ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 18
The link to the first story is below:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?311408-Don-t-Press-Your-Luck-(Chapter-One)
She moans, her weakened gullet just barely able to make one sound as she rouses herself from an unexpected slumber. Watching as her head motions itself upward, I recognize just how little time I have left before the sedative wears off completely. Whisking myself towards her bound form, I reveal the suppression device chosen especially for her: a leather bit gag, one which I had acquired several months ago, just waiting to implement it on that special someone. Hoisting it above her head, I make quick work of her before she can even realize it, inserting it in between her gleaming white teeth just in the nick of time. Its large silver rings resting atop both of her supple cheeks, I push aside her cascading locks, giving me enough room to buckle it tight and secure behind her head. By the time it is fully secure, completing Phase I of her restraints package, she begins to truly realize just how screwed she is.
She begins testing her restraints: first at her wrists, hoisting her arms high above her head, followed closely by those at her ankles, both giving her no leeway to move even one inch in either direction. The more she attempts to free herself, trying to find any weakness in her binds, the greater her desperation reveals itself. Yanking with all her might, she attempts to hoist herself off the ground with her might alone, failing to even lift herself from the concrete floors for but a second. Muscles rippling in resistance, they merely demonstrate the utter desperation she is feeling at this very moment, that which I can only enjoy from my perch just out of sight.
“MRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPHHHHHHHHHHH!!” she roars, a mixture of rage and worry saturating her voice, the slab of padded leather muffling much of her cry despite such force behind it. Even with such effort, her binds to not emanate one sound, making sure she realizes just how indifferent they are to her plight as they will always be. It is in this moment that I remember just who I am looking upon: Christian Press, that all-star striker, a terror on the field, with a fire in her just waiting to be quenched under my fingertips. Nothing could be more satisfying in this world than to have such a prized athlete under your control, the ability to do with them anything you could imagine beyond compare.
It is then I decide it to cut short this little display of hers, revealing the man who has placed her in such a precarious position.
“Just beautiful,” I suddenly spout, watching as she wrenches her head to my location, recognizing that I had been but silently observing her struggle this entire time. That look of utter shock soon morphs into indignant rage as I round her outstretched form, slowly as a predator would encircle their prey, confronting eye-to-eye my captive Christen who must just have been waiting for our little trial of terrors to begin. “Well isn’t this just my luck: just who would have thought that I would stumble upon THE Christen Press, in all her glory, just hanging around? Fate has its way of rewarding those most deserving, now doesn’t it?”
She begins fighting once again, my tender words getting under her skin as she makes clear just how difficult it is going to be taming this little wildcat in my midst. After another valiant struggle, chest heaving, nostrils flaring in exhaustion, she has only the will left to scowl at me, glaring into my soul with her penetrating gaze, hoping with all her might that itself could translate into an injuring blow. I gaze upon her outstretched form, mesmerized by her nude presence I had only seen obscured on magazine covers, that which is so much more delectable in real life. As I slowly encircle her, watching as her intense gaze follows me at every turn, I dictate to her the words that will forever haunt her so long as I have any say in it:
“That’s right Christian: struggle. Struggle with every ounce of your being, even though it won’t help. Use all that power you have at your disposal to try and get away, to try and resist the inevitable, but you will fail, I have made sure of that. If only you hadn’t opened the door to a random stranger that one afternoon, leaving yourself completely vulnerable as clueless as you were. Didn’t you find it a little too convenient: that the moment you have a power outage, there’s a maintenance man standing right on your front stoop? Just what world do we live in where a young lady puts herself in such harm’s way, placing herself directly in front of the back of his open van, just waiting to be whisked away? Tsk tsk, how disappointing, knowing just what could be lurking around the corner. Now, you’re going to suffer the consequences, young lady.”
She is absolutely livid: the experience of being rendered helpless by such a deranged psychopath was bad enough, let alone his patronizing tone stripping her of all dignity she holds, both as a woman as well as a world-class athlete. Wrapping myself around her, I now stand directly behind her person, completely out of sight but never truly out of mind. It is at this moment that she sees her own reflection, a large mirror placed directly adjacent to her subdued form. She can see every detail of her binds, the simplicity of such restraints surely boggling her mind at this very moment. What cruel fate that has befallen her, this four-point bondage system rendering every ounce of control out of her possession. However, by the time she realizes my true intent, hoisting my wriggling fingers up to the tops of her wrists high above her head, a little shred of her sanity is stripped from her possession, having realized exactly what is to become of her.
“You wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you Chrissy?”
I begin my descent, spidering the tips of my fingers down the flesh of her outstretched limbs, making my way to her helplessly rendered underarms inch by agonizing inch. I watch over her shoulder in the mirror adjacent as she bites deep into her gag, trying desperately to release the maddening sensations that are unavoidable in my gradual approach. In such a position, she has only the leverage to twist and turn mere inches to either side, bouncing up and down atop the balls of her feet to no avail.
“You can’t do anything about it, can you?” I ask her, reminding her of just what she knows deep inside, tenderly speaking in her left ear just as I begin to pass her elbows. “It’s almost like you wanted to be here.” She answers with her body, jerking away from my touch as she wrenches once again against her restraints, only to be subdued back into her prime position.
“MMMMMRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPHPHPHPHPH!!” she grunts, her stuttered breaths betraying the fact that, little by little, my influence is slowly encompassing her senses, feeling her own self-control slip right out of her fingertips. Little could she know how I recognized her true nature the moment I passed her that one day: that she is a ticklish little girl, just waiting to be whisked away to this magical place of infinite laughter. As I make my way atop her armpits, watching her eyes clenched tight hoping to all but forget that I even exist, I take pause, drinking in her exquisite form before I tear it all to shreds, eventually breaking her spirit in half.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!!” she roars at the top of her voice, a sudden reaction to my nimble fingers digging deep into the tender flesh just below her biceps. Flailing her arms about, she tries frantically to close her arms down, muscles bulging against the bonds that do not budge. “NNNNNNNNNNNNNMPHPHPHPHPHP!!” Scraping my nails across her soft skin, having seemingly never seen the light of day with their delicate texture, I revel in the sheer desperation she is embodying, trying with all her might to escape from such a childish weakness.
“It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it little girl?” I taunt her, pulsating my fingers just above her ribs, watching her try yet again to hop away from her torments. “You just couldn’t wait to come down here!”
“FFFFFHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!! NOOOOOOOOOOOMMPHPHPHPHPH!!” she squeals, thrashing her head side to side, feeling every caressing motion as her ribs are massaged by knuckles, raking over them as though they knew no bounds. Poor thing: taking me so literally, not having the common sense to understand just how, here in my chambers, she is mere putty in the palms of my hands. There is no word to describe this moment, that months of abstract imagination have been put into practice right in front of her clenched tight eyes. Little could be said to describe my absolute satisfaction of being able to touch her supple flesh, already collecting goosebumbs as I traverse her trembling form with ease.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she wails as I begin relentlessly pinching at her sides, a technique that would break even the most stalwart composures. Watching her eyes turn wide as saucers as though she had been stabbed in the heart, her horrid moans suddenly transform into uncontrollable cackles, having finally found that which would break the camel’s back. What a diva she is, acting so dramatic to something that must be commonplace for her. Had her friends not goosed her side as she was walking by to get a quick laugh out of her? Had her boyfriends not held her down, tickling her relentlessly as a means of foreplay?
Maybe I should ask her.
“What was that?” I ask, stopping her torments briefly, hearing a strained sigh for breath emanating from her gullet. “I didn’t catch that, young lady: you’re going to have to speak up next time.” I gaze into her eyes from behind, noting the tears already cascading down her cheeks, making her bare chest glisten under the bright lights. Her natural locks, flowing angelically in the breeze during each photo shoot, is now clinging to her brow, the sheer exertion taking a toll on the soccer star. Even with so much pluck and spice in her, she is rendered exhausted by what only amounted to a few moments of focused torments.
“Don’t tell me you’ve tired yourself already!” I tell her, noting the look of agonizing wrath atop her brow. “And just when I had planned out the whole weekend, just for the two of us!” There was a moment, when that word “weekend” passed through my lips, that I saw something magical. I witnessed a softening of her eyes, just briefly but long enough for me to recognize exactly what she doesn’t want me to see: fear. If this has been grueling, little could she wrap her head around the reality that was waiting for her, a full 72 hours to experience the totality of my sadistic imagination, far away from even a glimmering hope of rescue.
“Don’t worry dear,” I say, petting the side of her cheek, wrenching it away from my patronizing touch just as I knew she would. “We’re going to keep ourselves good company this evening.” I leave her, making my way through an adjacent doorway the likes of which she will never see, but sure would never want to: a small closet, lined to the brim with costumes, cuffs, chains, and row after row of my own personal collection of implements. Having been made acquainted with her, I feel it now time to show her just how futile it is to resist me, for like every submissive like her, the key to breaking them down is patience, and once you get them to that point, it will be their own bodies that begin to submit, followed closely by their minds.
Exiting the room, with tools in hand, I begin the second stage of her torments.
I make my approach, masking my footsteps as not to disturb her any further than I already had. Head slumped forward, chest heaving in utter exhaustion, her body has become the embodiment of her torments, as such a pitiful weakness is being exploited with maximum efficacy. How little effort I have expelled in bringing her to this point already, not even having broken a sweat in contrast to that which has already cascaded from her athletic form. However, for my next trick, I will bring her to the absolute depths of madness, all the while not having to life one finger.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,” I utter, shaking her out of her well-needed recuperation, glaring at me with her piercing gaze the likes of which are just so satisfying to witness. “You can thank me later.” She tightens her fists high above, the only demonstration of frustration she allots herself to have. I stand before her, watching as she does not break concentration even once, staring deep into the bottomless pit that is my soul. Before her eyes, reaching into my pocket, I reveal that which I have been saving just for her: a vibrating egg, small and pink with a collection of shrunken plumes jettisoning out from every direction. A nifty little device: completely wireless, running off two AA batteries for a maximum of four hours straight (I’d doubt she could last half that long). However, feeling them to be a bit underpowered, I tinkered a bit with their calibration, increasing the maximum vibration to mind-numbing levels.
“You recognize this, don’t you?” I ask, holding it up on the tips of my fingers, her vacant gaze giving me no confirmation. “Don’t tell me you haven’t indulged, having spent so much time on the road with nothing but a bunch of women, not once slipping one of these into your panties before practice? You disappoint me, Chrissy.” Not once could I picture this Portland-native not satisfying herself in such a manner, her ravenous libido aching the moment she lays eyes on it. No, I understand her pride as a woman keeps her from discussing such matters with strangers, let alone deranged kidnappers who has dragged her into his depraved dungeon.
“Let’s just say: I’ve found quite the use for these little machines!” I exclaim, her determination not wavering as I reach back to a small box set behind her, revealing the two dozen of them that had been lying in wait for her. I take a spool of medical tape and, one by one, begin attaching them across her body: beginning with two in each armpit, I move down towards her ribs, attaching three on each side, covering their entire surface area. I attach two just atop her hips, finishing with two across her belly button, one above and one below. Gazing upon my handiwork, I revel in there being not one square inch of flesh left exposed, covered by the myriad of neon feathers primed for action. I move to the corner of the room, approaching a small bench where I will watch it all unfold.
“Let’s start with some interval training,” I tell her, seating myself atop the chair at an angle. “Just to get you warmed up!” Taking out my phone, I access the special app synchronized to the vibrating eggs, setting the intensity to mid-level. Theoretically, with merely a wireless connection, I could control her torments from anywhere in the house, even several miles away if the connection is right. But no: I want her to gaze upon my thumb as it descends upon the button, watching her entire world be ripped in half time and time again.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!!” she roars at the top of her voice, the simultaneous vibrations of several dozen feathers caressing her body all at once driving her up a wall. Like a bolt of lightning, the sensation rips through all other senses, her body imbibing every sensation no matter how maddening it turns out to be. Thrashing her head side to side, bouncing frenetically atop the concrete floor, this wildcat of a woman is giving a valiant effort to shake off those pesky devices. However, as her energy begins to slowly wane, and not one of them having been dislodged from their perch, she figures out just how useless it is to even bother.
I shut them down, watching her collapse in her place, held up only by the cuffs binding her wrists high above. Her staggered breaths make way for gasps of rage, unable to mentally handle such torments that ravage every part of her upper body all at once.
“Oh, how pathetic!” I tell her, noting her changing demeanor, having shifted to that of visible distress scrawled across her face. “Only a minute in, and you’re already a mess! Just what kind of training have you been doing young lady? I guess we’re going to have to compensate.” I turn up the level, hearing a slight crack in her voice, watching as I intend to turn her world upside down. Initiating the devices once again, I elicit a high-pierced shriek from the little diva, already proving to be much easier to tame than I had anticipated. Even now, as she bit by agonizing bit begins to submit to her fate, I am almost disappointed in just how little it is going to take to break her in.
“MRRRRRRRRRPHEEEEEEEEEEEE!! MRRRRRRRRRRPHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she squeals, having found it within herself to actually beg her captor for mercy. Taking my phone in hand, I shut off the devices, a full two minute having conveniently passed. Walking up towards her, I gaze deep into her eyes, watching the cascades of tears fall atop her bare bosom, believing herself to have reached the worst, and I didn’t have to lift a finger.
“Save your tears,” I whisper in her ear, petting her left cheek in patronizing fashion as I reach behind me, retrieving the vibrating wand I had been saving. “You’re going to need them.”
She glances away, attempting to hide exactly what I know to be true: that she is in fear. But it is not the dear of her deranged captor standing before her, confronted with the thought of what he may inflict upon her helpless form. Oh no: she is in fear of herself, knowing just what exactly I have in store for her body, and how it will ultimately betray her mind.
“Oh, I’m sure you recognize this my dear,” I speak gently, making sure she hears every last syllable no matter how hard she resists. “I can only imagine the countless cozy nights you spent with this in between your legs: a woman’s best friend, am I right?” Reaching up towards her, I begin removing the vibrating eggs from her ribs and armpits, reconnecting them atop her bare breasts. The utter embarrassment she must feel, forced to watch as a perverted stranger gropes her nude form as such. I gaze upon my handiwork, with four devices spread across each breast, and one right atop each areola. I reach into my front pocket, wielding the same phone that could drive her absolutely wild with the press of a button.
“I don’t suppose you have any extra batteries on you, do you?” I ask her, watching the color return to her face, being infuriated by such a question. “I thought so: we’re just going to have to turn down the juice for the time being.” Tapping my thumb on the vibrant screen, I lower the intensity of the devices, now reduced to a subtle murmur across her bosom the moment I flick them on. She gasps, a reaction of sheer surprise and nothing more, seemingly relieved to feel the intensity far below that of mere moments before. However, as I watch her slowly succumb to their influence, I witness the moment she realizes just what exactly their purpose is.
“Maddening, isn’t it?” I ask, noting how her chest begins heaving with greater vigor right before my eyes. “I bet you couldn’t possibly imagine what the gentlest of sensations can ultimately bring you to. Can you feel it, Christy? Can you feel that oh-so-sweet release, slowly approaching, with nothing you can do about it?” She bows her head, concentrating on anything but the weedy vibrations tantalizing her erogenous breasts without repose. What could be sweeter than the sight of a woman resisting her own sexual gratification, that elusive sensation right in her grasp that she has chosen to stave as long as possible?
“I bet you can feel every plume, licking every square inch of your sumptuous breasts, while you can do nothing but watch as your modesty is slowly stripped from your grasp. What’s worse Chrissy? Do you prefer them drilling into your most horrendous spots for minutes on end? Of would you rather have them tease every nerve ending they can find? Here: let me help you decide.” Reaching underneath the electric wand, I set it to moderate intensity, grasping her left butt cheek before pressing it into her quivering womanhood.
“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!!” she wails, feeling the overwhelming sensation of her clit inundated with vibrations several times worse than that of her breasts. Pulling against her restraints from above, she tries desperately to move out of its way, gyrating her hips to and fro in pathetic fashion. She has only the ability to further worsen her approach, grinding her genitals across the head of the device without me having to move it even an inch. By the time she realizes just how futile her efforts truly are, she is staring over the precipice of her own libido, ready to jump off.
“That’s it: just let it all in,” I assure her, guiding her head towards the device, forcing her to watch as I raise the intensity further with the push of a knob. “You know, you could thank me for being so nice to you, giving you exactly what you want without anything in return. I mean, if I really wanted to, I could…” Pulling up my phone to her face, I shift the intensity of the vibrating eggs back up to maximum, watching her transform into the bucking bronco in the blink of an eye.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHHHHH!!!” she groans in torment, her concentration having been ripped from her possession, once again thrown into the hellish turmoil that is her ticklish suffering. Little could she predict just how sensitive her breasts would be to such torments, having been spared until this moment only when her libido had reached their high point. What she knows now, of my capability to interrupt her satisfaction at my own free will, has now shaped her approach.
“PPPPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHLEEEEEEEEEEEEEPHPHPHPH!!!” Ah the begging: even more satisfying, having to have been forced through the saliva-drenched voice of a bit-gagged captive. I didn’t even have to ask, and she is already bending to my desire by her own accord.
“Good girl,” I tell her, bringing the devices back down to their lowest intensity while, simultaneously, increasing the wand to maximum. Having relinquished all semblance of personal decency, she thrusts her hips forward, groaning with unimaginable desperation in pursuit of her well-needed orgasm. Then, not three minutes later, she explodes unto the device, shrieking in a tortured mix of relief and regret, having given me exactly what I was after.
“You understand it now, don’t you?” I ask, staring deep into her reddened eyes, now meek and docile with the shame of her own sexual gratification. “Your body belongs to me now: it is out of your control. I will break you, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but a helpless little slave for my enjoyment, and I will do it through your own body, without even leaving a scratch.” Reaching into my toolbelt, I retrieve a small syringe, filled with the same sedative I had used previously to subdue her the first time. Sticking it into her bicep, I watch as she slowly succumbs to unconsciousness.
“Get ready, my dear.”
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?311408-Don-t-Press-Your-Luck-(Chapter-One)
She moans, her weakened gullet just barely able to make one sound as she rouses herself from an unexpected slumber. Watching as her head motions itself upward, I recognize just how little time I have left before the sedative wears off completely. Whisking myself towards her bound form, I reveal the suppression device chosen especially for her: a leather bit gag, one which I had acquired several months ago, just waiting to implement it on that special someone. Hoisting it above her head, I make quick work of her before she can even realize it, inserting it in between her gleaming white teeth just in the nick of time. Its large silver rings resting atop both of her supple cheeks, I push aside her cascading locks, giving me enough room to buckle it tight and secure behind her head. By the time it is fully secure, completing Phase I of her restraints package, she begins to truly realize just how screwed she is.
She begins testing her restraints: first at her wrists, hoisting her arms high above her head, followed closely by those at her ankles, both giving her no leeway to move even one inch in either direction. The more she attempts to free herself, trying to find any weakness in her binds, the greater her desperation reveals itself. Yanking with all her might, she attempts to hoist herself off the ground with her might alone, failing to even lift herself from the concrete floors for but a second. Muscles rippling in resistance, they merely demonstrate the utter desperation she is feeling at this very moment, that which I can only enjoy from my perch just out of sight.
“MRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPHHHHHHHHHHH!!” she roars, a mixture of rage and worry saturating her voice, the slab of padded leather muffling much of her cry despite such force behind it. Even with such effort, her binds to not emanate one sound, making sure she realizes just how indifferent they are to her plight as they will always be. It is in this moment that I remember just who I am looking upon: Christian Press, that all-star striker, a terror on the field, with a fire in her just waiting to be quenched under my fingertips. Nothing could be more satisfying in this world than to have such a prized athlete under your control, the ability to do with them anything you could imagine beyond compare.
It is then I decide it to cut short this little display of hers, revealing the man who has placed her in such a precarious position.
“Just beautiful,” I suddenly spout, watching as she wrenches her head to my location, recognizing that I had been but silently observing her struggle this entire time. That look of utter shock soon morphs into indignant rage as I round her outstretched form, slowly as a predator would encircle their prey, confronting eye-to-eye my captive Christen who must just have been waiting for our little trial of terrors to begin. “Well isn’t this just my luck: just who would have thought that I would stumble upon THE Christen Press, in all her glory, just hanging around? Fate has its way of rewarding those most deserving, now doesn’t it?”
She begins fighting once again, my tender words getting under her skin as she makes clear just how difficult it is going to be taming this little wildcat in my midst. After another valiant struggle, chest heaving, nostrils flaring in exhaustion, she has only the will left to scowl at me, glaring into my soul with her penetrating gaze, hoping with all her might that itself could translate into an injuring blow. I gaze upon her outstretched form, mesmerized by her nude presence I had only seen obscured on magazine covers, that which is so much more delectable in real life. As I slowly encircle her, watching as her intense gaze follows me at every turn, I dictate to her the words that will forever haunt her so long as I have any say in it:
“That’s right Christian: struggle. Struggle with every ounce of your being, even though it won’t help. Use all that power you have at your disposal to try and get away, to try and resist the inevitable, but you will fail, I have made sure of that. If only you hadn’t opened the door to a random stranger that one afternoon, leaving yourself completely vulnerable as clueless as you were. Didn’t you find it a little too convenient: that the moment you have a power outage, there’s a maintenance man standing right on your front stoop? Just what world do we live in where a young lady puts herself in such harm’s way, placing herself directly in front of the back of his open van, just waiting to be whisked away? Tsk tsk, how disappointing, knowing just what could be lurking around the corner. Now, you’re going to suffer the consequences, young lady.”
She is absolutely livid: the experience of being rendered helpless by such a deranged psychopath was bad enough, let alone his patronizing tone stripping her of all dignity she holds, both as a woman as well as a world-class athlete. Wrapping myself around her, I now stand directly behind her person, completely out of sight but never truly out of mind. It is at this moment that she sees her own reflection, a large mirror placed directly adjacent to her subdued form. She can see every detail of her binds, the simplicity of such restraints surely boggling her mind at this very moment. What cruel fate that has befallen her, this four-point bondage system rendering every ounce of control out of her possession. However, by the time she realizes my true intent, hoisting my wriggling fingers up to the tops of her wrists high above her head, a little shred of her sanity is stripped from her possession, having realized exactly what is to become of her.
“You wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you Chrissy?”
I begin my descent, spidering the tips of my fingers down the flesh of her outstretched limbs, making my way to her helplessly rendered underarms inch by agonizing inch. I watch over her shoulder in the mirror adjacent as she bites deep into her gag, trying desperately to release the maddening sensations that are unavoidable in my gradual approach. In such a position, she has only the leverage to twist and turn mere inches to either side, bouncing up and down atop the balls of her feet to no avail.
“You can’t do anything about it, can you?” I ask her, reminding her of just what she knows deep inside, tenderly speaking in her left ear just as I begin to pass her elbows. “It’s almost like you wanted to be here.” She answers with her body, jerking away from my touch as she wrenches once again against her restraints, only to be subdued back into her prime position.
“MMMMMRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPHPHPHPHPH!!” she grunts, her stuttered breaths betraying the fact that, little by little, my influence is slowly encompassing her senses, feeling her own self-control slip right out of her fingertips. Little could she know how I recognized her true nature the moment I passed her that one day: that she is a ticklish little girl, just waiting to be whisked away to this magical place of infinite laughter. As I make my way atop her armpits, watching her eyes clenched tight hoping to all but forget that I even exist, I take pause, drinking in her exquisite form before I tear it all to shreds, eventually breaking her spirit in half.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!!” she roars at the top of her voice, a sudden reaction to my nimble fingers digging deep into the tender flesh just below her biceps. Flailing her arms about, she tries frantically to close her arms down, muscles bulging against the bonds that do not budge. “NNNNNNNNNNNNNMPHPHPHPHPHP!!” Scraping my nails across her soft skin, having seemingly never seen the light of day with their delicate texture, I revel in the sheer desperation she is embodying, trying with all her might to escape from such a childish weakness.
“It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it little girl?” I taunt her, pulsating my fingers just above her ribs, watching her try yet again to hop away from her torments. “You just couldn’t wait to come down here!”
“FFFFFHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!! NOOOOOOOOOOOMMPHPHPHPHPH!!” she squeals, thrashing her head side to side, feeling every caressing motion as her ribs are massaged by knuckles, raking over them as though they knew no bounds. Poor thing: taking me so literally, not having the common sense to understand just how, here in my chambers, she is mere putty in the palms of my hands. There is no word to describe this moment, that months of abstract imagination have been put into practice right in front of her clenched tight eyes. Little could be said to describe my absolute satisfaction of being able to touch her supple flesh, already collecting goosebumbs as I traverse her trembling form with ease.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she wails as I begin relentlessly pinching at her sides, a technique that would break even the most stalwart composures. Watching her eyes turn wide as saucers as though she had been stabbed in the heart, her horrid moans suddenly transform into uncontrollable cackles, having finally found that which would break the camel’s back. What a diva she is, acting so dramatic to something that must be commonplace for her. Had her friends not goosed her side as she was walking by to get a quick laugh out of her? Had her boyfriends not held her down, tickling her relentlessly as a means of foreplay?
Maybe I should ask her.
“What was that?” I ask, stopping her torments briefly, hearing a strained sigh for breath emanating from her gullet. “I didn’t catch that, young lady: you’re going to have to speak up next time.” I gaze into her eyes from behind, noting the tears already cascading down her cheeks, making her bare chest glisten under the bright lights. Her natural locks, flowing angelically in the breeze during each photo shoot, is now clinging to her brow, the sheer exertion taking a toll on the soccer star. Even with so much pluck and spice in her, she is rendered exhausted by what only amounted to a few moments of focused torments.
“Don’t tell me you’ve tired yourself already!” I tell her, noting the look of agonizing wrath atop her brow. “And just when I had planned out the whole weekend, just for the two of us!” There was a moment, when that word “weekend” passed through my lips, that I saw something magical. I witnessed a softening of her eyes, just briefly but long enough for me to recognize exactly what she doesn’t want me to see: fear. If this has been grueling, little could she wrap her head around the reality that was waiting for her, a full 72 hours to experience the totality of my sadistic imagination, far away from even a glimmering hope of rescue.
“Don’t worry dear,” I say, petting the side of her cheek, wrenching it away from my patronizing touch just as I knew she would. “We’re going to keep ourselves good company this evening.” I leave her, making my way through an adjacent doorway the likes of which she will never see, but sure would never want to: a small closet, lined to the brim with costumes, cuffs, chains, and row after row of my own personal collection of implements. Having been made acquainted with her, I feel it now time to show her just how futile it is to resist me, for like every submissive like her, the key to breaking them down is patience, and once you get them to that point, it will be their own bodies that begin to submit, followed closely by their minds.
Exiting the room, with tools in hand, I begin the second stage of her torments.
I make my approach, masking my footsteps as not to disturb her any further than I already had. Head slumped forward, chest heaving in utter exhaustion, her body has become the embodiment of her torments, as such a pitiful weakness is being exploited with maximum efficacy. How little effort I have expelled in bringing her to this point already, not even having broken a sweat in contrast to that which has already cascaded from her athletic form. However, for my next trick, I will bring her to the absolute depths of madness, all the while not having to life one finger.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,” I utter, shaking her out of her well-needed recuperation, glaring at me with her piercing gaze the likes of which are just so satisfying to witness. “You can thank me later.” She tightens her fists high above, the only demonstration of frustration she allots herself to have. I stand before her, watching as she does not break concentration even once, staring deep into the bottomless pit that is my soul. Before her eyes, reaching into my pocket, I reveal that which I have been saving just for her: a vibrating egg, small and pink with a collection of shrunken plumes jettisoning out from every direction. A nifty little device: completely wireless, running off two AA batteries for a maximum of four hours straight (I’d doubt she could last half that long). However, feeling them to be a bit underpowered, I tinkered a bit with their calibration, increasing the maximum vibration to mind-numbing levels.
“You recognize this, don’t you?” I ask, holding it up on the tips of my fingers, her vacant gaze giving me no confirmation. “Don’t tell me you haven’t indulged, having spent so much time on the road with nothing but a bunch of women, not once slipping one of these into your panties before practice? You disappoint me, Chrissy.” Not once could I picture this Portland-native not satisfying herself in such a manner, her ravenous libido aching the moment she lays eyes on it. No, I understand her pride as a woman keeps her from discussing such matters with strangers, let alone deranged kidnappers who has dragged her into his depraved dungeon.
“Let’s just say: I’ve found quite the use for these little machines!” I exclaim, her determination not wavering as I reach back to a small box set behind her, revealing the two dozen of them that had been lying in wait for her. I take a spool of medical tape and, one by one, begin attaching them across her body: beginning with two in each armpit, I move down towards her ribs, attaching three on each side, covering their entire surface area. I attach two just atop her hips, finishing with two across her belly button, one above and one below. Gazing upon my handiwork, I revel in there being not one square inch of flesh left exposed, covered by the myriad of neon feathers primed for action. I move to the corner of the room, approaching a small bench where I will watch it all unfold.
“Let’s start with some interval training,” I tell her, seating myself atop the chair at an angle. “Just to get you warmed up!” Taking out my phone, I access the special app synchronized to the vibrating eggs, setting the intensity to mid-level. Theoretically, with merely a wireless connection, I could control her torments from anywhere in the house, even several miles away if the connection is right. But no: I want her to gaze upon my thumb as it descends upon the button, watching her entire world be ripped in half time and time again.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!!” she roars at the top of her voice, the simultaneous vibrations of several dozen feathers caressing her body all at once driving her up a wall. Like a bolt of lightning, the sensation rips through all other senses, her body imbibing every sensation no matter how maddening it turns out to be. Thrashing her head side to side, bouncing frenetically atop the concrete floor, this wildcat of a woman is giving a valiant effort to shake off those pesky devices. However, as her energy begins to slowly wane, and not one of them having been dislodged from their perch, she figures out just how useless it is to even bother.
I shut them down, watching her collapse in her place, held up only by the cuffs binding her wrists high above. Her staggered breaths make way for gasps of rage, unable to mentally handle such torments that ravage every part of her upper body all at once.
“Oh, how pathetic!” I tell her, noting her changing demeanor, having shifted to that of visible distress scrawled across her face. “Only a minute in, and you’re already a mess! Just what kind of training have you been doing young lady? I guess we’re going to have to compensate.” I turn up the level, hearing a slight crack in her voice, watching as I intend to turn her world upside down. Initiating the devices once again, I elicit a high-pierced shriek from the little diva, already proving to be much easier to tame than I had anticipated. Even now, as she bit by agonizing bit begins to submit to her fate, I am almost disappointed in just how little it is going to take to break her in.
“MRRRRRRRRRPHEEEEEEEEEEEE!! MRRRRRRRRRRPHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she squeals, having found it within herself to actually beg her captor for mercy. Taking my phone in hand, I shut off the devices, a full two minute having conveniently passed. Walking up towards her, I gaze deep into her eyes, watching the cascades of tears fall atop her bare bosom, believing herself to have reached the worst, and I didn’t have to lift a finger.
“Save your tears,” I whisper in her ear, petting her left cheek in patronizing fashion as I reach behind me, retrieving the vibrating wand I had been saving. “You’re going to need them.”
She glances away, attempting to hide exactly what I know to be true: that she is in fear. But it is not the dear of her deranged captor standing before her, confronted with the thought of what he may inflict upon her helpless form. Oh no: she is in fear of herself, knowing just what exactly I have in store for her body, and how it will ultimately betray her mind.
“Oh, I’m sure you recognize this my dear,” I speak gently, making sure she hears every last syllable no matter how hard she resists. “I can only imagine the countless cozy nights you spent with this in between your legs: a woman’s best friend, am I right?” Reaching up towards her, I begin removing the vibrating eggs from her ribs and armpits, reconnecting them atop her bare breasts. The utter embarrassment she must feel, forced to watch as a perverted stranger gropes her nude form as such. I gaze upon my handiwork, with four devices spread across each breast, and one right atop each areola. I reach into my front pocket, wielding the same phone that could drive her absolutely wild with the press of a button.
“I don’t suppose you have any extra batteries on you, do you?” I ask her, watching the color return to her face, being infuriated by such a question. “I thought so: we’re just going to have to turn down the juice for the time being.” Tapping my thumb on the vibrant screen, I lower the intensity of the devices, now reduced to a subtle murmur across her bosom the moment I flick them on. She gasps, a reaction of sheer surprise and nothing more, seemingly relieved to feel the intensity far below that of mere moments before. However, as I watch her slowly succumb to their influence, I witness the moment she realizes just what exactly their purpose is.
“Maddening, isn’t it?” I ask, noting how her chest begins heaving with greater vigor right before my eyes. “I bet you couldn’t possibly imagine what the gentlest of sensations can ultimately bring you to. Can you feel it, Christy? Can you feel that oh-so-sweet release, slowly approaching, with nothing you can do about it?” She bows her head, concentrating on anything but the weedy vibrations tantalizing her erogenous breasts without repose. What could be sweeter than the sight of a woman resisting her own sexual gratification, that elusive sensation right in her grasp that she has chosen to stave as long as possible?
“I bet you can feel every plume, licking every square inch of your sumptuous breasts, while you can do nothing but watch as your modesty is slowly stripped from your grasp. What’s worse Chrissy? Do you prefer them drilling into your most horrendous spots for minutes on end? Of would you rather have them tease every nerve ending they can find? Here: let me help you decide.” Reaching underneath the electric wand, I set it to moderate intensity, grasping her left butt cheek before pressing it into her quivering womanhood.
“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPH!!!” she wails, feeling the overwhelming sensation of her clit inundated with vibrations several times worse than that of her breasts. Pulling against her restraints from above, she tries desperately to move out of its way, gyrating her hips to and fro in pathetic fashion. She has only the ability to further worsen her approach, grinding her genitals across the head of the device without me having to move it even an inch. By the time she realizes just how futile her efforts truly are, she is staring over the precipice of her own libido, ready to jump off.
“That’s it: just let it all in,” I assure her, guiding her head towards the device, forcing her to watch as I raise the intensity further with the push of a knob. “You know, you could thank me for being so nice to you, giving you exactly what you want without anything in return. I mean, if I really wanted to, I could…” Pulling up my phone to her face, I shift the intensity of the vibrating eggs back up to maximum, watching her transform into the bucking bronco in the blink of an eye.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHHHHH!!!” she groans in torment, her concentration having been ripped from her possession, once again thrown into the hellish turmoil that is her ticklish suffering. Little could she predict just how sensitive her breasts would be to such torments, having been spared until this moment only when her libido had reached their high point. What she knows now, of my capability to interrupt her satisfaction at my own free will, has now shaped her approach.
“PPPPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHLEEEEEEEEEEEEEPHPHPHPH!!!” Ah the begging: even more satisfying, having to have been forced through the saliva-drenched voice of a bit-gagged captive. I didn’t even have to ask, and she is already bending to my desire by her own accord.
“Good girl,” I tell her, bringing the devices back down to their lowest intensity while, simultaneously, increasing the wand to maximum. Having relinquished all semblance of personal decency, she thrusts her hips forward, groaning with unimaginable desperation in pursuit of her well-needed orgasm. Then, not three minutes later, she explodes unto the device, shrieking in a tortured mix of relief and regret, having given me exactly what I was after.
“You understand it now, don’t you?” I ask, staring deep into her reddened eyes, now meek and docile with the shame of her own sexual gratification. “Your body belongs to me now: it is out of your control. I will break you, piece by piece, until there is nothing left but a helpless little slave for my enjoyment, and I will do it through your own body, without even leaving a scratch.” Reaching into my toolbelt, I retrieve a small syringe, filled with the same sedative I had used previously to subdue her the first time. Sticking it into her bicep, I watch as she slowly succumbs to unconsciousness.
“Get ready, my dear.”
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