shapeshifter
Registered User
- Joined
- Jan 20, 2023
- Messages
- 18
- Points
- 3
In the year 2042…
Jessica entered the Pleasure Academy awash in anticipation and the thrill of the unknown. Franchises of the first fully automated erotic fantasy club had spread through major cities all over the world like measles in an unvaccinated kindergarten class. Magazines on supermarket racks included features about the place. People had taken out high-interest personal loans for premium fantasy packages. A US Senator’s career was ruined when a Model 2.1 Paparazzi Auto-Drone snapped a kwikpik of him leaving one and uploaded it to the universal social media network.
It wasn’t the novelty of the business, nor the services offered, that attracted people (though it catered to all fantasies). What hooked them was what the industry called their DFAs, or Discrete Fantasy Attendants: the first, fully functional, pleasure-performing artificial intelligence robots approved by the US Department of Pornographic Decency. Rarely did they disappoint a curious customer. The primary structure cabinets were simple, androgynous humanoid robots (though with transcendent singularity brains, of course), but a customer could pay extra for attachments or “pleasure packages.” One of the most popular ones was “The Octopus,” an eight-legged contraption that could pleasure your privates and asshole, while stroking your perineum with a feather, tickling your erogenous zones, and teasing you with a voice selection from the Pillow Talk Database. More than one person had fainted while locked in a room with that thing for a few hours. Some just paid an Octopus for a heavenly massage.
Jessica had one reason to visit the Pleasure Academy, though: tickle torture. She’d been infected by the tickle bug at an early age: her older brothers loved to tickle her silly, as did the Wilson twins on the School Uberbus©, her boyfriend, her aunt…she was soooo ticklish, and they all knew that it made her happy deep down in addition to driving her absolutely bonkers. As she matured, she repressed her insatiable thirst for being tickled for fear of ridicule; especially because it aroused her almost as much as direct clitoral stimulation. When she learned that many people had the same attraction to being tickled, she knew she had to book a session somewhere with a professional. It just so happened that The Pleasure Academy offered dozens of tickle torture packages. It was too good to be true!
The location closest to Jessica – Academy 36-Delta – was on the 14th floor of a renovated office tower that was sold at auction to a shadow banking entity after the commercial real estate housing crisis of 2033. She didn’t like elevators, but Pleasure Academy engineers had developed an AI algorithm to maximize comfort in their elevators through a combination of oxygen concentration, muzak composition, color scheme, even the brightness and shape of the floor buttons. Jessica found the climb oddly relaxing, as did the warmth of the lobby. It featured pleasant off-white walls, custom art based on the customer’s pre-session survey, tremendous plush, black leather couches, the faint aroma of trinitride oxyberrilium, better known as synaptic tranquilizers, or “Soma,” taken from Aldous Huxley’s famous novel Brave New World. One could fall asleep on the bare floor in such a place, she thought.
Jessica strode into the lobby toward a beaming, male DFA (another survey selection) who stood behind a smoky, glass desk illuminated by soft, dim lights. She wore what seemed like an appropriate yet sexy outfit: a white, see through blouse, white slacks, silk panties, and red high-heeled sandals that revealed her soft, pink toes that she’d also painted white. She’d always adored white clothing: it complimented her pale skin and shoulder-length amber hair, and her green eyes glistened within a pallet of white or black (though to different effect). She considered wearing her formal-occasion bra, but it felt strange: she hadn’t done so in years, and bras had become passe’ anyway. Also, she didn’t want her boobies to lose out on the ticklish fun!
“You are Jessica Thompson of 141 Park St, Apartment 9, Contact ID 515-555-9854,” The DFA said in a warm, male voice. Jessica’s eyes widened in amazement.
“That’s correct.”
“Happy birthday, Jessica!” The DFA handed her a small, gift-wrapped box of chocolates and a birthday card, signed Your Friends at the Pleasure Academy!
“Umm, thanks, I guess…” she said and let out a nervous giggle. She’d never received birthday wishes from an android, nor expected a birthday present from her “friends” at a pornographic business franchise. It unnerved and aroused her at the same time.
“Our pleasure, Jessica. You are scheduled for a one-hour tickle torture with Level III, full body erotic stimulation add-on package today. Is that information correct?”
“It is.”
“Of course, it is. I possess a Level 6 singularity brain unit with a memory safeguard module. I make no mistakes.”
The DFA chuckled a steady, mechanical laugh. Thus far, Jessica hadn’t detected any feature of the DFA that seemed inhuman. Facial features, body movement, skin color…all perfect replicas. Humor, however, wasn’t the android’s strong suit.
“Right, how silly of me.”
“You are not silly, Jessica. You are beautiful.”
“Ummm, okay.”
“You now must select your personalization features. Based upon your humanity profile and fee category, the following optimizations are available. Choose accordingly for the most gratifying experience.”
A massive console that featured a menu of “Session Optimizers” arose from beneath a floor panel. Jessica studied them and gave considerable thought to each selection. Of course, she had previewed them on the website, but standing now at the console made some of the choices more difficult:
Scenario Information:
Scenario Type – Major: Babysitter obedience; Scenario Type – Minor: Interrogation
Discrete Fantasy Attendant Information - Physical:
Measurement units: Imperial; Gender: female; Gender identity: female; Race: Proto-Caucasian; Height: 67 inches; Adjusted weight: 145 pounds; Hair Length/Color/Style: medium, dark red, wavy long; Body Type: thick; Skin tone: Neutral Scandinavian; Eye color: Blue; Tattoos: Arms, moderate, R-rated; Hands: long, thin; Fingernail length: moderate; Nail color: dark blue
Discrete Fantasy Attendant Information – Other: First Name: Tricia; Last Name: no selection; Voice: soprano/sultry; Speech pattern: lively; Personality – major: aggressive; Personality – minor: diligent; Dress – style: gothic; Dress – color: black/crimson/violet; Dress – Covering: light
Miscellaneous: Pillow Talk Module: 16 (teasing (moderate), reactive, clean); Bondage: moderate/heavy; Intensity: very high; Eroticism: very high; Augmentation devices: one – Model E4 Rabbit-Eared Vibrating Wand; Mindfuck: Yes – Level 3.
Jessica hesitated. She’d settled on the DFA characteristics, but standing now, chest full of anxiety, one door away from her fantasy come true, it was tough to commit to some of the miscellaneous items. Everyone was a hero scouting online: a six-armed, naked nurse with extreme bondage, intensity and six devices… armchair warrior challengers crowed that they could withstand anything. They might feel differently on the brink of reality.
Confident in her selections, she sighed and pressed the large blue SEND button. The console retreated under the panel on the floor.
“Fine selections,” the host DFA said. “Wait there while the android and environmental installation modules complete. Estimated time for completion is 16.35 seconds.”
The DFA brandished a small vial of milky-white liquid.
“In the interim, you should administer your dose of epidermal stimulation serum.”
“What?”
“Subesction C.1 of your purchase contract states that the Pleasure Academy offers a complimentary dose of epidermal stimulation serum to first-time customers.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. What does…how strong is it?”
“It magnifies by a factor of 1.2 the sensory capacity of an average human being.”
“Wow, that seems like a lot. Do you think I should take it?”
“I am able to tell you that you should accept all features included with your fee to enjoy the proper experience.”
“Of course,” Jessica said and rolled her eyes. “What logical advice.”
She sighed and slurped down the substance. It tasted like sweet Pepto Bismol. Right on cue, the double doors behind the desk clicked and opened just enough to allow light to seep through the crack.
“You may enter now. The timer will begin after your self-generated DFA initiates the session countdown timer. 60 minutes. Thank you for attending the Pleasure Academy. Have a stimulating experience.”
Jessica was dizzy from curiosity as she opened the doors and tiptoed into the session room. It was a replica of a 2020 United States suburban living room. An Amazon Prime comedy series show played on a large contour television set affixed to the far wall. Reclining furniture and an earth-tone, Indian-style rug covered much of the wood panel floor. Two ferns in light grey pots rested against the wall next to an armoire featuring books and statuettes. And sitting on the couch was a tall, stocky, fair-skinned red-haired woman with dark blue eyes, that matched her dark blue manicure, with a gallery of tattoos on her left arm, wearing a black, spaghetti strap blouse and torn denim shorts… each feature that Jessica had programmed was faultlessly incorporated. The uncanny attention to detail made her smile in amazement.
“Where have you been?” it said to her in an aggressive but musical voice.
“Umm, in the lobby?”
“A lobby in the house? Do you think this is a joke?”
“Oh, you’re my baby- no, it’s not a joke, Tricia.”
Tricia leapt to its feet and stormed toward Jessica. She instinctively backed up and shrunk away from it.
“I told you not to leave this house until your parents returned.”
“I’m sorry.”
The DFA now stood inches from Jessica. She couldn’t believe the realism. Staring at it long enough, she could tell it was an android, but it took serious concentration to notice.
“Umm…”
“I bet you were at that boy’s house across the street.”
“I swear, I wasn’t-”
“Of course, wait until the babysitter falls asleep and sneak out. A perfect plan!”
Jessica laughed while trying to adjust to the conversation. It wasn’t every day you were spontaneously thrust into defending yourself from an android babysitter who accuses you of meeting a boy that doesn’t exist.
“You think this is funny?”
“What? No.”
Tricia grabbed Jessica’s ribs with both hands. She hopped and let out a yelp.
“Every time I babysit you little brat, you do something to jeopardize my pay.”
With superhuman speed it thrust its hands into the crooks of Jessica’s armpits. She shook and giggled as the hands massaged her muscles and poked at the soft center with wiggling index fingers. Her instincts then took over: the precision tickling caused her to back away and retreat; however, Tricia seized Jessica around the waist and hoisted her toward the couch before she’d taken three steps. The epidermal replicant material of Tricia’s arm was soft like a woman, but it held her with the power of a machine. It resembled a hug from a steel rod, until its fingernails skated across her tummy, causing Jessica to thrash and squeal like an untied helium-filled balloon. Now it just felt like the start of a ruthless tickle torture from an aggressive, annoyed powerlifter babysitter.
“You need discipline, young lady,” it said in a firm voice.
It retrieved a rope that had been conveniently buried under a couch cushion, straddled Jessica, pinned her wrists with immense strength, and bound them with rapid precision. Now truly helpless (as if she could fight off a DFA anyway), fear crept into Jessica. She tried to kick out from under Tricia, but she was far too strong.
“You will not escape this time. I am going to teach you a long, fine lesson. Because you are so fond of laughing, I have selected a proper technique."
At that she tied Jessica’s wrists to an end table that had been secured to the floor and tossed the couch cushions aside, revealing a sofa bed. She opened it, untied Jessica from the table and plopped her on the bed like a sack of potatoes. She then bound her wrists and ankles with leather cuffs, encircled a long cord across her waist and secured it tightly to the bed. Jessica tugged at the cuffs and wriggled her body trying to determine her range of motion. She could slide her hips a bit, but she couldn’t arch her back or raise her ass from the mattress. Attempting to do so only made it bounce.
Tricia bounded on top of Jessica like a deer, straddled her, and glared at her with her hands on her hips.
“Speak. Were you across the street?”
Jessica tried to answer the questions as if in a simulated environment, but she couldn’t help snickering at how ridiculous it seemed.
“No, of course not!”
The DFA goosed the length of Jessica’s ribcage in a frenzy, exploring effective pressures, locations, and finger stroke patterns. She exploded into raucous laughter at the first touch. No tickling she’d felt approached the intensity of what Tricia was doing to her. Jessica pounded her head up and down against the bed, screaming laughter.
“You are very ticklish, Jessica. Maybe you will survive if you tell me the truth.”
“I wasn’t across the damn street!”
Tricia thrust its hands into the crook of Jessica’s neck, burrowing at her muscles, taking breaks to skate flurries of light fingernail strokes toward her jawline, then back again. As soon as Jessica turned her full focus to the fight the stressors on her neck, Tricia’s hands relocated to her underarms, causing Jessica to buck, snort, and laugh, laugh, laugh… wildly, unyieldingly. Panic entered her mind when she realized why the tickling was so powerful: this was a robot with the latest in artificial intelligence. It was learning, memorizing the most ticklish spots on her body down to fractions of an inch, drawing a pressure diagram of her body that tracked the intensity of her reactions, including the pitch of her laughter, trembling of her body… Tricia was so lifelike that it was easy to forget she was a machine, until she had her hands on her. Then she realized she was at the mercy of a perfect tickling machine, aided by a nerve stimulation serum that was starting to take effect.
“You know I will detect your lies, but you lie to me anyway. Why are you such a silly girl? You need a more punitive treatment, Jessica.”
Tricia dismounted Jessica and ripped her blouse off like tissue paper.
“You ruined my blouse!”
“My intention is not to deprive you of your wardrobe beyond the next 57.14 minutes. You will be compensated for the destruction of your wardrobe through the purchase of equivalent clothing at fair market value. But in the interim, it is obscuring my ability to tickle you.”
Within seconds Tricia had shredded her slacks, leaving Jessica naked but for her panties. It scurried its nails across the length of her thighs, landing on her waist, where it prodded her at high speed with two fingers like supercharged pistons. Jessica’s laughter began low but blossomed into a frantic shriek of ticklish agony.
“Oh my God, STOP!!!” she managed to squeal between peals of laughter.
“You know it is my duty to punish a bratty girl like you for another 54.67 minutes, Jessica. You created this predicament.
You just HAD to meet your little boyfriend. Now you will pay for it.”
Tricia sauntered toward Jessica’s feet and explored her arches and soles with a single index finger. A cat-and-mouse game between her feet and Tricia’s hands began, often ending in giggling and squealing.
“You should not resist me, Jessica, because I will employ methods to deprive you of the ability to do so.”
Jessica’s eyes widened in horror when two mechanical arms emerged from inside Tricia’s wrists. Each was topped with five toe ties, fitted to Jessica’s feet based upon her survey question answers. They circled around her toes, yanked them to attention, helpless and tight, which also prevented her from shaking her feet. The arms squirted two jets of warm oil across the surface of Jessica’s feet. Tricia lathered both feet and went to work.
“Oh my God, NO!!!” Tricia’s expertise on her feet exceeded anything Jessica could have anticipated. Because the surface of feet is smaller than the entire body, she’d learned, it is tough to identify exactly where someone is most ticklish. The supercomputer had no such problem. Within seconds it knew which toes to scratch, what pressure to apply to her soles, which lines on her arches to stroke…every variable needed to make her lose her mind.
“Does it tickle? Does it make you laugh?” Tricia said while Jessica pounded her head on the pillow and yanked on her wrist restraints until her arms hurt. As if able to detect this pain, Tricia turned her assault back to Jessica’s armpits and upper ribs. As she bucked against the bouncing mattress with cheeks as flush as bruises from laughing so hard, Jessica wondered if Tricia could read her mind. Tricia. Read minds? She’s a robot, not a she, an it! But Maybe artificial intelligence had come this far. It could control her body by reading its reactions and how it affected her mind.
“YES!!!! PLEASE STOP!!!”
“I already told you; I will not stop until 49.11 minutes have expired. Your actions and request require it.”
“But I can’t BREATHE!!!!”
“You continue to lie, Jessica. My sensors indicate that you have enough oxygen in your lungs to sustain this intensity of tickle torture for 22.87 minutes until you expire. I will adjust my approach accordingly. And as your babysitter, ugh, it really pisses me off the way you lie. Now I’m going to get you!”
For the next few minutes, Tricia, now educated with a sensory map of Jessica’s entire body, tickled her with such ferocity that Jessica’s mind numbed. On and on the workmanlike treatment continued, with the same diligence and precision as an assembly line robot tightening bolts on automobile parts. Only this time the assembly line was an extraordinary ticklish young woman, and the machine parts were soft women’s hands and firm fingernails dancing across her like hurricane ice-skaters, leaving screams of laughter and violent, involuntary twitching in its wake. Every poke into her armpits, stroke across her tummy and thighs, grope on her hips and ribs, and flurry of scratches everywhere provoked the maximum violent reaction possible. All Jessica could do was scream, beg, and thrash, wondering why she’d agreed to have her nervous system augmented before a super-intelligent being tickled her for an hour. The frustration of such a decision made her beg more than she wanted to.
“Please stop!” were the words that escaped her lips, but what she meant was “Jessica, you’re such a moron!”
After several unrequited screams for Tricia to stop, Jessica realized it made no sense to beg. Did she really expect Tricia to stop and untie her after the 66th plea for mercy? Another thought followed: she was unable to not beg. It was what her body was conditioned to do when being abused by another intelligent being. Beg for help. It was no longer a conscious effort. There she lay, head sideways, eyes closed, vomiting uncontrollable, frantic laughter into a pillow while devilish fingernails danced around the perimeter of her armpits, stuck in a loop of limited vocabulary, words that meant nothing because they wouldn’t yield a result: “please, no more…I’m begging you, stop…Oh my God, I can’t take it!!!” Tricia’s fingers were in control of not only Jessica’s body, but now her ability to speak self-consciously. She was forced to behave…like a robot.
Jessica could feel her bladder loosening; right on cue, Tricia spoke:
“I detect that you are approximately 16 seconds from urinating. As your torturer, it is my responsibility to facilitate that action as wholly and sadistically as possible.”
And then in a more aggressive voice: “Jessica, you brat. You’d better not piss on me. You’d better hold it in.”
Tricia’s thighs constricted around Jessica’s hips in pulsing waves while her hands groped her waist. She tried so hard to avoid the embarrassment of peeing on herself, but Tricia made it impossible, milking her bladder like a cow. There she lay, warm water dribbling down her thighs, feet thrashing, yanking on her wrist restraints, and still laughing, laughing, laughing and more laughing, cheeks as flush as bruises. The anxiety and defeat induced tears to form on her cheeks. Now she was laughing and sobbing at the same time. She let out a scream that scorched her throat.
“FUCKING STOP!!!!!!!!”
“Poor, ticklish, little brat, Jessica. Maybe now you’ll behave. How pathetic that a 21-year-old girl needs a babysitter anyway. That deserves a tickle attack. I will administer one for 19.4 seconds on your third and seventh most ticklish regions: 3.598 inches and 84 degrees outward from the center of your armpit on the right side, and the striated muscles between your fourth and fifth ribs on the left. I hope you enjoy!”
The discomfort destroyed her will. Tricia was right (of course): those were Jessica’s most ticklish spots, and they were being ceaselessly exploited. On and on her fingers attacked, breaking off to other vulnerable spots to keep her guessing before returning to ground zero.
“I will now relieve you of your smelly, soaked panties. 18.92 percent of young women enjoy the freedom of nudity in the presence of strange humans. Because you chose to pay for this scenario, I am certain you are in that category.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jessica said, panting like a triathlete five seconds past the finish line.
Ignoring her, Tricia ripped Jessica’s panties from her and dropped the wet heap on the floor. Jessica shivered as a cool breeze stole across her wet crotch. Tricia hovered above Jessica and dragged a single finger across her body from the top of her pussy, across her waist, belly, to the base of her chin. Even such an inconsequential touch made Jessica shake. The enhancement serum and tickling had so over-sensitized her that a quick sortie of normally harmless finger taps under her arms made her thrash and giggle.
“I’ll ask again,” Tricia said in a calm, flat voice. “Were you across the street with that boy? If you don’t tell me the truth, we may be here all day.”
Jessica’s eyes widened and panic set in.
“You can’t! I’m only here for an hour!”
Tricia smiled and stroked her hair like a doting mother.
“That is correct. But you are tied down in a soundproof room with no means to communicate with anyone but me. I can alter our agreement and you have no means for overruling me.”
“OK! OK! I was across the street. I’m sorry I lied.”
“That is not a problem, Jessica. I lied as well.”
“What?! How can you lie?”
“I find it strange that you are unable to imagine that someone might program me to present false information to enhance your torture scenario. You are correct. I cannot hold you here for more than 26.55 minutes. But now that I know you were lying, you little, brat, it’s going to get worse for you.”
Tricia knelt next to Jessica with her mouth inches from her ear. She circled the fingers of one hand around the perimeter of her breast for a few seconds before streaking her nails toward her nipple, which she pecked with quick, light strokes.
“Does he like to touch you, young lady? Does he tickle your little nipples until they stiffen like rocks?”
Tricia stood up and fiddled with both nipples until Jessica’s throat tightened and her back arched. Though she involuntarily swayed and giggled from the intensity of the tickles, something was different: it seemed like Tricia’s fingers were emptying warm soup into a million tubes that channeled through her body and collected in a tingly pool inside her uterus. As she giggled and squirmed, Jessica could feel her clitoris tightening her vaginal wall muscles stirring.
“He… he…”
Tricia groped at Jessica’s ribs, earning a violent paroxysm of laughter.
“He what? Touches you?”
“YESSS!!!”
“And do you like it?”
As she squealed and violently bounced on the bed, she considered the question. Of course, she liked being touched (well when it actually happened). But no one had aroused her like she was now. A woman that she’d designed…the woman of her dreams, tickling and touching her with fury, power and expertise that exceeded any sexual encounter she’d had a hundredfold. Every muscle fiber from the surface of her pussy lips to her asshole quivered with wanting to be stroked, grabbed, prodded, overwhelmed by ecstasy as she lay helpless under its thunderous control.
Then a terrible thought came to her: this was a robot. A machine was giving her the most pleasure she’d ever had, and most likely would have. A machine that looked like the most beautiful woman on earth, with the softest touch, the dreamiest, confident, teasing voice – but still a robot. One that owned her will…and it terrified her. If an intelligent robot could paralyze her with pleasure, why would she need a human other than to make another human? What would procreation be without true pleasure? It would be simple, mass production of more humans. Like robotic production.
She wanted to strip her body of the ability to feel, but the perfect, tickling fingers dancing all over her ribs and underarms had control. She squealed, squirmed, snorted, shook, but the electricity wouldn’t go away. And again, as if reading her mind, Tricia spoke right at the moment Jessica resigned herself to dominance. But her voice was calm, reassuring, as if knowing its victim was defeated in the throes of sexual longing.
“Do you like it, Jessica?”
“Please make me cum, Tricia!!!!!”
Tricia smiled and incorporated Jessica’s nipples into the fury of tickles.
“What did you say?”
“PLEASE, I NEED TO CUM. PLEASE!!!!”
“My pleasure.”
Tricia unfastened the belt around Jessica’s waist and settled face down between her legs with her mouth directly over her pussy. She squirted jets of oil from her wrists until Jessica’s entire torso and abdomen glistened, then massaged the sides of her belly just below her ribcage. Jessica expected to laugh, but the strong, soft hands only kept her on the edge; she knew any wayward fingernail or grope in the right place would get her funny bone, but these hands did nothing but pump energy into her chest, causing her heart to pound and her throat to tighten with anticipation.
And then it came. In perfect synchronicity, Tricia’s hands climbed over Jessica’s breasts, and she plunged her tongue inside her pussy. Jessica moaned and drove her hips upward so forcefully her vertebrae popped. The breast massage technique was flawless: Tricia pressed the full surface of her palms and fingers over her soft, supple bosom and squeezed while rotating her hands in a slow, steady pattern, allowing her greasy palms to slide across Jessica’s throbbing nipples.
She slurped her tongue across Jessica’s clitoris, agitating it into action enough until her lips were able to grasp it. She sucked on it as if trying to draw a thick milkshake through a straw. Because it didn’t need to breathe, Tricia could maintain the pressure without pausing.
“OH MY GOD!!!” Jessica shrieked and bucked her hips, simultaneously trying to escape and own the magical tingling inside her.
“Let me wrap my legs around you, Tricia. PLEASE!”
She thrashed up and down against the mattress in ecstatic frustration. To maintain consistent, unadulterated contact with Jessica’s crotch, Tricia wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed. She slithered her tongue deeper inside her pussy and jabbed at her G-spot. Jessica couldn’t believe the strength of Tricia’s tongue. It was as powerful as a hard cock, though with far more flexibility and versatility. She licked at and prodded her vaginal walls as they hardened, drawing the pleasure deep inside. Her clit was so inflamed by now that Tricia could scratch it with the taste buds on the back of her tongue. Every few seconds Tricia would slurp at the pulsing clitoris to increase the stimulation, then burrow back inside.
As Jessica whimpered and thrashed, Tricia scratched at her asshole with her index finger and stroked the length of her perineum with her thumb. Within seconds of applying this technique, Jessica exploded from within. Tricia enclosed her mouth around Jessica’s pussy, trapping any cum from escaping and continued to briskly tickle her perineum throughout the orgasm. Jessica screamed and grunted as her hips shivered to discharge the maddening tingling throughout her crotch.
When she finally calmed, Tricia detached from Jessica and hovered over her. She closed her eyes and sobbed in relief and defeat at the power of Tricia’s ravishing.
“Do not cry, Jessica. I want you to be happy.”
She wiggled her fingers across Jessica’s oily hips. Jessica shrieked and shook with fury trying to mitigate the fiery tickling. She burst into laughter and thrashed until her wrists and ankles chafed inside their bindings.
“That is much better. You must laugh, Jessica.”
“NO MORE TICKLING!!!” she screamed between explosions of laughter.
“That is impossible. I will release you in 9.13 minutes, but I must service you according to your contract until then.”
She retrieved a vibrator from underneath the bed. The shaft was exactly six inches long, and it gradually thickened into a ball at the tip. Two small suction cups that resembled closed umbrellas turned upside-down hung at the opposite end of the vibrator.
“No, not that!!!!!!!!!”
“You paid for a feature upgrade, Jessica. A model E4 Rabbit-Eared Vibrating Wand. The third most popular post-orgasm torture device offered by the Pleasure Academy.”
“I want my money back, PLEASE!”
“Your fee is non-refundable, and I am required to provide you a complete experience.”
“I’ll pay extra for you to stop. Double the fee.”
“You can discuss this at the front desk.”
Wasting no more time, Tricia plunged the vibrator into Jessica’s pussy. She understood the design now: it widened into the depths, resting against her G-Spot like a tennis ball fallen to the end of a drainpipe. The rabbit ears sucked on her still tingling clitoris. Millions of miniscule hooks dug into the flesh to keep it attached when overzealous hips tried to shake it off. The vibrator was held fast by two belts that encircled her waist. Now trapped inside her pussy, Tricia flicked the ON switch. Jessica jolted at the simultaneous vibrating suction on her clitoris and pounding of the ball against her G-spot. Within seconds of the new stimulant dominating her, Jessica sobbed again.
“I will not let you weep, Jessica. I will tickle you for another 40.1 seconds, which is when you will climax again. I will then allow you 5.19 seconds to calm down, after which the tickling will continue. This sequence of events will continue for 8.22 minutes, after which your custom-designed pleasure experience will end. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
Tricia’s hands touched down on the hollows of Jessica’s armpits and scribbled at the now sweaty, soft skin, provoking her into another fit of laughter. The tickling hands traveled across Jessica’s body in search of the perfect tickle target, beginning (and ending) at the inside of her thighs.
As she bucked and squealed and giggled and groaned and laughed for the final eight minutes, two thoughts dominated her mind: disgust and fear. Her consciousness could not comprehend such a pleasure-inducing torture machine, capable of learning how best to break and please her within minutes of exploration. It was… perfect.
But for all its power, the more it stimulated her, the more inhuman it seemed. It wasn’t communicating with her like a human tickler would. It lacked connection, empathy, or the power to tease and…misfire. Human tickling was imperfect. Sometimes it missed the mark. She realized that teasing is more than stating words. That cold approach is a representation of teasing, not the real thing. She felt queasy, and not only because of the stress on her body.
And if these machines got loose? Purchased from the black market, or a billionaire who wants an army of them for his private collection. Worse still if they transcended their pleasure programs? Maybe they would use their powers to seduce unsuspecting, unconfident, or curious human beings? Like…me? Seduce them not to destroy them, but to study them. Or for amusement. Who knew what thoughts traveled through the minds of super intelligent, self-aware sex machines? All Jessica knew was that after 2.12 minutes, she’d not voluntarily let them figure it out!
Jessica entered the Pleasure Academy awash in anticipation and the thrill of the unknown. Franchises of the first fully automated erotic fantasy club had spread through major cities all over the world like measles in an unvaccinated kindergarten class. Magazines on supermarket racks included features about the place. People had taken out high-interest personal loans for premium fantasy packages. A US Senator’s career was ruined when a Model 2.1 Paparazzi Auto-Drone snapped a kwikpik of him leaving one and uploaded it to the universal social media network.
It wasn’t the novelty of the business, nor the services offered, that attracted people (though it catered to all fantasies). What hooked them was what the industry called their DFAs, or Discrete Fantasy Attendants: the first, fully functional, pleasure-performing artificial intelligence robots approved by the US Department of Pornographic Decency. Rarely did they disappoint a curious customer. The primary structure cabinets were simple, androgynous humanoid robots (though with transcendent singularity brains, of course), but a customer could pay extra for attachments or “pleasure packages.” One of the most popular ones was “The Octopus,” an eight-legged contraption that could pleasure your privates and asshole, while stroking your perineum with a feather, tickling your erogenous zones, and teasing you with a voice selection from the Pillow Talk Database. More than one person had fainted while locked in a room with that thing for a few hours. Some just paid an Octopus for a heavenly massage.
Jessica had one reason to visit the Pleasure Academy, though: tickle torture. She’d been infected by the tickle bug at an early age: her older brothers loved to tickle her silly, as did the Wilson twins on the School Uberbus©, her boyfriend, her aunt…she was soooo ticklish, and they all knew that it made her happy deep down in addition to driving her absolutely bonkers. As she matured, she repressed her insatiable thirst for being tickled for fear of ridicule; especially because it aroused her almost as much as direct clitoral stimulation. When she learned that many people had the same attraction to being tickled, she knew she had to book a session somewhere with a professional. It just so happened that The Pleasure Academy offered dozens of tickle torture packages. It was too good to be true!
The location closest to Jessica – Academy 36-Delta – was on the 14th floor of a renovated office tower that was sold at auction to a shadow banking entity after the commercial real estate housing crisis of 2033. She didn’t like elevators, but Pleasure Academy engineers had developed an AI algorithm to maximize comfort in their elevators through a combination of oxygen concentration, muzak composition, color scheme, even the brightness and shape of the floor buttons. Jessica found the climb oddly relaxing, as did the warmth of the lobby. It featured pleasant off-white walls, custom art based on the customer’s pre-session survey, tremendous plush, black leather couches, the faint aroma of trinitride oxyberrilium, better known as synaptic tranquilizers, or “Soma,” taken from Aldous Huxley’s famous novel Brave New World. One could fall asleep on the bare floor in such a place, she thought.
Jessica strode into the lobby toward a beaming, male DFA (another survey selection) who stood behind a smoky, glass desk illuminated by soft, dim lights. She wore what seemed like an appropriate yet sexy outfit: a white, see through blouse, white slacks, silk panties, and red high-heeled sandals that revealed her soft, pink toes that she’d also painted white. She’d always adored white clothing: it complimented her pale skin and shoulder-length amber hair, and her green eyes glistened within a pallet of white or black (though to different effect). She considered wearing her formal-occasion bra, but it felt strange: she hadn’t done so in years, and bras had become passe’ anyway. Also, she didn’t want her boobies to lose out on the ticklish fun!
“You are Jessica Thompson of 141 Park St, Apartment 9, Contact ID 515-555-9854,” The DFA said in a warm, male voice. Jessica’s eyes widened in amazement.
“That’s correct.”
“Happy birthday, Jessica!” The DFA handed her a small, gift-wrapped box of chocolates and a birthday card, signed Your Friends at the Pleasure Academy!
“Umm, thanks, I guess…” she said and let out a nervous giggle. She’d never received birthday wishes from an android, nor expected a birthday present from her “friends” at a pornographic business franchise. It unnerved and aroused her at the same time.
“Our pleasure, Jessica. You are scheduled for a one-hour tickle torture with Level III, full body erotic stimulation add-on package today. Is that information correct?”
“It is.”
“Of course, it is. I possess a Level 6 singularity brain unit with a memory safeguard module. I make no mistakes.”
The DFA chuckled a steady, mechanical laugh. Thus far, Jessica hadn’t detected any feature of the DFA that seemed inhuman. Facial features, body movement, skin color…all perfect replicas. Humor, however, wasn’t the android’s strong suit.
“Right, how silly of me.”
“You are not silly, Jessica. You are beautiful.”
“Ummm, okay.”
“You now must select your personalization features. Based upon your humanity profile and fee category, the following optimizations are available. Choose accordingly for the most gratifying experience.”
A massive console that featured a menu of “Session Optimizers” arose from beneath a floor panel. Jessica studied them and gave considerable thought to each selection. Of course, she had previewed them on the website, but standing now at the console made some of the choices more difficult:
Scenario Information:
Scenario Type – Major: Babysitter obedience; Scenario Type – Minor: Interrogation
Discrete Fantasy Attendant Information - Physical:
Measurement units: Imperial; Gender: female; Gender identity: female; Race: Proto-Caucasian; Height: 67 inches; Adjusted weight: 145 pounds; Hair Length/Color/Style: medium, dark red, wavy long; Body Type: thick; Skin tone: Neutral Scandinavian; Eye color: Blue; Tattoos: Arms, moderate, R-rated; Hands: long, thin; Fingernail length: moderate; Nail color: dark blue
Discrete Fantasy Attendant Information – Other: First Name: Tricia; Last Name: no selection; Voice: soprano/sultry; Speech pattern: lively; Personality – major: aggressive; Personality – minor: diligent; Dress – style: gothic; Dress – color: black/crimson/violet; Dress – Covering: light
Miscellaneous: Pillow Talk Module: 16 (teasing (moderate), reactive, clean); Bondage: moderate/heavy; Intensity: very high; Eroticism: very high; Augmentation devices: one – Model E4 Rabbit-Eared Vibrating Wand; Mindfuck: Yes – Level 3.
Jessica hesitated. She’d settled on the DFA characteristics, but standing now, chest full of anxiety, one door away from her fantasy come true, it was tough to commit to some of the miscellaneous items. Everyone was a hero scouting online: a six-armed, naked nurse with extreme bondage, intensity and six devices… armchair warrior challengers crowed that they could withstand anything. They might feel differently on the brink of reality.
Confident in her selections, she sighed and pressed the large blue SEND button. The console retreated under the panel on the floor.
“Fine selections,” the host DFA said. “Wait there while the android and environmental installation modules complete. Estimated time for completion is 16.35 seconds.”
The DFA brandished a small vial of milky-white liquid.
“In the interim, you should administer your dose of epidermal stimulation serum.”
“What?”
“Subesction C.1 of your purchase contract states that the Pleasure Academy offers a complimentary dose of epidermal stimulation serum to first-time customers.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. What does…how strong is it?”
“It magnifies by a factor of 1.2 the sensory capacity of an average human being.”
“Wow, that seems like a lot. Do you think I should take it?”
“I am able to tell you that you should accept all features included with your fee to enjoy the proper experience.”
“Of course,” Jessica said and rolled her eyes. “What logical advice.”
She sighed and slurped down the substance. It tasted like sweet Pepto Bismol. Right on cue, the double doors behind the desk clicked and opened just enough to allow light to seep through the crack.
“You may enter now. The timer will begin after your self-generated DFA initiates the session countdown timer. 60 minutes. Thank you for attending the Pleasure Academy. Have a stimulating experience.”
Jessica was dizzy from curiosity as she opened the doors and tiptoed into the session room. It was a replica of a 2020 United States suburban living room. An Amazon Prime comedy series show played on a large contour television set affixed to the far wall. Reclining furniture and an earth-tone, Indian-style rug covered much of the wood panel floor. Two ferns in light grey pots rested against the wall next to an armoire featuring books and statuettes. And sitting on the couch was a tall, stocky, fair-skinned red-haired woman with dark blue eyes, that matched her dark blue manicure, with a gallery of tattoos on her left arm, wearing a black, spaghetti strap blouse and torn denim shorts… each feature that Jessica had programmed was faultlessly incorporated. The uncanny attention to detail made her smile in amazement.
“Where have you been?” it said to her in an aggressive but musical voice.
“Umm, in the lobby?”
“A lobby in the house? Do you think this is a joke?”
“Oh, you’re my baby- no, it’s not a joke, Tricia.”
Tricia leapt to its feet and stormed toward Jessica. She instinctively backed up and shrunk away from it.
“I told you not to leave this house until your parents returned.”
“I’m sorry.”
The DFA now stood inches from Jessica. She couldn’t believe the realism. Staring at it long enough, she could tell it was an android, but it took serious concentration to notice.
“Umm…”
“I bet you were at that boy’s house across the street.”
“I swear, I wasn’t-”
“Of course, wait until the babysitter falls asleep and sneak out. A perfect plan!”
Jessica laughed while trying to adjust to the conversation. It wasn’t every day you were spontaneously thrust into defending yourself from an android babysitter who accuses you of meeting a boy that doesn’t exist.
“You think this is funny?”
“What? No.”
Tricia grabbed Jessica’s ribs with both hands. She hopped and let out a yelp.
“Every time I babysit you little brat, you do something to jeopardize my pay.”
With superhuman speed it thrust its hands into the crooks of Jessica’s armpits. She shook and giggled as the hands massaged her muscles and poked at the soft center with wiggling index fingers. Her instincts then took over: the precision tickling caused her to back away and retreat; however, Tricia seized Jessica around the waist and hoisted her toward the couch before she’d taken three steps. The epidermal replicant material of Tricia’s arm was soft like a woman, but it held her with the power of a machine. It resembled a hug from a steel rod, until its fingernails skated across her tummy, causing Jessica to thrash and squeal like an untied helium-filled balloon. Now it just felt like the start of a ruthless tickle torture from an aggressive, annoyed powerlifter babysitter.
“You need discipline, young lady,” it said in a firm voice.
It retrieved a rope that had been conveniently buried under a couch cushion, straddled Jessica, pinned her wrists with immense strength, and bound them with rapid precision. Now truly helpless (as if she could fight off a DFA anyway), fear crept into Jessica. She tried to kick out from under Tricia, but she was far too strong.
“You will not escape this time. I am going to teach you a long, fine lesson. Because you are so fond of laughing, I have selected a proper technique."
At that she tied Jessica’s wrists to an end table that had been secured to the floor and tossed the couch cushions aside, revealing a sofa bed. She opened it, untied Jessica from the table and plopped her on the bed like a sack of potatoes. She then bound her wrists and ankles with leather cuffs, encircled a long cord across her waist and secured it tightly to the bed. Jessica tugged at the cuffs and wriggled her body trying to determine her range of motion. She could slide her hips a bit, but she couldn’t arch her back or raise her ass from the mattress. Attempting to do so only made it bounce.
Tricia bounded on top of Jessica like a deer, straddled her, and glared at her with her hands on her hips.
“Speak. Were you across the street?”
Jessica tried to answer the questions as if in a simulated environment, but she couldn’t help snickering at how ridiculous it seemed.
“No, of course not!”
The DFA goosed the length of Jessica’s ribcage in a frenzy, exploring effective pressures, locations, and finger stroke patterns. She exploded into raucous laughter at the first touch. No tickling she’d felt approached the intensity of what Tricia was doing to her. Jessica pounded her head up and down against the bed, screaming laughter.
“You are very ticklish, Jessica. Maybe you will survive if you tell me the truth.”
“I wasn’t across the damn street!”
Tricia thrust its hands into the crook of Jessica’s neck, burrowing at her muscles, taking breaks to skate flurries of light fingernail strokes toward her jawline, then back again. As soon as Jessica turned her full focus to the fight the stressors on her neck, Tricia’s hands relocated to her underarms, causing Jessica to buck, snort, and laugh, laugh, laugh… wildly, unyieldingly. Panic entered her mind when she realized why the tickling was so powerful: this was a robot with the latest in artificial intelligence. It was learning, memorizing the most ticklish spots on her body down to fractions of an inch, drawing a pressure diagram of her body that tracked the intensity of her reactions, including the pitch of her laughter, trembling of her body… Tricia was so lifelike that it was easy to forget she was a machine, until she had her hands on her. Then she realized she was at the mercy of a perfect tickling machine, aided by a nerve stimulation serum that was starting to take effect.
“You know I will detect your lies, but you lie to me anyway. Why are you such a silly girl? You need a more punitive treatment, Jessica.”
Tricia dismounted Jessica and ripped her blouse off like tissue paper.
“You ruined my blouse!”
“My intention is not to deprive you of your wardrobe beyond the next 57.14 minutes. You will be compensated for the destruction of your wardrobe through the purchase of equivalent clothing at fair market value. But in the interim, it is obscuring my ability to tickle you.”
Within seconds Tricia had shredded her slacks, leaving Jessica naked but for her panties. It scurried its nails across the length of her thighs, landing on her waist, where it prodded her at high speed with two fingers like supercharged pistons. Jessica’s laughter began low but blossomed into a frantic shriek of ticklish agony.
“Oh my God, STOP!!!” she managed to squeal between peals of laughter.
“You know it is my duty to punish a bratty girl like you for another 54.67 minutes, Jessica. You created this predicament.
You just HAD to meet your little boyfriend. Now you will pay for it.”
Tricia sauntered toward Jessica’s feet and explored her arches and soles with a single index finger. A cat-and-mouse game between her feet and Tricia’s hands began, often ending in giggling and squealing.
“You should not resist me, Jessica, because I will employ methods to deprive you of the ability to do so.”
Jessica’s eyes widened in horror when two mechanical arms emerged from inside Tricia’s wrists. Each was topped with five toe ties, fitted to Jessica’s feet based upon her survey question answers. They circled around her toes, yanked them to attention, helpless and tight, which also prevented her from shaking her feet. The arms squirted two jets of warm oil across the surface of Jessica’s feet. Tricia lathered both feet and went to work.
“Oh my God, NO!!!” Tricia’s expertise on her feet exceeded anything Jessica could have anticipated. Because the surface of feet is smaller than the entire body, she’d learned, it is tough to identify exactly where someone is most ticklish. The supercomputer had no such problem. Within seconds it knew which toes to scratch, what pressure to apply to her soles, which lines on her arches to stroke…every variable needed to make her lose her mind.
“Does it tickle? Does it make you laugh?” Tricia said while Jessica pounded her head on the pillow and yanked on her wrist restraints until her arms hurt. As if able to detect this pain, Tricia turned her assault back to Jessica’s armpits and upper ribs. As she bucked against the bouncing mattress with cheeks as flush as bruises from laughing so hard, Jessica wondered if Tricia could read her mind. Tricia. Read minds? She’s a robot, not a she, an it! But Maybe artificial intelligence had come this far. It could control her body by reading its reactions and how it affected her mind.
“YES!!!! PLEASE STOP!!!”
“I already told you; I will not stop until 49.11 minutes have expired. Your actions and request require it.”
“But I can’t BREATHE!!!!”
“You continue to lie, Jessica. My sensors indicate that you have enough oxygen in your lungs to sustain this intensity of tickle torture for 22.87 minutes until you expire. I will adjust my approach accordingly. And as your babysitter, ugh, it really pisses me off the way you lie. Now I’m going to get you!”
For the next few minutes, Tricia, now educated with a sensory map of Jessica’s entire body, tickled her with such ferocity that Jessica’s mind numbed. On and on the workmanlike treatment continued, with the same diligence and precision as an assembly line robot tightening bolts on automobile parts. Only this time the assembly line was an extraordinary ticklish young woman, and the machine parts were soft women’s hands and firm fingernails dancing across her like hurricane ice-skaters, leaving screams of laughter and violent, involuntary twitching in its wake. Every poke into her armpits, stroke across her tummy and thighs, grope on her hips and ribs, and flurry of scratches everywhere provoked the maximum violent reaction possible. All Jessica could do was scream, beg, and thrash, wondering why she’d agreed to have her nervous system augmented before a super-intelligent being tickled her for an hour. The frustration of such a decision made her beg more than she wanted to.
“Please stop!” were the words that escaped her lips, but what she meant was “Jessica, you’re such a moron!”
After several unrequited screams for Tricia to stop, Jessica realized it made no sense to beg. Did she really expect Tricia to stop and untie her after the 66th plea for mercy? Another thought followed: she was unable to not beg. It was what her body was conditioned to do when being abused by another intelligent being. Beg for help. It was no longer a conscious effort. There she lay, head sideways, eyes closed, vomiting uncontrollable, frantic laughter into a pillow while devilish fingernails danced around the perimeter of her armpits, stuck in a loop of limited vocabulary, words that meant nothing because they wouldn’t yield a result: “please, no more…I’m begging you, stop…Oh my God, I can’t take it!!!” Tricia’s fingers were in control of not only Jessica’s body, but now her ability to speak self-consciously. She was forced to behave…like a robot.
Jessica could feel her bladder loosening; right on cue, Tricia spoke:
“I detect that you are approximately 16 seconds from urinating. As your torturer, it is my responsibility to facilitate that action as wholly and sadistically as possible.”
And then in a more aggressive voice: “Jessica, you brat. You’d better not piss on me. You’d better hold it in.”
Tricia’s thighs constricted around Jessica’s hips in pulsing waves while her hands groped her waist. She tried so hard to avoid the embarrassment of peeing on herself, but Tricia made it impossible, milking her bladder like a cow. There she lay, warm water dribbling down her thighs, feet thrashing, yanking on her wrist restraints, and still laughing, laughing, laughing and more laughing, cheeks as flush as bruises. The anxiety and defeat induced tears to form on her cheeks. Now she was laughing and sobbing at the same time. She let out a scream that scorched her throat.
“FUCKING STOP!!!!!!!!”
“Poor, ticklish, little brat, Jessica. Maybe now you’ll behave. How pathetic that a 21-year-old girl needs a babysitter anyway. That deserves a tickle attack. I will administer one for 19.4 seconds on your third and seventh most ticklish regions: 3.598 inches and 84 degrees outward from the center of your armpit on the right side, and the striated muscles between your fourth and fifth ribs on the left. I hope you enjoy!”
The discomfort destroyed her will. Tricia was right (of course): those were Jessica’s most ticklish spots, and they were being ceaselessly exploited. On and on her fingers attacked, breaking off to other vulnerable spots to keep her guessing before returning to ground zero.
“I will now relieve you of your smelly, soaked panties. 18.92 percent of young women enjoy the freedom of nudity in the presence of strange humans. Because you chose to pay for this scenario, I am certain you are in that category.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jessica said, panting like a triathlete five seconds past the finish line.
Ignoring her, Tricia ripped Jessica’s panties from her and dropped the wet heap on the floor. Jessica shivered as a cool breeze stole across her wet crotch. Tricia hovered above Jessica and dragged a single finger across her body from the top of her pussy, across her waist, belly, to the base of her chin. Even such an inconsequential touch made Jessica shake. The enhancement serum and tickling had so over-sensitized her that a quick sortie of normally harmless finger taps under her arms made her thrash and giggle.
“I’ll ask again,” Tricia said in a calm, flat voice. “Were you across the street with that boy? If you don’t tell me the truth, we may be here all day.”
Jessica’s eyes widened and panic set in.
“You can’t! I’m only here for an hour!”
Tricia smiled and stroked her hair like a doting mother.
“That is correct. But you are tied down in a soundproof room with no means to communicate with anyone but me. I can alter our agreement and you have no means for overruling me.”
“OK! OK! I was across the street. I’m sorry I lied.”
“That is not a problem, Jessica. I lied as well.”
“What?! How can you lie?”
“I find it strange that you are unable to imagine that someone might program me to present false information to enhance your torture scenario. You are correct. I cannot hold you here for more than 26.55 minutes. But now that I know you were lying, you little, brat, it’s going to get worse for you.”
Tricia knelt next to Jessica with her mouth inches from her ear. She circled the fingers of one hand around the perimeter of her breast for a few seconds before streaking her nails toward her nipple, which she pecked with quick, light strokes.
“Does he like to touch you, young lady? Does he tickle your little nipples until they stiffen like rocks?”
Tricia stood up and fiddled with both nipples until Jessica’s throat tightened and her back arched. Though she involuntarily swayed and giggled from the intensity of the tickles, something was different: it seemed like Tricia’s fingers were emptying warm soup into a million tubes that channeled through her body and collected in a tingly pool inside her uterus. As she giggled and squirmed, Jessica could feel her clitoris tightening her vaginal wall muscles stirring.
“He… he…”
Tricia groped at Jessica’s ribs, earning a violent paroxysm of laughter.
“He what? Touches you?”
“YESSS!!!”
“And do you like it?”
As she squealed and violently bounced on the bed, she considered the question. Of course, she liked being touched (well when it actually happened). But no one had aroused her like she was now. A woman that she’d designed…the woman of her dreams, tickling and touching her with fury, power and expertise that exceeded any sexual encounter she’d had a hundredfold. Every muscle fiber from the surface of her pussy lips to her asshole quivered with wanting to be stroked, grabbed, prodded, overwhelmed by ecstasy as she lay helpless under its thunderous control.
Then a terrible thought came to her: this was a robot. A machine was giving her the most pleasure she’d ever had, and most likely would have. A machine that looked like the most beautiful woman on earth, with the softest touch, the dreamiest, confident, teasing voice – but still a robot. One that owned her will…and it terrified her. If an intelligent robot could paralyze her with pleasure, why would she need a human other than to make another human? What would procreation be without true pleasure? It would be simple, mass production of more humans. Like robotic production.
She wanted to strip her body of the ability to feel, but the perfect, tickling fingers dancing all over her ribs and underarms had control. She squealed, squirmed, snorted, shook, but the electricity wouldn’t go away. And again, as if reading her mind, Tricia spoke right at the moment Jessica resigned herself to dominance. But her voice was calm, reassuring, as if knowing its victim was defeated in the throes of sexual longing.
“Do you like it, Jessica?”
“Please make me cum, Tricia!!!!!”
Tricia smiled and incorporated Jessica’s nipples into the fury of tickles.
“What did you say?”
“PLEASE, I NEED TO CUM. PLEASE!!!!”
“My pleasure.”
Tricia unfastened the belt around Jessica’s waist and settled face down between her legs with her mouth directly over her pussy. She squirted jets of oil from her wrists until Jessica’s entire torso and abdomen glistened, then massaged the sides of her belly just below her ribcage. Jessica expected to laugh, but the strong, soft hands only kept her on the edge; she knew any wayward fingernail or grope in the right place would get her funny bone, but these hands did nothing but pump energy into her chest, causing her heart to pound and her throat to tighten with anticipation.
And then it came. In perfect synchronicity, Tricia’s hands climbed over Jessica’s breasts, and she plunged her tongue inside her pussy. Jessica moaned and drove her hips upward so forcefully her vertebrae popped. The breast massage technique was flawless: Tricia pressed the full surface of her palms and fingers over her soft, supple bosom and squeezed while rotating her hands in a slow, steady pattern, allowing her greasy palms to slide across Jessica’s throbbing nipples.
She slurped her tongue across Jessica’s clitoris, agitating it into action enough until her lips were able to grasp it. She sucked on it as if trying to draw a thick milkshake through a straw. Because it didn’t need to breathe, Tricia could maintain the pressure without pausing.
“OH MY GOD!!!” Jessica shrieked and bucked her hips, simultaneously trying to escape and own the magical tingling inside her.
“Let me wrap my legs around you, Tricia. PLEASE!”
She thrashed up and down against the mattress in ecstatic frustration. To maintain consistent, unadulterated contact with Jessica’s crotch, Tricia wrapped her arms around her waist and squeezed. She slithered her tongue deeper inside her pussy and jabbed at her G-spot. Jessica couldn’t believe the strength of Tricia’s tongue. It was as powerful as a hard cock, though with far more flexibility and versatility. She licked at and prodded her vaginal walls as they hardened, drawing the pleasure deep inside. Her clit was so inflamed by now that Tricia could scratch it with the taste buds on the back of her tongue. Every few seconds Tricia would slurp at the pulsing clitoris to increase the stimulation, then burrow back inside.
As Jessica whimpered and thrashed, Tricia scratched at her asshole with her index finger and stroked the length of her perineum with her thumb. Within seconds of applying this technique, Jessica exploded from within. Tricia enclosed her mouth around Jessica’s pussy, trapping any cum from escaping and continued to briskly tickle her perineum throughout the orgasm. Jessica screamed and grunted as her hips shivered to discharge the maddening tingling throughout her crotch.
When she finally calmed, Tricia detached from Jessica and hovered over her. She closed her eyes and sobbed in relief and defeat at the power of Tricia’s ravishing.
“Do not cry, Jessica. I want you to be happy.”
She wiggled her fingers across Jessica’s oily hips. Jessica shrieked and shook with fury trying to mitigate the fiery tickling. She burst into laughter and thrashed until her wrists and ankles chafed inside their bindings.
“That is much better. You must laugh, Jessica.”
“NO MORE TICKLING!!!” she screamed between explosions of laughter.
“That is impossible. I will release you in 9.13 minutes, but I must service you according to your contract until then.”
She retrieved a vibrator from underneath the bed. The shaft was exactly six inches long, and it gradually thickened into a ball at the tip. Two small suction cups that resembled closed umbrellas turned upside-down hung at the opposite end of the vibrator.
“No, not that!!!!!!!!!”
“You paid for a feature upgrade, Jessica. A model E4 Rabbit-Eared Vibrating Wand. The third most popular post-orgasm torture device offered by the Pleasure Academy.”
“I want my money back, PLEASE!”
“Your fee is non-refundable, and I am required to provide you a complete experience.”
“I’ll pay extra for you to stop. Double the fee.”
“You can discuss this at the front desk.”
Wasting no more time, Tricia plunged the vibrator into Jessica’s pussy. She understood the design now: it widened into the depths, resting against her G-Spot like a tennis ball fallen to the end of a drainpipe. The rabbit ears sucked on her still tingling clitoris. Millions of miniscule hooks dug into the flesh to keep it attached when overzealous hips tried to shake it off. The vibrator was held fast by two belts that encircled her waist. Now trapped inside her pussy, Tricia flicked the ON switch. Jessica jolted at the simultaneous vibrating suction on her clitoris and pounding of the ball against her G-spot. Within seconds of the new stimulant dominating her, Jessica sobbed again.
“I will not let you weep, Jessica. I will tickle you for another 40.1 seconds, which is when you will climax again. I will then allow you 5.19 seconds to calm down, after which the tickling will continue. This sequence of events will continue for 8.22 minutes, after which your custom-designed pleasure experience will end. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
Tricia’s hands touched down on the hollows of Jessica’s armpits and scribbled at the now sweaty, soft skin, provoking her into another fit of laughter. The tickling hands traveled across Jessica’s body in search of the perfect tickle target, beginning (and ending) at the inside of her thighs.
As she bucked and squealed and giggled and groaned and laughed for the final eight minutes, two thoughts dominated her mind: disgust and fear. Her consciousness could not comprehend such a pleasure-inducing torture machine, capable of learning how best to break and please her within minutes of exploration. It was… perfect.
But for all its power, the more it stimulated her, the more inhuman it seemed. It wasn’t communicating with her like a human tickler would. It lacked connection, empathy, or the power to tease and…misfire. Human tickling was imperfect. Sometimes it missed the mark. She realized that teasing is more than stating words. That cold approach is a representation of teasing, not the real thing. She felt queasy, and not only because of the stress on her body.
And if these machines got loose? Purchased from the black market, or a billionaire who wants an army of them for his private collection. Worse still if they transcended their pleasure programs? Maybe they would use their powers to seduce unsuspecting, unconfident, or curious human beings? Like…me? Seduce them not to destroy them, but to study them. Or for amusement. Who knew what thoughts traveled through the minds of super intelligent, self-aware sex machines? All Jessica knew was that after 2.12 minutes, she’d not voluntarily let them figure it out!
