ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
The links to the first two chapters are below:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?311408-Don-t-Press-Your-Luck-(Chapter-One)
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?311793-Don-t-Press-Your-Luck-(Chapter-Two-M-F-intense-sexual)
I watch closely as her eyes roll back into her head, sliding shut the minute she slumps forward, collapsing unto my shoulder. Placing my ear just before her mouth, I check her rate of breathing, setting my two fingers atop the artery in her neck to check her pulse, confirming she has indeed lost consciousness at least for the time being. There was no room for any mistake in my plan, taking every precaution necessary to keep her in the same state of complete unawareness of her surroundings from the moment she arrived. For all she could have known, she was hundreds of miles away from everything she knows and loves, trapped in a hidden compound without a soul in any direction to save, completely unaware that she is a mere thirty miles from her abode in a quiet neighborhood where people are good at minding their own business.
Reaching upwards, I unhook the straps binding her wrists, watching her limp arms fall to her side one by one. Leaning her atop my shoulder, I do the same at her ankles, noting the lack of any discerning marks across her body despite her frantic struggles. Such is merely a bonus, having chosen the right bonds that leave no trace of their presence as, by the infinitesimal chance she were to escape my chambers, the lack of any physical evidence left behind upon her would be of utmost benefit to me as far as I am concerned. Unbinding the last belt around her right ankle, I hoist her lifeless body into my arms, strolling my way out the double doors to her next destination.
I make my way down the hall, passing the living room, having been stripped bare of furnishings in preparation for her arrival. Needing every scrap of materials I could find, I ransacked my own humble abode, salvaging any piece of rinky-dink furniture that could be transformed into a device of unfathomable torments for my guest. It was for my own good that I was left without a place to rest my feet every evening after work, as the sudden influx of building materials needed to complete my extensive endeavors would surely have roused the suspicions of some most unwelcomed guests: at best curious neighbors, and at worst the building inspector. What little was left to entertain the rare visitor or stray family member was all but a sacrifice to occupy that one special houseguest, the likes of which she will soon experience in full.
Standing before the final doorway at the very end of the hall, I gently turn the handle, pushing the door open to reveal what I refer to as The Quiet Room. Thick black carpet lines the floor, ending at the painted blood red walls, with strips of spiked grey foam jettisoning out from the exterior. With the inside of each wall lined in specialty soundproofing insolation, and the single window covered in a layer of sofa cushioning, what little sound that could escape these walls is reduced to a dull murmur even to those standing just outside. Having constructed my own fair share of home recording studios, I picked up a thing or two regarding noise isolation, and given just how loud my guest may become, I felt it necessary for her to experience just what a crafty carpenter like yours truly could muster up for her if given just a little imagination.
Closing the door behind me, I approach a large hardwood table placed in the middle of the room: a thick layer of plush purple leather lines the top of its surface, with each end containing a twin pair of wooden medieval stocks. All of it is contained within a tall wooden frame, the perimeter of which containing five small trapdoors which we will get to later. Setting her atop the table, I make quick work of her, binding her wrists and ankles in the stocks both above and below, perfectly in proportion to render her toned physique stretched to its near limit. To acquire the right circumference for the holes themselves was a guessing game, I must admit, as much to my disappointment, no online database could have predicted the necessity for such information. Reaching underneath her, I uncover four pairs of straps built into the device, wrapping them around her lower arms and upper thighs for extra reduced mobility. Having fully secured her, I make my way to a small cooler nestled in the corner of the room, taking out a can of a special substance I have found to be most beneficial for my plans. Taking a medium sized paintbrush from my toolbelt, I dip it into the viscous substance and, ever so liberally, begin coating those target regions across her body: from the crevices of her underarms, right down to the tips of her toes, no inch of flesh is left unscathed, exhausting nearly the entire can in my pursuits.
Placing it underneath the table, I reach upward, tugging on a collection of rope knotted up above her. Untangling the jumbled heap, I separate the bunch into its five strands, carefully placing each one in their intended destination: one for each hand, one underneath her toes, and one placed just in her mouth, its opening left slightly ajar. By the time I get to the final strand, its fuzzy material resting against her tongue, Christen begins finally regaining her senses.
“I’m so glad you’re awake,” I say coldly the moment her eyes fully open, gazing upon her with ripe indifference, making sure she gets the message of just how little I care about her suffering. I watch as she moves around in her bonds, shifting the rope around her mouth, only to swiftly discard it being the only thing she has any control of.
“Pffuh!” she spits out the rope from her mouth, an unwise decision that she will soon regret. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! You pervert, get me the hell out of here!” Her fire is undeniable, the lack of a gag leaving her defiance unbridled for me to enjoy, knowing it is all a ruse to hide the fearful little girl nestled inside of her despite this. It will be my absolute pleasure to strip that away, piece by piece, even if it is not me directly doing it.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so quick to reduce yourself to name calling my dear,” I say, her piercing gaze enough to send a chill down a normal person’s spine, but that which merely rolls off mine. “That is only going to make your punishment that much more severe.” She gets a chill, one which she tries to hide, but cannot as I can see through her every disguise. Even so, she prefers to further resist her impending fate.
“HHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLPPPPPPPP MMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she screeches at the tops of her lungs, lurching against her bonds that merely creak at such a stalwart will. I watch as her fists turn white, denoting just how hard she is struggling against this new position, even more restraining than the last. Waiting until my ears stop ringing, I take my time in abridging her struggles, lest she expel some of that excess energy enough to pay attention for a change.
“Are you finished?” I gently ask, leaning forward as a parent would address a child, seeing her chest heave from such exhaustion, yet still staring deep into the crevice that should host my soul. “Good, because you’re going to need every ounce of energy you have left if you want to survive. Now, look up for my.” I watch as her eyes dart up toward to the ceiling, recognizing instantly a look of anxious bewilderment scrawled across her face: lining the ceiling right above her is a complex pulley system, numbering nearly two dozen mechanisms with lines of rope looped all around them, all ending in the five strands that surround her on each side. As she takes a glance at the end of each strand, she looks up at me, surely a look of glee scrawled across my face by now.
“As you can see, sitting at the end of each line of rope is a small trap door within this wooden frame, the contents of which are kept on the other side by that one little slap of wood. There are five lines of rope in total, and you’re going to have to hold onto all of them. Once I pull this lever down here, all five trapdoors will be left to fall, and unless you can hold unto them, including the one that was in that filthy little mouth of yours, you’ll just have to suffer the consequences. You have one hour to endure your torments, and the longer you can hold on, the less horrific it will be for you dear. I bet you’re simply dying to see just what is waiting for you, aren’t you?” She stares blankly into my face as I drink in the horror that she is feeling this very moment, unaware as to just what tortures may be lurking behind those doors in this little game of ours.
“Let’s see what’s behind Door No. 1!” I announce, reaching into the open compartment behind the door to her left, revealing a small kitten from the other side. “Adorable, isn’t he? Now, just what could an adorable little creature like this possibly have to do with you, you might ask? Well, I bet you’ve never imagined just what it would feel like to be at his mercy: helplessly bound as his sandpaper tongue ravages your body without any way to stop him? But why would such a sweet creature do that? Maybe, once he finds the trail of fish brine I’ve coated your body with, then he’ll be inclined to answer that for me.” I take the loose strand into my hand, placing it back into her mouth, now wide open in utter horror.
“Whatever you do: don’t let go of this one,” I give her the ominous warning, stepping away from her to watch the torments unfold. I pull the lever, hearing the mechanisms underneath the table churn, as the five lengths of rope tighten at all corners. Barely catching the ones at her hands, with the final strand barely at the tip of her teeth, I can sense her determination already into her ordeal, gazing upon the tender creature nestled in my hand as some element of danger that is sure to befall her.
“Best hold on for as long as you can,” I taunt her, watching her piercing gaze strike me where I stand. “In the meantime, I’ll just let him keep you company.” I place the little kitten down, just adjacent to her left hip, as her demeanor swiftly morphs to that of repressed panic right before my eyes. Watching him slowly approach her, shaking her head as to try and convince him otherwise, she is unable to stop him as he makes his way to the side of her hip, finding with his tongue the trail of delicious fish brine left for him by yours truly.
“Pppppppppppphfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfh!” she sputters, grasping the rope with her lips just to make sure it doesn’t inadvertently slip out. I bet she can feel every little texture of his tongue, grazing her quivering flesh at her hip, following the trail up her side inch by agonizing inch. With such a simple restraint system, any auxiliary movement is rendered null and void. She gazes up at the ceiling, most likely praying to whatever deity is left out there to grant her salvation, knowing full well she has been left all alone with this hellishly ignorant creature.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRPHPHPHPHPH!!” she grunts forth, feeling the horrid grooves caress over her bare ribs, such a hungry kitten demonstrating no remorse for his actions. It gives me such pleasure to concoct such a torment as this: taking an animal lover as poor Christen and, with one flip of the switch, making such an adorable little creature the absolute bane of her existence, determining just how much suffering she is to experience whether they realize it or not. If she proves herself really bad, I may be tempted to bring her to the farm up the street, letting the goats have their way with her.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNMMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she cries the moment he reaches her left underarm, indulging in the feast that has been left in the crevice of her exposed flesh. She stares up at the ceiling, confronted with the constructs of her fate, wishing not to look at either me or the dastardly creature lapping across her flesh. Lick by lick, nibble by nibble, he savors every drop of the substance, a special concoction perfected to be both long lasting and irresistible to felines. Such was a necessary step, having to gather so many to complete the trial, but it all being worth it by the effectiveness of just one of them tantalizing her as we speak.
Suddenly, having him press his whiskers deep into her quivering flesh, she loses focus just long enough for the rope to slip out of her left hand, hearing the sound of wood collapsing unto the concrete floor below that sends shockwaves through her person. A wave of regret washes over her, lamenting just how the focus that has gotten her through so many close calls on the field is abandoning her through exploiting such a childish weakness. Much to her surprise, having foreseen herself opening the same compartment, she realizes that she has just opened the compartment adjacent to her right hip, watching in horror as two small kittens exit their chamber in search for food rather than the mere one still waiting to her left.
“NNNNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!” she pleads, hopelessly bemused with the fate that has befallen her, the work of a sadistic madman no doubt. They too, after but a moment of searching, find the trail just atop her right hip, making quick work of the savory substance. However, there being two of them to snack, they ascend up her side to her right armpit exponentially faster, all the while the first kitten is still savoring his treat.
She gazes upward once again, trying to decipher the resulting consequence of dropping yet another rope. Her attention has now become a commodity, one which she has to conserve for the most pressing of matters: does she take attention off the strand in her left foot, or the last one she is holding in her left hand? Just what punishment could she take to withstand such an onslaught for the time being? Surely, she would die if the same fate were to befall her feet, feeling every inch of them coated in the same substance, just wishing to avoid that with her life if she can. However, such efforts are all in vain, confronted with the haphazard disarray that hangs above, unable to decode just what leads to where before she begins losing grip in her right hand. It is only after a few futile moments that the slippery strand slides out of her fingers, hearing the heavy sound of another slat clasping unto the ground below her. Just where it came from, she could not know, at least, not until the very first lick across her vulnerable left heel.
“NNNNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMPHPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she shrieks, discovering she had let loose the two creatures stationed just before her left foot. Swiftly after the first one, the second kitten joins in, taking satisfaction in the sole of her foot now readily accessible to them. Tears begin streaming from her eyes, the agony of their sandpaper tongues amplified when met with the thickened skin of her foot bottoms. No amount of time on the field could deter them from taking full advantage of her vulnerability, as they begin ascending the length of her sole right up to the very undersides of her toes. Feeling them tremble out of her control, inviting the creatures to floss their way into the pathetically ticklish flesh, poor Christen can only bite down harder unto the strand as the third slips from between her toes only a pathetic thirty seconds after they had begun their feast.
The third wave proves even more detrimental than the last, as she is now forced to endure seven kittens ravaging the exposed areas of her hyper ticklish body. Nothing can be done to mitigate the effectiveness of these hungry little fiends, their randomized patterns eliciting a torrent of forced guffaws from the soccer starlet, interspersed only by the occasional yelp or holler at the little demons. As little as she approved of cats to begin with, they now have transformed into hellish creatures of pure terror, a sentiment which merely is amplified the exact moment she drops the fourth rope from her palm, releasing the final kitten from its captivity.
She lets out a piercing scream, as much as she can with her teeth still clamped shut. In my amused state, standing just a few feet away from such a wondrous sight, I merely watch in utter satisfaction as she is reduced to tatters, her entire body breaking out in convulsions, without any place to go. How perfect the sight has become: a world class athlete, reduced to the lowest point in her life by the actions of nothing but a small collection of stray kittens I picked up not three days before. With these merciless creatures turning her body into a lightning rod of ticklish attraction, with not one second of it unfelt by her, she seems mere inches away from finally cracking under the pressure, and I just felt it necessary to push her that extra length myself.
Reaching underneath the table, I retrieve the small can, approaching her with that dastardly concoction in hand. Dipping my brush once again into its contents, I use the last of it upon her supple breasts, coating them in a thick layer right up to her perky nipples. The fury-laden stare she inflicts upon me does not go unnoticed, smirking in obvious delight at just how easy she makes it for me to get right underneath her skin. Reaching to the kittens placed at her underarms, having now sufficiently lapped them clean, I direct their attention to the freshly prepared bosom right in their grasp, watching their innate hunger be put to work.
Her eyes turn wide as saucers as they begin tantalizing her titties, crawling up unto her to reach her nipples far up top. It must be natural to them, suckling upon her breasts as they would as infants, not knowing the extent of madness they are inflicting upon the poor girl. Thrashing her head side to side, poor Christen is left dumbfounded, her subdued shrieks not enough to let out the steam from her torments. With her face turning red in sheer anguish, and a fit of desperation bubbling up to the surface, she relinquishes the final strand from her grasp.
“STAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPP!!” she finally spews forth, hearing the fifth and final slat collapse unto the floor. “GET ME OUT OF HEEEEEEEEEEREHEHEHEHE!!” Just pitiful: a full 35 minutes left to her torments, and she uses it to beg, knowing surely that her pleas are to fall on deaf ears. However, she must realize it soon to be over anyways: with the last of the brine solution being lapped up from her extremities, surely nothing would be left for the ferocious felines to indulge upon…
…right?
She hears a squeak, followed closely by a crank, as she peers up into the array of mechanisms to spot a small spout leaning towards her. In one motion, she sees it pouring an unknown substance, down the narrow opening, right unto her bare crotch, only knowing by the third second it is coating her in an even thicker layer of brine solution. As she gazes about, she realizes that the kittens have caught wind of their main dish, slowly approaching her vulnerable genitals with ravenous intent, with even a small compartment opening up between her feet letting the other half of the creatures in.
“NOO!! NOOOOOOOOOO!! GET AWAY FROM ME!! GET AWAYYYYYYYY!!” she belts out, barking at the creatures as though she had any say in the matter since the moment this all began. But it is no use: fixated on finishing their meal, they have been transfixed by the treat that awaits them, unknowingly serving as merely a tool in the poor girl’s suffering.
“WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” The sheer force behind that hearty wail knows no bounds, surely heard down the street had I not been careful. They descend upon her clit, not one at a time but altogether, taking aim at every inch of her exposed womanhood to satiate their hunger at her dismay. Lapping at every crease and crevice she holds so dear, the poor thing goes ballistic from such focused torments.
“I GIVE!! MERCYYYYHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she pleads for dear life, not knowing just how hyper ticklish she is around that entire region, as well as how she could be stimulated to such a degree in such short of time. The utter shame she felt in reaching climax by my hand should have been bad enough, but by the actions of these unwitting creatures, it must have been utterly without words. By her first orgasm, a mere eight minutes into her ordeal, she is already drenched in her own sweat and tears, throwing her into the next level of sensitivity as they do not let up. By her second, arching her back as she lets out a roar of utter frustration, she has begun babbling incoherently, such an infantile reaction comical from the upstanding young lady. By her fourth and final orgasm before the buzzer had gone off, the creatures finishing off the last of the substance to their satisfaction, she merely laid there motionless, the quivering of her toes the only sign that she had achieved such bliss.
Glancing over her face, watching her pant endlessly as though she had run three marathons, I see something I had yet to even believe could happen: vacancy. Not one iota of defiance, disdain, or distress having been left in her, Christen has achieved a state of quasi-nirvana, that which she will surely get used to during her stay with me as my new loving tickle pet. Taking a small collar from my back pocket, I strap it around her prominent neck, not receiving any resistance as my little “Chrissy” has finally understood just what it takes to be what she is meant to be.
Obedient.
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?311408-Don-t-Press-Your-Luck-(Chapter-One)
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?311793-Don-t-Press-Your-Luck-(Chapter-Two-M-F-intense-sexual)
I watch closely as her eyes roll back into her head, sliding shut the minute she slumps forward, collapsing unto my shoulder. Placing my ear just before her mouth, I check her rate of breathing, setting my two fingers atop the artery in her neck to check her pulse, confirming she has indeed lost consciousness at least for the time being. There was no room for any mistake in my plan, taking every precaution necessary to keep her in the same state of complete unawareness of her surroundings from the moment she arrived. For all she could have known, she was hundreds of miles away from everything she knows and loves, trapped in a hidden compound without a soul in any direction to save, completely unaware that she is a mere thirty miles from her abode in a quiet neighborhood where people are good at minding their own business.
Reaching upwards, I unhook the straps binding her wrists, watching her limp arms fall to her side one by one. Leaning her atop my shoulder, I do the same at her ankles, noting the lack of any discerning marks across her body despite her frantic struggles. Such is merely a bonus, having chosen the right bonds that leave no trace of their presence as, by the infinitesimal chance she were to escape my chambers, the lack of any physical evidence left behind upon her would be of utmost benefit to me as far as I am concerned. Unbinding the last belt around her right ankle, I hoist her lifeless body into my arms, strolling my way out the double doors to her next destination.
I make my way down the hall, passing the living room, having been stripped bare of furnishings in preparation for her arrival. Needing every scrap of materials I could find, I ransacked my own humble abode, salvaging any piece of rinky-dink furniture that could be transformed into a device of unfathomable torments for my guest. It was for my own good that I was left without a place to rest my feet every evening after work, as the sudden influx of building materials needed to complete my extensive endeavors would surely have roused the suspicions of some most unwelcomed guests: at best curious neighbors, and at worst the building inspector. What little was left to entertain the rare visitor or stray family member was all but a sacrifice to occupy that one special houseguest, the likes of which she will soon experience in full.
Standing before the final doorway at the very end of the hall, I gently turn the handle, pushing the door open to reveal what I refer to as The Quiet Room. Thick black carpet lines the floor, ending at the painted blood red walls, with strips of spiked grey foam jettisoning out from the exterior. With the inside of each wall lined in specialty soundproofing insolation, and the single window covered in a layer of sofa cushioning, what little sound that could escape these walls is reduced to a dull murmur even to those standing just outside. Having constructed my own fair share of home recording studios, I picked up a thing or two regarding noise isolation, and given just how loud my guest may become, I felt it necessary for her to experience just what a crafty carpenter like yours truly could muster up for her if given just a little imagination.
Closing the door behind me, I approach a large hardwood table placed in the middle of the room: a thick layer of plush purple leather lines the top of its surface, with each end containing a twin pair of wooden medieval stocks. All of it is contained within a tall wooden frame, the perimeter of which containing five small trapdoors which we will get to later. Setting her atop the table, I make quick work of her, binding her wrists and ankles in the stocks both above and below, perfectly in proportion to render her toned physique stretched to its near limit. To acquire the right circumference for the holes themselves was a guessing game, I must admit, as much to my disappointment, no online database could have predicted the necessity for such information. Reaching underneath her, I uncover four pairs of straps built into the device, wrapping them around her lower arms and upper thighs for extra reduced mobility. Having fully secured her, I make my way to a small cooler nestled in the corner of the room, taking out a can of a special substance I have found to be most beneficial for my plans. Taking a medium sized paintbrush from my toolbelt, I dip it into the viscous substance and, ever so liberally, begin coating those target regions across her body: from the crevices of her underarms, right down to the tips of her toes, no inch of flesh is left unscathed, exhausting nearly the entire can in my pursuits.
Placing it underneath the table, I reach upward, tugging on a collection of rope knotted up above her. Untangling the jumbled heap, I separate the bunch into its five strands, carefully placing each one in their intended destination: one for each hand, one underneath her toes, and one placed just in her mouth, its opening left slightly ajar. By the time I get to the final strand, its fuzzy material resting against her tongue, Christen begins finally regaining her senses.
“I’m so glad you’re awake,” I say coldly the moment her eyes fully open, gazing upon her with ripe indifference, making sure she gets the message of just how little I care about her suffering. I watch as she moves around in her bonds, shifting the rope around her mouth, only to swiftly discard it being the only thing she has any control of.
“Pffuh!” she spits out the rope from her mouth, an unwise decision that she will soon regret. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! You pervert, get me the hell out of here!” Her fire is undeniable, the lack of a gag leaving her defiance unbridled for me to enjoy, knowing it is all a ruse to hide the fearful little girl nestled inside of her despite this. It will be my absolute pleasure to strip that away, piece by piece, even if it is not me directly doing it.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so quick to reduce yourself to name calling my dear,” I say, her piercing gaze enough to send a chill down a normal person’s spine, but that which merely rolls off mine. “That is only going to make your punishment that much more severe.” She gets a chill, one which she tries to hide, but cannot as I can see through her every disguise. Even so, she prefers to further resist her impending fate.
“HHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLPPPPPPPP MMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she screeches at the tops of her lungs, lurching against her bonds that merely creak at such a stalwart will. I watch as her fists turn white, denoting just how hard she is struggling against this new position, even more restraining than the last. Waiting until my ears stop ringing, I take my time in abridging her struggles, lest she expel some of that excess energy enough to pay attention for a change.
“Are you finished?” I gently ask, leaning forward as a parent would address a child, seeing her chest heave from such exhaustion, yet still staring deep into the crevice that should host my soul. “Good, because you’re going to need every ounce of energy you have left if you want to survive. Now, look up for my.” I watch as her eyes dart up toward to the ceiling, recognizing instantly a look of anxious bewilderment scrawled across her face: lining the ceiling right above her is a complex pulley system, numbering nearly two dozen mechanisms with lines of rope looped all around them, all ending in the five strands that surround her on each side. As she takes a glance at the end of each strand, she looks up at me, surely a look of glee scrawled across my face by now.
“As you can see, sitting at the end of each line of rope is a small trap door within this wooden frame, the contents of which are kept on the other side by that one little slap of wood. There are five lines of rope in total, and you’re going to have to hold onto all of them. Once I pull this lever down here, all five trapdoors will be left to fall, and unless you can hold unto them, including the one that was in that filthy little mouth of yours, you’ll just have to suffer the consequences. You have one hour to endure your torments, and the longer you can hold on, the less horrific it will be for you dear. I bet you’re simply dying to see just what is waiting for you, aren’t you?” She stares blankly into my face as I drink in the horror that she is feeling this very moment, unaware as to just what tortures may be lurking behind those doors in this little game of ours.
“Let’s see what’s behind Door No. 1!” I announce, reaching into the open compartment behind the door to her left, revealing a small kitten from the other side. “Adorable, isn’t he? Now, just what could an adorable little creature like this possibly have to do with you, you might ask? Well, I bet you’ve never imagined just what it would feel like to be at his mercy: helplessly bound as his sandpaper tongue ravages your body without any way to stop him? But why would such a sweet creature do that? Maybe, once he finds the trail of fish brine I’ve coated your body with, then he’ll be inclined to answer that for me.” I take the loose strand into my hand, placing it back into her mouth, now wide open in utter horror.
“Whatever you do: don’t let go of this one,” I give her the ominous warning, stepping away from her to watch the torments unfold. I pull the lever, hearing the mechanisms underneath the table churn, as the five lengths of rope tighten at all corners. Barely catching the ones at her hands, with the final strand barely at the tip of her teeth, I can sense her determination already into her ordeal, gazing upon the tender creature nestled in my hand as some element of danger that is sure to befall her.
“Best hold on for as long as you can,” I taunt her, watching her piercing gaze strike me where I stand. “In the meantime, I’ll just let him keep you company.” I place the little kitten down, just adjacent to her left hip, as her demeanor swiftly morphs to that of repressed panic right before my eyes. Watching him slowly approach her, shaking her head as to try and convince him otherwise, she is unable to stop him as he makes his way to the side of her hip, finding with his tongue the trail of delicious fish brine left for him by yours truly.
“Pppppppppppphfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfh!” she sputters, grasping the rope with her lips just to make sure it doesn’t inadvertently slip out. I bet she can feel every little texture of his tongue, grazing her quivering flesh at her hip, following the trail up her side inch by agonizing inch. With such a simple restraint system, any auxiliary movement is rendered null and void. She gazes up at the ceiling, most likely praying to whatever deity is left out there to grant her salvation, knowing full well she has been left all alone with this hellishly ignorant creature.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMRRRRRRPHPHPHPHPH!!” she grunts forth, feeling the horrid grooves caress over her bare ribs, such a hungry kitten demonstrating no remorse for his actions. It gives me such pleasure to concoct such a torment as this: taking an animal lover as poor Christen and, with one flip of the switch, making such an adorable little creature the absolute bane of her existence, determining just how much suffering she is to experience whether they realize it or not. If she proves herself really bad, I may be tempted to bring her to the farm up the street, letting the goats have their way with her.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNMMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she cries the moment he reaches her left underarm, indulging in the feast that has been left in the crevice of her exposed flesh. She stares up at the ceiling, confronted with the constructs of her fate, wishing not to look at either me or the dastardly creature lapping across her flesh. Lick by lick, nibble by nibble, he savors every drop of the substance, a special concoction perfected to be both long lasting and irresistible to felines. Such was a necessary step, having to gather so many to complete the trial, but it all being worth it by the effectiveness of just one of them tantalizing her as we speak.
Suddenly, having him press his whiskers deep into her quivering flesh, she loses focus just long enough for the rope to slip out of her left hand, hearing the sound of wood collapsing unto the concrete floor below that sends shockwaves through her person. A wave of regret washes over her, lamenting just how the focus that has gotten her through so many close calls on the field is abandoning her through exploiting such a childish weakness. Much to her surprise, having foreseen herself opening the same compartment, she realizes that she has just opened the compartment adjacent to her right hip, watching in horror as two small kittens exit their chamber in search for food rather than the mere one still waiting to her left.
“NNNNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!” she pleads, hopelessly bemused with the fate that has befallen her, the work of a sadistic madman no doubt. They too, after but a moment of searching, find the trail just atop her right hip, making quick work of the savory substance. However, there being two of them to snack, they ascend up her side to her right armpit exponentially faster, all the while the first kitten is still savoring his treat.
She gazes upward once again, trying to decipher the resulting consequence of dropping yet another rope. Her attention has now become a commodity, one which she has to conserve for the most pressing of matters: does she take attention off the strand in her left foot, or the last one she is holding in her left hand? Just what punishment could she take to withstand such an onslaught for the time being? Surely, she would die if the same fate were to befall her feet, feeling every inch of them coated in the same substance, just wishing to avoid that with her life if she can. However, such efforts are all in vain, confronted with the haphazard disarray that hangs above, unable to decode just what leads to where before she begins losing grip in her right hand. It is only after a few futile moments that the slippery strand slides out of her fingers, hearing the heavy sound of another slat clasping unto the ground below her. Just where it came from, she could not know, at least, not until the very first lick across her vulnerable left heel.
“NNNNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMPHPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she shrieks, discovering she had let loose the two creatures stationed just before her left foot. Swiftly after the first one, the second kitten joins in, taking satisfaction in the sole of her foot now readily accessible to them. Tears begin streaming from her eyes, the agony of their sandpaper tongues amplified when met with the thickened skin of her foot bottoms. No amount of time on the field could deter them from taking full advantage of her vulnerability, as they begin ascending the length of her sole right up to the very undersides of her toes. Feeling them tremble out of her control, inviting the creatures to floss their way into the pathetically ticklish flesh, poor Christen can only bite down harder unto the strand as the third slips from between her toes only a pathetic thirty seconds after they had begun their feast.
The third wave proves even more detrimental than the last, as she is now forced to endure seven kittens ravaging the exposed areas of her hyper ticklish body. Nothing can be done to mitigate the effectiveness of these hungry little fiends, their randomized patterns eliciting a torrent of forced guffaws from the soccer starlet, interspersed only by the occasional yelp or holler at the little demons. As little as she approved of cats to begin with, they now have transformed into hellish creatures of pure terror, a sentiment which merely is amplified the exact moment she drops the fourth rope from her palm, releasing the final kitten from its captivity.
She lets out a piercing scream, as much as she can with her teeth still clamped shut. In my amused state, standing just a few feet away from such a wondrous sight, I merely watch in utter satisfaction as she is reduced to tatters, her entire body breaking out in convulsions, without any place to go. How perfect the sight has become: a world class athlete, reduced to the lowest point in her life by the actions of nothing but a small collection of stray kittens I picked up not three days before. With these merciless creatures turning her body into a lightning rod of ticklish attraction, with not one second of it unfelt by her, she seems mere inches away from finally cracking under the pressure, and I just felt it necessary to push her that extra length myself.
Reaching underneath the table, I retrieve the small can, approaching her with that dastardly concoction in hand. Dipping my brush once again into its contents, I use the last of it upon her supple breasts, coating them in a thick layer right up to her perky nipples. The fury-laden stare she inflicts upon me does not go unnoticed, smirking in obvious delight at just how easy she makes it for me to get right underneath her skin. Reaching to the kittens placed at her underarms, having now sufficiently lapped them clean, I direct their attention to the freshly prepared bosom right in their grasp, watching their innate hunger be put to work.
Her eyes turn wide as saucers as they begin tantalizing her titties, crawling up unto her to reach her nipples far up top. It must be natural to them, suckling upon her breasts as they would as infants, not knowing the extent of madness they are inflicting upon the poor girl. Thrashing her head side to side, poor Christen is left dumbfounded, her subdued shrieks not enough to let out the steam from her torments. With her face turning red in sheer anguish, and a fit of desperation bubbling up to the surface, she relinquishes the final strand from her grasp.
“STAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPP!!” she finally spews forth, hearing the fifth and final slat collapse unto the floor. “GET ME OUT OF HEEEEEEEEEEREHEHEHEHE!!” Just pitiful: a full 35 minutes left to her torments, and she uses it to beg, knowing surely that her pleas are to fall on deaf ears. However, she must realize it soon to be over anyways: with the last of the brine solution being lapped up from her extremities, surely nothing would be left for the ferocious felines to indulge upon…
…right?
She hears a squeak, followed closely by a crank, as she peers up into the array of mechanisms to spot a small spout leaning towards her. In one motion, she sees it pouring an unknown substance, down the narrow opening, right unto her bare crotch, only knowing by the third second it is coating her in an even thicker layer of brine solution. As she gazes about, she realizes that the kittens have caught wind of their main dish, slowly approaching her vulnerable genitals with ravenous intent, with even a small compartment opening up between her feet letting the other half of the creatures in.
“NOO!! NOOOOOOOOOO!! GET AWAY FROM ME!! GET AWAYYYYYYYY!!” she belts out, barking at the creatures as though she had any say in the matter since the moment this all began. But it is no use: fixated on finishing their meal, they have been transfixed by the treat that awaits them, unknowingly serving as merely a tool in the poor girl’s suffering.
“WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” The sheer force behind that hearty wail knows no bounds, surely heard down the street had I not been careful. They descend upon her clit, not one at a time but altogether, taking aim at every inch of her exposed womanhood to satiate their hunger at her dismay. Lapping at every crease and crevice she holds so dear, the poor thing goes ballistic from such focused torments.
“I GIVE!! MERCYYYYHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she pleads for dear life, not knowing just how hyper ticklish she is around that entire region, as well as how she could be stimulated to such a degree in such short of time. The utter shame she felt in reaching climax by my hand should have been bad enough, but by the actions of these unwitting creatures, it must have been utterly without words. By her first orgasm, a mere eight minutes into her ordeal, she is already drenched in her own sweat and tears, throwing her into the next level of sensitivity as they do not let up. By her second, arching her back as she lets out a roar of utter frustration, she has begun babbling incoherently, such an infantile reaction comical from the upstanding young lady. By her fourth and final orgasm before the buzzer had gone off, the creatures finishing off the last of the substance to their satisfaction, she merely laid there motionless, the quivering of her toes the only sign that she had achieved such bliss.
Glancing over her face, watching her pant endlessly as though she had run three marathons, I see something I had yet to even believe could happen: vacancy. Not one iota of defiance, disdain, or distress having been left in her, Christen has achieved a state of quasi-nirvana, that which she will surely get used to during her stay with me as my new loving tickle pet. Taking a small collar from my back pocket, I strap it around her prominent neck, not receiving any resistance as my little “Chrissy” has finally understood just what it takes to be what she is meant to be.
Obedient.
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Stories about powerful women being broken down by tickling are always delightful.
