Hello all. It's been a while since I've published anything new. This story is a gift for a longtime friend, DEV, who also has a deviant art website where he publishes his own stories. Well worth a look, as he does commissions too. Here is the site: https://www.deviantart.com/quillsman
I hope everybody enjoys the story. I'm breaking it into two parts because it probably won't fit on one post.
There are many people who work to live. They, either through their own choices or not, get stuck working at a job where they simply can’t wait to be finish for the day. Every day is a slog of misery, tedious boredom, or painful repetition. I pity those people and thank every day I’m not one of them. Some people work to live, but I live to work.
Granted, I don’t have a normal job. Their can only be one chief torturer in the Zultan Empire’s main dungeon, after all. How I claimed the title is a long, complicated story. It involves much plotting, intrigue, manipulation, and betrayal, with a sprinkle of lust, and a dash of nepotism. And Tickling. A GREAT deal of tickling.
I lean back, running a hand through my long, golden-blond hair as I cast my eyes down at the parchment before me. The parchment contains the names of several new arrivals to the dungeon. Most are unknown to me, but one in particular catches my icy-blue eyes, and I can’t help but grin. I slowly get to my feet, pushing back from my desk and pick up the parchment.
I always like to see the new arrivals. For the most part, they are nothing new to me, but on occasion you do find some real gems that catch your eye. If any torturer tells you they don’t have favourites, they have either lost their passion for the job, or at just straight up lying. Over the years I’ve had many favourites which I took great delight in personally torturing when I could afford some free time. Sadly, being the chief torturer sometimes means work comes before play, and in my line of work, you don’t want to displease the Empress, lest you end up on the wrong end of a feather.
As I walk by one of the cells, the frantic laughter pouring through the barred windows in the door are a reminder of this fact. I peak through the bars, and spy a dark-skinned woman, beautiful and well proportioned. She is naked, strapped to a standing x-frame. Her head is thrown back, a forced smile plastered on her full lips as she struggles and howls. Her laughter is punctuated with pleas for mercy, but the two guards tickling her know better.
Her name is Lucia. It used to be Chief Torturer Lucia. Now, it’s prisoner Lucia. She made the mistake of extracting information from prisoners, and trying to sell that information. The Empress didn’t care for that. Not one bit. So, Chief Torturer Lucia became prisoner Lucia, and spends her days being tickled mercilessly by the guards. She serves as a warning to those who think of betraying the empress.
I watch for a moment as her torturers work. Lucia has had her upper body oiled, adding a slick sheen to her body, and making it even more alluring than it already is. The downside, of course, is it is also making her more receptive to the guard tickling her torso. The female guard is using her nails to tickle Lucia’s sides, including a great deal of attention spent on her large breasts, her nails lightly scraping against the oiled sides and bottoms of the fleshy globes. Lucia had always been very proud of her ample proportions, but now I imagine she regrets that nature gave her such a large and sensitive canvas for her torturer to play with, shaking and bouncing with each fresh explosion of laughter forced from her. Lucia lets out a particularly desperate wail of torture when the tickler focuses on her swollen nipples for a moment, before returning to the sides.
The second torturer is using a gentler touch. The x-frame that Lucia is strapped to lifts her off the floor, with her heels resting on some wooden posts. However, this leaves the arches, balls of the feet, and toes exposed. The second torturer is taking her time, using a long, fluffy plume to switch between stroking over the exposed bottoms of her soles, to slowly threading it between Lucia’s toes, one pair at a time. I know from personal experience that this alone would be driving Lucia up the walls. The foot feathering, combined with having her massive mammaries mercilessly manipulated is undoubtedly sending Lucia into her own personal hell. I smile as I watch the ladies work, and then proceed with my welcome tour.
Walking down the hall, listening to the dwindling cackles and cries of Lucia, I catch another sound.
“Oh my god, did you see the size of his dick? It was huge! Much bigger than my boyfriends.”
“Not as big as my husbands, but God, his balls were SOOOOOO ticklish! When you started scraping your nails over them, I swear he would have pissed himself if he wasn’t hard as a rock.”
“Well, if you like, I can show you my technique. Perhaps we can practice a bit on your husband?”
“Ha ha. Tell you what. You can practice on mine, and I’ll practice on yours. Dick size isn’t everything, and your Jaimi is such a sweetheart. It wouldn’t be fair to let you play with my guys balls, and not let Jaimi have some fun as well.”
“Deal! Maybe tonight, after work? We can all go out for a stiff drink, and then you and I can get a stiff something else!”
The two voices laugh, but there is no forced laughter here. A somewhat refreshing sound.
I walk around the corner to see two torturers chatting excitedly. They are dressed in standard gear, which is to say; thigh-high black leather boots, a short black leather bustier which leaves their stomach and sides exposed, while it does a great job of lifting and gently pressing a woman’s breasts together enough that they seem about ready to jump out of their leather prison the first chance they get. The ensemble is completed by a black leather thong that covers almost nothing In front or back. A toolbelt rests on their supple hips, pockets hanging down either thigh allowing them to take any preferred or personal tools they wish to fulfill their duties. A small metal badge is fixated just below their breasts unto their uniform, indicating their rank. Both are novices, but I had already guessed this from their youthful voices.
“Ma’am!” The two torturers see me and quickly stop their idle chit-chat and playful banter, quickly standing at attention. The sudden explosive movement causes them to jiggle in all the right places, particularly the dark skinned one. I recognize her as Ora, a shorter but well-endowed woman with short cut black hair and high cheekbones. She has a shorter, thicker body then most of the guards here, but not at all unpleasant on the eyes. The one standing beside her, Juliet, is as fair skinned as her friend is dark skinned. Her hair is an auburn red, and she is slenderer as well, though she still has a pleasantly sized pair of breasts. Her taller frame has seemed to have given her long, slender fingers as well, and I’ve noted she has learned how to use them to great effect.
“I’m happy to see you two have taken so well to your work.” I say with a smile and a slight nod to the women, who smile in return. They are both young, barely older then twenty, but both have turned out to be well chosen for this line of work. I’ve found that the oldest female siblings are usually good choices for torturers here, as they usually have the most experience tickling younger siblings while growing up. Both ladies are the oldest of several brothers and sisters, and by their own accounts, kept them in line with merciless tickling as they grew up. Having seen their skills in person, I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. “Enjoy yourselves, but just make sure you don’t forget your duties. Carry on.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Both girls salute.
“Oh, and Juliet?” I turn over my shoulder before we part ways. “Exactly how big is your husband?”
“Oh, uh…” Juliet blushes, realizing that I had overheard at least part of their conversation. She then proceeds to lift both hands, holding them apart.
“Impressive.” I raise an intrigued eyebrow and smirk slightly. “Perhaps sometime you’ll invite him to come to the dungeon, and I can show you a few techniques myself.” I say with a smile. “Anyhow, back to work you two, before you get a spanking.” The threat is both figurative and literal. Had Lucia still been in charge, the two of them would already likely be ordered to the stocks for an hour. I like to keep things a little more…playful when I can. I can already see a darkening shade of pink on Ora’s cheeks, and a glint in her eye tells me she might not be entirely opposed to having me tie her to a table and torment her with a feather and my nails. I wouldn’t be opposed to it either, to be honest. However, business before pleasure.
“Yes, Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am. Right away, Ma’am.” Juliet has taken a hold of Ora’s arm and is pulling her along. Juliet is a girl who, while very skilled when it comes to driving a person to breathless hysterics, lacks Ora’s endurance or enjoyment when it comes to prolonged tickling of her person. Juliet would NOT enjoy my attentions.
As the pair quickly walk away, I take a moment to look at their asses bouncing, particularly Ora’s full ebony cheeks. I decide on the spot that sometime over the next few days I’ll have Ora brought to a cell for a thorough examination by myself. I’ve earned a treat.
Speaking of treats, it’s time to see what the cat has dragged in today. I take a look at the parchment I had been given again, and continue my walk.
The first on my list is a married couple. Wonderful. There is something special about tormenting a couple together. There’s nothing like torture to peel back the layers of a relationship to see how much two people really care about each other. And the games! Oh, don’t get me started on the games you can play. As I walk into the cell, I can see two of the torturer’s are already playing one.
The man, Brian Jacobson, has been bound to a table, spread out, completely naked. He’s young, with a well toned body, obviously no stranger to physical work, though he has a slender frame. His wife, Clover Jacobson, a pleasantly shaped, olive-skinned woman with long, raven black hair, is straddling him, just as naked as her husband. Her hands have been bound together at the wrists with rope, which leads to a pully system above her. I’ve used this device and method before, and it can be quiet fun.
“Ahahahahahaha please please ahahahahaha stahahahap!” The beauty is howling, and bucking around as three of torturers are tickling her. Two torturers stand to either side and use their wicked tools to tickle all along her sides, stomach, and larges breasts. The two ripe spheres on her chest bounce around almost as much as she does, the nipples a darkened color, almost black, and make a captivating sight. Almost as captivating as her well curved ass, jiggling as she bounces up and down at random angles on her husband’s large penis. Brian’s white skin makes a lovely contrast, and I watch Clover wriggle wildly as the torturer behind her uses her long nails to give the quivering ass short, quick tweaks and scrapes, making sure it is constantly moving.
And moving, she most certainly is. That is part of the torture for this device. The husband is trapped under the wife, who is tickled mercilessly. She is given enough slack with the rope above her head to twist and lift herself, but her legs, in the kneeling position, are strapped to two padded, wooden planks with springs under them. She can lift herself to the right to get away from a feather, but then she sinks down on the left, and vice versa. She can raise herself straight up, but not enough to unmount from her husband’s cock. She is tickled into riding her husband, bringing herself to orgasm after orgasm, trying to escape the wicked touches of her torturers.
The husband, on the other hand, is unable to cum at all. I know that he is wearing a magical ring around his cock, making it impossible for him to cum. Oh, he’ll start to feel it, but when he gets close, it will be almost like a numbness. A sudden decreasing in pleasure, and then your back to square one. Oh, it doesn’t feel too bad, the first few times. It does get extremely frustrating, to put it mildly, when you are denied orgasms for hours, though. Looking around the torturer working the wife’s juicy ass, I can see a pair of balls which normally would have been a fair size, have swollen with the need for release to an even more staggering size. Of course, extra sensitive balls are great for one thing…
“Let’s give her a little break.” One of the torturer’s snickers. Of course, it isn’t a real break, though I’m sure the sweat soaked, heavily breathing woman will be happy with a stop to her tickling. I watch as one of the girls turns a crank, causing Clover to lift upwards with a groan, until her once semi-bent legs are now in a perfect L. She is lifted up, but the last few inches of Brian’s cock still remain, while she is now unable to move at all. It is her husbands turn now.
“Oh, you poor boy. They look so swollen…” The woman between Brian’s leg coos in a mock-sympathetic tone. Her lack of remorse is only amplified as her feather begins to make quick, short flicks over said previously described testicles. The reaction is instantaneous. The man’s hips begin to buck madly as they try and escape the tormenting touch of the feather tip, and once again, the wife is being stuffed with her husband’s large cock. The wife’s moans create an interesting symphony, mixed with her husbands’ frantic laughter.
The other two female torturers don’t just stand around. One reaches up and begins to play with the wife’s large breasts, gently kneading them, pinching the nipples gently and rolling them between her fingers, and occasionally giving the sides or undersides a few quick ticklish scrapes. She gently encourages the wife to have another orgasm, something I’m sure the wife would be very happy without at this point. Not that she has any choice in the matter.
The husband is another story. The third guard has started tickling his stomach and hips, trying to help him find the energy to continue bucking around.
“AHAHAHAHA OH OH PLEASE AHAHAHA STOP!” The man throws his head back, his short brown hair stuck to his brow with sweat. He can plead all he wants, however. These women have a job, and they will see it done. His wife will be tickled and forced to cum her brains out. He will be tickled and be denied the ability to cum at all. We take failure to pay your taxes seriously in this kingdom. I’m sure when they are released, they will think better about failing to pay them in the future.
On to the next new resident.
There’s a saying. “A human slips more by its tongue than by its foot.” I honestly don’t know how true that saying is, but in a moment I shall see.
I open the cell. The door is surrounded by magical runes, making it somewhat unique in the halls of this building. We have a few more, but it is still a rarity worth note. A rarity, and something to fear. I unlock the door and walk down five feet of claustrophobic hallway. I can already hear the light, frantic laughter coming towards me. Moving forward, I slide through another door. Security is important here, not to mention safety precautions.
The reasons become obvious as I enter this new cell. I quickly put on a belt with a chain attached to it, anchored to the wall. Like I said, safety is important here, and once my belt is secure, I turn to look at the reasons.
A woman’s hands are lifted upward, as though in prayer. I know she isn’t praying, at least not in the traditional way, as she is laughing too hard to get solid words out. Her hands, red with tightness, also aren’t closed around themselves, but a strong rope. Her long, hazelnut hair swings about her like a main of autumn leaves as she shakes her head, eyes closed as she laughs. Her legs are spread, her feet partially resting on a padded, wooden plank no more then four inches in width. This leaves most of her bare feet exposed. Granted, as she is completely naked, any modesty about her soles being visible has likely abandoned her some time ago.
Her tan, white skin has taken on a flush in several places, particularly her chest and face. Her name is Jessica Moorwin, and she is a guest of this torture chamber because she had been speaking out against the Empress. Jessica claims the Empress is not born of divine means, but just a normal human. I admit, while I don’t know what the Empress is, I do know that had this woman ever met the Empress in person, she would know the Empress is no normal human. Of that, I have no doubt.
“OH GOD ahahaahhaahahhaa please you eheeheheheh have to stop! I can’t eahaahahaha hold ohohohohon!” Jessica laughs, her body tight as a snare drum as she clutches unto the rope and tries to keep her balance. Six torturers stand to either side of her, six feet away each, holding long poles with feathers attached to the ends. The feathers roll all over Jessica’s body, simply seeking purchase on her soft flesh. She has plenty to explore.
The person who is currently being tickled isn’t the reason for the safety harnesses. No, the reason is what is in the pit beneath her. Despite the fear, I move towards the edge until I can stare into the Abyss. The Abyss stares back at me. I wave my hand at the Abyss. The Abyss waves its many hands at me. I move away from the edge.
The Abyss. The realm of eternal tickling. A person who falls into such a pit, would be tickled, denied, and forced to endure orgasms for all eternity. Nobody knows who made the Abyss or why, but it is not a place you want to end up. Each of the torturer’s here wear a harness to make sure they don’t fall in accidentally. The woman balancing on the plank has no such protection.
Jessica had drawn her legs together to protect her sex as much as possible. One advantage that women have on this device that men don’t is that they are able to protect their genitals better. Tickling men’s erections until they orgasm is a favourite method to get them to fall. Still, she has many targets available to be tormented.
Two are focusing their feathers on her exposed underarms. I can see the prisoners arms tremble with each stroke, fighting the urge to release the rope above her head and protect her freshly shaved armpits. One torturer is playing her feather over the prisoner’s side and stomach, while one has taken on the difficult task of trying to slide her feather inside the Jessica’s bare navel. I can already tell she has a deep innie, and she lets out a particularly loud squeal whenever her torturer manages to insert her feather and swirl it around before it is shaken loose. One of the torturers has decided on focusing on the underside of the prisoner’s toes. Another favourite spot, and I watch as the toes constantly wriggle, trying to close themselves up as the feather glides under them until they eventually open from exhaustion. The final torturer is using her feather along the back of the prisoner’s knees. Not a usual space, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t effective. This, combined with the toe tickling is causing the prisoner’s legs to tremble, fighting the urge to pull away and escape the tickling, while her rational mind tells her that such an action would likely cause her fall.
I check my paperwork, and see that Jessica has likely been here for about three hours. I doubt she’ll last much longer. Few make it past the five-hour mark. I watch for several minutes. Normally, I might point out a correction in technique, or something I might see that I feel has escaped one of the torturers, but this really isn’t a situation where there is any rush to get the prisoner to confess or even fall, for that matter. She will fall. It is simple a matter of time.
Just as I close the door to the cell and begin to leave, I hear Jessica’s voice. “No no nonohohohono NO NO NO!” Followed by a short scream that dissolves just as quickly into screams of laughter. The screams are piercing and hysterical. They slowly begin to fade into silence, the prisoner sinking into the depths of the Abyss to never return. I look around, and seeing nobody present, allow myself a shudder.
I hope everybody enjoys the story. I'm breaking it into two parts because it probably won't fit on one post.
The Tour
There are many people who work to live. They, either through their own choices or not, get stuck working at a job where they simply can’t wait to be finish for the day. Every day is a slog of misery, tedious boredom, or painful repetition. I pity those people and thank every day I’m not one of them. Some people work to live, but I live to work.
Granted, I don’t have a normal job. Their can only be one chief torturer in the Zultan Empire’s main dungeon, after all. How I claimed the title is a long, complicated story. It involves much plotting, intrigue, manipulation, and betrayal, with a sprinkle of lust, and a dash of nepotism. And Tickling. A GREAT deal of tickling.
I lean back, running a hand through my long, golden-blond hair as I cast my eyes down at the parchment before me. The parchment contains the names of several new arrivals to the dungeon. Most are unknown to me, but one in particular catches my icy-blue eyes, and I can’t help but grin. I slowly get to my feet, pushing back from my desk and pick up the parchment.
I always like to see the new arrivals. For the most part, they are nothing new to me, but on occasion you do find some real gems that catch your eye. If any torturer tells you they don’t have favourites, they have either lost their passion for the job, or at just straight up lying. Over the years I’ve had many favourites which I took great delight in personally torturing when I could afford some free time. Sadly, being the chief torturer sometimes means work comes before play, and in my line of work, you don’t want to displease the Empress, lest you end up on the wrong end of a feather.
As I walk by one of the cells, the frantic laughter pouring through the barred windows in the door are a reminder of this fact. I peak through the bars, and spy a dark-skinned woman, beautiful and well proportioned. She is naked, strapped to a standing x-frame. Her head is thrown back, a forced smile plastered on her full lips as she struggles and howls. Her laughter is punctuated with pleas for mercy, but the two guards tickling her know better.
Her name is Lucia. It used to be Chief Torturer Lucia. Now, it’s prisoner Lucia. She made the mistake of extracting information from prisoners, and trying to sell that information. The Empress didn’t care for that. Not one bit. So, Chief Torturer Lucia became prisoner Lucia, and spends her days being tickled mercilessly by the guards. She serves as a warning to those who think of betraying the empress.
I watch for a moment as her torturers work. Lucia has had her upper body oiled, adding a slick sheen to her body, and making it even more alluring than it already is. The downside, of course, is it is also making her more receptive to the guard tickling her torso. The female guard is using her nails to tickle Lucia’s sides, including a great deal of attention spent on her large breasts, her nails lightly scraping against the oiled sides and bottoms of the fleshy globes. Lucia had always been very proud of her ample proportions, but now I imagine she regrets that nature gave her such a large and sensitive canvas for her torturer to play with, shaking and bouncing with each fresh explosion of laughter forced from her. Lucia lets out a particularly desperate wail of torture when the tickler focuses on her swollen nipples for a moment, before returning to the sides.
The second torturer is using a gentler touch. The x-frame that Lucia is strapped to lifts her off the floor, with her heels resting on some wooden posts. However, this leaves the arches, balls of the feet, and toes exposed. The second torturer is taking her time, using a long, fluffy plume to switch between stroking over the exposed bottoms of her soles, to slowly threading it between Lucia’s toes, one pair at a time. I know from personal experience that this alone would be driving Lucia up the walls. The foot feathering, combined with having her massive mammaries mercilessly manipulated is undoubtedly sending Lucia into her own personal hell. I smile as I watch the ladies work, and then proceed with my welcome tour.
Walking down the hall, listening to the dwindling cackles and cries of Lucia, I catch another sound.
“Oh my god, did you see the size of his dick? It was huge! Much bigger than my boyfriends.”
“Not as big as my husbands, but God, his balls were SOOOOOO ticklish! When you started scraping your nails over them, I swear he would have pissed himself if he wasn’t hard as a rock.”
“Well, if you like, I can show you my technique. Perhaps we can practice a bit on your husband?”
“Ha ha. Tell you what. You can practice on mine, and I’ll practice on yours. Dick size isn’t everything, and your Jaimi is such a sweetheart. It wouldn’t be fair to let you play with my guys balls, and not let Jaimi have some fun as well.”
“Deal! Maybe tonight, after work? We can all go out for a stiff drink, and then you and I can get a stiff something else!”
The two voices laugh, but there is no forced laughter here. A somewhat refreshing sound.
I walk around the corner to see two torturers chatting excitedly. They are dressed in standard gear, which is to say; thigh-high black leather boots, a short black leather bustier which leaves their stomach and sides exposed, while it does a great job of lifting and gently pressing a woman’s breasts together enough that they seem about ready to jump out of their leather prison the first chance they get. The ensemble is completed by a black leather thong that covers almost nothing In front or back. A toolbelt rests on their supple hips, pockets hanging down either thigh allowing them to take any preferred or personal tools they wish to fulfill their duties. A small metal badge is fixated just below their breasts unto their uniform, indicating their rank. Both are novices, but I had already guessed this from their youthful voices.
“Ma’am!” The two torturers see me and quickly stop their idle chit-chat and playful banter, quickly standing at attention. The sudden explosive movement causes them to jiggle in all the right places, particularly the dark skinned one. I recognize her as Ora, a shorter but well-endowed woman with short cut black hair and high cheekbones. She has a shorter, thicker body then most of the guards here, but not at all unpleasant on the eyes. The one standing beside her, Juliet, is as fair skinned as her friend is dark skinned. Her hair is an auburn red, and she is slenderer as well, though she still has a pleasantly sized pair of breasts. Her taller frame has seemed to have given her long, slender fingers as well, and I’ve noted she has learned how to use them to great effect.
“I’m happy to see you two have taken so well to your work.” I say with a smile and a slight nod to the women, who smile in return. They are both young, barely older then twenty, but both have turned out to be well chosen for this line of work. I’ve found that the oldest female siblings are usually good choices for torturers here, as they usually have the most experience tickling younger siblings while growing up. Both ladies are the oldest of several brothers and sisters, and by their own accounts, kept them in line with merciless tickling as they grew up. Having seen their skills in person, I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. “Enjoy yourselves, but just make sure you don’t forget your duties. Carry on.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Both girls salute.
“Oh, and Juliet?” I turn over my shoulder before we part ways. “Exactly how big is your husband?”
“Oh, uh…” Juliet blushes, realizing that I had overheard at least part of their conversation. She then proceeds to lift both hands, holding them apart.
“Impressive.” I raise an intrigued eyebrow and smirk slightly. “Perhaps sometime you’ll invite him to come to the dungeon, and I can show you a few techniques myself.” I say with a smile. “Anyhow, back to work you two, before you get a spanking.” The threat is both figurative and literal. Had Lucia still been in charge, the two of them would already likely be ordered to the stocks for an hour. I like to keep things a little more…playful when I can. I can already see a darkening shade of pink on Ora’s cheeks, and a glint in her eye tells me she might not be entirely opposed to having me tie her to a table and torment her with a feather and my nails. I wouldn’t be opposed to it either, to be honest. However, business before pleasure.
“Yes, Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am. Right away, Ma’am.” Juliet has taken a hold of Ora’s arm and is pulling her along. Juliet is a girl who, while very skilled when it comes to driving a person to breathless hysterics, lacks Ora’s endurance or enjoyment when it comes to prolonged tickling of her person. Juliet would NOT enjoy my attentions.
As the pair quickly walk away, I take a moment to look at their asses bouncing, particularly Ora’s full ebony cheeks. I decide on the spot that sometime over the next few days I’ll have Ora brought to a cell for a thorough examination by myself. I’ve earned a treat.
Speaking of treats, it’s time to see what the cat has dragged in today. I take a look at the parchment I had been given again, and continue my walk.
The first on my list is a married couple. Wonderful. There is something special about tormenting a couple together. There’s nothing like torture to peel back the layers of a relationship to see how much two people really care about each other. And the games! Oh, don’t get me started on the games you can play. As I walk into the cell, I can see two of the torturer’s are already playing one.
The man, Brian Jacobson, has been bound to a table, spread out, completely naked. He’s young, with a well toned body, obviously no stranger to physical work, though he has a slender frame. His wife, Clover Jacobson, a pleasantly shaped, olive-skinned woman with long, raven black hair, is straddling him, just as naked as her husband. Her hands have been bound together at the wrists with rope, which leads to a pully system above her. I’ve used this device and method before, and it can be quiet fun.
“Ahahahahahaha please please ahahahahaha stahahahap!” The beauty is howling, and bucking around as three of torturers are tickling her. Two torturers stand to either side and use their wicked tools to tickle all along her sides, stomach, and larges breasts. The two ripe spheres on her chest bounce around almost as much as she does, the nipples a darkened color, almost black, and make a captivating sight. Almost as captivating as her well curved ass, jiggling as she bounces up and down at random angles on her husband’s large penis. Brian’s white skin makes a lovely contrast, and I watch Clover wriggle wildly as the torturer behind her uses her long nails to give the quivering ass short, quick tweaks and scrapes, making sure it is constantly moving.
And moving, she most certainly is. That is part of the torture for this device. The husband is trapped under the wife, who is tickled mercilessly. She is given enough slack with the rope above her head to twist and lift herself, but her legs, in the kneeling position, are strapped to two padded, wooden planks with springs under them. She can lift herself to the right to get away from a feather, but then she sinks down on the left, and vice versa. She can raise herself straight up, but not enough to unmount from her husband’s cock. She is tickled into riding her husband, bringing herself to orgasm after orgasm, trying to escape the wicked touches of her torturers.
The husband, on the other hand, is unable to cum at all. I know that he is wearing a magical ring around his cock, making it impossible for him to cum. Oh, he’ll start to feel it, but when he gets close, it will be almost like a numbness. A sudden decreasing in pleasure, and then your back to square one. Oh, it doesn’t feel too bad, the first few times. It does get extremely frustrating, to put it mildly, when you are denied orgasms for hours, though. Looking around the torturer working the wife’s juicy ass, I can see a pair of balls which normally would have been a fair size, have swollen with the need for release to an even more staggering size. Of course, extra sensitive balls are great for one thing…
“Let’s give her a little break.” One of the torturer’s snickers. Of course, it isn’t a real break, though I’m sure the sweat soaked, heavily breathing woman will be happy with a stop to her tickling. I watch as one of the girls turns a crank, causing Clover to lift upwards with a groan, until her once semi-bent legs are now in a perfect L. She is lifted up, but the last few inches of Brian’s cock still remain, while she is now unable to move at all. It is her husbands turn now.
“Oh, you poor boy. They look so swollen…” The woman between Brian’s leg coos in a mock-sympathetic tone. Her lack of remorse is only amplified as her feather begins to make quick, short flicks over said previously described testicles. The reaction is instantaneous. The man’s hips begin to buck madly as they try and escape the tormenting touch of the feather tip, and once again, the wife is being stuffed with her husband’s large cock. The wife’s moans create an interesting symphony, mixed with her husbands’ frantic laughter.
The other two female torturers don’t just stand around. One reaches up and begins to play with the wife’s large breasts, gently kneading them, pinching the nipples gently and rolling them between her fingers, and occasionally giving the sides or undersides a few quick ticklish scrapes. She gently encourages the wife to have another orgasm, something I’m sure the wife would be very happy without at this point. Not that she has any choice in the matter.
The husband is another story. The third guard has started tickling his stomach and hips, trying to help him find the energy to continue bucking around.
“AHAHAHAHA OH OH PLEASE AHAHAHA STOP!” The man throws his head back, his short brown hair stuck to his brow with sweat. He can plead all he wants, however. These women have a job, and they will see it done. His wife will be tickled and forced to cum her brains out. He will be tickled and be denied the ability to cum at all. We take failure to pay your taxes seriously in this kingdom. I’m sure when they are released, they will think better about failing to pay them in the future.
On to the next new resident.
There’s a saying. “A human slips more by its tongue than by its foot.” I honestly don’t know how true that saying is, but in a moment I shall see.
I open the cell. The door is surrounded by magical runes, making it somewhat unique in the halls of this building. We have a few more, but it is still a rarity worth note. A rarity, and something to fear. I unlock the door and walk down five feet of claustrophobic hallway. I can already hear the light, frantic laughter coming towards me. Moving forward, I slide through another door. Security is important here, not to mention safety precautions.
The reasons become obvious as I enter this new cell. I quickly put on a belt with a chain attached to it, anchored to the wall. Like I said, safety is important here, and once my belt is secure, I turn to look at the reasons.
A woman’s hands are lifted upward, as though in prayer. I know she isn’t praying, at least not in the traditional way, as she is laughing too hard to get solid words out. Her hands, red with tightness, also aren’t closed around themselves, but a strong rope. Her long, hazelnut hair swings about her like a main of autumn leaves as she shakes her head, eyes closed as she laughs. Her legs are spread, her feet partially resting on a padded, wooden plank no more then four inches in width. This leaves most of her bare feet exposed. Granted, as she is completely naked, any modesty about her soles being visible has likely abandoned her some time ago.
Her tan, white skin has taken on a flush in several places, particularly her chest and face. Her name is Jessica Moorwin, and she is a guest of this torture chamber because she had been speaking out against the Empress. Jessica claims the Empress is not born of divine means, but just a normal human. I admit, while I don’t know what the Empress is, I do know that had this woman ever met the Empress in person, she would know the Empress is no normal human. Of that, I have no doubt.
“OH GOD ahahaahhaahahhaa please you eheeheheheh have to stop! I can’t eahaahahaha hold ohohohohon!” Jessica laughs, her body tight as a snare drum as she clutches unto the rope and tries to keep her balance. Six torturers stand to either side of her, six feet away each, holding long poles with feathers attached to the ends. The feathers roll all over Jessica’s body, simply seeking purchase on her soft flesh. She has plenty to explore.
The person who is currently being tickled isn’t the reason for the safety harnesses. No, the reason is what is in the pit beneath her. Despite the fear, I move towards the edge until I can stare into the Abyss. The Abyss stares back at me. I wave my hand at the Abyss. The Abyss waves its many hands at me. I move away from the edge.
The Abyss. The realm of eternal tickling. A person who falls into such a pit, would be tickled, denied, and forced to endure orgasms for all eternity. Nobody knows who made the Abyss or why, but it is not a place you want to end up. Each of the torturer’s here wear a harness to make sure they don’t fall in accidentally. The woman balancing on the plank has no such protection.
Jessica had drawn her legs together to protect her sex as much as possible. One advantage that women have on this device that men don’t is that they are able to protect their genitals better. Tickling men’s erections until they orgasm is a favourite method to get them to fall. Still, she has many targets available to be tormented.
Two are focusing their feathers on her exposed underarms. I can see the prisoners arms tremble with each stroke, fighting the urge to release the rope above her head and protect her freshly shaved armpits. One torturer is playing her feather over the prisoner’s side and stomach, while one has taken on the difficult task of trying to slide her feather inside the Jessica’s bare navel. I can already tell she has a deep innie, and she lets out a particularly loud squeal whenever her torturer manages to insert her feather and swirl it around before it is shaken loose. One of the torturers has decided on focusing on the underside of the prisoner’s toes. Another favourite spot, and I watch as the toes constantly wriggle, trying to close themselves up as the feather glides under them until they eventually open from exhaustion. The final torturer is using her feather along the back of the prisoner’s knees. Not a usual space, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t effective. This, combined with the toe tickling is causing the prisoner’s legs to tremble, fighting the urge to pull away and escape the tickling, while her rational mind tells her that such an action would likely cause her fall.
I check my paperwork, and see that Jessica has likely been here for about three hours. I doubt she’ll last much longer. Few make it past the five-hour mark. I watch for several minutes. Normally, I might point out a correction in technique, or something I might see that I feel has escaped one of the torturers, but this really isn’t a situation where there is any rush to get the prisoner to confess or even fall, for that matter. She will fall. It is simple a matter of time.
Just as I close the door to the cell and begin to leave, I hear Jessica’s voice. “No no nonohohohono NO NO NO!” Followed by a short scream that dissolves just as quickly into screams of laughter. The screams are piercing and hysterical. They slowly begin to fade into silence, the prisoner sinking into the depths of the Abyss to never return. I look around, and seeing nobody present, allow myself a shudder.
