LisaLisaJam
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Oct 14, 2023
- Messages
- 375
- Points
- 63
PART 2
His eyes grew wide, a deep green pool reflecting the dim light, filled with a raw timid vulnerability that was almost tangible. He saw how she was looking at him. He was utterly defenseless, pinned like a butterfly, unable to shield himself from her gaze or anything she might do. She saw the subtle tremble in his lower lip, the slight tightening of his jaw as he maintained composure. That absolute helplessness she was observing...it wasn't pity she felt for him, not exactly. There was a strange, unsettling thrill about this. Power? Control? That feeling coiled low in her stomach, warm and unfamiliar. It strangely felt good to be standing in front of him, seemingly in full control of whatever was to happen. Was that why she hadn't run away yet? He asked again, "Please help. See if you can find a way out of this."
Lena blinked, tearing her gaze away from the hypnotic smoothness of his pink and white soles. The intrusive thoughts of – the touch –slowly evaporated, replaced by reality. She cleared her throat. "Right," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "Okay. I'll... I'll look. See if there's a way." She forced her eyes away from Silas, scanning the stark black walls, the seamless floor, the oppressive low ceiling. Anything. A latch, a panel, a seam. She began a slow, methodical circuit of the small room, her boots whispering on the polished concrete. Her slender fingers brushed the cool, featureless walls, seeking any imperfection, maybe a hidden mechanism. The silence stretched, thick and expectant.
Silas watched Lena’s graceful movements as she looked around. Lena removed her large backpack and softly set it on the floor in one corner. Her long blonde hair caught the amber light, framing her face like spun gold. Her tall, athletic frame with just enough curves moved with a fluid, feminine glide – an unconscious elegance. He felt a hot wave of embarrassment crash over him. Here he was, utterly helpless, displayed like a specimen, toes strapped tight, immobilized, while she stood tall, poised, radiating a strength he couldn’t muster. Her light brown eyes scanned with intelligence; her expression was unreadable.
Her circuit brought her behind the cube, where Silas couldn't follow her with his eyes. The wall seemed identical – utterly smooth, non-reflective black. She leaned closer, squinting. Nothing. Then, a faint anomaly caught the amber light at just the right angle: She saw a tiny square about the size of a postage stamp, a small, glossy-black button. Her pulse quickened. A release? Logic warred with caution. Silas’s quiet plea echoed in her mind. Can you Help me Taking a steadying breath, Lena pressed the button firmly with her pointer finger.
A soft, pneumatic hiss whispered from the wall. Lena froze. Then silently and smoothly extruded two long, shallow drawers from the black surface. They slid out, stopping at around 24 inches, each drawer about 14inches wide, 10 inches deep, revealing interiors illuminated by recessed LED light strips.
"What was that?" Silas 'voice strained, curiously, with hope and fear. "Did you find something?"
"There's a couple of drawers here, "Lena announced, her voice echoing slightly louder than intended in the small space. "Please just give me time to see what's in them." Her tone carried a clipped efficiency, an unconscious command born from the urgency of the bizarre situation and her own rising confusion. A flicker of unease sparked within his gut. Was she annoyed? Surely, he was misreading her. She appeared so far to have been friendly, intelligent, kind… didn’t she?
Silas forced himself to stillness, the cool air whispering over the exposed skin of his trapped feet. Internally, his thoughts raced. Being utterly immobilized, displayed so vulnerably, was already a suffocating dread. But beneath that dread lurked a deeper terror. He was*excruciatingly* ticklish. Always had been. Just thinking about it made his soles prickle. His feet – those perfectly smooth arches currently pinned and stretched – were his most sensitive spots. A stiff feather could send him into helpless, breathless laughter. If Lena touched them now… the sheer horror of losing all composure, of shrieking and thrashing pathetically in front of this poised stranger, flooded him with icy panic. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to stay calm.
Lena leaned over the illuminated drawer. Inside lay a slim, leather-bound folio. No title, just smooth, dark leather. She flipped it open. The thick, creamy pages contained a typed script. The opening lines seized her breath:"Welcome, Curator. You've found Subject Silas. His purpose is exquisite stimulation. Observe: his helplessness is intentional; he is actually quite comfortable. His laughter is for you."*Diagrams followed – precise illustrations of Silas's feet, arrows pointing to specific zones: the high arches, the balls beneath his toes, the tender rarely touched areas between his toes. Techniques were detailed – feather-light tracing, firm random tapping, alternating rhythms. *"Resist hesitation," the text urged."His bondage ensures your safety, and his. Your pleasure in his reactions is natural and encouraged." The words weren't just instructions; they were a seductive permission slip.
Silas shifted against the padded neck collar, the tiny movement drawing Lena’s gaze back to him, as she was still behind him. "How about now?" His voice was barely a whisper, humble, strained with hope and a tremor of fear. "Did you learn anything yet? "Though he could not see her, his face expressed extreme interest in her response.
Lena didn't answer immediately. But beneath her sweatshirt, her skin felt suddenly warm, flushed. Her pulse thrummed low and insistent in her belly, a strange, unwelcome heat spreading upward. She drew a slow breath, trying to steady herself. It felt deeper than necessary, lifting her chest visibly against the fabric of her sweatshirt. What is wrong with me? The thought flashed, sharp and bewildering. The diagrams in the folio flickered in her mind – the smooth arches, the delicate creases, the laughter*promised. The absurdity of her reaction warred with a sudden, undeniable curiosity. Why *was he so perfectly displayed? Why was he so handsome?
"Nothing useful," she called out, her voice deliberately casual, clipped. "Just... papers. Technical stuff. Doesn't help." She looked back into the same drawer. "Give me more time, I need to keep looking." She asked him a question.
"Is that cube at least comfortable enough? "The question spilled out, sharper than intended, probing beneath the surface. She needed to know his state of mind, what fears clawed at him inside that smooth black prison. "Does it... panic you? Being trapped like that?"
Lena flipped the page with trembling fingers. The next words seized her breath: "Curator: Consume the white tablet. It dissolves instantly. Within seconds, it will dissolve all hesitation, guilt, and mercy. For one hour, you will act purely on desire, without mercy. This is essential. His laughter requires your freedom." Nestled inside a small box inside the drawer was, a pearl-white pill.
Silas’s answered with a shaky voice. "It’s soft inside," he admitted, "like thick padding everywhere. No pain. Just... the helplessness. Even on the inside all parts of my body are bound, held completely immobile. Even each of my fingers is strapped down. Knowing I cannot move an inch." His voice dropped lower. "That terrifies me more than anything."
Silas’s words—raw vulnerability wrapped in that resonant tone—hit Lena like a physical current. Combined with the folio’s promise of the white pill, a fluttering warmth ignited deep in her stomach. It spread outward, a delicious, liquid heat that pooled low and insistent. Her cheeks flushed; her breath came quicker, shallower. This wasn't just curiosity anymore. It was a thrilling, undeniable pulse of arousal. Wonderful and terrifying all at once.
She stared at the pill. Consume the white tablet... dissolve all hesitation... act purely on desire. The words echoed, seductive and dangerous. The sheer vulnerability of it was intoxicating. A vivid image flashed: her fingertips tracing the delicate creases along his arch, the soft pads beneath his toes, the tender valleys between each digit. How would hereact? Would his smooth skin twitch? How much would he... laugh?The thought sent another wave of heat through her, fierce anddemanding. This was the first time since entering that she fullyembraced thoughts of tickling him. Not just observing, not justwondering—actively wanting to provoke his reaction, to see thosegreen eyes widen in helpless smiling panic, to hear the soundpromised by the folio. Her pulse hammered in her wrists, her throat.
Lena forced her voice into a low, soothing murmur. "I'm still reading and looking over here. I'm so sorry you're terrified," she expressed, her gaze still fixed on the folio. "But... tell me exactly what terrifies you most about not being able to move?" She needed to hear it. She wondered if he'd confide in her that he was in fear of being tickled. She needed to stoke that delicious feeling of power his helplessness gave her. Needed him to confess his deepest fear while she stood there, contemplating the white pill that would unleash her darkest desires.
Silas swallowed hard, the motion visible against the padded collar. He could not let Lena know that he was very ticklish. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he thought up a lie. "It's... the anticipation," he breathed, his voice catching. "Knowing something could happen... anything... and I couldn't stop it. Couldn't shield myself. Couldn't even flinch. "He hesitated, then blurted out, desperate to divert her thoughts away from his feet, away from the truth simmering beneath his skin. "It's like... like being strapped down for surgery you didn't consent to. The fear of the cold scalpel." He hoped the medical analogy sounded plausible, grounded. His eyes tried to look sideways as he listened, pleaded silently – believe me, believe this lie.
Lena’s gaze remained locked on the folio. The text beneath another pill's description unfolded in precise, clinical detail: "The pink pill contains nano-metabolic catalysts designed for rapid absorption through sublingual membranes. Once dissolved, agents bind to peripheral nerve receptors, specifically amplifying nociceptive pathways associated with light-touch sensation. Ticklishness is amplified exponentially – estimated 10xmore than baseline sensitivity – rendering even air currents potentially stimulating. Duration: 60 minutes. Administration: Place directly on tongue." Diagrams showed pathways lighting up in vivid color, nerves screaming under microscopic magnification. It wasn't just sensitivity; it was tickle torture engineered for a helpless response. A flush crept up Lena’s neck as she traced the description with her fingertip.
Her eyes flicked to the drawer. Nestled beside the white pill lay the pink one, identical in size but radiating a subtle, candy-like hue. The implications were dizzying. Give Silas this, and his terror wouldn't be an analogy – it would be reality. His smooth soles, already pinned and vulnerable, would become hyper-sensory minefields. A single breath could trigger spasms. The thought sent a jolt of illicit heat through her core. She could actually do this right here and now if she wanted to. The white pill promised freedom from hesitation; the pink pill promised Silas’s utter, writhing ticklishness. Her fingers hovered over them, trembling.
.
His eyes grew wide, a deep green pool reflecting the dim light, filled with a raw timid vulnerability that was almost tangible. He saw how she was looking at him. He was utterly defenseless, pinned like a butterfly, unable to shield himself from her gaze or anything she might do. She saw the subtle tremble in his lower lip, the slight tightening of his jaw as he maintained composure. That absolute helplessness she was observing...it wasn't pity she felt for him, not exactly. There was a strange, unsettling thrill about this. Power? Control? That feeling coiled low in her stomach, warm and unfamiliar. It strangely felt good to be standing in front of him, seemingly in full control of whatever was to happen. Was that why she hadn't run away yet? He asked again, "Please help. See if you can find a way out of this."
Lena blinked, tearing her gaze away from the hypnotic smoothness of his pink and white soles. The intrusive thoughts of – the touch –slowly evaporated, replaced by reality. She cleared her throat. "Right," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "Okay. I'll... I'll look. See if there's a way." She forced her eyes away from Silas, scanning the stark black walls, the seamless floor, the oppressive low ceiling. Anything. A latch, a panel, a seam. She began a slow, methodical circuit of the small room, her boots whispering on the polished concrete. Her slender fingers brushed the cool, featureless walls, seeking any imperfection, maybe a hidden mechanism. The silence stretched, thick and expectant.
Silas watched Lena’s graceful movements as she looked around. Lena removed her large backpack and softly set it on the floor in one corner. Her long blonde hair caught the amber light, framing her face like spun gold. Her tall, athletic frame with just enough curves moved with a fluid, feminine glide – an unconscious elegance. He felt a hot wave of embarrassment crash over him. Here he was, utterly helpless, displayed like a specimen, toes strapped tight, immobilized, while she stood tall, poised, radiating a strength he couldn’t muster. Her light brown eyes scanned with intelligence; her expression was unreadable.
Her circuit brought her behind the cube, where Silas couldn't follow her with his eyes. The wall seemed identical – utterly smooth, non-reflective black. She leaned closer, squinting. Nothing. Then, a faint anomaly caught the amber light at just the right angle: She saw a tiny square about the size of a postage stamp, a small, glossy-black button. Her pulse quickened. A release? Logic warred with caution. Silas’s quiet plea echoed in her mind. Can you Help me Taking a steadying breath, Lena pressed the button firmly with her pointer finger.
A soft, pneumatic hiss whispered from the wall. Lena froze. Then silently and smoothly extruded two long, shallow drawers from the black surface. They slid out, stopping at around 24 inches, each drawer about 14inches wide, 10 inches deep, revealing interiors illuminated by recessed LED light strips.
"What was that?" Silas 'voice strained, curiously, with hope and fear. "Did you find something?"
"There's a couple of drawers here, "Lena announced, her voice echoing slightly louder than intended in the small space. "Please just give me time to see what's in them." Her tone carried a clipped efficiency, an unconscious command born from the urgency of the bizarre situation and her own rising confusion. A flicker of unease sparked within his gut. Was she annoyed? Surely, he was misreading her. She appeared so far to have been friendly, intelligent, kind… didn’t she?
Silas forced himself to stillness, the cool air whispering over the exposed skin of his trapped feet. Internally, his thoughts raced. Being utterly immobilized, displayed so vulnerably, was already a suffocating dread. But beneath that dread lurked a deeper terror. He was*excruciatingly* ticklish. Always had been. Just thinking about it made his soles prickle. His feet – those perfectly smooth arches currently pinned and stretched – were his most sensitive spots. A stiff feather could send him into helpless, breathless laughter. If Lena touched them now… the sheer horror of losing all composure, of shrieking and thrashing pathetically in front of this poised stranger, flooded him with icy panic. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to stay calm.
Lena leaned over the illuminated drawer. Inside lay a slim, leather-bound folio. No title, just smooth, dark leather. She flipped it open. The thick, creamy pages contained a typed script. The opening lines seized her breath:"Welcome, Curator. You've found Subject Silas. His purpose is exquisite stimulation. Observe: his helplessness is intentional; he is actually quite comfortable. His laughter is for you."*Diagrams followed – precise illustrations of Silas's feet, arrows pointing to specific zones: the high arches, the balls beneath his toes, the tender rarely touched areas between his toes. Techniques were detailed – feather-light tracing, firm random tapping, alternating rhythms. *"Resist hesitation," the text urged."His bondage ensures your safety, and his. Your pleasure in his reactions is natural and encouraged." The words weren't just instructions; they were a seductive permission slip.
Silas shifted against the padded neck collar, the tiny movement drawing Lena’s gaze back to him, as she was still behind him. "How about now?" His voice was barely a whisper, humble, strained with hope and a tremor of fear. "Did you learn anything yet? "Though he could not see her, his face expressed extreme interest in her response.
Lena didn't answer immediately. But beneath her sweatshirt, her skin felt suddenly warm, flushed. Her pulse thrummed low and insistent in her belly, a strange, unwelcome heat spreading upward. She drew a slow breath, trying to steady herself. It felt deeper than necessary, lifting her chest visibly against the fabric of her sweatshirt. What is wrong with me? The thought flashed, sharp and bewildering. The diagrams in the folio flickered in her mind – the smooth arches, the delicate creases, the laughter*promised. The absurdity of her reaction warred with a sudden, undeniable curiosity. Why *was he so perfectly displayed? Why was he so handsome?
"Nothing useful," she called out, her voice deliberately casual, clipped. "Just... papers. Technical stuff. Doesn't help." She looked back into the same drawer. "Give me more time, I need to keep looking." She asked him a question.
"Is that cube at least comfortable enough? "The question spilled out, sharper than intended, probing beneath the surface. She needed to know his state of mind, what fears clawed at him inside that smooth black prison. "Does it... panic you? Being trapped like that?"
Lena flipped the page with trembling fingers. The next words seized her breath: "Curator: Consume the white tablet. It dissolves instantly. Within seconds, it will dissolve all hesitation, guilt, and mercy. For one hour, you will act purely on desire, without mercy. This is essential. His laughter requires your freedom." Nestled inside a small box inside the drawer was, a pearl-white pill.
Silas’s answered with a shaky voice. "It’s soft inside," he admitted, "like thick padding everywhere. No pain. Just... the helplessness. Even on the inside all parts of my body are bound, held completely immobile. Even each of my fingers is strapped down. Knowing I cannot move an inch." His voice dropped lower. "That terrifies me more than anything."
Silas’s words—raw vulnerability wrapped in that resonant tone—hit Lena like a physical current. Combined with the folio’s promise of the white pill, a fluttering warmth ignited deep in her stomach. It spread outward, a delicious, liquid heat that pooled low and insistent. Her cheeks flushed; her breath came quicker, shallower. This wasn't just curiosity anymore. It was a thrilling, undeniable pulse of arousal. Wonderful and terrifying all at once.
She stared at the pill. Consume the white tablet... dissolve all hesitation... act purely on desire. The words echoed, seductive and dangerous. The sheer vulnerability of it was intoxicating. A vivid image flashed: her fingertips tracing the delicate creases along his arch, the soft pads beneath his toes, the tender valleys between each digit. How would hereact? Would his smooth skin twitch? How much would he... laugh?The thought sent another wave of heat through her, fierce anddemanding. This was the first time since entering that she fullyembraced thoughts of tickling him. Not just observing, not justwondering—actively wanting to provoke his reaction, to see thosegreen eyes widen in helpless smiling panic, to hear the soundpromised by the folio. Her pulse hammered in her wrists, her throat.
Lena forced her voice into a low, soothing murmur. "I'm still reading and looking over here. I'm so sorry you're terrified," she expressed, her gaze still fixed on the folio. "But... tell me exactly what terrifies you most about not being able to move?" She needed to hear it. She wondered if he'd confide in her that he was in fear of being tickled. She needed to stoke that delicious feeling of power his helplessness gave her. Needed him to confess his deepest fear while she stood there, contemplating the white pill that would unleash her darkest desires.
Silas swallowed hard, the motion visible against the padded collar. He could not let Lena know that he was very ticklish. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he thought up a lie. "It's... the anticipation," he breathed, his voice catching. "Knowing something could happen... anything... and I couldn't stop it. Couldn't shield myself. Couldn't even flinch. "He hesitated, then blurted out, desperate to divert her thoughts away from his feet, away from the truth simmering beneath his skin. "It's like... like being strapped down for surgery you didn't consent to. The fear of the cold scalpel." He hoped the medical analogy sounded plausible, grounded. His eyes tried to look sideways as he listened, pleaded silently – believe me, believe this lie.
Lena’s gaze remained locked on the folio. The text beneath another pill's description unfolded in precise, clinical detail: "The pink pill contains nano-metabolic catalysts designed for rapid absorption through sublingual membranes. Once dissolved, agents bind to peripheral nerve receptors, specifically amplifying nociceptive pathways associated with light-touch sensation. Ticklishness is amplified exponentially – estimated 10xmore than baseline sensitivity – rendering even air currents potentially stimulating. Duration: 60 minutes. Administration: Place directly on tongue." Diagrams showed pathways lighting up in vivid color, nerves screaming under microscopic magnification. It wasn't just sensitivity; it was tickle torture engineered for a helpless response. A flush crept up Lena’s neck as she traced the description with her fingertip.
Her eyes flicked to the drawer. Nestled beside the white pill lay the pink one, identical in size but radiating a subtle, candy-like hue. The implications were dizzying. Give Silas this, and his terror wouldn't be an analogy – it would be reality. His smooth soles, already pinned and vulnerable, would become hyper-sensory minefields. A single breath could trigger spasms. The thought sent a jolt of illicit heat through her core. She could actually do this right here and now if she wanted to. The white pill promised freedom from hesitation; the pink pill promised Silas’s utter, writhing ticklishness. Her fingers hovered over them, trembling.
.
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