cosquiheyooo
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This story was commissioned by an anonymous TMF user. The total cost was $30 (for 1,500 words). Huge thanks to the anonymous user!!
This story contains:
“I just feel like this
is what my whole life should be,”
Michelle says lazily, feeling as though she’s
gently floating in her lounger.
“Everything else just seems so noisy.
I can’t even imagine it all right now.
This is how things are supposed to be, right?”
“That’s exactly the thing
about being out in a place like this,”
responds Dr. Qara, the impossibly tall man
whom Michelle has spent much of the afternoon
and now the sunset chatting with,
gesturing out towards the horizon.
There is a serenity, nearly a mystical quality
to his voice.
Michelle, along with everyone else at the conference,
had been captivated by it the instant she’d heard it.
But whereas during his presentation earlier in the day
he had inspired contemplative awe in his listeners,
a contagious sense of passion
for all the small, simple details of life
had crept into his voice
since coming out to the beachfront.
Coupled with his slight accent
—perhaps from Turkey? Russia?—
being in his presence felt like existing in the world
in some new and intoxicating way.
“Absolutely nothing on Earth compares to this.
The waves, the birds, the warmth, the peacefulness.
It truly does bring me sadness
that more people don’t get to enjoy this.
I get to do this all of the time, the whole year.
People deserve it, you know?”
“Yes. Yes, they absolutely do,” Michelle agrees
and takes a sip of her crisp mojito.
A few moments of quiet pass between them.
With the imminent setting of the sun,
a sense that this moment is ending
and giving way to another
settles over them.
“Mm!” Dr. Qara exclaims as he finishes a sip
of his own Efes Pilsen.
“There may still be time.
You see that enormous building?” he asks,
pointing behind them.
“That is my hotel.
I’m staying on the very top floor.
Oh, Michelle, you don’t understand.
You must see the view from up there.
Will you come with me?
There may still be time to see the sun go down.”
Michelle, certainly no fool, recognizes immediately
what the implication here could be—could be.
Yes, there had been a certain chemistry between them,
of course, to have been talking on the beach for so long.
But she was sure she’d mentioned her husband,
and certainly someone as distinguished and thoughtful
as Dr. Qara wouldn’t be extending an invitation
to go behind her husband’s back. Certainly not.
He must simply be a passionate, well-traveled person
who doesn’t realize the implications, she reasons.
“Oh, ah—are you sure?” she asks him,
finding herself unwilling to say no
to what she is sure will be a beautiful continuation
of this mind-broadening sea-gazing experience.
“Yes, absolutely!” he assures her and rises from his lounger.
“I have a driver waiting. We’ll be there in moments.”
*** *** ***
“Oh my god ...”
It only takes one step into the lavish suite
to see that the view is every bit as majestic
as Dr. Qara had suggested.
The entire wall is nothing but glass,
and even a glass section of floor
extends out from the main structure of the hotel.
There is a strong contrast
between the deep orange of the sun’s final rays
and an intensifying darkness
that dominates the both the room and the entire beach
more and more with every passing moment.
“Go on,” says Dr. Qara,
seeming to know her mind.
“That is precisely what it’s there for.”
Michelle steps cautiously towards the glass skybox,
feeling butterflies rise in her stomach
as she comes to the edge of the transparent floor.
This may even be more exhilarating
than her view out the plane window on her flight here.
Dr. Qara approaches behind her
and cuffs her right hand so smoothly,
with no change in demeanor at all,
that she simply stares at her wrist for a moment.
Wasting no time,
he reaches across for her left arm.
Now her instincts kick into gear and tell her
what truly serious danger she’s in.
“Hey! HEY!!” she barks defensively
and struggles to pull out of his grip.
She screams at the top of her lungs
as another stranger’s hands
suddenly take hold of her bicep from behind,
allowing Dr. Qara to take control of the entire arm
and secure her wrist in the second cuff.
He holds the set of cuffs by the chain
high above Michelle’s head
as the stranger returns to the shadows
and begins to move something heavy
across the floor.
“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Dr. Qara says soothingly
with little change in his voice.
“Michelle, it’s alright. Everything is alright.”
Left with no other options,
Michelle tries to kick at his legs,
but his reach is so long
that she comes nowhere close.
“Excellent catch!” says the stranger,
moving quickly and efficiently
with a large, black, rectangular frame on wheels.
His accent is similar to Dr. Qara’s
but with more of a whimsical quality to it.
The instant that the frame is in place around Michelle,
the two assist each other in securing the chain
to a metal hook at the very top,
cementing her successful capture.
“Yes, isn’t she? Thank you, thank you,”
Dr. Qara says with pride and satisfaction.
Michelle stands on her tip-toes,
no longer fighting, now simply trembling in horror,
believing she knows exactly what’s coming.
She is terrified to speak, and yet she can’t help it.
“Please don’t do this to me. Please,”
she begs in a low, harrowed voice.
“You don’t need to worry, dear,” says the stranger,
coming around the side of the frame to face her.
He’s considerably shorter than Dr. Qara
but still stands well above Michelle.
His hair and chinstrap beard are somewhat messy
compared with Dr. Qara’s neat 5 o’clock shadow,
and his face is curled into a catlike smile
that never seems to fade.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Dr. Qara assures her
and moves behind her.
She gasps and whines as he takes hold of her ankle,
moving it into place in a set of upward-facing stocks,
bending her knee almost completely.
“Noooo, not at all,” the stranger chuckles,
grinning wide.
Dr. Qara finishes securing her second ankle,
leaving Michelle suspended in the air
hundreds of feet above the street lights below.
As the two surely intended,
adding to the pounding fear of being taken captive,
her body creates the illusory sensation of free-falling.
Every few seconds, she compulsively lets out
something like a fearful moan
and alternates between looking down through the floor
and out at the black, empty horizon.
The two men exchange a few words in another language.
Then the stranger heads back into the main room
and Dr. Qara comes back around to look down at her,
absolutely towering above her in the dim light.
Michelle stares helplessly, unable to close her eyes.
“Was I not correct?” he asks her
with a touch of malice in his voice.
“Have you ever seen anything in your life
that compares to this?”
She has only a moment to look back at him
with incredulous anger in her eyes
before crying out in surprise
as his cool, rod-like fingers
suddenly begin pressing into the bones of her ribs
and squeezing ever so gently.
She’s thoroughly confused
as small, involuntary chirps begin to slip out of her.
“Haa—! HAAAA—! HEY!”
Her breath catches in her throat
as Dr. Qara expertly moves his fingers
to her armpits—no, not her armpits,
but rather just below them, maybe an inch or so,
and presses into the nerve there with his index finger
in a gentle, circular motion.
It’s no surprise to Michelle that this tickles
—and tickles badly—
but she has no idea what to make
of the sensation that somehow
shoots up the sides of her neck
and causes her head to jerk violently,
first in one direction and then another.
“It’s alright,” he repeats in that same hypnotic tone.
Michelle’s state of mind is totally upended
and she struggles to process
the strange and complicated reality
that this may in fact be the cruel yet absurd fate
that her captors had in store for her all along
—tickling her.
The implications of this realization come in waves.
Dr. Qara’s sensual fingers
—now whisking along her waistline
and occasionally rising to circle her belly button—
are certainly not doing their worst to her yet.
When was the last time she was tickled?
Had she blotted out the memory? Was it that bad??
Dr. Qara’s friend, clearly a very different sort of person,
returns from the main room and drops a black bag
onto the floor beside them with a thud
before sliding on his knees over to Michelle’s feet
and working over three of her toes
in his mouth like lollipops,
trying to wear them down evenly
to get to the candy center.
Michelle positively squeals at this,
from zero to one hundred in seconds flat,
and fights her restraints with every muscle in her body,
managing only to sway slightly.
The enthusiastic stranger makes no effort
to be delicate, quiet, or anything of the kind.
He mouths and he slurps;
he gnaws and he licks;
he growls and he scrapes his teeth along her arches
and anywhere else he can reach with them.
After the first throes of panic,
Michelle begins spewing frantic, musical laughter
that reverberates throughout the suite.
“NOOO! NO, STOP! STOP!”
she pleads intermittently between breaths,
as they always do.
For the first time,
Dr. Qara cracks a sadistic smile
and launches a full-scale squeeze attack
against the muscles between her armpits and shoulders.
She tries with all her might
to lean back and arch away from him,
but it takes only seconds
before a sharp scrabbling of fingers
running up and down her soles
and an aggressive tongue
sliding between her smallest toes
ravage her entire nervous system
and leave the rest of her body limp,
leaning straight into Dr. Qara,
as she manically rattles her ankles
against the rigid stocks.
“STOP! STAAAAAHHHP!!” Michelle wails.
“No nono, fuckfuckfuck FUCK IT TICKLES!!
AHH HAAA STAAAAHHP, PLEASE!!”
“Well, you heard her, didn’t you, Emel?”
the madman noshing on her feet
calls out to Dr. Qara.
“She says it tickles, man! Cut it out!”
“She’s only fooling with you, Arda. Don’t be so naïve,”
Dr. Qara responds in a calm but amused tone.
“Let me OUT!!” Michelle explodes breathlessly.
“You’re going to let me out NOW!”
she uselessly demands,
and soon her momentary burst of aggression
gives way once more to full-bodied,
howling laughter.
“Ah, it seems you’re right,” Arda continues.
“I don’t think this is tickling her at all.
I think it’s time for us to try something different.”
“I’m gonna fucking—AHHHAH NO!!” Michelle shrieks
as Arda takes a few final nibbles at her big toes
before giving her a few moments’ peace
as he begins to rifle through the black bag
he’d previously flopped onto the floor.
“We’re going to get through to her. I’m sure of it,”
Dr. Qara calls over to him
as he begins scratching up and down
Michelle’s soft, sensitive belly.
“I have complete confidence in us,” Arda calls back
just before creating some sort of
spine-chilling mechanical whirring sound
with one of his implements.
Michelle is so startled that she stops
struggling to twist away from Dr. Qara altogether
and pries her eyes open wide.
“SOMEONE HEEEEELP!!”
*** *** ***
(Part 2)
This story contains:
- kidnapping
- non-consensual tickle torture (MM/F -- fingers on upper body, fingers and mouth on feet)
- fairly intense bondage
- lovely scenery
“I just feel like this
is what my whole life should be,”
Michelle says lazily, feeling as though she’s
gently floating in her lounger.
“Everything else just seems so noisy.
I can’t even imagine it all right now.
This is how things are supposed to be, right?”
“That’s exactly the thing
about being out in a place like this,”
responds Dr. Qara, the impossibly tall man
whom Michelle has spent much of the afternoon
and now the sunset chatting with,
gesturing out towards the horizon.
There is a serenity, nearly a mystical quality
to his voice.
Michelle, along with everyone else at the conference,
had been captivated by it the instant she’d heard it.
But whereas during his presentation earlier in the day
he had inspired contemplative awe in his listeners,
a contagious sense of passion
for all the small, simple details of life
had crept into his voice
since coming out to the beachfront.
Coupled with his slight accent
—perhaps from Turkey? Russia?—
being in his presence felt like existing in the world
in some new and intoxicating way.
“Absolutely nothing on Earth compares to this.
The waves, the birds, the warmth, the peacefulness.
It truly does bring me sadness
that more people don’t get to enjoy this.
I get to do this all of the time, the whole year.
People deserve it, you know?”
“Yes. Yes, they absolutely do,” Michelle agrees
and takes a sip of her crisp mojito.
A few moments of quiet pass between them.
With the imminent setting of the sun,
a sense that this moment is ending
and giving way to another
settles over them.
“Mm!” Dr. Qara exclaims as he finishes a sip
of his own Efes Pilsen.
“There may still be time.
You see that enormous building?” he asks,
pointing behind them.
“That is my hotel.
I’m staying on the very top floor.
Oh, Michelle, you don’t understand.
You must see the view from up there.
Will you come with me?
There may still be time to see the sun go down.”
Michelle, certainly no fool, recognizes immediately
what the implication here could be—could be.
Yes, there had been a certain chemistry between them,
of course, to have been talking on the beach for so long.
But she was sure she’d mentioned her husband,
and certainly someone as distinguished and thoughtful
as Dr. Qara wouldn’t be extending an invitation
to go behind her husband’s back. Certainly not.
He must simply be a passionate, well-traveled person
who doesn’t realize the implications, she reasons.
“Oh, ah—are you sure?” she asks him,
finding herself unwilling to say no
to what she is sure will be a beautiful continuation
of this mind-broadening sea-gazing experience.
“Yes, absolutely!” he assures her and rises from his lounger.
“I have a driver waiting. We’ll be there in moments.”
*** *** ***
“Oh my god ...”
It only takes one step into the lavish suite
to see that the view is every bit as majestic
as Dr. Qara had suggested.
The entire wall is nothing but glass,
and even a glass section of floor
extends out from the main structure of the hotel.
There is a strong contrast
between the deep orange of the sun’s final rays
and an intensifying darkness
that dominates the both the room and the entire beach
more and more with every passing moment.
“Go on,” says Dr. Qara,
seeming to know her mind.
“That is precisely what it’s there for.”
Michelle steps cautiously towards the glass skybox,
feeling butterflies rise in her stomach
as she comes to the edge of the transparent floor.
This may even be more exhilarating
than her view out the plane window on her flight here.
Dr. Qara approaches behind her
and cuffs her right hand so smoothly,
with no change in demeanor at all,
that she simply stares at her wrist for a moment.
Wasting no time,
he reaches across for her left arm.
Now her instincts kick into gear and tell her
what truly serious danger she’s in.
“Hey! HEY!!” she barks defensively
and struggles to pull out of his grip.
She screams at the top of her lungs
as another stranger’s hands
suddenly take hold of her bicep from behind,
allowing Dr. Qara to take control of the entire arm
and secure her wrist in the second cuff.
He holds the set of cuffs by the chain
high above Michelle’s head
as the stranger returns to the shadows
and begins to move something heavy
across the floor.
“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Dr. Qara says soothingly
with little change in his voice.
“Michelle, it’s alright. Everything is alright.”
Left with no other options,
Michelle tries to kick at his legs,
but his reach is so long
that she comes nowhere close.
“Excellent catch!” says the stranger,
moving quickly and efficiently
with a large, black, rectangular frame on wheels.
His accent is similar to Dr. Qara’s
but with more of a whimsical quality to it.
The instant that the frame is in place around Michelle,
the two assist each other in securing the chain
to a metal hook at the very top,
cementing her successful capture.
“Yes, isn’t she? Thank you, thank you,”
Dr. Qara says with pride and satisfaction.
Michelle stands on her tip-toes,
no longer fighting, now simply trembling in horror,
believing she knows exactly what’s coming.
She is terrified to speak, and yet she can’t help it.
“Please don’t do this to me. Please,”
she begs in a low, harrowed voice.
“You don’t need to worry, dear,” says the stranger,
coming around the side of the frame to face her.
He’s considerably shorter than Dr. Qara
but still stands well above Michelle.
His hair and chinstrap beard are somewhat messy
compared with Dr. Qara’s neat 5 o’clock shadow,
and his face is curled into a catlike smile
that never seems to fade.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Dr. Qara assures her
and moves behind her.
She gasps and whines as he takes hold of her ankle,
moving it into place in a set of upward-facing stocks,
bending her knee almost completely.
“Noooo, not at all,” the stranger chuckles,
grinning wide.
Dr. Qara finishes securing her second ankle,
leaving Michelle suspended in the air
hundreds of feet above the street lights below.
As the two surely intended,
adding to the pounding fear of being taken captive,
her body creates the illusory sensation of free-falling.
Every few seconds, she compulsively lets out
something like a fearful moan
and alternates between looking down through the floor
and out at the black, empty horizon.
The two men exchange a few words in another language.
Then the stranger heads back into the main room
and Dr. Qara comes back around to look down at her,
absolutely towering above her in the dim light.
Michelle stares helplessly, unable to close her eyes.
“Was I not correct?” he asks her
with a touch of malice in his voice.
“Have you ever seen anything in your life
that compares to this?”
She has only a moment to look back at him
with incredulous anger in her eyes
before crying out in surprise
as his cool, rod-like fingers
suddenly begin pressing into the bones of her ribs
and squeezing ever so gently.
She’s thoroughly confused
as small, involuntary chirps begin to slip out of her.
“Haa—! HAAAA—! HEY!”
Her breath catches in her throat
as Dr. Qara expertly moves his fingers
to her armpits—no, not her armpits,
but rather just below them, maybe an inch or so,
and presses into the nerve there with his index finger
in a gentle, circular motion.
It’s no surprise to Michelle that this tickles
—and tickles badly—
but she has no idea what to make
of the sensation that somehow
shoots up the sides of her neck
and causes her head to jerk violently,
first in one direction and then another.
“It’s alright,” he repeats in that same hypnotic tone.
Michelle’s state of mind is totally upended
and she struggles to process
the strange and complicated reality
that this may in fact be the cruel yet absurd fate
that her captors had in store for her all along
—tickling her.
The implications of this realization come in waves.
Dr. Qara’s sensual fingers
—now whisking along her waistline
and occasionally rising to circle her belly button—
are certainly not doing their worst to her yet.
When was the last time she was tickled?
Had she blotted out the memory? Was it that bad??
Dr. Qara’s friend, clearly a very different sort of person,
returns from the main room and drops a black bag
onto the floor beside them with a thud
before sliding on his knees over to Michelle’s feet
and working over three of her toes
in his mouth like lollipops,
trying to wear them down evenly
to get to the candy center.
Michelle positively squeals at this,
from zero to one hundred in seconds flat,
and fights her restraints with every muscle in her body,
managing only to sway slightly.
The enthusiastic stranger makes no effort
to be delicate, quiet, or anything of the kind.
He mouths and he slurps;
he gnaws and he licks;
he growls and he scrapes his teeth along her arches
and anywhere else he can reach with them.
After the first throes of panic,
Michelle begins spewing frantic, musical laughter
that reverberates throughout the suite.
“NOOO! NO, STOP! STOP!”
she pleads intermittently between breaths,
as they always do.
For the first time,
Dr. Qara cracks a sadistic smile
and launches a full-scale squeeze attack
against the muscles between her armpits and shoulders.
She tries with all her might
to lean back and arch away from him,
but it takes only seconds
before a sharp scrabbling of fingers
running up and down her soles
and an aggressive tongue
sliding between her smallest toes
ravage her entire nervous system
and leave the rest of her body limp,
leaning straight into Dr. Qara,
as she manically rattles her ankles
against the rigid stocks.
“STOP! STAAAAAHHHP!!” Michelle wails.
“No nono, fuckfuckfuck FUCK IT TICKLES!!
AHH HAAA STAAAAHHP, PLEASE!!”
“Well, you heard her, didn’t you, Emel?”
the madman noshing on her feet
calls out to Dr. Qara.
“She says it tickles, man! Cut it out!”
“She’s only fooling with you, Arda. Don’t be so naïve,”
Dr. Qara responds in a calm but amused tone.
“Let me OUT!!” Michelle explodes breathlessly.
“You’re going to let me out NOW!”
she uselessly demands,
and soon her momentary burst of aggression
gives way once more to full-bodied,
howling laughter.
“Ah, it seems you’re right,” Arda continues.
“I don’t think this is tickling her at all.
I think it’s time for us to try something different.”
“I’m gonna fucking—AHHHAH NO!!” Michelle shrieks
as Arda takes a few final nibbles at her big toes
before giving her a few moments’ peace
as he begins to rifle through the black bag
he’d previously flopped onto the floor.
“We’re going to get through to her. I’m sure of it,”
Dr. Qara calls over to him
as he begins scratching up and down
Michelle’s soft, sensitive belly.
“I have complete confidence in us,” Arda calls back
just before creating some sort of
spine-chilling mechanical whirring sound
with one of his implements.
Michelle is so startled that she stops
struggling to twist away from Dr. Qara altogether
and pries her eyes open wide.
“SOMEONE HEEEEELP!!”
*** *** ***
(Part 2)
Last edited:
