ElfTickler
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- Feb 9, 2004
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This isn't really a story, more of a small epic poem. Yet, nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.
You can imagine the victim who is thinking and speaking as being either male or female - to your own pleasures - for I did not specify in the poem for that very reason.
I might write a sequel later - but it is 10:25 pm, and I spent the previous 15 minutes writing this. Heh. I'm tired now.
Enjoy.
----------------------------------------------------------
A Glimpse of Torture
Copyright 2004, ElfTickler
I awake to find my senses bombarded.
Everything around me begins to come into focus.
A white-hot light shines above me, burning my eyes,
So I must turn my head to avoid its rays.
The cold feeling of metal begins to burden me,
And I realize that I am upon heartless steel.
As I begin to awaken further from my unconscious state,
I attempt to move my limbs, yet they are frozen,
Upon this cruel and icey tomb I find myself.
Yet – Perhaps they are not actually frozen,
Merely tied in strong rings to forcefully bind,
A strong rope to hold my arms above me causes
My mind to dwell on what horrific situation will happen.
Attempting to move my legs is futile,
For they are secured to a curved surface.
A pedistol which is shaped nicely for ankles,
To securely fit without an error within.
My weary heart begins to race in madness,
As I await for what might come – am I a prisoner?
Or simply a tool for a sadistic psycho to prey upon?
I am afraid to weight the possibilities of either.
The anxiety in me begins to heighten to a point,
In which I can feel myself trembling from it,
Or perhaps I am simply reacting,
Reacting to the cold surface of the steel I am bound to.
A cold voice begins to echo through the darkness,
“And how is my dear paitent feeling?”
I attempt to crane my head to see just who this tormentor is,
Yet the white light restricts me from turning my head.
“You appear to be fully conscious now,”
The tormentor speaks to me, in a mocking sort of voice,
“I believe that you shall find this lesson very useful,
It shall teach you never to badmouth me again.”
I blink and revisit my memories – have I heard this voice?
My search through memories comes up blank.
“You must have the wrong person,” I cry,
“For I do not recognize your voice, and cannot see your face.”
The tormentor moves into the light, and her features are very sharp,
Her long, flowing black hair reaches to the floor,
And her eyes are a steel-trap gray, cold as thunderstorms,
Upon her face is fixed a half-smile, a cruel grin.
“I do not recognize your face,” I beg again,
“Honestly, you must be wrong. I would never have done you ill,
For I hold respec to those around me, and this
I would have bestowed upon you as well.”
My words do not seem to phase her, for she laughs silently.
“I may be laughing now, but you shall be laughing soon,”
She begins to pace around me, studying me from all angles,
A lustful look in her eyes makes me tremble in her shadow.
I still cannot comprehend my fate, but it all becomes clear,
The moment an object is drawn from her purse.
It is long, it is sharp and to a point, yet incredibly light.
She draws a deep green feather from her black purse.
“No!” I shout and twist about, hoping to escape from this fate,
“I am innocent! You cannot torture me, for I am innocent!”
She looks at me with those steel-gray eyes and speaks,
“It is too late for apologies now.”
The moments before the torture starts,
My mind is swimming in fear – I am drowning in anxiety.
She knows the magic this plays on my fragile mind,
And how to corrupt my good senses – to make them betray me.
She twirls around her deathly tool, waving it in circles,
Tempting me to cry out more, for she is simply playing.
I hold my tongue and hope that maybe she might change her mind,
Yet the look in her eyes reminds me that my thought is ill-placed.
As the deep green feather begins to descend,
Its lonely travel towards my sensitized body,
My quivering begins to increase more, put in this position,
Of extreme lack of control – I cannot sheild myself as I have done before.
She quits the assault a half inch from my ribs, a gleaming look in her eyes,
“Are we getting a bit nervous now?” She jibes,
The small smirk began to cover her whole face in glee,
“But I shall not waste more time, the punishment must begin.”
She has reduced my gleaming green eyes,
To watery emeralds of self-pity and hope for mercy,
The anxiety of the descending feather heights my fear,
To a level almost unimaginable by most.
Finally my dazed spell is broken,
As the feather reaches my skin,
It excites a nerve ending deep within,
Which sends a fiery message to my brain.
Around and around the feather moves,
Out pouring the dribbly giggles from my mouth,
As I twitch and shriek and loudly giggle,
Of endless pain and pleasure.
“Now will you admit your errors?” She asks,
Momentarily withdrawing the demon from my flesh.
“I have no crimes to admit,” I cry,
“And just as well I shall not admit myself guilty!”
“Very well then,” She murmers, not amused by my answer.
As she moves away from my chest.
I attempt to crane my head again, where is she going?
She emits a little giggle as she finds where she is to go.
I freeze in time itself, when a finger lightly traces my sole,
Moments begin to morph to hours, as the finger explores gently.
The touch is maddening, yet I cannot allow myself to laugh.
Yet, as all five of her long-nailed fingers explore… I give in.
Her expert nails genuinely scribble all over my sole,
As I explode into peals of uncontrollable laughter,
I attempt to twitch my foot to remedy the sensation,
Only to have it held down tightly by her free hand.
She dances her fingers over my heel,
Producing a fresh crop of weakening laughter,
She lightly brushes the arch of my foot,
Which drives me into near madness and hysteria.
I dread what happens next, but I,
Expected it the moment I felt that finger on my sole,
Her fingers begin to explore the area under my toes,
As I squeal giggles and beg in a disorientated voice.
The sensation of her fingers over my sensitive feet…
Oh, simply torture! I know not how much more I can bear.
I can feel my chest beginning to sore,
As my laughter continues to pour out waterfalls.
She laughs a little herself, and withdraws,
To allow my weary body a slight rest.
“Are you ready to confess your crimes now?”
She asks, gentling running a finger up and down my sole.
“I—I--…” I stutter, unable to coherantly communicate.
She frowns and begins to advance her attack,
Using both hands on my helpless soles,
Sadistically torturing them with precise movements.
She knows exactly where to go now,
Directly under my toes – and there she begins
To move her fingers in spiderlike motions,
Causing me to buck and gasp and scream laughter.
The madness continues for a full minute,
For she silently counts off the seconds in her mind,
Yet for me – oh me – it feels of a lifetime,
The sound of my laughter echoes through the darkness.
“I do believe it is time to move on,” She begins,
“For I doubt you are ready to express your crimes.”
She moves from my feet (and I am relieved) to a new spot,
In which I cannot comprehend where she is again.
A sudden familiar sensation explodes in my mind,
One that I simply cannot ignore – more dwindling feelings,
Of light scritches, light scratches, little patterns and circles,
For she has a hand in either of my armpits.
“Laugh, good criminal,” She says hastily, quickening her assault,
Her fingers creep up and down my armpits, not giving sway,
Despite the fact my body shivers and jerks with every movement,
And my laughter is pure and genuine.
She backs away again, a cruel grin fixed on her face,
And I can tell she is enjoying the torture more then I.
“I doubt you will express once more,” She says, looking at a watch.
“This session shall reconvine at a later time.”
She leaves my side, leaves me to rest,
Cold sweat covers my body, the feeling of fingers
Are dancing just beyond my comprehension,
And I know that I shall not sleep well tonight.
Upon this cold steel I lay.
You can imagine the victim who is thinking and speaking as being either male or female - to your own pleasures - for I did not specify in the poem for that very reason.
I might write a sequel later - but it is 10:25 pm, and I spent the previous 15 minutes writing this. Heh. I'm tired now.
Enjoy.
----------------------------------------------------------
A Glimpse of Torture
Copyright 2004, ElfTickler
I awake to find my senses bombarded.
Everything around me begins to come into focus.
A white-hot light shines above me, burning my eyes,
So I must turn my head to avoid its rays.
The cold feeling of metal begins to burden me,
And I realize that I am upon heartless steel.
As I begin to awaken further from my unconscious state,
I attempt to move my limbs, yet they are frozen,
Upon this cruel and icey tomb I find myself.
Yet – Perhaps they are not actually frozen,
Merely tied in strong rings to forcefully bind,
A strong rope to hold my arms above me causes
My mind to dwell on what horrific situation will happen.
Attempting to move my legs is futile,
For they are secured to a curved surface.
A pedistol which is shaped nicely for ankles,
To securely fit without an error within.
My weary heart begins to race in madness,
As I await for what might come – am I a prisoner?
Or simply a tool for a sadistic psycho to prey upon?
I am afraid to weight the possibilities of either.
The anxiety in me begins to heighten to a point,
In which I can feel myself trembling from it,
Or perhaps I am simply reacting,
Reacting to the cold surface of the steel I am bound to.
A cold voice begins to echo through the darkness,
“And how is my dear paitent feeling?”
I attempt to crane my head to see just who this tormentor is,
Yet the white light restricts me from turning my head.
“You appear to be fully conscious now,”
The tormentor speaks to me, in a mocking sort of voice,
“I believe that you shall find this lesson very useful,
It shall teach you never to badmouth me again.”
I blink and revisit my memories – have I heard this voice?
My search through memories comes up blank.
“You must have the wrong person,” I cry,
“For I do not recognize your voice, and cannot see your face.”
The tormentor moves into the light, and her features are very sharp,
Her long, flowing black hair reaches to the floor,
And her eyes are a steel-trap gray, cold as thunderstorms,
Upon her face is fixed a half-smile, a cruel grin.
“I do not recognize your face,” I beg again,
“Honestly, you must be wrong. I would never have done you ill,
For I hold respec to those around me, and this
I would have bestowed upon you as well.”
My words do not seem to phase her, for she laughs silently.
“I may be laughing now, but you shall be laughing soon,”
She begins to pace around me, studying me from all angles,
A lustful look in her eyes makes me tremble in her shadow.
I still cannot comprehend my fate, but it all becomes clear,
The moment an object is drawn from her purse.
It is long, it is sharp and to a point, yet incredibly light.
She draws a deep green feather from her black purse.
“No!” I shout and twist about, hoping to escape from this fate,
“I am innocent! You cannot torture me, for I am innocent!”
She looks at me with those steel-gray eyes and speaks,
“It is too late for apologies now.”
The moments before the torture starts,
My mind is swimming in fear – I am drowning in anxiety.
She knows the magic this plays on my fragile mind,
And how to corrupt my good senses – to make them betray me.
She twirls around her deathly tool, waving it in circles,
Tempting me to cry out more, for she is simply playing.
I hold my tongue and hope that maybe she might change her mind,
Yet the look in her eyes reminds me that my thought is ill-placed.
As the deep green feather begins to descend,
Its lonely travel towards my sensitized body,
My quivering begins to increase more, put in this position,
Of extreme lack of control – I cannot sheild myself as I have done before.
She quits the assault a half inch from my ribs, a gleaming look in her eyes,
“Are we getting a bit nervous now?” She jibes,
The small smirk began to cover her whole face in glee,
“But I shall not waste more time, the punishment must begin.”
She has reduced my gleaming green eyes,
To watery emeralds of self-pity and hope for mercy,
The anxiety of the descending feather heights my fear,
To a level almost unimaginable by most.
Finally my dazed spell is broken,
As the feather reaches my skin,
It excites a nerve ending deep within,
Which sends a fiery message to my brain.
Around and around the feather moves,
Out pouring the dribbly giggles from my mouth,
As I twitch and shriek and loudly giggle,
Of endless pain and pleasure.
“Now will you admit your errors?” She asks,
Momentarily withdrawing the demon from my flesh.
“I have no crimes to admit,” I cry,
“And just as well I shall not admit myself guilty!”
“Very well then,” She murmers, not amused by my answer.
As she moves away from my chest.
I attempt to crane my head again, where is she going?
She emits a little giggle as she finds where she is to go.
I freeze in time itself, when a finger lightly traces my sole,
Moments begin to morph to hours, as the finger explores gently.
The touch is maddening, yet I cannot allow myself to laugh.
Yet, as all five of her long-nailed fingers explore… I give in.
Her expert nails genuinely scribble all over my sole,
As I explode into peals of uncontrollable laughter,
I attempt to twitch my foot to remedy the sensation,
Only to have it held down tightly by her free hand.
She dances her fingers over my heel,
Producing a fresh crop of weakening laughter,
She lightly brushes the arch of my foot,
Which drives me into near madness and hysteria.
I dread what happens next, but I,
Expected it the moment I felt that finger on my sole,
Her fingers begin to explore the area under my toes,
As I squeal giggles and beg in a disorientated voice.
The sensation of her fingers over my sensitive feet…
Oh, simply torture! I know not how much more I can bear.
I can feel my chest beginning to sore,
As my laughter continues to pour out waterfalls.
She laughs a little herself, and withdraws,
To allow my weary body a slight rest.
“Are you ready to confess your crimes now?”
She asks, gentling running a finger up and down my sole.
“I—I--…” I stutter, unable to coherantly communicate.
She frowns and begins to advance her attack,
Using both hands on my helpless soles,
Sadistically torturing them with precise movements.
She knows exactly where to go now,
Directly under my toes – and there she begins
To move her fingers in spiderlike motions,
Causing me to buck and gasp and scream laughter.
The madness continues for a full minute,
For she silently counts off the seconds in her mind,
Yet for me – oh me – it feels of a lifetime,
The sound of my laughter echoes through the darkness.
“I do believe it is time to move on,” She begins,
“For I doubt you are ready to express your crimes.”
She moves from my feet (and I am relieved) to a new spot,
In which I cannot comprehend where she is again.
A sudden familiar sensation explodes in my mind,
One that I simply cannot ignore – more dwindling feelings,
Of light scritches, light scratches, little patterns and circles,
For she has a hand in either of my armpits.
“Laugh, good criminal,” She says hastily, quickening her assault,
Her fingers creep up and down my armpits, not giving sway,
Despite the fact my body shivers and jerks with every movement,
And my laughter is pure and genuine.
She backs away again, a cruel grin fixed on her face,
And I can tell she is enjoying the torture more then I.
“I doubt you will express once more,” She says, looking at a watch.
“This session shall reconvine at a later time.”
She leaves my side, leaves me to rest,
Cold sweat covers my body, the feeling of fingers
Are dancing just beyond my comprehension,
And I know that I shall not sleep well tonight.
Upon this cold steel I lay.
