midrifftickler
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Here is part 5 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 4
As the paintbrushes continued to work over her bare belly, Dawn was in a state of complete surrender; nothing mattered to her except being tickled. Nothing would ever matter in the future except pleasing her mistress and being tickled as her mistress desired. However, while the ticklee was in the depths of her despair, the paintbrushes adjusted position. The ones that had been circling on the surface of her stomach moved in and targeted the edges of her outie, while the side-swiping brushes took over on the expanse of the midriff.
“EHAHAHAEEEE!” Dawn’s mind and body both underwent a shock when her tickle button was touched, the outward signal of which was a loud shriek.
‘Wha- what just happened?’ The tickle slave’s mind went into overdrive with the new sensation. ‘My bellybutton’s getting tickled now. So is the other part of my tummy. With paintbrushes. It tickles quite a bit. Wow, wow, wow, wow. That really tickles. Okay, okay, I need to slow down a little.’ As her squeal dissipated into loud, wordless laughter, Dawn’s mind refocused itself. ‘Okay, I’m being tickled, and yes, it’s on my bellybutton and tummy. Oh, this makes me feel so alive! Wait, what was I thinking earlier? Was I actually about to give in to being tickled, and with these soft, perfect tools, of all things? Really, I was? Me, Dawn? Who used to get tickled tons back home? Why, why would I surrender to this? It’s just tickling; it’s fun for me. Oh, right, these tickles are supposed to be torturous, and the machine is getting my most ticklish spot.’
At this critical juncture, one of the navel-tickling paintbrushes slid up and hit the knot on the top of the outie, earning another shriek from the ticklee.
‘I LOVE IT!’ Dawn let out an enthusiastic yell in her mind once the squealing outburst had passed. ‘I LOVE BEING TICKLED! Yes! Yes! This is awesome!’ Instead of being a nail in the coffin that ended Dawn’s resistance, the button-tickling paintbrush gave rise to an exuberant attitude in the ticklee’s mind. The only positively perceived quality about her navel took over the ticklee’s thoughts, and all the good memories of having her navel tickled flooded into her brain. Emboldened by positive ticklish recollections, mostly of her friends getting her, Dawn made a mental speech from on top of a mountain, ‘I, Dawn, am ticklish! I am the most ticklish person that I’ve ever known. And I love being tickled! Especially on my bellybutton! Its shape may be the biggest flaw on my body, but tickling makes it the most perfect part of me. I can stand tickling on my belly and bellybutton, and I will do so without cessation. From this point forward, I refuse to give into any tickling from this dumb machine. I will laugh, I may even cry, but I will not be broken. I refuse to be made into a tickle slave, no matter how hard this evil machine and its evil Tickle Cartel minions try. No one that’s worth anything to me would want me to surrender: not Emilia, Steph, and Winona; not Con; not my family; not any acquaintances who took even a little liking to me. I need to listen to them instead of these evil people who took me. And because of that, I will never give in. For I am Dawn, and I will do whatever it takes to get out of tickle slavery.’
After finishing up her speech, Dawn’s mind contentedly rested for a short bit before her determination to escape raised her opinion of her long, rambling declaration, ‘That was such an awesome speech. It’s too bad that it won’t ever be heard outside of my mind. Oh, well, back to the point. I am getting out of tickle slavery. This machine will be the last thing that successfully treats me as a tickle slave, and that’s only because there’s no way I can break through steel walls. But whoever comes and eventually gets me out of here will be in for a nasty surprise. I can take both Diana and Ziva down, and I will get out, no matter the cost. That is my only focus from now on.’
Despite the multitude of strong statements coming from Dawn’s mind, all that actually exited her mouth during her speech and afterthoughts was high-pitched, wordless laughter.
To the Stomach Slaver, the tickle slave was broken; in fact, she had been broken for a few ticklings now. The limb-based resistance, the only potential outward indication that Dawn was not ready to surrender, had been limited to two reasons, as far as the tormentor could observe. During the pincer tickling, the slave had obviously been in some pain, so her arms were attempting to push away the pincers; however, the machine could not oblige her without ending the tickle session, and that was not an option. To compensate, it had added in the fingers, which produced the second reason for resistance: the tickle slave was so ticklish that she had no choice but to flail her arms and legs. Although these actions were absent for a large part of the side and stomach paintbrush tickling, they had returned when the subject’s navel was targeted, proving that a sufficiently ticklish stimuli was required to initiate panic levels in the slave. The machine sent a report back to Diana and Ziva, informing them that Dawn was fully broken now and would be very agreeable when she was taken out at the end of the journey. It also included the knowledge that her outie was by far the most sensitive spot on her stomach, and the text-based message suggested that the two human slavers inform the training academy of this when they turned her over.
When the tickling finally ended, the tickle slave was faced with a different dilemma: whether or not to thank Jerk for ceasing the tickling. Before she could be hit for the lack of a response, Dawn decided that it would be best to comply with the Stomach Slaver’s wishes in this narrow instance: beatings were not ticklings, and the captive had no desire to endure the former. Plus, Dawn knew that she could take tickling, provided it was not painful; she was not so sure about whippings, which were guaranteed to hurt. This allowed her to internally compromise on the narrow point, reasoning that the strain of a beating would be more harmful to her overall escape plan than simply thanking the machine and verbally addressing it as Jerk desired. So, with all the sincerity that she could muster, she addressed the machine, “Thanks, Mistress Slaver.”
“Very good, tickle slave,” the monotone voice was still there, but the words were approving. “For obeying my directive without a reminder following two consecutive tortures, you have earned yourself a second sandwich. More rewards will come if you continue to obey. Go ahead and take your break, and I will alert you when your next torture is near.”
Once she was released, Dawn felt a mixture of determination and happiness. However, thanking the tickle machine for ending a tickling was not the only thing she had learned in her short time as a tickle slave. She knew better than to allow herself to express her positive feelings, so she quickly focused on two things that would keep a smile off her face: the grim reality of how difficult her escape would probably be, and the unspoken threat of a beating should she show a genuine smile. With this mindset, the captive tickle slave went about her business quickly and quietly, only allowing herself some happiness when she ate the extra sandwich, reasoning that the machine would not react negatively to something it specifically declared was a reward.
Eventually, Jerk proclaimed that the next round of tickling was about to start, and as it did so, four hands yanked on Dawn’s limbs and deposited her onto the tickle bed. Then they unexpectedly let her go with an order to return in less than five minutes. Although frazzled by the unnecessary grabbing, Dawn simply acknowledged the command and finished up her break in a daze, only managing to lay back down with seconds to spare. Jerk’s array of hands restrained her on the bed again, but this time, they also propped her midsection up with a pillow, straining her back enough to make her wince and whimper.
“This will be your final torture of the night, so I wanted to make it extra torturous,” Jerk provided a reason for the extra stretching. The talking stopped after that, and due to how much her head naturally sank into the pillow, Dawn was unable to see the tickle tools until they appeared over her bare belly. As it turned out, the first tickling tools to test Dawn’s newfound resolve would be feather dusters.
‘Yes!’ Dawn was happy even before the dusters threatened to touch down. With how much she had enjoyed regular feathers, dusters seemed like the perfect tool to reinforce her earlier vow to not give into the tickling. ‘I can easily take this tickling, but I think I should make it even better. All I need to do to actually love and not just tolerate being tickled right now is to pretend that someone that I like is the tickler. Jerk being in charge is all that’s wrong with this particular tickle session. Now, who should I pick to be my tickler?’
While Dawn was plotting how to make the duster tickles even more tolerable, the tools touched down on her torso, and she belted out laughter. Initially, the multi-feathered tools swiped up and down her sides, bringing back memories of the earlier feather tickling. The tickle slave’s laughter sounded like a single musical note, hardly wavering in tone or volume, as she took the tickling in stride.
‘Oh, I think I should put Emilia in charge of this duster on my right side, and Winona can control the other one,’ Dawn finally chose the two ticklers who had not yet gotten her in her recollections. ‘Even when they tickle tortured me, I always felt safe; plus, I can totally see them tickling me like this. Just brushing up and down, up and down my ticklish sides with smooth strokes. Ah, this is the life.’ The tickle slave entered a peaceful state inside her mind, contrasting wildly with her somewhat loud laughter in reality, as she let the blissful tickling control her.
After a little bit, the Stomach Slaver decided it needed to focus closer to its victim’s hot spot, so the two feather dusters slid towards the center of the abdomen. They still swiped up and down, but they also moved left and right, leaving about a half inch next to the bellybutton and each side untouched for this process. Instead of just going in diagonal sweeps from corner to corner of its target areas, the machine chose different speeds for the vertical and horizontal movements, ending up with smaller diagonal sweeps that ensured the entirety of the target areas would be teased by feathers. The laughter’s volume increased a decent amount compared to the side tickling as the dusters tickled closer to her weakest spot, but inside, Dawn was still pretending that her friends were in charge of the tools, and that caused her to adore the forced laughter.
Finally, the machine directed its feather dusters to target the hyper ticklish outie that shared the titles of Dawn’s most hated, for appearance, and loved, for sensitivity, spot. The right duster went straight to the navel, while the left one took a position above her button at rib level. The tickle slave was unable and unwilling to suppress a squeal just from having feathers touch her most ticklish spot, and she would not be able to hold in any further hysterics for a while. For the remainder of the tickle time, the Stomach Slaver focused on the area on and around her outie, stretching either side by the length of the dusters. The tools moved straight up and down from the line of her lower ribs to just above her bikini bottoms, tickling with reckless abandon. Due to the starting positions of the dusters, Dawn’s navel was almost always feeling feathers as the two tools worked in tandem. With her whole midsection propped up, the laughter had been louder the entire time, and hysterical took on a new meaning for the ticklee when her stretched-out button was constantly stimulated. Pretty soon, she abandoned forcing Emilia and Winona to be her ticklers mentally; instead, her conscious thinking slowly faded away. Her extra enjoyment of the tickling faded with her focused thoughts, but she never stopped loving the feeling of feathers on her bare belly. Outside of her thoughts, the ticklee’s mouth emitted laughter louder than she ever thought possible.
Dawn had no clue how much time had passed before the feathers stopped tickling. By the time she regained her focus, both the pillows on her bed had disappeared, causing her to mentally wonder how long ago the tickling ended and why she had not yet been whipped for failing to speak to the Stomach Slaver. She took a few deep breaths and then thanked the tickle machine for ending the tickling, although in truth, she was a little bitter that the feathers were gone. “Congratulations, slave,” Jerk’s mechanical voice returned after Dawn spoke. “You are doing quite well; I’ll expect the same tomorrow. Now get ready and go to bed. Lights off in twenty minutes or when you’re down for the night.”
Right after this, the five-fingered hands returned to undo the restraints, and exhaustion finally set in. Dawn slid her legs off the bed and forced herself to stand. By the time she returned from the restroom, a blanket and new pillow were on the bed, and a cup of water sat on the ground nearby. The tickle slave drank the water before laying down on the bed and pulling the blanket over her bikini-clad body.
Despite her exhaustion, Dawn could not sleep right away, and dreams of escape took over her mind. She began to imagine forcing her way out of the Stomach Slaver, running away from the Tickle Cartel, and returning to her family. The three people whom she had spent her entire life with appeared in mental images: her father, mother, and older brother, and reality hit hard again. It had only been a couple of days, but she felt like it had been a lifetime since she saw them last. Like the night before, she turned onto her pained front and sobbed into her pillow as she longed for her missed loved ones. With each tear she shed, she vowed to escape the evil Tickle Cartel and return to a better situation, where she was not continuously tickle tortured and beaten by a despicable organization that just thought of her as ticklish merchandise.
Next Chapter
Chapter 2: The Evil Box, Part 6
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 4
As the paintbrushes continued to work over her bare belly, Dawn was in a state of complete surrender; nothing mattered to her except being tickled. Nothing would ever matter in the future except pleasing her mistress and being tickled as her mistress desired. However, while the ticklee was in the depths of her despair, the paintbrushes adjusted position. The ones that had been circling on the surface of her stomach moved in and targeted the edges of her outie, while the side-swiping brushes took over on the expanse of the midriff.
“EHAHAHAEEEE!” Dawn’s mind and body both underwent a shock when her tickle button was touched, the outward signal of which was a loud shriek.
‘Wha- what just happened?’ The tickle slave’s mind went into overdrive with the new sensation. ‘My bellybutton’s getting tickled now. So is the other part of my tummy. With paintbrushes. It tickles quite a bit. Wow, wow, wow, wow. That really tickles. Okay, okay, I need to slow down a little.’ As her squeal dissipated into loud, wordless laughter, Dawn’s mind refocused itself. ‘Okay, I’m being tickled, and yes, it’s on my bellybutton and tummy. Oh, this makes me feel so alive! Wait, what was I thinking earlier? Was I actually about to give in to being tickled, and with these soft, perfect tools, of all things? Really, I was? Me, Dawn? Who used to get tickled tons back home? Why, why would I surrender to this? It’s just tickling; it’s fun for me. Oh, right, these tickles are supposed to be torturous, and the machine is getting my most ticklish spot.’
At this critical juncture, one of the navel-tickling paintbrushes slid up and hit the knot on the top of the outie, earning another shriek from the ticklee.
‘I LOVE IT!’ Dawn let out an enthusiastic yell in her mind once the squealing outburst had passed. ‘I LOVE BEING TICKLED! Yes! Yes! This is awesome!’ Instead of being a nail in the coffin that ended Dawn’s resistance, the button-tickling paintbrush gave rise to an exuberant attitude in the ticklee’s mind. The only positively perceived quality about her navel took over the ticklee’s thoughts, and all the good memories of having her navel tickled flooded into her brain. Emboldened by positive ticklish recollections, mostly of her friends getting her, Dawn made a mental speech from on top of a mountain, ‘I, Dawn, am ticklish! I am the most ticklish person that I’ve ever known. And I love being tickled! Especially on my bellybutton! Its shape may be the biggest flaw on my body, but tickling makes it the most perfect part of me. I can stand tickling on my belly and bellybutton, and I will do so without cessation. From this point forward, I refuse to give into any tickling from this dumb machine. I will laugh, I may even cry, but I will not be broken. I refuse to be made into a tickle slave, no matter how hard this evil machine and its evil Tickle Cartel minions try. No one that’s worth anything to me would want me to surrender: not Emilia, Steph, and Winona; not Con; not my family; not any acquaintances who took even a little liking to me. I need to listen to them instead of these evil people who took me. And because of that, I will never give in. For I am Dawn, and I will do whatever it takes to get out of tickle slavery.’
After finishing up her speech, Dawn’s mind contentedly rested for a short bit before her determination to escape raised her opinion of her long, rambling declaration, ‘That was such an awesome speech. It’s too bad that it won’t ever be heard outside of my mind. Oh, well, back to the point. I am getting out of tickle slavery. This machine will be the last thing that successfully treats me as a tickle slave, and that’s only because there’s no way I can break through steel walls. But whoever comes and eventually gets me out of here will be in for a nasty surprise. I can take both Diana and Ziva down, and I will get out, no matter the cost. That is my only focus from now on.’
Despite the multitude of strong statements coming from Dawn’s mind, all that actually exited her mouth during her speech and afterthoughts was high-pitched, wordless laughter.
To the Stomach Slaver, the tickle slave was broken; in fact, she had been broken for a few ticklings now. The limb-based resistance, the only potential outward indication that Dawn was not ready to surrender, had been limited to two reasons, as far as the tormentor could observe. During the pincer tickling, the slave had obviously been in some pain, so her arms were attempting to push away the pincers; however, the machine could not oblige her without ending the tickle session, and that was not an option. To compensate, it had added in the fingers, which produced the second reason for resistance: the tickle slave was so ticklish that she had no choice but to flail her arms and legs. Although these actions were absent for a large part of the side and stomach paintbrush tickling, they had returned when the subject’s navel was targeted, proving that a sufficiently ticklish stimuli was required to initiate panic levels in the slave. The machine sent a report back to Diana and Ziva, informing them that Dawn was fully broken now and would be very agreeable when she was taken out at the end of the journey. It also included the knowledge that her outie was by far the most sensitive spot on her stomach, and the text-based message suggested that the two human slavers inform the training academy of this when they turned her over.
When the tickling finally ended, the tickle slave was faced with a different dilemma: whether or not to thank Jerk for ceasing the tickling. Before she could be hit for the lack of a response, Dawn decided that it would be best to comply with the Stomach Slaver’s wishes in this narrow instance: beatings were not ticklings, and the captive had no desire to endure the former. Plus, Dawn knew that she could take tickling, provided it was not painful; she was not so sure about whippings, which were guaranteed to hurt. This allowed her to internally compromise on the narrow point, reasoning that the strain of a beating would be more harmful to her overall escape plan than simply thanking the machine and verbally addressing it as Jerk desired. So, with all the sincerity that she could muster, she addressed the machine, “Thanks, Mistress Slaver.”
“Very good, tickle slave,” the monotone voice was still there, but the words were approving. “For obeying my directive without a reminder following two consecutive tortures, you have earned yourself a second sandwich. More rewards will come if you continue to obey. Go ahead and take your break, and I will alert you when your next torture is near.”
Once she was released, Dawn felt a mixture of determination and happiness. However, thanking the tickle machine for ending a tickling was not the only thing she had learned in her short time as a tickle slave. She knew better than to allow herself to express her positive feelings, so she quickly focused on two things that would keep a smile off her face: the grim reality of how difficult her escape would probably be, and the unspoken threat of a beating should she show a genuine smile. With this mindset, the captive tickle slave went about her business quickly and quietly, only allowing herself some happiness when she ate the extra sandwich, reasoning that the machine would not react negatively to something it specifically declared was a reward.
Eventually, Jerk proclaimed that the next round of tickling was about to start, and as it did so, four hands yanked on Dawn’s limbs and deposited her onto the tickle bed. Then they unexpectedly let her go with an order to return in less than five minutes. Although frazzled by the unnecessary grabbing, Dawn simply acknowledged the command and finished up her break in a daze, only managing to lay back down with seconds to spare. Jerk’s array of hands restrained her on the bed again, but this time, they also propped her midsection up with a pillow, straining her back enough to make her wince and whimper.
“This will be your final torture of the night, so I wanted to make it extra torturous,” Jerk provided a reason for the extra stretching. The talking stopped after that, and due to how much her head naturally sank into the pillow, Dawn was unable to see the tickle tools until they appeared over her bare belly. As it turned out, the first tickling tools to test Dawn’s newfound resolve would be feather dusters.
‘Yes!’ Dawn was happy even before the dusters threatened to touch down. With how much she had enjoyed regular feathers, dusters seemed like the perfect tool to reinforce her earlier vow to not give into the tickling. ‘I can easily take this tickling, but I think I should make it even better. All I need to do to actually love and not just tolerate being tickled right now is to pretend that someone that I like is the tickler. Jerk being in charge is all that’s wrong with this particular tickle session. Now, who should I pick to be my tickler?’
While Dawn was plotting how to make the duster tickles even more tolerable, the tools touched down on her torso, and she belted out laughter. Initially, the multi-feathered tools swiped up and down her sides, bringing back memories of the earlier feather tickling. The tickle slave’s laughter sounded like a single musical note, hardly wavering in tone or volume, as she took the tickling in stride.
‘Oh, I think I should put Emilia in charge of this duster on my right side, and Winona can control the other one,’ Dawn finally chose the two ticklers who had not yet gotten her in her recollections. ‘Even when they tickle tortured me, I always felt safe; plus, I can totally see them tickling me like this. Just brushing up and down, up and down my ticklish sides with smooth strokes. Ah, this is the life.’ The tickle slave entered a peaceful state inside her mind, contrasting wildly with her somewhat loud laughter in reality, as she let the blissful tickling control her.
After a little bit, the Stomach Slaver decided it needed to focus closer to its victim’s hot spot, so the two feather dusters slid towards the center of the abdomen. They still swiped up and down, but they also moved left and right, leaving about a half inch next to the bellybutton and each side untouched for this process. Instead of just going in diagonal sweeps from corner to corner of its target areas, the machine chose different speeds for the vertical and horizontal movements, ending up with smaller diagonal sweeps that ensured the entirety of the target areas would be teased by feathers. The laughter’s volume increased a decent amount compared to the side tickling as the dusters tickled closer to her weakest spot, but inside, Dawn was still pretending that her friends were in charge of the tools, and that caused her to adore the forced laughter.
Finally, the machine directed its feather dusters to target the hyper ticklish outie that shared the titles of Dawn’s most hated, for appearance, and loved, for sensitivity, spot. The right duster went straight to the navel, while the left one took a position above her button at rib level. The tickle slave was unable and unwilling to suppress a squeal just from having feathers touch her most ticklish spot, and she would not be able to hold in any further hysterics for a while. For the remainder of the tickle time, the Stomach Slaver focused on the area on and around her outie, stretching either side by the length of the dusters. The tools moved straight up and down from the line of her lower ribs to just above her bikini bottoms, tickling with reckless abandon. Due to the starting positions of the dusters, Dawn’s navel was almost always feeling feathers as the two tools worked in tandem. With her whole midsection propped up, the laughter had been louder the entire time, and hysterical took on a new meaning for the ticklee when her stretched-out button was constantly stimulated. Pretty soon, she abandoned forcing Emilia and Winona to be her ticklers mentally; instead, her conscious thinking slowly faded away. Her extra enjoyment of the tickling faded with her focused thoughts, but she never stopped loving the feeling of feathers on her bare belly. Outside of her thoughts, the ticklee’s mouth emitted laughter louder than she ever thought possible.
Dawn had no clue how much time had passed before the feathers stopped tickling. By the time she regained her focus, both the pillows on her bed had disappeared, causing her to mentally wonder how long ago the tickling ended and why she had not yet been whipped for failing to speak to the Stomach Slaver. She took a few deep breaths and then thanked the tickle machine for ending the tickling, although in truth, she was a little bitter that the feathers were gone. “Congratulations, slave,” Jerk’s mechanical voice returned after Dawn spoke. “You are doing quite well; I’ll expect the same tomorrow. Now get ready and go to bed. Lights off in twenty minutes or when you’re down for the night.”
Right after this, the five-fingered hands returned to undo the restraints, and exhaustion finally set in. Dawn slid her legs off the bed and forced herself to stand. By the time she returned from the restroom, a blanket and new pillow were on the bed, and a cup of water sat on the ground nearby. The tickle slave drank the water before laying down on the bed and pulling the blanket over her bikini-clad body.
Despite her exhaustion, Dawn could not sleep right away, and dreams of escape took over her mind. She began to imagine forcing her way out of the Stomach Slaver, running away from the Tickle Cartel, and returning to her family. The three people whom she had spent her entire life with appeared in mental images: her father, mother, and older brother, and reality hit hard again. It had only been a couple of days, but she felt like it had been a lifetime since she saw them last. Like the night before, she turned onto her pained front and sobbed into her pillow as she longed for her missed loved ones. With each tear she shed, she vowed to escape the evil Tickle Cartel and return to a better situation, where she was not continuously tickle tortured and beaten by a despicable organization that just thought of her as ticklish merchandise.
Next Chapter
Chapter 2: The Evil Box, Part 6
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