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Part 2 can be found here
Detective Olivia Bensons encounter with tickle fetishist and sadist, Laura continues.
"Still playing detective?" Laura's nails traced the edge of Olivia's ear as the detective strained against her ropes. Sweat soaked through Olivia's white tank top, plastering it to skin that prickled with goosebumps.
Laura's fingertip plunged deeper into Olivia's navel, twisting with cruel precision. Olivia's spine arched violently off the chair, muffled shrieks tearing through the gag as her ribs convulsed in rapid spasms. The chains rattled overhead with each jerking twist of her body.
"You feel that?" Laura hissed, her breath hot against Olivia's damp temple. "That's your dignity unraveling." Her nail scraped the inner ridge—a white-hot spark of sensation that made Olivia's thighs slam together and her toes curl until her ankle ropes bit deep. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with sweat on her trembling jawline.
Olivia couldn't believe how excruciating tickling could be. Her bellybutton felt like a live wire fused to her spine, every microscopic wiggle of Laura's finger detonating nerve endings she never knew existed. It wasn't pain—it was worse. A biological betrayal that hijacked breath, shredded control, and turned her own laughter into a weapon against her.
"Mmmph! MMMPHHH!" The gag muffled her screams into desperate, wet pleas. Her head thrashed, damp hair whipping across her face. "LLLSSSSTTTOPPP!" The rubber distorted the words, but the raw terror in her throat was unmistakable. "PPPHHLLLEASSSE! LLLAAURAA! STOP!" Each syllable tore out between convulsive gasps, her diaphragm spasming violently beneath Laura's relentless finger.
Laura tilted her head, a mock frown creasing her brow. Her finger never ceased its slow, deep corkscrew motion inside Olivia's hypersensitive navel. "Stop?" she echoed, her voice dripping with feigned confusion. "Stop what, Detective?" She leaned closer, her breath hot on Olivia's tear-streaked cheek. "Stop this?" She gave a sudden, vicious little dig upwards with her fingertip. Olivia's entire body snapped taut like a bowstring, a choked, gurgling shriek escaping the gag. "Or stop this?" Laura added softly, dragging her nail in a slow, deliberate circle around the inflamed rim of Olivia's navel.
The detective's muffled pleas dissolved into frantic, wet sobs. Her eyes, wide and desperate behind the blindfold, pleaded uselessly. Laura watched the raw terror, the utter loss of control, with a predator's cold fascination. "I'm afraid I don't speak 'gagged'," Laura murmured, her tone light, almost conversational, as her fingertip resumed its relentless, probing wiggle deep within the tortured cavity. "You'll have to be clearer." She punctuated the lie by tracing a feather-light path with her other hand down Olivia's quivering flank, finding the dip of her lowest rib and pressing hard. Olivia bucked wildly, her chains screaming against the ceiling pulley.
Laura withdrew her finger from Olivia's navel abruptly. The sudden absence was almost as shocking as the torment. Olivia gasped, her body trembling uncontrollably, slick with sweat and tears. Laura leaned close, her lips brushing the shell of Olivia's ear. "I think," she whispered, the words chillingly deliberate, "you can move too much." Her hand closed around Olivia's ankle, fingers digging into the tendon above the rope binding. "Let's tighten you up, shall we, Olivia?" The promise hung heavy in the air.
With swift, practiced movements, Laura grabbed the crank handle controlling the chains overhead. She gave it three sharp, forceful turns. The chains groaned, ratcheting tighter, lifting Olivia's bound wrists higher until her shoulders screamed in protest. Her torso stretched taut, ribs straining against her tank top, her navel still flushed and vulnerable. Laura secured the crank lock with a metallic clack. Olivia hung suspended, every muscle trembling, her breath reduced to shallow, panicked hitches.
Laura walked to her worktable, the shears gleaming under the harsh light. She picked them up, the cold steel clicking open and shut in her gloved hand. Olivia flinched at the sound, her blindfolded face turning towards the noise. Laura returned, the blades hovering near the hem of Olivia's sweat-soaked tank top. "We need better access," Laura murmured, her voice low and thick with intent. "This fabric is... in the way." The shears' cold tip traced a deliberate line just below Olivia's navel, making her stomach muscles flinch violently.
With a sudden, sharp rrrippp, Laura sliced cleanly up the center of the tank top, parting the damp cotton like paper. Olivia gasped as cool air washed over her exposed skin. The fabric fell away, revealing her heaving stomach, the deep indent of her navel still visibly flushed from Laura's earlier invasion. Laura tossed the ruined garment aside, her gaze fixed on the vulnerable expanse of taut, ticklish flesh now fully displayed. "Much better," she breathed, her gloved hand hovering just above Olivia's trembling belly.
Laura's eyes drifted upwards, settling on the damp, restrictive sports bra still binding Olivia's chest. "Let's get these free too while we're at it," she murmured, her voice thick with predatory intent. The cold steel shears slid beneath the elastic band at Olivia's sternum. With a single, decisive snick, Laura severed the central clasp. The bra sprang open, peeling away to reveal Olivia's tan C-cup breasts, their dark nipples instantly hardening in the cool air and under Laura's intense scrutiny. Olivia whimpered, instinctively trying to hunch forward, but the chains held her mercilessly open.
Laura tossed the ruined bra aside, her gaze raking over Olivia's now fully exposed torso – the trembling belly, the vulnerable navel, the exposed breasts. She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Olivia's ear, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "One last chance, Detective. Delete my file. Wipe me from the system. Do it now, and this," her gloved hand swept down, fingertips grazing the hypersensitive skin just above Olivia's pubic bone, making her jolt, "ends. I walk away, and you get to keep what's left of your dignity." Her breath was hot against Olivia's neck. "Just say the word. Beg me to stop, and agree."
Olivia's mind screamed through the haze of ticklish agony. Delete the file? Let this monster vanish? Her jaw clenched behind the gag, teeth grinding into the rubber. She saw the faces of Laura's victims – the nurse, the student, the teacher – their terror echoing in her own muffled cries. To delete the file wasn't just surrender; it was betrayal. It was abandoning them, abandoning justice. With a surge of defiance that burned through the humiliation, she managed a sharp, furious shake of her head, the chains rattling overhead with the violent motion. Her muffled cry was unintelligible, but the refusal was absolute.
Laura's predatory smile widened, a flash of genuine delight in her cruel eyes. "I was hoping you'd say no," she purred, her voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. She stepped back, surveying her trembling, half-naked captive. "Such admirable stubbornness. Now," she whispered, her tone shifting to a chilling promise, "it's time to show you true tickle torture." She reached into the deep pocket of her dark coat, withdrawing not a tool, but a small, unassuming bottle of massage oil. The clear liquid glistened under the harsh light.
Olivia's breath hitched, a fresh wave of dread washing over her. She knew this step. Laura meticulously covered her victims in slick oil to amplify sensitivity, transforming every touch into an electric current, making her nails and other implements glide across the skin with terrifying ease. Laura uncapped the bottle, the faint, cloying scent of coconut filling the air. "This," Laura murmured, pouring a generous amount onto her gloved palm, "is going to make you sing." The oil pooled, thick and viscous.
Laura's oil-slicked hands descended onto Olivia's exposed stomach without warning. The detective gasped as the cool liquid hit her skin, followed instantly by the warm glide of Laura's palms spreading it in broad, deliberate strokes. The oil coated her trembling belly, her ribs, her flanks, making her skin gleam under the harsh light. Every nerve ending felt magnified, hypersensitive, anticipating the torment to come. Laura worked methodically, ensuring every inch of Olivia's torso was slick and vulnerable, her touch deceptively gentle for now.
"Let's start with your flanks, shall we, Olivia?" Laura murmured, her voice a low, intimate purr. Her thumbs found the soft indentations just below Olivia's lowest ribs – those notoriously ticklish hollows where the skin was thin and nerves clustered. With agonizing slowness, she began to knead. Not tickling yet, just deep, rhythmic pressure, working the oil into the muscle. Olivia tensed, her breath catching. The slickness amplified the heat of Laura's touch, the glide of her thumbs maddening. It was preparation, a predator tenderizing its prey. Laura leaned close, her breath hot on Olivia's neck. "So responsive already," she whispered. "Just wait."
Laura's voice, smooth and deliberate, wove through the tension. "Remember the nurse? How she shrieked when I found this exact spot?" Her thumbs pressed deeper into Olivia's flanks, circling slowly. Olivia flinched. The words painted vivid, unwanted pictures, her mind involuntarily recalling the victim files – the descriptions of unbearable sensitivity. Laura’s narration wasn't just taunting; it was a scalpel, peeling back layers of Olivia’s composure, making her hyper-aware of every nerve ending beneath those slick, probing thumbs. The anticipation coiled tighter than the chains.
Suddenly, Laura shifted. Her thumbs stopped kneading. Instead, her fingertips – sharp, relentless – spider-walked upwards, tracing the slick, vulnerable underside of Olivia’s ribs. It wasn’t a tickle; it was an invasion. Olivia’s body jerked violently, a strangled gasp tearing past the gag. Her chains rattled like angry teeth. Laura’s touch was precise, clinical, exploiting the oil-slicked pathways to send jolts of pure, nerve-shredding sensation straight to Olivia’s core. Every involuntary flinch only spurred Laura on.
"Look at you," Laura murmured, her voice a velvet blade against Olivia’s ear. Her fingers continued their relentless ascent, skimming the slick curve beneath Olivia’s breast. "Sweating, shaking... completely undone by a little touch." A low chuckle escaped her. "And we’ve barely begun, Detective. I have hours planned. Days, even. The file? It’s irrelevant now. You’re mine. Every gasp, every twitch, every desperate, muffled plea... it’s all for me." Her fingertips brushed the sensitive lower swell of Olivia’s breast, making her arch off the chair with a choked cry. "There’s no escape from this. Only surrender."
Laura leaned back slightly, admiring the sheen of oil on Olivia’s trembling torso. "Think of it," she purred, her gloved hand hovering over Olivia’s slick navel. "The others broke. They begged. They promised anything." Her finger dipped, tracing the oiled rim without entering. "But you? You’re stubborn. I adore that. It means I get to explore every single inch of you." Her eyes locked onto Olivia’s blindfolded face, though Olivia couldn’t see it. "Every hidden spot, every flinch, every secret tickle spot you never knew existed... I’ll find them all. And I’ll make you scream with laughter until you forget your own name."
Olivia began sobbing as Laura raked her long nails from her taut armpits down her sides to her stomach and into her belly button. Laura's nails left trails of raw sensation across hypersensitive skin. Olivia’s body convulsed, her chains rattling violently as the nails scraped over her ribs, dug into the soft hollows of her flanks, and finally plunged deep into her navel. The invasion was relentless, the slickness amplifying every cruel twist and jab. Muffled screams tore from Olivia’s throat, her head thrashing side to side, tears soaking the blindfold as her torso arched and writhed against the unyielding restraints.
"Oh, don't cry, Olivia," Laura cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy as she continued her merciless exploration. Her gloved fingers danced across the detective's oiled abdomen, tracing the defined muscles that quivered beneath the touch. "Tears are so... unbecoming for a woman of your stature." She punctuated the taunt by dragging a single, sharp nail slowly around the rim of Olivia’s navel, circling the tortured entrance without entering – yet. The anticipation was its own exquisite torment, making Olivia’s stomach muscles flutter uncontrollably. "Save your strength, darling. You’ll need it."
Olivia couldn't think straight. The blindfold plunged her world into suffocating darkness, amplifying every slick slide of Laura’s hands, every brush of air against her exposed skin. She was reduced to pure sensation – the burning stretch in her shoulders from the chains, the cool air on her sweat-slicked breasts, the unbearable vulnerability of her oiled belly and navel. The gag choked her screams into pathetic whimpers, silencing her pleas, her threats, her desperate attempts at negotiation. She was trapped in her own body, a prisoner to the madwoman’s touch. Only the rough denim of her jeans offered any semblance of cover, a cruel reminder of the dignity she’d lost.
Laura’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and clinical, a professor lecturing on torture. "You learn things, Olivia, after so many... sessions." Her gloved fingertip tapped lightly, almost thoughtfully, on Olivia’s slick flank. "Hairbrushes, the stiff-bristled kind? Devastating on soles. Turns the toughest feet into giggling messes." Her hand drifted upwards, nails grazing the underside of Olivia’s oiled breast, making her flinch. "Fingernails, sharp and precise? Perfect for armpits. Gets deep under the skin, right to the nerve." She paused, her breath hot near Olivia’s ear. "But nipples? Ah. That’s where the electric toothbrush shines. The vibration... it bypasses the mind entirely. Pure, helpless, shuddering agony." Olivia’s breath hitched, her chest tightening in instinctive terror at the implication.
With a flourish, Laura pulled two sleek, white electric toothbrushes from her coat pocket. They weren’t ordinary; they were high-end models, vibrating with a quiet, menacing hum. She flicked one on, then off, the sudden buzz slicing through the room’s tension like a knife. The sound made Olivia flinch violently, her chains rattling. Laura held the buzzing brush inches from Olivia’s left nipple, the air vibrating against the hypersensitive peak. "See?" Laura murmured, her voice a dark caress. "Just the threat of it makes you tremble. Imagine the reality." She flicked it off again, the silence somehow worse. Then, with agonizing slowness, she brought the dormant brush closer, the plastic tip hovering just above the puckered, vulnerable flesh. Olivia held her breath, her entire body rigid with dread.
Laura’s free hand, slick with oil, suddenly clamped onto Olivia’s left breast, fingers splaying possessively. The detective gasped, her body jerking against the chains. "Hold still, darling," Laura purred, her voice thick with anticipation. "Wouldn’t want to miss the target." With deliberate, theatrical slowness, she lowered the buzzing toothbrush toward Olivia’s left nipple. The vibrations intensified as it neared, a high-pitched whine filling the air. The plastic tip touched the very edge of the areola. Olivia’s muffled scream tore through the gag, her body arching off the chair as if struck by lightning. The sensation wasn’t tickling; it was a raw, electric shock of pure, nerve-shredding overstimulation that radiated through her entire chest.
Laura held the buzzing brush firmly against the hypersensitive peak, watching Olivia’s body convulse with scientific detachment. "Ah, yes," she murmured, her eyes gleaming. "Just like the teacher. That beautiful, uncontrollable shudder." The vibrations burrowed deep, bypassing thought, reducing Olivia to a trembling, gasping mess. Her nipple hardened painfully under the assault, the sensation magnified tenfold by the oil and the sheer violation of it. Tears streamed freely down Olivia’s cheeks beneath the blindfold, her choked sobs mingling with the relentless mechanical buzz. Laura’s other hand remained clamped on Olivia’s breast, anchoring her, ensuring she couldn’t twist away from the torment.
With a cruel smirk, Laura pressed the second toothbrush against Olivia’s right nipple. The dual assault sent shockwaves of raw, electric sensation radiating through Olivia’s chest and down her spine. Her back arched violently, the chains biting into her wrists as she strained against them, every muscle locked in agonized spasm. The gag muffled her screams into desperate, animalistic whimpers. Laura leaned in, her voice a low, intimate purr against Olivia’s ear. "Feel that? It’s your nerves singing for me. Begging for release." She increased the pressure slightly, the vibrations intensifying, turning the peaks into burning points of pure, unrelenting agony.
Laura’s eyes flickered downward, drawn by the dark, spreading stain blooming across the front of Olivia’s jeans. A slow, predatory smile curved her lips. "Oh, Olivia," she breathed, her voice thick with dark amusement. "Look at you. Soaking through your denim like some desperate nympho." She withdrew the toothbrushes abruptly, silencing their mechanical buzz. The sudden absence was its own shock. Olivia sagged, gasping, her body trembling uncontrollably, slick with sweat and oil. Laura traced a gloved finger along the damp denim seam between Olivia’s legs, the touch light but deliberate. "Is this how the great Detective Benson fights crime? By getting wet for her captor?"
Olivia froze, mortification crashing over her like ice water. She hadn’t consciously registered the building tension low in her belly, the involuntary clenching against the relentless, nerve-shredding torture. But the evidence was undeniable, the dampness a humiliating betrayal. Her hips had been moving, grinding almost imperceptibly against the hard seat of the chair, seeking friction, seeking anything to counter the overwhelming sensory assault. It wasn't arousal, not truly – it was a raw, primal response, a desperate nervous system seeking an outlet for the unbearable energy Laura had unleashed. The realization choked her, worse than the gag.
Laura’s laugh was low and rich, a sound of pure, dark delight. She leaned close, her oiled glove tracing the soaked denim seam with agonizing precision. "Poor, proud Olivia," she murmured, her breath hot against the detective’s neck. "Your body knows what your mind denies. It wants this. It needs it." Her fingertip pressed harder, finding the swollen, sensitive nub beneath the wet fabric. Olivia jerked, a strangled gasp escaping the gag. "But," Laura continued, her voice hardening into a razor's edge, "only obedient tickle toys get to come. The stubborn ones? They get edged.
Laura withdrew her hand abruptly, leaving Olivia trembling on the precipice. "You want release?" she asked, her tone suddenly conversational, almost bored. "Delete the file. Beg me. Promise me anything." She picked up one of the electric toothbrushes again, flicking it on. The menacing buzz filled the silence. "Or," she purred, bringing the vibrating head back towards Olivia’s slick, aching nipple, "you can stay like this. Forever. Teetering on the edge, feeling every nerve scream, never falling over." The plastic tip hovered a millimeter from the tortured peak, the vibrations radiating through Olivia’s chest, a cruel echo of the denied climax. "Choose, Detective. Orgasm... or endless torment."
Olivia’s mind fractured. The dual assault of denied pleasure and the threat of renewed torture warred with her professional duty. Her body screamed for release, hips straining against the chair, slickness pooling anew. The gag tasted of salt and rubber, her muffled whimpers a desperate plea. She felt the phantom vibrations intensify, her nipples raw and hypersensitive, the oil making every nerve ending sing. Laura’s eyes, cold and expectant, bored into her soul through the blindfold. The file was her only shield, her only link to stopping this monster. To delete it was surrender, annihilation.
To be continued...
Detective Olivia Bensons encounter with tickle fetishist and sadist, Laura continues.
"Still playing detective?" Laura's nails traced the edge of Olivia's ear as the detective strained against her ropes. Sweat soaked through Olivia's white tank top, plastering it to skin that prickled with goosebumps.
Laura's fingertip plunged deeper into Olivia's navel, twisting with cruel precision. Olivia's spine arched violently off the chair, muffled shrieks tearing through the gag as her ribs convulsed in rapid spasms. The chains rattled overhead with each jerking twist of her body.
"You feel that?" Laura hissed, her breath hot against Olivia's damp temple. "That's your dignity unraveling." Her nail scraped the inner ridge—a white-hot spark of sensation that made Olivia's thighs slam together and her toes curl until her ankle ropes bit deep. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with sweat on her trembling jawline.
Olivia couldn't believe how excruciating tickling could be. Her bellybutton felt like a live wire fused to her spine, every microscopic wiggle of Laura's finger detonating nerve endings she never knew existed. It wasn't pain—it was worse. A biological betrayal that hijacked breath, shredded control, and turned her own laughter into a weapon against her.
"Mmmph! MMMPHHH!" The gag muffled her screams into desperate, wet pleas. Her head thrashed, damp hair whipping across her face. "LLLSSSSTTTOPPP!" The rubber distorted the words, but the raw terror in her throat was unmistakable. "PPPHHLLLEASSSE! LLLAAURAA! STOP!" Each syllable tore out between convulsive gasps, her diaphragm spasming violently beneath Laura's relentless finger.
Laura tilted her head, a mock frown creasing her brow. Her finger never ceased its slow, deep corkscrew motion inside Olivia's hypersensitive navel. "Stop?" she echoed, her voice dripping with feigned confusion. "Stop what, Detective?" She leaned closer, her breath hot on Olivia's tear-streaked cheek. "Stop this?" She gave a sudden, vicious little dig upwards with her fingertip. Olivia's entire body snapped taut like a bowstring, a choked, gurgling shriek escaping the gag. "Or stop this?" Laura added softly, dragging her nail in a slow, deliberate circle around the inflamed rim of Olivia's navel.
The detective's muffled pleas dissolved into frantic, wet sobs. Her eyes, wide and desperate behind the blindfold, pleaded uselessly. Laura watched the raw terror, the utter loss of control, with a predator's cold fascination. "I'm afraid I don't speak 'gagged'," Laura murmured, her tone light, almost conversational, as her fingertip resumed its relentless, probing wiggle deep within the tortured cavity. "You'll have to be clearer." She punctuated the lie by tracing a feather-light path with her other hand down Olivia's quivering flank, finding the dip of her lowest rib and pressing hard. Olivia bucked wildly, her chains screaming against the ceiling pulley.
Laura withdrew her finger from Olivia's navel abruptly. The sudden absence was almost as shocking as the torment. Olivia gasped, her body trembling uncontrollably, slick with sweat and tears. Laura leaned close, her lips brushing the shell of Olivia's ear. "I think," she whispered, the words chillingly deliberate, "you can move too much." Her hand closed around Olivia's ankle, fingers digging into the tendon above the rope binding. "Let's tighten you up, shall we, Olivia?" The promise hung heavy in the air.
With swift, practiced movements, Laura grabbed the crank handle controlling the chains overhead. She gave it three sharp, forceful turns. The chains groaned, ratcheting tighter, lifting Olivia's bound wrists higher until her shoulders screamed in protest. Her torso stretched taut, ribs straining against her tank top, her navel still flushed and vulnerable. Laura secured the crank lock with a metallic clack. Olivia hung suspended, every muscle trembling, her breath reduced to shallow, panicked hitches.
Laura walked to her worktable, the shears gleaming under the harsh light. She picked them up, the cold steel clicking open and shut in her gloved hand. Olivia flinched at the sound, her blindfolded face turning towards the noise. Laura returned, the blades hovering near the hem of Olivia's sweat-soaked tank top. "We need better access," Laura murmured, her voice low and thick with intent. "This fabric is... in the way." The shears' cold tip traced a deliberate line just below Olivia's navel, making her stomach muscles flinch violently.
With a sudden, sharp rrrippp, Laura sliced cleanly up the center of the tank top, parting the damp cotton like paper. Olivia gasped as cool air washed over her exposed skin. The fabric fell away, revealing her heaving stomach, the deep indent of her navel still visibly flushed from Laura's earlier invasion. Laura tossed the ruined garment aside, her gaze fixed on the vulnerable expanse of taut, ticklish flesh now fully displayed. "Much better," she breathed, her gloved hand hovering just above Olivia's trembling belly.
Laura's eyes drifted upwards, settling on the damp, restrictive sports bra still binding Olivia's chest. "Let's get these free too while we're at it," she murmured, her voice thick with predatory intent. The cold steel shears slid beneath the elastic band at Olivia's sternum. With a single, decisive snick, Laura severed the central clasp. The bra sprang open, peeling away to reveal Olivia's tan C-cup breasts, their dark nipples instantly hardening in the cool air and under Laura's intense scrutiny. Olivia whimpered, instinctively trying to hunch forward, but the chains held her mercilessly open.
Laura tossed the ruined bra aside, her gaze raking over Olivia's now fully exposed torso – the trembling belly, the vulnerable navel, the exposed breasts. She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Olivia's ear, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "One last chance, Detective. Delete my file. Wipe me from the system. Do it now, and this," her gloved hand swept down, fingertips grazing the hypersensitive skin just above Olivia's pubic bone, making her jolt, "ends. I walk away, and you get to keep what's left of your dignity." Her breath was hot against Olivia's neck. "Just say the word. Beg me to stop, and agree."
Olivia's mind screamed through the haze of ticklish agony. Delete the file? Let this monster vanish? Her jaw clenched behind the gag, teeth grinding into the rubber. She saw the faces of Laura's victims – the nurse, the student, the teacher – their terror echoing in her own muffled cries. To delete the file wasn't just surrender; it was betrayal. It was abandoning them, abandoning justice. With a surge of defiance that burned through the humiliation, she managed a sharp, furious shake of her head, the chains rattling overhead with the violent motion. Her muffled cry was unintelligible, but the refusal was absolute.
Laura's predatory smile widened, a flash of genuine delight in her cruel eyes. "I was hoping you'd say no," she purred, her voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. She stepped back, surveying her trembling, half-naked captive. "Such admirable stubbornness. Now," she whispered, her tone shifting to a chilling promise, "it's time to show you true tickle torture." She reached into the deep pocket of her dark coat, withdrawing not a tool, but a small, unassuming bottle of massage oil. The clear liquid glistened under the harsh light.
Olivia's breath hitched, a fresh wave of dread washing over her. She knew this step. Laura meticulously covered her victims in slick oil to amplify sensitivity, transforming every touch into an electric current, making her nails and other implements glide across the skin with terrifying ease. Laura uncapped the bottle, the faint, cloying scent of coconut filling the air. "This," Laura murmured, pouring a generous amount onto her gloved palm, "is going to make you sing." The oil pooled, thick and viscous.
Laura's oil-slicked hands descended onto Olivia's exposed stomach without warning. The detective gasped as the cool liquid hit her skin, followed instantly by the warm glide of Laura's palms spreading it in broad, deliberate strokes. The oil coated her trembling belly, her ribs, her flanks, making her skin gleam under the harsh light. Every nerve ending felt magnified, hypersensitive, anticipating the torment to come. Laura worked methodically, ensuring every inch of Olivia's torso was slick and vulnerable, her touch deceptively gentle for now.
"Let's start with your flanks, shall we, Olivia?" Laura murmured, her voice a low, intimate purr. Her thumbs found the soft indentations just below Olivia's lowest ribs – those notoriously ticklish hollows where the skin was thin and nerves clustered. With agonizing slowness, she began to knead. Not tickling yet, just deep, rhythmic pressure, working the oil into the muscle. Olivia tensed, her breath catching. The slickness amplified the heat of Laura's touch, the glide of her thumbs maddening. It was preparation, a predator tenderizing its prey. Laura leaned close, her breath hot on Olivia's neck. "So responsive already," she whispered. "Just wait."
Laura's voice, smooth and deliberate, wove through the tension. "Remember the nurse? How she shrieked when I found this exact spot?" Her thumbs pressed deeper into Olivia's flanks, circling slowly. Olivia flinched. The words painted vivid, unwanted pictures, her mind involuntarily recalling the victim files – the descriptions of unbearable sensitivity. Laura’s narration wasn't just taunting; it was a scalpel, peeling back layers of Olivia’s composure, making her hyper-aware of every nerve ending beneath those slick, probing thumbs. The anticipation coiled tighter than the chains.
Suddenly, Laura shifted. Her thumbs stopped kneading. Instead, her fingertips – sharp, relentless – spider-walked upwards, tracing the slick, vulnerable underside of Olivia’s ribs. It wasn’t a tickle; it was an invasion. Olivia’s body jerked violently, a strangled gasp tearing past the gag. Her chains rattled like angry teeth. Laura’s touch was precise, clinical, exploiting the oil-slicked pathways to send jolts of pure, nerve-shredding sensation straight to Olivia’s core. Every involuntary flinch only spurred Laura on.
"Look at you," Laura murmured, her voice a velvet blade against Olivia’s ear. Her fingers continued their relentless ascent, skimming the slick curve beneath Olivia’s breast. "Sweating, shaking... completely undone by a little touch." A low chuckle escaped her. "And we’ve barely begun, Detective. I have hours planned. Days, even. The file? It’s irrelevant now. You’re mine. Every gasp, every twitch, every desperate, muffled plea... it’s all for me." Her fingertips brushed the sensitive lower swell of Olivia’s breast, making her arch off the chair with a choked cry. "There’s no escape from this. Only surrender."
Laura leaned back slightly, admiring the sheen of oil on Olivia’s trembling torso. "Think of it," she purred, her gloved hand hovering over Olivia’s slick navel. "The others broke. They begged. They promised anything." Her finger dipped, tracing the oiled rim without entering. "But you? You’re stubborn. I adore that. It means I get to explore every single inch of you." Her eyes locked onto Olivia’s blindfolded face, though Olivia couldn’t see it. "Every hidden spot, every flinch, every secret tickle spot you never knew existed... I’ll find them all. And I’ll make you scream with laughter until you forget your own name."
Olivia began sobbing as Laura raked her long nails from her taut armpits down her sides to her stomach and into her belly button. Laura's nails left trails of raw sensation across hypersensitive skin. Olivia’s body convulsed, her chains rattling violently as the nails scraped over her ribs, dug into the soft hollows of her flanks, and finally plunged deep into her navel. The invasion was relentless, the slickness amplifying every cruel twist and jab. Muffled screams tore from Olivia’s throat, her head thrashing side to side, tears soaking the blindfold as her torso arched and writhed against the unyielding restraints.
"Oh, don't cry, Olivia," Laura cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy as she continued her merciless exploration. Her gloved fingers danced across the detective's oiled abdomen, tracing the defined muscles that quivered beneath the touch. "Tears are so... unbecoming for a woman of your stature." She punctuated the taunt by dragging a single, sharp nail slowly around the rim of Olivia’s navel, circling the tortured entrance without entering – yet. The anticipation was its own exquisite torment, making Olivia’s stomach muscles flutter uncontrollably. "Save your strength, darling. You’ll need it."
Olivia couldn't think straight. The blindfold plunged her world into suffocating darkness, amplifying every slick slide of Laura’s hands, every brush of air against her exposed skin. She was reduced to pure sensation – the burning stretch in her shoulders from the chains, the cool air on her sweat-slicked breasts, the unbearable vulnerability of her oiled belly and navel. The gag choked her screams into pathetic whimpers, silencing her pleas, her threats, her desperate attempts at negotiation. She was trapped in her own body, a prisoner to the madwoman’s touch. Only the rough denim of her jeans offered any semblance of cover, a cruel reminder of the dignity she’d lost.
Laura’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and clinical, a professor lecturing on torture. "You learn things, Olivia, after so many... sessions." Her gloved fingertip tapped lightly, almost thoughtfully, on Olivia’s slick flank. "Hairbrushes, the stiff-bristled kind? Devastating on soles. Turns the toughest feet into giggling messes." Her hand drifted upwards, nails grazing the underside of Olivia’s oiled breast, making her flinch. "Fingernails, sharp and precise? Perfect for armpits. Gets deep under the skin, right to the nerve." She paused, her breath hot near Olivia’s ear. "But nipples? Ah. That’s where the electric toothbrush shines. The vibration... it bypasses the mind entirely. Pure, helpless, shuddering agony." Olivia’s breath hitched, her chest tightening in instinctive terror at the implication.
With a flourish, Laura pulled two sleek, white electric toothbrushes from her coat pocket. They weren’t ordinary; they were high-end models, vibrating with a quiet, menacing hum. She flicked one on, then off, the sudden buzz slicing through the room’s tension like a knife. The sound made Olivia flinch violently, her chains rattling. Laura held the buzzing brush inches from Olivia’s left nipple, the air vibrating against the hypersensitive peak. "See?" Laura murmured, her voice a dark caress. "Just the threat of it makes you tremble. Imagine the reality." She flicked it off again, the silence somehow worse. Then, with agonizing slowness, she brought the dormant brush closer, the plastic tip hovering just above the puckered, vulnerable flesh. Olivia held her breath, her entire body rigid with dread.
Laura’s free hand, slick with oil, suddenly clamped onto Olivia’s left breast, fingers splaying possessively. The detective gasped, her body jerking against the chains. "Hold still, darling," Laura purred, her voice thick with anticipation. "Wouldn’t want to miss the target." With deliberate, theatrical slowness, she lowered the buzzing toothbrush toward Olivia’s left nipple. The vibrations intensified as it neared, a high-pitched whine filling the air. The plastic tip touched the very edge of the areola. Olivia’s muffled scream tore through the gag, her body arching off the chair as if struck by lightning. The sensation wasn’t tickling; it was a raw, electric shock of pure, nerve-shredding overstimulation that radiated through her entire chest.
Laura held the buzzing brush firmly against the hypersensitive peak, watching Olivia’s body convulse with scientific detachment. "Ah, yes," she murmured, her eyes gleaming. "Just like the teacher. That beautiful, uncontrollable shudder." The vibrations burrowed deep, bypassing thought, reducing Olivia to a trembling, gasping mess. Her nipple hardened painfully under the assault, the sensation magnified tenfold by the oil and the sheer violation of it. Tears streamed freely down Olivia’s cheeks beneath the blindfold, her choked sobs mingling with the relentless mechanical buzz. Laura’s other hand remained clamped on Olivia’s breast, anchoring her, ensuring she couldn’t twist away from the torment.
With a cruel smirk, Laura pressed the second toothbrush against Olivia’s right nipple. The dual assault sent shockwaves of raw, electric sensation radiating through Olivia’s chest and down her spine. Her back arched violently, the chains biting into her wrists as she strained against them, every muscle locked in agonized spasm. The gag muffled her screams into desperate, animalistic whimpers. Laura leaned in, her voice a low, intimate purr against Olivia’s ear. "Feel that? It’s your nerves singing for me. Begging for release." She increased the pressure slightly, the vibrations intensifying, turning the peaks into burning points of pure, unrelenting agony.
Laura’s eyes flickered downward, drawn by the dark, spreading stain blooming across the front of Olivia’s jeans. A slow, predatory smile curved her lips. "Oh, Olivia," she breathed, her voice thick with dark amusement. "Look at you. Soaking through your denim like some desperate nympho." She withdrew the toothbrushes abruptly, silencing their mechanical buzz. The sudden absence was its own shock. Olivia sagged, gasping, her body trembling uncontrollably, slick with sweat and oil. Laura traced a gloved finger along the damp denim seam between Olivia’s legs, the touch light but deliberate. "Is this how the great Detective Benson fights crime? By getting wet for her captor?"
Olivia froze, mortification crashing over her like ice water. She hadn’t consciously registered the building tension low in her belly, the involuntary clenching against the relentless, nerve-shredding torture. But the evidence was undeniable, the dampness a humiliating betrayal. Her hips had been moving, grinding almost imperceptibly against the hard seat of the chair, seeking friction, seeking anything to counter the overwhelming sensory assault. It wasn't arousal, not truly – it was a raw, primal response, a desperate nervous system seeking an outlet for the unbearable energy Laura had unleashed. The realization choked her, worse than the gag.
Laura’s laugh was low and rich, a sound of pure, dark delight. She leaned close, her oiled glove tracing the soaked denim seam with agonizing precision. "Poor, proud Olivia," she murmured, her breath hot against the detective’s neck. "Your body knows what your mind denies. It wants this. It needs it." Her fingertip pressed harder, finding the swollen, sensitive nub beneath the wet fabric. Olivia jerked, a strangled gasp escaping the gag. "But," Laura continued, her voice hardening into a razor's edge, "only obedient tickle toys get to come. The stubborn ones? They get edged.
Laura withdrew her hand abruptly, leaving Olivia trembling on the precipice. "You want release?" she asked, her tone suddenly conversational, almost bored. "Delete the file. Beg me. Promise me anything." She picked up one of the electric toothbrushes again, flicking it on. The menacing buzz filled the silence. "Or," she purred, bringing the vibrating head back towards Olivia’s slick, aching nipple, "you can stay like this. Forever. Teetering on the edge, feeling every nerve scream, never falling over." The plastic tip hovered a millimeter from the tortured peak, the vibrations radiating through Olivia’s chest, a cruel echo of the denied climax. "Choose, Detective. Orgasm... or endless torment."
Olivia’s mind fractured. The dual assault of denied pleasure and the threat of renewed torture warred with her professional duty. Her body screamed for release, hips straining against the chair, slickness pooling anew. The gag tasted of salt and rubber, her muffled whimpers a desperate plea. She felt the phantom vibrations intensify, her nipples raw and hypersensitive, the oil making every nerve ending sing. Laura’s eyes, cold and expectant, bored into her soul through the blindfold. The file was her only shield, her only link to stopping this monster. To delete it was surrender, annihilation.
To be continued...
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