cosquiheyooo
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This story was commissioned by an anonymous TMF user. The total cost was $40 (for 2,000 words). Huge thanks to the anonymous user!!
This chapter contains:
<music: ‘Technicolor’ by Madeon>
Michelle whips her head back
and lets out a new wave of panicked whining
as two unseen mechanical instruments
buzz like wasps along her earlobes.
Arda’s window of opportunity
lasts only a few seconds
before her reflexes adapt to the stimulus
and her head begins manically twisting
from side to side.
With the same idle smirk
that never leaves his face,
he relocates the spinning, fuzz-covered discs
to the base of her neck,
which causes her head to whip right back
and lock in place.
“Is that so?” Dr. Qara inquires rhetorically,
working this new information into his plans
for his next attack.
His targeted one-finger belly button attack
has done its work well,
but it’s just about run its course.
“Why are you doing this to me??”
Michelle eeks out through fits of silent giggles.
Dr. Qara begins tapping his fingertips lightly
along her collarbones,
causing her head to thrust forward
and trap his fingers
precisely where he wants them.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks calmly.
She tries to shriek,
but the way that the muscles
in her neck and throat
are seizing up on her
limits her to mere breathless whimpers.
Arda takes advantage of the opportunity
to run the dremels up and down
the back of her neck,
taking special care to apply pressure
against the slightly raised ridges of her spine.
“We’re trying to show you a good time,”
he says with feigned kindness in his voice,
finishing Dr. Qara’s thought
as though performing some routine
they’ve rehearsed together.
“Are you having fun yet?”
he asks, now with a hint of malice.
For a fraction of a second,
Michelle feels rage begin to bubble up
from deep within her gut,
but it simply can’t last.
The tickling obliterates everything in its path
—thoughts, emotions, resistance,
everything.
“No, I can’t! I can’t!” she gasps,
not really knowing what she means by this.
Arda abruptly abandons her neck
and begins digging in around her belly button
with the spinning nightmare discs.
Without realizing it,
Michelle takes the very first step
towards accepting what’s being done to her.
“EEEEE!!” she yelps,
as though power has abruptly returned
to her vocal cords.
Her deadlocked neck muscles
relax ever so slightly,
giving Dr. Qara’s fingers
a bit of room to work,
which she just can’t bring herself
to care about anymore.
The laughter that pours out of her,
though loud enough to easily fill the room,
is no longer strained and desperate.
It has a certain light quality about it
—untroubled, even somewhat accepting,
at least for the moment.
They tickle her and tickle her,
and each full-bodied laugh tells them
how intensely, how forcefully it tickles,
with no effort to hide it.
When Dr. Qara’s long, elegant fingers
return to feast upon some of the most
sensitive and lucrative places
from their previous exploration
of her ribs and sides,
he and Michelle both know
that there’s no two ways about it:
he’s got her where it hurts.
In response,
Michelle laughs, of course,
and squeals and twists in place,
but it’s not long
before she goes limp once more
and lets him tickle every last breath
out of her exhausted lungs.
With enough time spent in this cruel cycle,
she could probably manage
to find her bearings and coast through.
But this possibility instantly and irreversibly
flies out the window
when Arda abruptly cuts power to the dremels
and lunges down to her unsuspecting soles,
apparently having already equipped his fingers
with some sort of sharp, metal talons.
He slams one of his wrists down
onto the toes of Michelle’s left foot
to keep it pinned in place against the stocks
—so forcefully that a dull pain
briefly pokes through the hurricane of tickling
ravaging her brain—
and positions his other wrist on her heel,
giving all ten of his clawed fingers
full access to her entire sole.
Before Michelle can even react,
he begins reaping
with a flurry of spider-like scratches.
Michelle completely loses herself
in a blood-curdling shriek
that momentarily hurts the two men’s ears.
“NOOOOOO!!! NOOO!! NONONONOOOO!!”
she cries out in genuine despair
over and over,
thrashing wildly with every muscle
that will obey her.
The tips of Arda’s metal talons
feel like they were heated over a flame
before digging into her,
but the rapidly intensifying tickling sensation
quickly drowns out the painful scratching.
It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt in her life.
It has the swelling, mind-bending intensity
of some sort of monstrous, demented footgasm.
“STOP!—STOP!—STAAAAHHAAHAHP!!!”
she begs, using what little breath
she can gather.
She briefly chokes on her saliva
as tears begin running down her cheeks.
Every new scratch
out of the 50 to 100
that make contact each second
is like the striking of a match
—no, not a match;
a bright, brilliant sparkler.
Arda finally drops his smug facade
and cackles with reckless abandon,
totally unaware of himself.
“It sounds like you’re struggling down there, Arda,”
Dr. Qara comments
as he masterfully digs his thumbs
into Michelle’s hips.
“Let me come give you a hand.”
At first, these words just
roll right off of Michelle.
But a few moments
after Dr. Qara’s hands
have lifted off of her,
the implication finally penetrates
her forced ecstatic stupor.
She takes a deep, dramatic,
even cartoonish gasp
as terror shoots down her spine.
“No! No no no NOOOOO!!
NO!! NO, DON’T!!”
<music: ‘Gorgeous’ by ILLENIUM>
After the initial panic,
the fear in her voice is replaced
by an exhausted, frustrated whine.
“Noohooo!! Dr. Qara! Please don’t!
Please—AHHHHH!!—Please, no!!
Come on!!! Dr. Qara!!”
“I keep telling you, Michelle,”
Dr. Qara responds
in the same perfectly serene tone.
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
Dr. Qara holds the toes of her right foot
firmly between his thumb and index finger.
The harrowing sound of a dremel returns,
and not even a moment passes
before the horrible buzzing
is patiently and methodically
exploring the tender crevices
between her toes.
Michelle lets out one long, continuous howl,
and her thrashing becomes something
more like pitiful, useless swaying in place.
“FUUUUCK!! STOP!! STOP IT!!
I’M—HAHAHAAA I’M LOSING MY FUCKING MIND!!!”
she confesses to them,
furious at her own weakness,
knowing that it’s precisely
what they want to hear,
precisely the prize they’ve been
working to extract out of her.
After feeling her out for a few moments,
Dr. Qara knows exactly how much pressure
to use against her.
The rigid edge of the disc
just barely grazes the surface of her skin
while the hundreds of soft, frayed fibers
sustain a turbulent, amorphous electrical field
that crackles and tingles
up and down the desperately vulnerable
undersides of her toes,
one by one.
Meanwhile, Arda takes a moment
to lean in and reposition himself
so that the top of Michelle’s left foot
is pinned against his shoulder,
leaving both of his hands free
for him to vigorously shake
up and down the length of her sole.
The tips of his claws
now repeatedly etch tender, red streaks
along the curve of her arch,
ten at a time,
never breaking contact.
Vaguely aware of the sound
of her own tortured wailing,
feeling tremendous heat
in her temples, neck, and forehead,
Michelle helplessly gazes out through
the massive glass wall in front of her,
absently lingering
on the positions of the stars
scattered across the jet black sky.
Gradually, she comes to feel
less like she’s strung up
in this glass torture box
and more like she’s floating
out above the waves, bodiless.
This is mostly subconscious,
but she’s finally startled into noticing it
when the stars abruptly begin
pulsing and flaring
and spectacular plumes and trails
begin to jettison out from them
like impossible fireworks.
She’s dumbfounded by this incredible display
but eventually works out
that she’s hallucinating.
Her mixture of emotions is indescribable.
On the one hand, there’s no denying
that it’s one of the most beautiful things
she’s ever witnessed.
On the other hand,
it’s as if her tormentors have managed
to completely engulf her
on an unimaginable scale
—not only in total control of her body,
not only dominating her psychologically,
not only rewiring her very neural pathways
to suit their whims;
now the sky itself
projects their absolute dominance over her
from every possible direction
and dances in unison
with their every mind-breaking touch.
After a thorough scrubbing
of the lower parts of each one of her toes,
Dr. Qara slowly and smoothly transitions
to sanding her round toepads
with the immaculate patience of a sculptor,
even managing to invade a few millimeters
beneath her toenails.
Arda gives her a warm, wet, jolting reminder
that his devilish tongue has simply been
lying in wait, mere inches away
from her hopelessly vulnerable piggies,
and with a snarl
throws in a quick bite on the edge of her foot
for extra flavor.
These newest attacks manage to strike
even deeper at Michelle’s nervous system.
Her feeling of floating
takes a brutally sharp turn towards
free falling straight down,
and then upside down,
through the darkness.
She is drowned from the inside
by an uncontainable deluge of laughter
that refuses to let up
even when she runs out of breath,
at which point the muscles in her chest
simply contract and release over and over
and her face remains paralyzed
in the silent image of laughter,
until finally she takes a desperate gasp
and repeats the entire process
as bright, golden embers shower down on her
from the explosions above
all the while.
*** *** ***
<music: ‘Something For Your Mind’ by Superorganism>
Some number of hours later
—or perhaps days or weeks—
Michelle sees a grayish blue
beginning to creep up into the sky
from the far edge of the ocean.
She suspects this could be daybreak,
but with all the hallucinations,
who’s to say?
Dr. Qara—now shirtless—
has been taking his sweet time
buffing her armpits
with two scaled-up versions of the dremels
that look like modified wand vibrators.
The spherical heads are about fist-sized
with long wisps of fur hanging off.
With that indomitable patience of his,
he’s been swirling them around
in slow, deliberate circles
for as long as Michelle can remember
—though at this ungodly hour,
even Dr. Qara’s technique
is beginning to get a bit sloppy.
Meanwhile, Arda has had his arms
wrapped around her legs from behind,
squeezing at her thighs, hips, and knees.
Michelle’s can only shiver and whimper,
mouth hanging open,
eyes glazed over.
At long last,
Dr. Qara cuts power to his tools,
takes a few steps towards the main window,
and gazes out silently for a few minutes.
Arda has been losing steam for a while
and slows to a complete stop,
leaning back with his hands
on the floor behind him.
He takes a deep sigh
and begins chuckling quietly to himself.
“So what did you think?
he asks cheekily.
“Exactly as we promised, no?”
Dr. Qara chimes in
without turning around.
Michelle breathes slowly and heavily,
her head hung low.
“Water,” she chokes out,
feeling cold and clammy.
“Ah, certainly,” Dr. Qara answers
and walks past her
towards the open kitchen.
Michelle does nothing but breathe
as Arda lights a cigarette behind her.
She hears the sink come on
and the calming sound of liquid
filling a glass.
Dr. Qara returns
and raises the glass to her lips.
“Here.”
A good bit spills out of her mouth
on the first try.
Dr. Qara gently tilts her head back,
after which she’s able to gulp down
about half of the glass in one go.
As expected, she feels much better
almost instantly.
In fact, a profound sense of peace
begins smoothing over the mental scars
left by the full night of agony
with impressive efficiency.
Once her muscles begin to feel
loose and heavy,
it dawns on her what’s just happened.
“You fucking idiot …” she thinks to herself.
“Why would you trust their water???
YOU MORON!!”
She meets Dr. Qara’s satisfied eyes
with a look of helpless disgust on her face.
“Get some rest,” he tells her
in his utterly hypnotic voice.
*** *** ***
TO BE CONTINUED???
This chapter contains:
- kidnapping
- very intense non-consensual tickle torture (MM/F -- fingers, tools, and machines on upper body, neck, ears, and especially feet)
- fairly intense bondage
- visions from the beyond
<music: ‘Technicolor’ by Madeon>
Michelle whips her head back
and lets out a new wave of panicked whining
as two unseen mechanical instruments
buzz like wasps along her earlobes.
Arda’s window of opportunity
lasts only a few seconds
before her reflexes adapt to the stimulus
and her head begins manically twisting
from side to side.
With the same idle smirk
that never leaves his face,
he relocates the spinning, fuzz-covered discs
to the base of her neck,
which causes her head to whip right back
and lock in place.
“Is that so?” Dr. Qara inquires rhetorically,
working this new information into his plans
for his next attack.
His targeted one-finger belly button attack
has done its work well,
but it’s just about run its course.
“Why are you doing this to me??”
Michelle eeks out through fits of silent giggles.
Dr. Qara begins tapping his fingertips lightly
along her collarbones,
causing her head to thrust forward
and trap his fingers
precisely where he wants them.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks calmly.
She tries to shriek,
but the way that the muscles
in her neck and throat
are seizing up on her
limits her to mere breathless whimpers.
Arda takes advantage of the opportunity
to run the dremels up and down
the back of her neck,
taking special care to apply pressure
against the slightly raised ridges of her spine.
“We’re trying to show you a good time,”
he says with feigned kindness in his voice,
finishing Dr. Qara’s thought
as though performing some routine
they’ve rehearsed together.
“Are you having fun yet?”
he asks, now with a hint of malice.
For a fraction of a second,
Michelle feels rage begin to bubble up
from deep within her gut,
but it simply can’t last.
The tickling obliterates everything in its path
—thoughts, emotions, resistance,
everything.
“No, I can’t! I can’t!” she gasps,
not really knowing what she means by this.
Arda abruptly abandons her neck
and begins digging in around her belly button
with the spinning nightmare discs.
Without realizing it,
Michelle takes the very first step
towards accepting what’s being done to her.
“EEEEE!!” she yelps,
as though power has abruptly returned
to her vocal cords.
Her deadlocked neck muscles
relax ever so slightly,
giving Dr. Qara’s fingers
a bit of room to work,
which she just can’t bring herself
to care about anymore.
The laughter that pours out of her,
though loud enough to easily fill the room,
is no longer strained and desperate.
It has a certain light quality about it
—untroubled, even somewhat accepting,
at least for the moment.
They tickle her and tickle her,
and each full-bodied laugh tells them
how intensely, how forcefully it tickles,
with no effort to hide it.
When Dr. Qara’s long, elegant fingers
return to feast upon some of the most
sensitive and lucrative places
from their previous exploration
of her ribs and sides,
he and Michelle both know
that there’s no two ways about it:
he’s got her where it hurts.
In response,
Michelle laughs, of course,
and squeals and twists in place,
but it’s not long
before she goes limp once more
and lets him tickle every last breath
out of her exhausted lungs.
With enough time spent in this cruel cycle,
she could probably manage
to find her bearings and coast through.
But this possibility instantly and irreversibly
flies out the window
when Arda abruptly cuts power to the dremels
and lunges down to her unsuspecting soles,
apparently having already equipped his fingers
with some sort of sharp, metal talons.
He slams one of his wrists down
onto the toes of Michelle’s left foot
to keep it pinned in place against the stocks
—so forcefully that a dull pain
briefly pokes through the hurricane of tickling
ravaging her brain—
and positions his other wrist on her heel,
giving all ten of his clawed fingers
full access to her entire sole.
Before Michelle can even react,
he begins reaping
with a flurry of spider-like scratches.
Michelle completely loses herself
in a blood-curdling shriek
that momentarily hurts the two men’s ears.
“NOOOOOO!!! NOOO!! NONONONOOOO!!”
she cries out in genuine despair
over and over,
thrashing wildly with every muscle
that will obey her.
The tips of Arda’s metal talons
feel like they were heated over a flame
before digging into her,
but the rapidly intensifying tickling sensation
quickly drowns out the painful scratching.
It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt in her life.
It has the swelling, mind-bending intensity
of some sort of monstrous, demented footgasm.
“STOP!—STOP!—STAAAAHHAAHAHP!!!”
she begs, using what little breath
she can gather.
She briefly chokes on her saliva
as tears begin running down her cheeks.
Every new scratch
out of the 50 to 100
that make contact each second
is like the striking of a match
—no, not a match;
a bright, brilliant sparkler.
Arda finally drops his smug facade
and cackles with reckless abandon,
totally unaware of himself.
“It sounds like you’re struggling down there, Arda,”
Dr. Qara comments
as he masterfully digs his thumbs
into Michelle’s hips.
“Let me come give you a hand.”
At first, these words just
roll right off of Michelle.
But a few moments
after Dr. Qara’s hands
have lifted off of her,
the implication finally penetrates
her forced ecstatic stupor.
She takes a deep, dramatic,
even cartoonish gasp
as terror shoots down her spine.
“No! No no no NOOOOO!!
NO!! NO, DON’T!!”
<music: ‘Gorgeous’ by ILLENIUM>
After the initial panic,
the fear in her voice is replaced
by an exhausted, frustrated whine.
“Noohooo!! Dr. Qara! Please don’t!
Please—AHHHHH!!—Please, no!!
Come on!!! Dr. Qara!!”
“I keep telling you, Michelle,”
Dr. Qara responds
in the same perfectly serene tone.
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
Dr. Qara holds the toes of her right foot
firmly between his thumb and index finger.
The harrowing sound of a dremel returns,
and not even a moment passes
before the horrible buzzing
is patiently and methodically
exploring the tender crevices
between her toes.
Michelle lets out one long, continuous howl,
and her thrashing becomes something
more like pitiful, useless swaying in place.
“FUUUUCK!! STOP!! STOP IT!!
I’M—HAHAHAAA I’M LOSING MY FUCKING MIND!!!”
she confesses to them,
furious at her own weakness,
knowing that it’s precisely
what they want to hear,
precisely the prize they’ve been
working to extract out of her.
After feeling her out for a few moments,
Dr. Qara knows exactly how much pressure
to use against her.
The rigid edge of the disc
just barely grazes the surface of her skin
while the hundreds of soft, frayed fibers
sustain a turbulent, amorphous electrical field
that crackles and tingles
up and down the desperately vulnerable
undersides of her toes,
one by one.
Meanwhile, Arda takes a moment
to lean in and reposition himself
so that the top of Michelle’s left foot
is pinned against his shoulder,
leaving both of his hands free
for him to vigorously shake
up and down the length of her sole.
The tips of his claws
now repeatedly etch tender, red streaks
along the curve of her arch,
ten at a time,
never breaking contact.
Vaguely aware of the sound
of her own tortured wailing,
feeling tremendous heat
in her temples, neck, and forehead,
Michelle helplessly gazes out through
the massive glass wall in front of her,
absently lingering
on the positions of the stars
scattered across the jet black sky.
Gradually, she comes to feel
less like she’s strung up
in this glass torture box
and more like she’s floating
out above the waves, bodiless.
This is mostly subconscious,
but she’s finally startled into noticing it
when the stars abruptly begin
pulsing and flaring
and spectacular plumes and trails
begin to jettison out from them
like impossible fireworks.
She’s dumbfounded by this incredible display
but eventually works out
that she’s hallucinating.
Her mixture of emotions is indescribable.
On the one hand, there’s no denying
that it’s one of the most beautiful things
she’s ever witnessed.
On the other hand,
it’s as if her tormentors have managed
to completely engulf her
on an unimaginable scale
—not only in total control of her body,
not only dominating her psychologically,
not only rewiring her very neural pathways
to suit their whims;
now the sky itself
projects their absolute dominance over her
from every possible direction
and dances in unison
with their every mind-breaking touch.
After a thorough scrubbing
of the lower parts of each one of her toes,
Dr. Qara slowly and smoothly transitions
to sanding her round toepads
with the immaculate patience of a sculptor,
even managing to invade a few millimeters
beneath her toenails.
Arda gives her a warm, wet, jolting reminder
that his devilish tongue has simply been
lying in wait, mere inches away
from her hopelessly vulnerable piggies,
and with a snarl
throws in a quick bite on the edge of her foot
for extra flavor.
These newest attacks manage to strike
even deeper at Michelle’s nervous system.
Her feeling of floating
takes a brutally sharp turn towards
free falling straight down,
and then upside down,
through the darkness.
She is drowned from the inside
by an uncontainable deluge of laughter
that refuses to let up
even when she runs out of breath,
at which point the muscles in her chest
simply contract and release over and over
and her face remains paralyzed
in the silent image of laughter,
until finally she takes a desperate gasp
and repeats the entire process
as bright, golden embers shower down on her
from the explosions above
all the while.
*** *** ***
<music: ‘Something For Your Mind’ by Superorganism>
Some number of hours later
—or perhaps days or weeks—
Michelle sees a grayish blue
beginning to creep up into the sky
from the far edge of the ocean.
She suspects this could be daybreak,
but with all the hallucinations,
who’s to say?
Dr. Qara—now shirtless—
has been taking his sweet time
buffing her armpits
with two scaled-up versions of the dremels
that look like modified wand vibrators.
The spherical heads are about fist-sized
with long wisps of fur hanging off.
With that indomitable patience of his,
he’s been swirling them around
in slow, deliberate circles
for as long as Michelle can remember
—though at this ungodly hour,
even Dr. Qara’s technique
is beginning to get a bit sloppy.
Meanwhile, Arda has had his arms
wrapped around her legs from behind,
squeezing at her thighs, hips, and knees.
Michelle’s can only shiver and whimper,
mouth hanging open,
eyes glazed over.
At long last,
Dr. Qara cuts power to his tools,
takes a few steps towards the main window,
and gazes out silently for a few minutes.
Arda has been losing steam for a while
and slows to a complete stop,
leaning back with his hands
on the floor behind him.
He takes a deep sigh
and begins chuckling quietly to himself.
“So what did you think?
he asks cheekily.
“Exactly as we promised, no?”
Dr. Qara chimes in
without turning around.
Michelle breathes slowly and heavily,
her head hung low.
“Water,” she chokes out,
feeling cold and clammy.
“Ah, certainly,” Dr. Qara answers
and walks past her
towards the open kitchen.
Michelle does nothing but breathe
as Arda lights a cigarette behind her.
She hears the sink come on
and the calming sound of liquid
filling a glass.
Dr. Qara returns
and raises the glass to her lips.
“Here.”
A good bit spills out of her mouth
on the first try.
Dr. Qara gently tilts her head back,
after which she’s able to gulp down
about half of the glass in one go.
As expected, she feels much better
almost instantly.
In fact, a profound sense of peace
begins smoothing over the mental scars
left by the full night of agony
with impressive efficiency.
Once her muscles begin to feel
loose and heavy,
it dawns on her what’s just happened.
“You fucking idiot …” she thinks to herself.
“Why would you trust their water???
YOU MORON!!”
She meets Dr. Qara’s satisfied eyes
with a look of helpless disgust on her face.
“Get some rest,” he tells her
in his utterly hypnotic voice.
*** *** ***
TO BE CONTINUED???
