tickling2death
Registered User
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2018
- Messages
- 21
- Points
- 3
I fasten your body to an operating table. Your legs, arms, head, fingers, and torso have multiple straps and belts fastening you in place. I caress your beautiful face and gently kiss you on the lips. As I walk down towards the foot of your bed, I tease your body by tracing my fingers down your chest, abs, dick, thighs. I stop at the tops of your feet.
With one hand I hold your hyper extended toes in place. With the other, I place metal clamps around each of your plump toe pads. I then screw them shut. Your toes have just enough blood circulating through them to maintain their color, but not enough space to wiggle or flinch.
Each of your plump toes begins to turn purple and swell up from the amount of stress being applied upon them. The tight toe restraints keep each of your little ticklish piggies flexed backwards, evenly spaced out, and locked in an immobilized position.
Every muscle in your body is paralyzed. Drool collects at the bottom of your mouth. I take several bottles of gun oil and proceed to douse your feet, legs, cock, stomach, sides, pecs, and pits. Little vibrating rods are firmly fixed to each of your toes, spinning in multiple areas: underneath and in between your fleshy toes, right below the tips, and in the fleshy canals between each of your toes.
I’d then work my way up to your dick, which had gotten hard from your feet being touched. It violently pulsates back and forth. I pull out a tooth polisher and several vibrators from a toolbox. Each vibrator is secured in place. One right underneath your balls, tickling your hole; another teasing your shaft. Your cock begins to swell with pleasure. The hole starts to become more and more pronounced and it looks as if you're about to bust a load.
I turn on the tooth polisher. You are unable to lift your head due to the straps, nor are you able to speak. Your eyes frantically dart back and forth in hopes of getting my attention—it’s of no use. I plan on tickling you to death. You can’t hear anything, but you know it’s coming. I lube up the head of your dick once more and proceed to gently hold the polisher up against your urethra. All of your muscles violently flex as if you have been electrocuted. Your dick can’t move away because of the metal frame and leather straps holding it and the rest of your body in place. You start to cry from the extreme sensory overload—it tickles too much. I fasten the polisher to the metal frame enclosing your dick. You can’t breathe—it tickles too much.
I shove my bare feet over your immobilized face—I allow you to taste and smell them one last time. I don’t lift them up—your nose and mouth are completely covered—you can’t breath anything except for the minimal air between my toes and the space between my arches. I adjust myself one last time on top of you and turn my head to look at you—I blow you a kiss. I turn back towards your oiled, contorted feet. I pull out two large hairbrushes from under the operating table—these are called the “widow makers." Each concave brush follows the natural curve of your beautiful feet, and has small balls on the end of each bristle to dig in between every nook and cranny of your fleshy toes and soles.
It’s execution time. I begin to ravage your toes—violently pushing and dragging the hairbrushes across your feet—No surface is left untouched. Without stopping, I begin viciously raking the brushes up and down, left and right, in and out of the soles, arches, balls, and heels of your feet. Your eyes are filled with tears of ecstasy and pleasure—you beg for more and more tickling. You don’t won’t it to stop. As I wreck your feet with my hairbrushes—a powerful white jet erupts from your immobilized cock, shooting over a meter into the air. I keep on tickling your feet but you are no longer flinching. I lift my feet off of your face and I see your eyes fixed in an orgasmic trance, your mouth is stuck in a permanent smile—you’re not breathing. I give you a devilish kiss, turn off the tickling machines, and tickle your feet with my fingers one last time—no response. I look up at the jet of cum dripping from the ceiling and smile. You were tickled to death and you loved every second of it—leaving the earth in a ticklish ecstasy.
With one hand I hold your hyper extended toes in place. With the other, I place metal clamps around each of your plump toe pads. I then screw them shut. Your toes have just enough blood circulating through them to maintain their color, but not enough space to wiggle or flinch.
Each of your plump toes begins to turn purple and swell up from the amount of stress being applied upon them. The tight toe restraints keep each of your little ticklish piggies flexed backwards, evenly spaced out, and locked in an immobilized position.
Every muscle in your body is paralyzed. Drool collects at the bottom of your mouth. I take several bottles of gun oil and proceed to douse your feet, legs, cock, stomach, sides, pecs, and pits. Little vibrating rods are firmly fixed to each of your toes, spinning in multiple areas: underneath and in between your fleshy toes, right below the tips, and in the fleshy canals between each of your toes.
I’d then work my way up to your dick, which had gotten hard from your feet being touched. It violently pulsates back and forth. I pull out a tooth polisher and several vibrators from a toolbox. Each vibrator is secured in place. One right underneath your balls, tickling your hole; another teasing your shaft. Your cock begins to swell with pleasure. The hole starts to become more and more pronounced and it looks as if you're about to bust a load.
I turn on the tooth polisher. You are unable to lift your head due to the straps, nor are you able to speak. Your eyes frantically dart back and forth in hopes of getting my attention—it’s of no use. I plan on tickling you to death. You can’t hear anything, but you know it’s coming. I lube up the head of your dick once more and proceed to gently hold the polisher up against your urethra. All of your muscles violently flex as if you have been electrocuted. Your dick can’t move away because of the metal frame and leather straps holding it and the rest of your body in place. You start to cry from the extreme sensory overload—it tickles too much. I fasten the polisher to the metal frame enclosing your dick. You can’t breathe—it tickles too much.
I shove my bare feet over your immobilized face—I allow you to taste and smell them one last time. I don’t lift them up—your nose and mouth are completely covered—you can’t breath anything except for the minimal air between my toes and the space between my arches. I adjust myself one last time on top of you and turn my head to look at you—I blow you a kiss. I turn back towards your oiled, contorted feet. I pull out two large hairbrushes from under the operating table—these are called the “widow makers." Each concave brush follows the natural curve of your beautiful feet, and has small balls on the end of each bristle to dig in between every nook and cranny of your fleshy toes and soles.
It’s execution time. I begin to ravage your toes—violently pushing and dragging the hairbrushes across your feet—No surface is left untouched. Without stopping, I begin viciously raking the brushes up and down, left and right, in and out of the soles, arches, balls, and heels of your feet. Your eyes are filled with tears of ecstasy and pleasure—you beg for more and more tickling. You don’t won’t it to stop. As I wreck your feet with my hairbrushes—a powerful white jet erupts from your immobilized cock, shooting over a meter into the air. I keep on tickling your feet but you are no longer flinching. I lift my feet off of your face and I see your eyes fixed in an orgasmic trance, your mouth is stuck in a permanent smile—you’re not breathing. I give you a devilish kiss, turn off the tickling machines, and tickle your feet with my fingers one last time—no response. I look up at the jet of cum dripping from the ceiling and smile. You were tickled to death and you loved every second of it—leaving the earth in a ticklish ecstasy.
