Dude'sonfire
TMF Expert
- Joined
- May 9, 2004
- Messages
- 374
- Points
- 0
What Torture will be like.... continued! PT2 (*/F)
Hey all. Sorry this took a while, but let me know how it goes down.
Sandra sat in a metal chair, staring at the blackness of the fabric in front of her eyes. She felt the material in her mouth; some kind of plastic, some object which left no room for movement. The bonds which tied her wrists behind her and her ankles to the chair legs were uncomfortably tight and thin, but she wasn’t going to sacrifice her dignity by struggling or moaning in pain. That was the stereotypical woman of the past, someone submissive, a servant to male hierarchs. She wouldn’t let herself become that.
She had been amazed at the speed at which it had happened. Separate rebel factions at different global positions had begun a simultaneous, coordinated attack. Within days Beijing, Paris and Pretoria had all fallen. Three centres of the world’s power, all defeated in a week. They had found a flaw in the male soldier android's programming using radio waves, some loop hole inherent in their conditioning. I suppose unquestioning loyalty was bound to have its drawbacks, Sandra thought with sad acceptance. But there had also been the men who the rebel women had protected over the years, who they used to fight for them. Hypocrites, she thought, they use the very proof of our moral superiority to fight us in the name of justice.
She didn’t understand how they could let free thinking men walk around, claiming they were just as human as women, and then use the violent nature of that sickening race to help them win a war. Stupidity, that’s all it really was, idealistic naivety.
She heard footsteps before her blindfold was suddenly and violently torn off. She squinted, attempting to look around in the harsh light. She was in a close cell, with grey walls and a cold white light in the ceiling. A woman was standing in front of her opposite a table, a young, curly haired rebel, all fire and passion in her eyes, no logic, no sense. Two androids stood to either side of the metal chair, and at the door there was a man – a man! – with a gun at his side, looking at her with curiosity. She shuddered, as much as she could at least, at the fact that she was in the same room as the thing.
The woman motioned to the man, and he opened the door, and brought in another woman, whose eyes were utterly lifeless.
“Do you know who this is?” asked the woman, leaning over the table.
Looks like one of our mind destruction therapy patients, thought Sandra.
“Or do you not bother to remember the faces of the women whose lives you destroy?”
I’m the chair woman, I had thousands of patients you stupid bitch.
“Well I’ll tell you who she used to be.” Her lips quivered in anger, but she kept her cool. “…She was my sister. Maybe we should just strap you into one of those machines huh?! Leave you to rot in that hell! …Lets give her a taste. Ten minutes.”
One of the androids held a device which bore an array of detachable electrodes. He scanned Sandra’s body for a moment, searching for the best areas to focus on, then attached parts of it to the lower part of either buttock – the chair had a lattice like frame and as such had many points of access – to her breasts, covering her nipples, to her feet and to her inner thighs. The woman put a stop clock on the table in Sandra’s full view, and started it, before leaving the room, taking the man and her sister with her. The android stepped back, and turned on the device.
Sandra had never actually felt just how effective the devices she had endorsed for so long actually were, and now, despite her best attempts to hold it in, she instantly began squirming and struggling as shock after shock tickled her sensitive skin. She moaned and chocked into her gag, wishing, to her sidgust, that it would stop. She looked at the clock. Ten seconds. The metal of the chair, attached to the floor, shook and groaned as she instinctively tried to break free and stop the awful tickling sensations, but it held fast. The androids never would have let her leave anyway. Tears formed in her eyes as she tried to scrunch her feet up and press them against the floor, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The ones on her feet were too much; that part of her was just so horrendously ticklish. She looked at the clock again. One minute. She imagined nine more minutes on this, and was certain that it would kill her. Of course, there was nothing she could do about it. Minute after minute the little shocks traversing her nerves drove her mad, tickling her worst areas without halt as she emptied her lungs attempting to laugh into the gag, and cut her skin on the thin restraints, twisting and wriggling endlessly in her bondage. It was unreal. Beyond the physical torment, she felt so degraded, so weak. She wanted to beg, wished they would let her beg, and hated herself for it.
Five minutes. She pressed her thighs together, but it did nothing. She tried to shield her breasts but couldn't. She tried to rub the electrodes off her rear by wiggling against the chair, but they held. They just tickled and tickled, letting little currents run up and down her skin, ignoring her pitiful attempts to stop them, sometimes offering a rythmic pulsing, sometimes a constant ticklish drone, sometimes an agonising feathery tingle.
Seven minutes. She moaned and rubbed her thighs together in rapid desperation as the tickling there grew worse; the device chose areas to focus on periodically so as to keep the subject's nervous system guessing. She should know, she used them for years. She squirmed and shifted as the focus shifted to her ass, her body convulsing and her throat groaning a muffled 'please stop' into her gag. She was covered in sweat by now, and there were permanent lines of moisture descending from her eyes.
She watched as the last thirty seconds counted down, second by second. Even with ten left she would have done anything to escape them. Finally it stopped, and the Rebel woman came back. Sandra somehow managed to regain her composure, reminding herself that tickling was only in the moment, and that it was better than going through pain like people used to.
“There,” The rebel stated. “You want locked up in that for the rest of your life? But then… remember what the men used to do? Similar machines, only, rather than tickling, they’d wear you down with constant, inescapable pain! Maybe we should do that to you instead! What do you think?”
Sandra managed to mask her fear, but she knew there was no way she could stop them if that’s what they decided to do. She felt the bile rise in her throat and her fingers tremble.
“No, wait. Take off her gag first,” the man said. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
The woman thought about it, then nodded to one of the androids, who unstrapped the painful restraint. Sandra took a deep trembling breath through her mouth, then looked the woman in the eye.
“I did the things I did to preserve a society. I was trying to maintain a kind of order. You torture me, and it will be purely out of spite. Which one of us would you call the better person?”
“To preserve a society?!” The woman barked a laugh. “And you never once stopped to think there was a better way?!”
“Everyone believes there is a better way,” Sandra replied, her voice shaky. “What mine and yours are, are merely different. Every ‘better way’ winds up needing a degree of cruelty to maintain itself. I believed, and still believe, that is what I was doing.”
The woman’s temper broke. “Did you see my sister! Did you! She can’t even talk!” Tears welled in her eyes. “…Right, that’s it. Throw her in.”
The man interrupted her. “Ania, are you sure that’s what you…”
“I said Do it! She helped bring that place to life, she can join the others and die in it!”
Sandra felt the huge arms of the androids grabbing her and lifting her away.
Sandra woke up in a blaring white corridor. She felt groggy for a good while, not able to think straight or even see. But when she finally could she wished she hadn’t looked. A sign on the wall read: “Prison -01, level E.”
Prison -01. This facility had been the empires main research base when tickling had first been introduced as a more ‘ethical’ replacement for torture, a secret giant laboratory buried inside a mountain in the Himalayas. They had made hundreds of advancements here, then the all the Androids had apparently gone haywire and turned on the staff. The risk to evacuate the personel had been deemed to high, so they had been left behind and the facility had been buried. Back in the days when the rebellion was just a political movement, the discovery of Prison -01's existence had been ammunition for them to say the least.
But all the androids would have starved by now, without an energy supply. Unless… Unless the rebels had reanimated them. In her heart she couldn’t blame them; revenge is better indulged in sometimes, and how often do you get to overthrow an empire, really? She would have done it to had the roles been reversed.
In any case, she wasn’t going to just lie down and die. She needed to find food and people; they must have thrown others down here. She stood up. The white lights and the silence were an oppressive mixture. She started walking, her bare feet feeling the cold ceramic of the floor. It was cold, and she was naked, and for all she knew androids could have been coming for her that very second. She swallowed, and kept going.
But after taking two steps her foot hit an old, weak patch in the flooring and fell through. For a moment she panicked, then, realising it was only a tiny drop from the floor tiles to the concrete wall between levels, she regained her composure and went to remove her foot.
Then something grabbed her ankle. She screamed and struggled, but whatever it was its grip was horribly acute. She pulled against it, but It was triying to drag the rest of her down, tugging with terrific strength. Her thigh wouldn't fit through the hole. The ceramic tiling was painful against her skin as the hand still tried to tug at her, but for a moment she believed the small size of the hole would save her. Until she felt something against her foot.
Lickers! She thought with horror. Here they had developed the perfect surface type for tickling female skin, with just the right mixture of moisture and friction, and all the proper modes of motion required to expose it to its full potential. The androids implanted with their wide, enlarged tongue like accesories had become infamous all over the world, often as just a story. But as one began achingly massaging her foot below the floor, it was very, very real. Her eyebrows drew down in terror and her mouth shot open in contorted laughter, a disturbing blend of expression as the slippery, pulsing surface worked her arch and buried itself in-between her toes. She clawed and thudded desperately against the floor but no other part of it would give way. She screamed and laughed and clawed and writhed but she couldn’t pull her foot away from the unseen tongue nor get her leg out from under the tiles. Then she felt another pair of hands on her leg. She dismayed, and groaned a despairing ‘no’ amidst her laughter; one grip she could have gotten out of eventually, but two, she had no chance. The tongue of the second android began caressing the back of her knee, causing her to scream anew, and try pounding on the floor again to no avail. She cried as the tongues tickled, she wailed as they tickled, she tried to jam her fingers in beside her thigh as they tickled, so she could break away the tiling, but her leg was jammed in too tight. They licked and licked as she struggled, oblivious to her plight, devouring the soft, delicate, agonising ticklishness of her skin with their moist, horribly perfect surfaces. She knew too well how they were devoid of any human side which may have grown bored or eventually taken pity on her suffering. The texture slid and slithered against her as the tongues played her spots like a harpsichord, tickling and tickling and tickling and tickling, every new glide and squirm causing her more desperation and increasing her sensitivity.
She was screaming for help, with what air she had in her chest, though she had little hope any would come. She was actually quite afraid that it would attract more androids, but she didn’t seem to have any other options. Soon she was reduced to a croaking wreck, a twitching lump who could do little more than gasp and tremble and occasionally wheeze out ‘help’ with a tortured grin. She couldn’t take it. She just could not take the constant tickling any more. It was too much; it had been from the start. She couldn’t believe she had actually done this sort of thing to other women. She repented, she took it all back, she would have slaved for decades in a black coal mine out of repentance, she would have done anything, if only the tickling would stop. She said all this out loud, though she didn’t know why; the androids didn’t care about that sort of thing. With blurry eyes she looked around for something she could remove her leg with, but with hands as shaky as hers were then she never would have been able to use it. The tongues still tormented her as she seeked escape, invisibly beneath the floor, lathering her toes and flickering her arch, dancing all over her skin ceaselessly, bathing her in an ever flowing torrent of ticklish stimuli.
It went on for some time without any form of halt. Every few seconds Sandra would scream out that she couln't stand it, and yet her body offered her no realese. Then finally her mind gave up. She passed out. Her last thought was of a desperate hope that she wouldn’t wake up in the same place.
Hey all. Sorry this took a while, but let me know how it goes down.
Sandra sat in a metal chair, staring at the blackness of the fabric in front of her eyes. She felt the material in her mouth; some kind of plastic, some object which left no room for movement. The bonds which tied her wrists behind her and her ankles to the chair legs were uncomfortably tight and thin, but she wasn’t going to sacrifice her dignity by struggling or moaning in pain. That was the stereotypical woman of the past, someone submissive, a servant to male hierarchs. She wouldn’t let herself become that.
She had been amazed at the speed at which it had happened. Separate rebel factions at different global positions had begun a simultaneous, coordinated attack. Within days Beijing, Paris and Pretoria had all fallen. Three centres of the world’s power, all defeated in a week. They had found a flaw in the male soldier android's programming using radio waves, some loop hole inherent in their conditioning. I suppose unquestioning loyalty was bound to have its drawbacks, Sandra thought with sad acceptance. But there had also been the men who the rebel women had protected over the years, who they used to fight for them. Hypocrites, she thought, they use the very proof of our moral superiority to fight us in the name of justice.
She didn’t understand how they could let free thinking men walk around, claiming they were just as human as women, and then use the violent nature of that sickening race to help them win a war. Stupidity, that’s all it really was, idealistic naivety.
She heard footsteps before her blindfold was suddenly and violently torn off. She squinted, attempting to look around in the harsh light. She was in a close cell, with grey walls and a cold white light in the ceiling. A woman was standing in front of her opposite a table, a young, curly haired rebel, all fire and passion in her eyes, no logic, no sense. Two androids stood to either side of the metal chair, and at the door there was a man – a man! – with a gun at his side, looking at her with curiosity. She shuddered, as much as she could at least, at the fact that she was in the same room as the thing.
The woman motioned to the man, and he opened the door, and brought in another woman, whose eyes were utterly lifeless.
“Do you know who this is?” asked the woman, leaning over the table.
Looks like one of our mind destruction therapy patients, thought Sandra.
“Or do you not bother to remember the faces of the women whose lives you destroy?”
I’m the chair woman, I had thousands of patients you stupid bitch.
“Well I’ll tell you who she used to be.” Her lips quivered in anger, but she kept her cool. “…She was my sister. Maybe we should just strap you into one of those machines huh?! Leave you to rot in that hell! …Lets give her a taste. Ten minutes.”
One of the androids held a device which bore an array of detachable electrodes. He scanned Sandra’s body for a moment, searching for the best areas to focus on, then attached parts of it to the lower part of either buttock – the chair had a lattice like frame and as such had many points of access – to her breasts, covering her nipples, to her feet and to her inner thighs. The woman put a stop clock on the table in Sandra’s full view, and started it, before leaving the room, taking the man and her sister with her. The android stepped back, and turned on the device.
Sandra had never actually felt just how effective the devices she had endorsed for so long actually were, and now, despite her best attempts to hold it in, she instantly began squirming and struggling as shock after shock tickled her sensitive skin. She moaned and chocked into her gag, wishing, to her sidgust, that it would stop. She looked at the clock. Ten seconds. The metal of the chair, attached to the floor, shook and groaned as she instinctively tried to break free and stop the awful tickling sensations, but it held fast. The androids never would have let her leave anyway. Tears formed in her eyes as she tried to scrunch her feet up and press them against the floor, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The ones on her feet were too much; that part of her was just so horrendously ticklish. She looked at the clock again. One minute. She imagined nine more minutes on this, and was certain that it would kill her. Of course, there was nothing she could do about it. Minute after minute the little shocks traversing her nerves drove her mad, tickling her worst areas without halt as she emptied her lungs attempting to laugh into the gag, and cut her skin on the thin restraints, twisting and wriggling endlessly in her bondage. It was unreal. Beyond the physical torment, she felt so degraded, so weak. She wanted to beg, wished they would let her beg, and hated herself for it.
Five minutes. She pressed her thighs together, but it did nothing. She tried to shield her breasts but couldn't. She tried to rub the electrodes off her rear by wiggling against the chair, but they held. They just tickled and tickled, letting little currents run up and down her skin, ignoring her pitiful attempts to stop them, sometimes offering a rythmic pulsing, sometimes a constant ticklish drone, sometimes an agonising feathery tingle.
Seven minutes. She moaned and rubbed her thighs together in rapid desperation as the tickling there grew worse; the device chose areas to focus on periodically so as to keep the subject's nervous system guessing. She should know, she used them for years. She squirmed and shifted as the focus shifted to her ass, her body convulsing and her throat groaning a muffled 'please stop' into her gag. She was covered in sweat by now, and there were permanent lines of moisture descending from her eyes.
She watched as the last thirty seconds counted down, second by second. Even with ten left she would have done anything to escape them. Finally it stopped, and the Rebel woman came back. Sandra somehow managed to regain her composure, reminding herself that tickling was only in the moment, and that it was better than going through pain like people used to.
“There,” The rebel stated. “You want locked up in that for the rest of your life? But then… remember what the men used to do? Similar machines, only, rather than tickling, they’d wear you down with constant, inescapable pain! Maybe we should do that to you instead! What do you think?”
Sandra managed to mask her fear, but she knew there was no way she could stop them if that’s what they decided to do. She felt the bile rise in her throat and her fingers tremble.
“No, wait. Take off her gag first,” the man said. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
The woman thought about it, then nodded to one of the androids, who unstrapped the painful restraint. Sandra took a deep trembling breath through her mouth, then looked the woman in the eye.
“I did the things I did to preserve a society. I was trying to maintain a kind of order. You torture me, and it will be purely out of spite. Which one of us would you call the better person?”
“To preserve a society?!” The woman barked a laugh. “And you never once stopped to think there was a better way?!”
“Everyone believes there is a better way,” Sandra replied, her voice shaky. “What mine and yours are, are merely different. Every ‘better way’ winds up needing a degree of cruelty to maintain itself. I believed, and still believe, that is what I was doing.”
The woman’s temper broke. “Did you see my sister! Did you! She can’t even talk!” Tears welled in her eyes. “…Right, that’s it. Throw her in.”
The man interrupted her. “Ania, are you sure that’s what you…”
“I said Do it! She helped bring that place to life, she can join the others and die in it!”
Sandra felt the huge arms of the androids grabbing her and lifting her away.
Sandra woke up in a blaring white corridor. She felt groggy for a good while, not able to think straight or even see. But when she finally could she wished she hadn’t looked. A sign on the wall read: “Prison -01, level E.”
Prison -01. This facility had been the empires main research base when tickling had first been introduced as a more ‘ethical’ replacement for torture, a secret giant laboratory buried inside a mountain in the Himalayas. They had made hundreds of advancements here, then the all the Androids had apparently gone haywire and turned on the staff. The risk to evacuate the personel had been deemed to high, so they had been left behind and the facility had been buried. Back in the days when the rebellion was just a political movement, the discovery of Prison -01's existence had been ammunition for them to say the least.
But all the androids would have starved by now, without an energy supply. Unless… Unless the rebels had reanimated them. In her heart she couldn’t blame them; revenge is better indulged in sometimes, and how often do you get to overthrow an empire, really? She would have done it to had the roles been reversed.
In any case, she wasn’t going to just lie down and die. She needed to find food and people; they must have thrown others down here. She stood up. The white lights and the silence were an oppressive mixture. She started walking, her bare feet feeling the cold ceramic of the floor. It was cold, and she was naked, and for all she knew androids could have been coming for her that very second. She swallowed, and kept going.
But after taking two steps her foot hit an old, weak patch in the flooring and fell through. For a moment she panicked, then, realising it was only a tiny drop from the floor tiles to the concrete wall between levels, she regained her composure and went to remove her foot.
Then something grabbed her ankle. She screamed and struggled, but whatever it was its grip was horribly acute. She pulled against it, but It was triying to drag the rest of her down, tugging with terrific strength. Her thigh wouldn't fit through the hole. The ceramic tiling was painful against her skin as the hand still tried to tug at her, but for a moment she believed the small size of the hole would save her. Until she felt something against her foot.
Lickers! She thought with horror. Here they had developed the perfect surface type for tickling female skin, with just the right mixture of moisture and friction, and all the proper modes of motion required to expose it to its full potential. The androids implanted with their wide, enlarged tongue like accesories had become infamous all over the world, often as just a story. But as one began achingly massaging her foot below the floor, it was very, very real. Her eyebrows drew down in terror and her mouth shot open in contorted laughter, a disturbing blend of expression as the slippery, pulsing surface worked her arch and buried itself in-between her toes. She clawed and thudded desperately against the floor but no other part of it would give way. She screamed and laughed and clawed and writhed but she couldn’t pull her foot away from the unseen tongue nor get her leg out from under the tiles. Then she felt another pair of hands on her leg. She dismayed, and groaned a despairing ‘no’ amidst her laughter; one grip she could have gotten out of eventually, but two, she had no chance. The tongue of the second android began caressing the back of her knee, causing her to scream anew, and try pounding on the floor again to no avail. She cried as the tongues tickled, she wailed as they tickled, she tried to jam her fingers in beside her thigh as they tickled, so she could break away the tiling, but her leg was jammed in too tight. They licked and licked as she struggled, oblivious to her plight, devouring the soft, delicate, agonising ticklishness of her skin with their moist, horribly perfect surfaces. She knew too well how they were devoid of any human side which may have grown bored or eventually taken pity on her suffering. The texture slid and slithered against her as the tongues played her spots like a harpsichord, tickling and tickling and tickling and tickling, every new glide and squirm causing her more desperation and increasing her sensitivity.
She was screaming for help, with what air she had in her chest, though she had little hope any would come. She was actually quite afraid that it would attract more androids, but she didn’t seem to have any other options. Soon she was reduced to a croaking wreck, a twitching lump who could do little more than gasp and tremble and occasionally wheeze out ‘help’ with a tortured grin. She couldn’t take it. She just could not take the constant tickling any more. It was too much; it had been from the start. She couldn’t believe she had actually done this sort of thing to other women. She repented, she took it all back, she would have slaved for decades in a black coal mine out of repentance, she would have done anything, if only the tickling would stop. She said all this out loud, though she didn’t know why; the androids didn’t care about that sort of thing. With blurry eyes she looked around for something she could remove her leg with, but with hands as shaky as hers were then she never would have been able to use it. The tongues still tormented her as she seeked escape, invisibly beneath the floor, lathering her toes and flickering her arch, dancing all over her skin ceaselessly, bathing her in an ever flowing torrent of ticklish stimuli.
It went on for some time without any form of halt. Every few seconds Sandra would scream out that she couln't stand it, and yet her body offered her no realese. Then finally her mind gave up. She passed out. Her last thought was of a desperate hope that she wouldn’t wake up in the same place.
Last edited:
muhahahaha. Thanks for your enthusiasm guys. 
