inevitable eventual tickle target of Dawn’s navel, the pattern was circular, covering about half the area of the main midsection.
Based on Dawn’s history of being tickled, the paintbrushes should have produced similar reactions to the feather tickling or the earlier brush tickling, but Dawn’s entire body showed that something was different with this particular torture session. Unlike previous ticklings, her face had a look of despair on it, only partially covered up by a forced smile. Her limbs seemed to have gone limp, no longer fighting to protect her ticklish tummy, as they had done before. Finally, she was sweating a little more, and although that could have been dismissed as her not getting enough of a break between torments, the difference in her thoughts threw that explanation out the window. Not able to read its prisoner’s mind, the Stomach Slaver activated its vents and blew cool air into the room to try and keep the slave’s body at a comfortable, safe temperature.
‘It’s not worth it.’ Now, the voice inside Dawn’s head was tearful as she accepted her fate. ‘It’s never been worth trying to resist them. I’m just too ticklish, and that’s it. I’ve always been too ticklish, and I suppose it’s always been my destiny to end up as a tickle slave. Just getting tickled on my tummy for all eternity. Whenever my mistress decides that I need it. That’s what will happen to me. I have no other choice. The Tickle Cartel is just too powerful, and I was foolish to resist. And now I see the truth: this is all happening because my belly is ticklish. That is the only important thing left about me.’
Back outside of Dawn’s mind, her teary eyes closed as she completely surrendered to the tickling.
Next Chapter
Chapter 2: The Evil Box, Part 5
Chapter Beginnings
Chapter 1: Perilous Paradise
Chapter 2: The Evil Box
Chapter 3: On the Run
Chapter 4: A New Paradise
Chapter 5: Tummy Testing
Chapter 6: Hidden Citizen
Chapter 7: Tummy Training
Chapter 8: Sessions and Reflections
Chapter 9: Full Citizen
Chapter 10: The Mistress
Chapter 11: Royals and Revelations
Chapter 12: The Rarest Reunion
Chapter 13: Novice Mistress
Chapter 14: Taking Control
Previous Chapter
Chapter 2: The Evil Box, Part 3
Even after Dawn finished what she perceived as a long story, the brushes stayed on her bare belly for a while. The tickle slave quickly wore down once the energizing tickles ceased, and she stayed on the bed, eyes closed, after the restraints on her arms and legs released. Her eyes only flew open when a whip smacked her legs. “Slave, you will thank me whenever I end your tickling from now on!” the monotone voice loudly proclaimed as Dawn’s horrible reality fully returned.
“Okay, Mistress Slaver,” Dawn quickly responded, but instead of appeasing the machine as she expected, this only set off the Stomach Slaver.
The whip went up to her midsection and hit it harder than her legs, and the tickle slave’s hands dashed down to protect her pained tickle spot. “Thank me; your tickling was stopped!” the machine demanded.
“Thank you, Mistress Slaver!” Dawn spat out as quick as she could, and the whip retracted into one of the walls.
‘I hate this jerk of a machine so much,’ the prisoner was disgusted by the ease with which the Stomach Slaver resorted to beating her. “And since it’s so much of a jerk, I might as well just call it that. No other name really works.”
“Finally; you’re way too slow to learn,” the machine continued to admonish its unwilling inhabitant. “Now, get up, go to the bathroom, and then come back out to get some food. I don’t need to set a time limit for you right away, but when your next torture gets close enough, I will give you a warning.”
Within a little bit, Dawn had forced herself off the bed, used the restroom, and eaten. Since she had not yet been viciously reprimanded by the Stomach Slaver, the tickle slave decided that she would try stretching. Her resistance to the previous ticklings had ended up stiffening her joints, and she needed to get them loose if she was going to endure several more hours of tickle torture. After allowing her to do several stretches, the mechanical tormentor addressed its captive, “Slave, you have ten more minutes before your next torture. Within five minutes, you are to be back on the bed. Hurry up!”
Not wanting to anger her tormentor, Dawn hurriedly got ready for her next tickling before laying down with time to spare.
“Finally, you are showing the most basic signs of competence, slave,” Jerk broadcasted. “There’s still a slight chance that you will end up being worth enough to be a tickle slave after all. Now, let’s begin your next torture.” Dawn’s arms and legs were soon stretched back to their limits, but she managed a glance over to the tickle tool compartment, which was currently closed.
“AHA OW!” Dawn yelped in laughter and then in pain when something pinched her right side. Her eyes rushed down to her midsection, and they found one of the pincer hands as the assailant. As she was identifying this hand, a second one grabbed her left side, causing another ticklish shriek to be interrupted by a painful yell. “Stop tha- OUCH- that!”
“No, I dictate the end of your torture, not you, slave scum,” the disembodied voice returned to refuse the demand.
The tickle slave continued to express her discomfort with the painful pinches, not that it helped. However, after a while, the Stomach Slaver apparently decided that it was tired of just hearing short bursts of ticklish laughter before the shrieks of pain, so it added the eleven-fingered hands to the torture. Dawn was grateful to find that the middle hand had kept its knowledge of her outie bellybutton, and her responses became more laughter-focused once the hands started poking her bare belly. However, the pincers did not leave, and whenever they struck, a shriek signaled that they still hurt. The hands and pincers continued to torment Dawn for a very long time, and it was by far the worst torture that the tickle slave had endured so far. She attempted to dive back into her memories to get some relief, but every short side grab interrupted her thought process, leaving her stuck in a horrifying reality.
What felt like several hours later, the pincers and hands departed from Dawn’s middle, and the tickle slave actually meant it when she said, “Thank you, Mistress Slaver.”
“Impressive, scum,” the voice of Jerk gave a backhanded compliment as the chains released their prisoner. “You finally did not need any prompting to know your place. You are allowed to take a short break. There is food and water on the floor for you. I will warn you when your next torture is near.”
The injurious tickle session had thoroughly exhausted Dawn, so she started her break with the sandwich plate on the floor. After eating, she was feeling fuller, but her sides still hurt plenty from the harsh pincers. She took some time to stretch her stomach and sides, but these exercises only somewhat helped quell the pain in the area. She also managed to grab a couple of glasses of water before the Stomach Slaver decided that she needed to go back down on the bed.
As she was tied to the bed, the tickle slave felt thoroughly frightened of what was to come. Just like the eleven-fingered hands that initiated her machine tortures, the pincers were an unexpected tickle tool, but unlike the hands, they had not produced a pleasant tickling for the captive. Dawn’s mind was filled with more fear than she thought she could ever muster, and then that fear was increased by the fact that she knew she was at the mercy of an uncaring machine. In addition to being terrified of her next torture, Dawn was still exhausted and in no position to resist anything; the break had not given her enough time to recover from the insane torment that she had gone through, so her eyes had closed once she had returned to a laying position. “Slave scum, it is time for your next torture,” Jerk broadcasted a few minutes after restraining Dawn.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Dawn was taken by surprise when the next tickling began with something brushing up her bare belly. The tired tickle slave’s eyes shot open, looking down to see that tiny-tipped paintbrushes were the tool of choice. Shortly after the first brush began working roughly halfway between her navel and right side, Dawn felt a paintbrush sliding up and down each of her sides, and then another brush began to work an equal distance from her bellybutton as the first. Without energy or a desire to resist, the ticklee burst into pure laughter, just letting the tickling overwhelm her. It certainly appeared as if the captivated woman was returning to her normal ticklish activities, and, for all the Stomach Slaver could tell, she was going back to a helpless state of submission.
In truth, it was the first time that Dawn was ready to surrender to the tickling with both mind and body. Her exhaustion from the ruthless side pinching had rendered her helpless to mentally resist the paintbrush tickling, even though the tools were not particularly close to touching her tickle button yet. Also, based on her past reactions, she should have been enjoying the soft feel of the tools, but she did not have the strength to consider that fact. Inside her head, the only thing the tickle slave could think of was how ticklish she was and how bad any prolonged tickling was going to be. ‘These paintbrushes are so torturous,’ Dawn groaned internally. ‘And who knows how long this tickling’s going to go on? I can’t take it. I’m just too ticklish and tired right now. Nothing good can come from this continuing for however long it will. I guess the only thing left for me to do is laugh. I’ll never be able to escape, and I’m just destined to be a tickle slave. No one that’s still in my life cares about me. Especially not Jerk, Diana, or Ziva, and they rule my life right now. All they care about is breaking me and molding me into a perfect tickle slave. I guess that they’ll succeed; it’s not like I have any other choice. I should just start to get used to being tickle tortured. It’s going to be the rest of my life.’
Around this time, the harsh words of Lacy, the two ticklers who had tested her, the strong woman who carried her to the ship, the two supervisors of her torture, and Jerk bounced around in the tickle slave’s head. All of them, but especially the speech of Lacy and the Stomach Slaver, worked to confirm Dawn’s desperate thoughts, and she sunk into acceptance of her new, enslaved life.
Outside of the tickle slave’s mind, the tickling was continuing on as normal. The paintbrushes pushed into the ticklish torso so that the bristles were slightly splayed out, and they worked in predetermined and unchanging patterns. On the sides, the tools slid straight up and down from the edges of her ribs to where her bikini bottoms showed a slight bit of hips. In between those paintbrushes and the inevitable eventual tickle target of Dawn’s navel, the pattern was circular, covering about half the area of the main midsection.
Based on Dawn’s history of being tickled, the paintbrushes should have produced similar reactions to the feather tickling or the earlier brush tickling, but Dawn’s entire body showed that something was different with this particular torture session. Unlike previous ticklings, her face had a look of despair on it, only partially covered up by a forced smile. Her limbs seemed to have gone limp, no longer fighting to protect her ticklish tummy, as they had done before. Finally, she was sweating a little more, and although that could have been dismissed as her not getting enough of a break between torments, the difference in her thoughts threw that explanation out the window. Not able to read its prisoner’s mind, the Stomach Slaver activated its vents and blew cool air into the room to try and keep the slave’s body at a comfortable, safe temperature.
‘It’s not worth it.’ Now, the voice inside Dawn’s head was tearful as she accepted her fate. ‘It’s never been worth trying to resist them. I’m just too ticklish, and that’s it. I’ve always been too ticklish, and I suppose it’s always been my destiny to end up as a tickle slave. Just getting tickled on my tummy for all eternity. Whenever my mistress decides that I need it. That’s what will happen to me. I have no other choice. The Tickle Cartel is just too powerful, and I was foolish to resist. And now I see the truth: this is all happening because my belly is ticklish. That is the only important thing left about me.’
Back outside of Dawn’s mind, her teary eyes closed as she completely surrendered to the tickling.
Next Chapter
Chapter 2: The Evil Box, Part 5
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