That was a bit more of a break from writing than I wanted it to be. There're things I can point to, medical issues that make it hard to get in a good mood for writing erotica, things getting busy at work, and so on and so forth. But those aren't stories of women being subjected to sanity destroying levels of tickle torture and thus are unimportant. So here's a short story while I try to get back in the swing of things.
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If someone had asked Helen what her depiction of hell was, she'd have said that it was being tickled. She still held that view today, if anything she'd argue it even more fiercely than before. It was just that she now understood that the tickling she'd been imagining wouldn't even be considered child's play compared to the complete and utter hell that she now lived through on a daily basis. She longed for the days where her sadistic boyfriend tickling her feet for a minute had been all it took to convince her to suck his dick like a woman dying of thirst in order to get him to stop. Any time her tormentors showed her that level of mercy was cause for her to weep with joy now.
Now every day was spent in worse ticklish agony than she could've possibly imagined. The blonde 20-year-old college student had no idea how long she'd spent in captivity. It was impossible to tell time when 10 seconds of long nails wiggling against her feet felt like an eternity of torture, and the nails would continue for hours at a time. All she knew was that that she'd been carrying groceries back to her car one night when a rag soaked in chloroform had been pressed against her mouth. She'd awoken to find herself tied spread eagle to what felt like a bed. Helen knew that she was naked thanks to the draft she felt across her bare skin, but she couldn't gather any more information due to the the heavy blindfold kept permanently over her eyes and the noise cancelling headphones over her ears. Even her ability to scream for help had been taken from her with a ball-gag.
What she did know was that she was being tickled. The strict sensory deprivation had meant she'd had nothing to focus on other than the long nails that had woken her up by slowly scratching at her feet. The touch had been maddening. Helen had screamed like a banshee into her gag from what felt like hours of the nails slowly, methodically exploring every square centimeter of her baby soft size 8 soles. Her peels of laughter and attempts to beg through her gag hadn't helped her. Showing any reaction at all only made things worse.
Helen had soon figured out that she'd had at least half a dozen tormentors. Soon after the nails had mapped out what spots on her feet were the worst better than even Helen herself had known another pair had joined in. And another and another and another and another. Soon Helen was suffering worse than she had known had been possible courtesy of 60 fingers roaming across her taut, ticklish, naked body. Her feet, calves, knees, thighs, hips, sides, stomach, bellybutton, ribs, and underarms were all worked. Vibrators had been pressed against her unwillingly wet pussy and rock hard nipples to drive her wild with pleasure through the constant tickling. She'd been tickle tortured until she was too racked by her sobs of misery to even laugh anymore.
The other things Helen had managed to quickly figure out was that disobedience wasn't in the slightest bit tolerated. The gang tickling had eventually given way to her mercifully receiving a break, only for Helen to immediately lose it in favor of more tickling. Her gag had been removed so her tormentors could feed her a thin broth. Helen had been foolish enough to spitefully turn her head away from the spoon in an act of defiance. Those 5 seconds of defiance had earned her 4 hours of having her feet oiled up with baby lotion and scrubbed with a pair of hairbrushes. Helen had screamed herself hoarse with laughter by the time the spoon of now cold soup had been pressed against her lips again. Since then she'd had the good sense to never give them the slightest hint that she was resisting anything other than being tickled.
Since then the only times Helen wasn't being tortured were when she was allowed to sleep, during designated meals, and when she was being transported to and from the toilet. Baths were administered twice a day, one at morning and one at night, in the form of soapy toothbrushes agonizingly scrubbing everywhere from the tips of her toes up to her neck. If she was lucky her captors would entertain themselves by sexually toying with her. Fingers and sex toys would manipulate her crotch and DD breasts better than any boyfriend had ever managed to before. If she was unlucky, they'd tickle her through it. Helen's concept of what she considered to be hellish torture was being updated on a daily basis. Her new least favorite way to spend the time, and correspondingly what she now spent the majority of every day doing, was to be tortured by being trapped on the edge of an orgasm while being tickled. Her torturers had gotten inhumanly good at it. They were somehow able to keep her on the edge for hours while at the same time gang tickling her entire body for maximum effect. The increased sensitivity of spending all of her time frustratingly turned on pushed her already ticklish body to new heights. Helen hadn't been allowed to cum since her first day of captivity. She was never allowed to go past being a single feather's flick against her much abused pussy from orgasm no matter how much she screamed for release into her gag. In her lust driven madness Helen had sucked off more men and eaten out more women in the past week than she had in her entire life. The most reward she'd ever gotten out of it had been being left to stew in her arousal until she fell asleep out of exhaustion rather than being tickled unconscious.
Helen had long since stopped wondering why they were doing this to her. The answer was obvious: they enjoyed it. There was no other possible answer. The only reason Helen could fathom was that her captors got some insane, sadistic joy out of making her life a living hell. They derived enough entertainment out of it for them to devote every waking second to torturing her. Helen no longer even dreamed of being rescued. At this point, she spent every moment she remained lucid before the tickling took even her ability to think away from her that she'd soon be driven insane by the torture. Her only hope anymore was that they'd so thoroughly break her that she'd come to love her new living tickle hell.
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If someone had asked Helen what her depiction of hell was, she'd have said that it was being tickled. She still held that view today, if anything she'd argue it even more fiercely than before. It was just that she now understood that the tickling she'd been imagining wouldn't even be considered child's play compared to the complete and utter hell that she now lived through on a daily basis. She longed for the days where her sadistic boyfriend tickling her feet for a minute had been all it took to convince her to suck his dick like a woman dying of thirst in order to get him to stop. Any time her tormentors showed her that level of mercy was cause for her to weep with joy now.
Now every day was spent in worse ticklish agony than she could've possibly imagined. The blonde 20-year-old college student had no idea how long she'd spent in captivity. It was impossible to tell time when 10 seconds of long nails wiggling against her feet felt like an eternity of torture, and the nails would continue for hours at a time. All she knew was that that she'd been carrying groceries back to her car one night when a rag soaked in chloroform had been pressed against her mouth. She'd awoken to find herself tied spread eagle to what felt like a bed. Helen knew that she was naked thanks to the draft she felt across her bare skin, but she couldn't gather any more information due to the the heavy blindfold kept permanently over her eyes and the noise cancelling headphones over her ears. Even her ability to scream for help had been taken from her with a ball-gag.
What she did know was that she was being tickled. The strict sensory deprivation had meant she'd had nothing to focus on other than the long nails that had woken her up by slowly scratching at her feet. The touch had been maddening. Helen had screamed like a banshee into her gag from what felt like hours of the nails slowly, methodically exploring every square centimeter of her baby soft size 8 soles. Her peels of laughter and attempts to beg through her gag hadn't helped her. Showing any reaction at all only made things worse.
Helen had soon figured out that she'd had at least half a dozen tormentors. Soon after the nails had mapped out what spots on her feet were the worst better than even Helen herself had known another pair had joined in. And another and another and another and another. Soon Helen was suffering worse than she had known had been possible courtesy of 60 fingers roaming across her taut, ticklish, naked body. Her feet, calves, knees, thighs, hips, sides, stomach, bellybutton, ribs, and underarms were all worked. Vibrators had been pressed against her unwillingly wet pussy and rock hard nipples to drive her wild with pleasure through the constant tickling. She'd been tickle tortured until she was too racked by her sobs of misery to even laugh anymore.
The other things Helen had managed to quickly figure out was that disobedience wasn't in the slightest bit tolerated. The gang tickling had eventually given way to her mercifully receiving a break, only for Helen to immediately lose it in favor of more tickling. Her gag had been removed so her tormentors could feed her a thin broth. Helen had been foolish enough to spitefully turn her head away from the spoon in an act of defiance. Those 5 seconds of defiance had earned her 4 hours of having her feet oiled up with baby lotion and scrubbed with a pair of hairbrushes. Helen had screamed herself hoarse with laughter by the time the spoon of now cold soup had been pressed against her lips again. Since then she'd had the good sense to never give them the slightest hint that she was resisting anything other than being tickled.
Since then the only times Helen wasn't being tortured were when she was allowed to sleep, during designated meals, and when she was being transported to and from the toilet. Baths were administered twice a day, one at morning and one at night, in the form of soapy toothbrushes agonizingly scrubbing everywhere from the tips of her toes up to her neck. If she was lucky her captors would entertain themselves by sexually toying with her. Fingers and sex toys would manipulate her crotch and DD breasts better than any boyfriend had ever managed to before. If she was unlucky, they'd tickle her through it. Helen's concept of what she considered to be hellish torture was being updated on a daily basis. Her new least favorite way to spend the time, and correspondingly what she now spent the majority of every day doing, was to be tortured by being trapped on the edge of an orgasm while being tickled. Her torturers had gotten inhumanly good at it. They were somehow able to keep her on the edge for hours while at the same time gang tickling her entire body for maximum effect. The increased sensitivity of spending all of her time frustratingly turned on pushed her already ticklish body to new heights. Helen hadn't been allowed to cum since her first day of captivity. She was never allowed to go past being a single feather's flick against her much abused pussy from orgasm no matter how much she screamed for release into her gag. In her lust driven madness Helen had sucked off more men and eaten out more women in the past week than she had in her entire life. The most reward she'd ever gotten out of it had been being left to stew in her arousal until she fell asleep out of exhaustion rather than being tickled unconscious.
Helen had long since stopped wondering why they were doing this to her. The answer was obvious: they enjoyed it. There was no other possible answer. The only reason Helen could fathom was that her captors got some insane, sadistic joy out of making her life a living hell. They derived enough entertainment out of it for them to devote every waking second to torturing her. Helen no longer even dreamed of being rescued. At this point, she spent every moment she remained lucid before the tickling took even her ability to think away from her that she'd soon be driven insane by the torture. Her only hope anymore was that they'd so thoroughly break her that she'd come to love her new living tickle hell.
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