Dude'sonfire
TMF Expert
- Joined
- May 9, 2004
- Messages
- 374
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Hey guys. First post! Ha! Anyway, i've been writing for a while, but this is my first tickle flick, if you like. Let me know what you think.
P.s. I dont actually do this to people, so dont call the cops on me or anything lol.
Another bust of the oxygen saturated gas through the mask brought her senses back to life. Those crawling robotic fingers began roaming again, crawling up and down her sides, the rubber tips toying with her nerves, sending too many messages through her body for her to cope with. Her cheeks were in agony, her face locked in a grinning mask, and her stomach muscles were sore and her throat tense and worn. The fingers settled on her hips. Her pelvis bucked wildly, as far as it could anyway, but then she hardly had control over what her body did anympore. The lubricated, synthetic tongues began exploring her feet once more, their perfectly textured surface sliding in between her toes and across her pale, sensitive arches. A slight electrical buzz came from out of the metal table and crawled across the soft curves of her buttocks. She tried to pull away but the stimulators followed her movements up and down.
She had been sweating for some time, and when the fingers shifted to her armpits, the lack of friction worsened substantially the sensations that jolted through her, racked her. She couldnt breath. Her mouth was completely dry.
Even as she thought she was going to pass out from dehydration, the tickling stopped, and the tube attached to the mask at her mouth made a quiver, and soon a fair quantity of water came rushing through, flooding her mouth. She swallowed to late, and began to choke as liquid closed off her airways. As she was struggling to breath, the tickling started again, isolated at her feet.
She panicked. She was chocking to death. The more she panicked, the worse the endless tickling became, and the worse the tickling became the more she chocked, as her lungs tried to force air in both direction. Tears burned in her eyes, and as the tickling returned to her rear, she finally chocked up the water in physical desperation, before sending it down the right way. She still coundnt breath though. The lack of air sent her into another state of mind, filled purely with a sense of the endless, the madness, of the unbearable electicity of tickling running all through her body.
It stopped again, and another rush of the awareness-heightening gas came through the mask. She panted it in, laughter coming in burst amidst the heaving breathing. Her entire body trembled substantially for some time after the tickling stopped. When she finally caught her breath, she began to cry bitterly. She didn't want to beg; she knew now that it was the begging that gave him pleasure, and that the more she begged, the more she pleaded, the longer the horrible tickling would go on. But she also wanted him to stop, needed him to stop, so badly, and she did not have the capacity left to even remotely control her own speech. She even asked him to kill her, to show her mercy by ending it.
She had agreed to do a thirty minute shoot for a tickling video company, with the option of a safe word, for two hundred and fifty dollars. It had seemed like a good deal. Sure she was ticklish, but it was a good night out on the town for thirty minutes worth of a bit of laughter. She actually enjoyed being tickled, sometimes.
But she had lost track of time now; she did not know that on the man's watch just under an hour and a half had passed. She had cried the safeword after seven minutes. She had called it out in between frenzied laughs, screamed it over and over again, whimpered it, sobbed it, mouthed it without being able to expell breath, all as the large, agonising, lifelike, unstoppable tongues had tortured her feet, minute after minute, moment after endless moment. They had had no brine to use up, no impatience, no lust to satisfy, no goal; they just mechanically drove her slowly and awfully insane.
She would have given her life to stop it happening, but her mind was drawn back into real time again as the fingers resumed on her hips and the shocks tickled her buttocks with a robotic perfection. She had had no warning; her eyes were blinfolded, and her ears were plugged. The only thing she could do was feel, feel her nerves spasming, feel her lungs convulsing, feel the laughter try to leave her throat. More rubber fingers assualted her ribs and armpits. The tongues returned. The tongues. With every slow, inhuman lick, they sent her further into the abyss. Then they attacked her stomach. Then her inner thighs and crotch.
In the apex of this all over bodily torture, she screamed the safe word last time before her heart at long last granted her wish which she had so prayed for, and finally stopped.
The end.
P.s. I dont actually do this to people, so dont call the cops on me or anything lol.
Another bust of the oxygen saturated gas through the mask brought her senses back to life. Those crawling robotic fingers began roaming again, crawling up and down her sides, the rubber tips toying with her nerves, sending too many messages through her body for her to cope with. Her cheeks were in agony, her face locked in a grinning mask, and her stomach muscles were sore and her throat tense and worn. The fingers settled on her hips. Her pelvis bucked wildly, as far as it could anyway, but then she hardly had control over what her body did anympore. The lubricated, synthetic tongues began exploring her feet once more, their perfectly textured surface sliding in between her toes and across her pale, sensitive arches. A slight electrical buzz came from out of the metal table and crawled across the soft curves of her buttocks. She tried to pull away but the stimulators followed her movements up and down.
She had been sweating for some time, and when the fingers shifted to her armpits, the lack of friction worsened substantially the sensations that jolted through her, racked her. She couldnt breath. Her mouth was completely dry.
Even as she thought she was going to pass out from dehydration, the tickling stopped, and the tube attached to the mask at her mouth made a quiver, and soon a fair quantity of water came rushing through, flooding her mouth. She swallowed to late, and began to choke as liquid closed off her airways. As she was struggling to breath, the tickling started again, isolated at her feet.
She panicked. She was chocking to death. The more she panicked, the worse the endless tickling became, and the worse the tickling became the more she chocked, as her lungs tried to force air in both direction. Tears burned in her eyes, and as the tickling returned to her rear, she finally chocked up the water in physical desperation, before sending it down the right way. She still coundnt breath though. The lack of air sent her into another state of mind, filled purely with a sense of the endless, the madness, of the unbearable electicity of tickling running all through her body.
It stopped again, and another rush of the awareness-heightening gas came through the mask. She panted it in, laughter coming in burst amidst the heaving breathing. Her entire body trembled substantially for some time after the tickling stopped. When she finally caught her breath, she began to cry bitterly. She didn't want to beg; she knew now that it was the begging that gave him pleasure, and that the more she begged, the more she pleaded, the longer the horrible tickling would go on. But she also wanted him to stop, needed him to stop, so badly, and she did not have the capacity left to even remotely control her own speech. She even asked him to kill her, to show her mercy by ending it.
She had agreed to do a thirty minute shoot for a tickling video company, with the option of a safe word, for two hundred and fifty dollars. It had seemed like a good deal. Sure she was ticklish, but it was a good night out on the town for thirty minutes worth of a bit of laughter. She actually enjoyed being tickled, sometimes.
But she had lost track of time now; she did not know that on the man's watch just under an hour and a half had passed. She had cried the safeword after seven minutes. She had called it out in between frenzied laughs, screamed it over and over again, whimpered it, sobbed it, mouthed it without being able to expell breath, all as the large, agonising, lifelike, unstoppable tongues had tortured her feet, minute after minute, moment after endless moment. They had had no brine to use up, no impatience, no lust to satisfy, no goal; they just mechanically drove her slowly and awfully insane.
She would have given her life to stop it happening, but her mind was drawn back into real time again as the fingers resumed on her hips and the shocks tickled her buttocks with a robotic perfection. She had had no warning; her eyes were blinfolded, and her ears were plugged. The only thing she could do was feel, feel her nerves spasming, feel her lungs convulsing, feel the laughter try to leave her throat. More rubber fingers assualted her ribs and armpits. The tongues returned. The tongues. With every slow, inhuman lick, they sent her further into the abyss. Then they attacked her stomach. Then her inner thighs and crotch.
In the apex of this all over bodily torture, she screamed the safe word last time before her heart at long last granted her wish which she had so prayed for, and finally stopped.
The end.
