mch5
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Mar 9, 2012
- Messages
- 327
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- 28
Disclaimer #1: If you are biased or tech-pobic/AI-pobic, this is not for you!
Though the story is an original and fully from my own mind, I've used AI (LLM) profoundly, as my editor, copyrighter, and (mostly) as my English-language enhancer. The AI also allowed me to somewhat bypass my disability and write more then my physics allows me. It wasn't a quick or easy, but I thought my AI the general style I was aiming for. It's not yet even close to perfect, but I think it's a very good start,
Disclaimer #2: Trigger Alert! This is a very dark fantasy, situated in my imaginary TDGrid universe. Any relation to reality should NEVER exist! This story goes as dark as it gets! It includes elements of Sexual abuse, rape, physical And mental torture, sadism, entrapment, insex (in a way), de-humanization, and more!
In addition, please note that while it's centered on tickling, chapter 1 is of an intro, a setup for the the chapters to follow.
I will appreciate your thought.
Hopefully, You'll like it, and I will be motivated to post the rest of it here.
Enjoy! 🙂
********************************************************************************
Subject information record.
Name: Mila Nevina
Age: 27
Height: 167 cm
Weight: 52 kg
Hair color: Red
Breast size: B-cup
Origin: Russian, City Unknown
Father: Unknown
Mother: Lena Sokolova (Non-related, Subject for level 6 interrogation)
Sensitivity Level: 7.3 (Warnning!)
Status: Initial Processing
Note: Management orders were issued to override safety protocols, some measurements were skipped. Assigned agent, N717, complaint overruled.
Mila woke up gently, as if rising from a pleasant dream. But as her eyes opened, something felt wrong. Very wrong.
She was lying on her back, strapped to what looked like a padded examination table. Her arms were raised above her head and pulled slightly backward, stretching her armpits to their maximum. Her elbows were bent, positioned as if holding something behind her head. Her forehead was strapped tightly to a raised support, tilting her head downward, giving her a full, helpless view of her own naked body.
The position was unbearable—her stretched body exposed every nerve. Mila didn’t laugh easily. Life had taught her not to. She was the quiet one, the unreadable one, the girl who learned to bite back reactions so no one could use them. But beneath that steel exterior lived a weakness she despised: she was ticklish. Not in the playful way—stupidly, betrayingly so. Her ribs, her hips, her goddamn armpits—they all lit up at the slightest touch. Even during beatings, she had silently prayed no one would find that. And now, stretched wide like an anatomy lesson, her body gave her away. Her pale skin was flushed in patches, goosebumps racing across her belly, her breasts rising with every tense breath. Her nipples, embarrassingly hard, caught the light like they wanted to be noticed. The restraints made it worse—arching her back just enough to highlight everything she wished she could hide. Her body looked inviting, like it was asking for something, and it made her sick with shame. She wasn’t a tease. She was a survivor. But her body didn’t care.
Her legs were spread wide, far wider than she ever thought possible. The cool air told her that: her armpits and pubic hair had been shaved clean. Strangely, she could feel air between her toes… something was holding them, separating and pulling each toe back with gentle but unyielding tension.
She tried to move, but the eleven straps pinning her down held her tight. Other than twisting her head a few millimeters, she was utterly immobilized.
“Help!” she screamed. “Somebody! Help!”
“Shhhhh… it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
A woman stepped from the shadows into her view, dressed in a pristine white medical robe, holding a sleek black tablet.
“Don’t be alarmed. This is just your first treatment. Your processing into the system. Welcome to TDGrid New York,” she said with a soft, rehearsed smile.
Mila had heard of TDGrid—whispers, mostly. Conspiracies traded on the deep web between desperate people with bad grammar and bloodshot eyes. Most dismissed it as a myth. A place where people disappeared and became numbers. Processing centers. Emotional erasure labs. But even in those stories, she never imagined something this polished. It was supposed to be underground and rusty—not cold, bright, and terrifyingly efficient.
“Let me go! Please, let me go!” Mila cried. It wasn’t real, not yet. After everything she’d endured, tears no longer came easily. But she had learned long ago that emotion could be a tool. Fear, when performed just right, could soften a captor’s edge. She wasn’t weak. She was reading the room. She always had.
“Sorry. I can’t do that.” The woman shrugged, still tapping casually on the tablet. “Oh, personally, I agree with what you did. That fucking rapist deserved to burn alive. And his garbage family? Good riddance. But... you know—Law, Justice, and all that bullshit.”
She glanced at her tablet again and smiled wider. “My name is N717. And from this moment on,” she said, reading aloud, “your name is J882.”
Fear stabbed through Mila’s chest. She glanced around, searching for any hope of escape. All she could see was her own exposed body. Three large blank screens stood about two meters away from her feet. Something dangled beside her head—a transparent tube. The strap across her forehead kept her from turning to see it. She craned her eyes upward as far as she could, catching a glimpse of a fluid bag above her. An IV.
The liquid inside wasn’t clear—it had a faint bluish tint, like windshield fluid. Tiny bubbles clung to the inside of the tube, pulsing slightly with each drip. She could swear it was thicker than water, moving just a bit too slowly. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just saline. Something about it felt...wrong. Medical, yes, but with a hint of industrial intent, as if someone designed it for bodies, not patients.
And suddenly, she felt it, the faint itch of a needle in her forearm. The awareness of it hit her like a slap.
“What do you want from me?! Why are you doing this?!”
“We’re just going to make you happy, hon’,” N717 replied, still tapping away on her device. “Can’t wait to see your beautiful smile.”
“What do you mean?! Wait! What are you doing to me?!”
J882’s panic swelled—her chest felt like it was collapsing inwards.
“What is this? Are you drugging me?! Why?!”
“Oh, no, no, no.” N717 chuckled softly. “Nothing that messes with your mind. Just something to help your body cope. Mostly fluids. For the signal.” She glanced up toward the IV bag, then down at J882 again.
“What signal?! Please, let me go! Please!”
The tears came fast now. This wasn’t a performance anymore. This was real.
I’m going to die, she thought. They’re going to kill me.
“I don’t want to die! I’m sorry! Please, please let me go!”
Six naked women stepped into view, all in their forties. Two of them pushed metal carts filled with strange devices that clinked as they moved. Steel on steel. Instruments.
“And this,” N717 gestured proudly, “is the staff. G34 through G39. Aren’t they lovely? I trained them myself.”
The tone was wrong. It wasn’t medical, it was more like a hotel concierge introducing the cleaning crew.
“What are they for?! What is happening?!” J882 screamed as the six women took position. Two stood by her feet. Two more flanked her chest. And the last pair stationed themselves beside her hips.
N717 turned back toward her tablet with a smirk. "Oh, by the way... your companion is here. Would you like to see her?"
J882 blinked. "Wh..."
"Your mother," N717 said, twisting the word like it tasted sweet. "She is so lovely! Her interrogation had already started."
"What are you doing to her?!"
N717 tapped on the tablet, and a still image, a headshot of a woman, appeared on the middle of the three screens. Her head was strapped, just like J882's. The woman on screen was in her mid-fifties.
J882 recognized her instantly... "Mom?..." she said softly. But something was odd, the face of her mother... she's never seen her like that. Her eyes barely open, eyebrows raised high, and... she was smiling, no, Laughing?! "What are you doing to her?!?!" she screamed again.
N717 crouched beside J882's head. "I told you, she is being interrogated. In fact, phase one isn’t even over yet. Want to watch it live?"
Before J882 could respond, N717 tapped a few commands into her tablet. All three screens lit up, a wall of video feeds, mostly top-down. The rightmost screen showed Lena’s legs from the feet to waist. She wasn’t as spread as J882, but enough to reveal a pair of gloved hands, mercilessly tickling the soft grooves at the roots of her thighs. There was a faint yellowish moisture on her labia.
The middle screen, previously showing Lena's face, now showed her torso. Lena’s large belly was trembling uncontrollably, shuddering in waves, broken only by quick, desperate attempts to breathe. Her heavy breasts jiggled violently with each convulsion.
The leftmost screen framed her head and armpits, though mostly obscured by her H38-sized breasts. She was laughing; mouth wide, teeth perfect; but her eyes were pure suffering. "Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha..pp. Aaaha Plehe Ha ha... S-aha Haa Ha ha... Sta-Haa Ha ha... Ay-Ha-hh... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Ayha Aaa Ha ha... AyHa haa T-Ha ha hae-k.. Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Ttt...kkkch... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... " Her laughter echoed through hidden speakers in the room, grotesquely cheerful.
"She’s trying to talk! She’ll tell you what you want to know! Why aren’t you stopping this?!" J882 begged.
N717 was watching the screen like it was art. Hypnotized. "Of course, but not yet. She needs to be broken first. It’s only been twenty-one minutes."
"Sta-Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Ayha Aaa Ha ha... AyHa haa T-Ha ha hae-k.. Aaa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha...A-p-aaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha...heee... kh... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Hcha ha....." Lena’s laughter kept rolling like a machine that wouldn’t stop, and J882 realized, with a nauseating twist in her gut, what was about to happen to her.
Suddenly, Lena's laughter was muted and a feminine yet somewhat mechanical voice boomed, "N717, you are stalling. As penalty, point three time units have been added to your next scheduled treatment. Now resume processing."
N717’s head dropped in surrender. "Okey dokey," she whispered to herself with mock cheer. She turned to the team, still standing in perfect formation like soldiers. "Girls, let's begin," she said, her smile reappearing.
"No... No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-nooo Please! I'll die!" J882 begged.
"No, you won't." N717 said, "G37, Insert the Mushroom!" she ordered.
<end of chapter 1>
Chapter 2 - https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/milas-processing-chapter-2.447883/
Though the story is an original and fully from my own mind, I've used AI (LLM) profoundly, as my editor, copyrighter, and (mostly) as my English-language enhancer. The AI also allowed me to somewhat bypass my disability and write more then my physics allows me. It wasn't a quick or easy, but I thought my AI the general style I was aiming for. It's not yet even close to perfect, but I think it's a very good start,
Disclaimer #2: Trigger Alert! This is a very dark fantasy, situated in my imaginary TDGrid universe. Any relation to reality should NEVER exist! This story goes as dark as it gets! It includes elements of Sexual abuse, rape, physical And mental torture, sadism, entrapment, insex (in a way), de-humanization, and more!
In addition, please note that while it's centered on tickling, chapter 1 is of an intro, a setup for the the chapters to follow.
I will appreciate your thought.
Hopefully, You'll like it, and I will be motivated to post the rest of it here.
Enjoy! 🙂
********************************************************************************
Subject information record.
Name: Mila Nevina
Age: 27
Height: 167 cm
Weight: 52 kg
Hair color: Red
Breast size: B-cup
Origin: Russian, City Unknown
Father: Unknown
Mother: Lena Sokolova (Non-related, Subject for level 6 interrogation)
Sensitivity Level: 7.3 (Warnning!)
Status: Initial Processing
Note: Management orders were issued to override safety protocols, some measurements were skipped. Assigned agent, N717, complaint overruled.
Chapter 1
Mila woke up gently, as if rising from a pleasant dream. But as her eyes opened, something felt wrong. Very wrong.
She was lying on her back, strapped to what looked like a padded examination table. Her arms were raised above her head and pulled slightly backward, stretching her armpits to their maximum. Her elbows were bent, positioned as if holding something behind her head. Her forehead was strapped tightly to a raised support, tilting her head downward, giving her a full, helpless view of her own naked body.
The position was unbearable—her stretched body exposed every nerve. Mila didn’t laugh easily. Life had taught her not to. She was the quiet one, the unreadable one, the girl who learned to bite back reactions so no one could use them. But beneath that steel exterior lived a weakness she despised: she was ticklish. Not in the playful way—stupidly, betrayingly so. Her ribs, her hips, her goddamn armpits—they all lit up at the slightest touch. Even during beatings, she had silently prayed no one would find that. And now, stretched wide like an anatomy lesson, her body gave her away. Her pale skin was flushed in patches, goosebumps racing across her belly, her breasts rising with every tense breath. Her nipples, embarrassingly hard, caught the light like they wanted to be noticed. The restraints made it worse—arching her back just enough to highlight everything she wished she could hide. Her body looked inviting, like it was asking for something, and it made her sick with shame. She wasn’t a tease. She was a survivor. But her body didn’t care.
Her legs were spread wide, far wider than she ever thought possible. The cool air told her that: her armpits and pubic hair had been shaved clean. Strangely, she could feel air between her toes… something was holding them, separating and pulling each toe back with gentle but unyielding tension.
She tried to move, but the eleven straps pinning her down held her tight. Other than twisting her head a few millimeters, she was utterly immobilized.
“Help!” she screamed. “Somebody! Help!”
“Shhhhh… it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
A woman stepped from the shadows into her view, dressed in a pristine white medical robe, holding a sleek black tablet.
“Don’t be alarmed. This is just your first treatment. Your processing into the system. Welcome to TDGrid New York,” she said with a soft, rehearsed smile.
Mila had heard of TDGrid—whispers, mostly. Conspiracies traded on the deep web between desperate people with bad grammar and bloodshot eyes. Most dismissed it as a myth. A place where people disappeared and became numbers. Processing centers. Emotional erasure labs. But even in those stories, she never imagined something this polished. It was supposed to be underground and rusty—not cold, bright, and terrifyingly efficient.
“Let me go! Please, let me go!” Mila cried. It wasn’t real, not yet. After everything she’d endured, tears no longer came easily. But she had learned long ago that emotion could be a tool. Fear, when performed just right, could soften a captor’s edge. She wasn’t weak. She was reading the room. She always had.
“Sorry. I can’t do that.” The woman shrugged, still tapping casually on the tablet. “Oh, personally, I agree with what you did. That fucking rapist deserved to burn alive. And his garbage family? Good riddance. But... you know—Law, Justice, and all that bullshit.”
She glanced at her tablet again and smiled wider. “My name is N717. And from this moment on,” she said, reading aloud, “your name is J882.”
Fear stabbed through Mila’s chest. She glanced around, searching for any hope of escape. All she could see was her own exposed body. Three large blank screens stood about two meters away from her feet. Something dangled beside her head—a transparent tube. The strap across her forehead kept her from turning to see it. She craned her eyes upward as far as she could, catching a glimpse of a fluid bag above her. An IV.
The liquid inside wasn’t clear—it had a faint bluish tint, like windshield fluid. Tiny bubbles clung to the inside of the tube, pulsing slightly with each drip. She could swear it was thicker than water, moving just a bit too slowly. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just saline. Something about it felt...wrong. Medical, yes, but with a hint of industrial intent, as if someone designed it for bodies, not patients.
And suddenly, she felt it, the faint itch of a needle in her forearm. The awareness of it hit her like a slap.
“What do you want from me?! Why are you doing this?!”
“We’re just going to make you happy, hon’,” N717 replied, still tapping away on her device. “Can’t wait to see your beautiful smile.”
“What do you mean?! Wait! What are you doing to me?!”
J882’s panic swelled—her chest felt like it was collapsing inwards.
“What is this? Are you drugging me?! Why?!”
“Oh, no, no, no.” N717 chuckled softly. “Nothing that messes with your mind. Just something to help your body cope. Mostly fluids. For the signal.” She glanced up toward the IV bag, then down at J882 again.
“What signal?! Please, let me go! Please!”
The tears came fast now. This wasn’t a performance anymore. This was real.
I’m going to die, she thought. They’re going to kill me.
“I don’t want to die! I’m sorry! Please, please let me go!”
Six naked women stepped into view, all in their forties. Two of them pushed metal carts filled with strange devices that clinked as they moved. Steel on steel. Instruments.
“And this,” N717 gestured proudly, “is the staff. G34 through G39. Aren’t they lovely? I trained them myself.”
The tone was wrong. It wasn’t medical, it was more like a hotel concierge introducing the cleaning crew.
“What are they for?! What is happening?!” J882 screamed as the six women took position. Two stood by her feet. Two more flanked her chest. And the last pair stationed themselves beside her hips.
N717 turned back toward her tablet with a smirk. "Oh, by the way... your companion is here. Would you like to see her?"
J882 blinked. "Wh..."
"Your mother," N717 said, twisting the word like it tasted sweet. "She is so lovely! Her interrogation had already started."
"What are you doing to her?!"
N717 tapped on the tablet, and a still image, a headshot of a woman, appeared on the middle of the three screens. Her head was strapped, just like J882's. The woman on screen was in her mid-fifties.
J882 recognized her instantly... "Mom?..." she said softly. But something was odd, the face of her mother... she's never seen her like that. Her eyes barely open, eyebrows raised high, and... she was smiling, no, Laughing?! "What are you doing to her?!?!" she screamed again.
N717 crouched beside J882's head. "I told you, she is being interrogated. In fact, phase one isn’t even over yet. Want to watch it live?"
Before J882 could respond, N717 tapped a few commands into her tablet. All three screens lit up, a wall of video feeds, mostly top-down. The rightmost screen showed Lena’s legs from the feet to waist. She wasn’t as spread as J882, but enough to reveal a pair of gloved hands, mercilessly tickling the soft grooves at the roots of her thighs. There was a faint yellowish moisture on her labia.
The middle screen, previously showing Lena's face, now showed her torso. Lena’s large belly was trembling uncontrollably, shuddering in waves, broken only by quick, desperate attempts to breathe. Her heavy breasts jiggled violently with each convulsion.
The leftmost screen framed her head and armpits, though mostly obscured by her H38-sized breasts. She was laughing; mouth wide, teeth perfect; but her eyes were pure suffering. "Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha..pp. Aaaha Plehe Ha ha... S-aha Haa Ha ha... Sta-Haa Ha ha... Ay-Ha-hh... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Ayha Aaa Ha ha... AyHa haa T-Ha ha hae-k.. Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Ttt...kkkch... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... " Her laughter echoed through hidden speakers in the room, grotesquely cheerful.
"She’s trying to talk! She’ll tell you what you want to know! Why aren’t you stopping this?!" J882 begged.
N717 was watching the screen like it was art. Hypnotized. "Of course, but not yet. She needs to be broken first. It’s only been twenty-one minutes."
"Sta-Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Ayha Aaa Ha ha... AyHa haa T-Ha ha hae-k.. Aaa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha...A-p-aaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha...heee... kh... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Ha ha... Aaaha Haa Hcha ha....." Lena’s laughter kept rolling like a machine that wouldn’t stop, and J882 realized, with a nauseating twist in her gut, what was about to happen to her.
Suddenly, Lena's laughter was muted and a feminine yet somewhat mechanical voice boomed, "N717, you are stalling. As penalty, point three time units have been added to your next scheduled treatment. Now resume processing."
N717’s head dropped in surrender. "Okey dokey," she whispered to herself with mock cheer. She turned to the team, still standing in perfect formation like soldiers. "Girls, let's begin," she said, her smile reappearing.
"No... No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-nooo Please! I'll die!" J882 begged.
"No, you won't." N717 said, "G37, Insert the Mushroom!" she ordered.
<end of chapter 1>
Chapter 2 - https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/milas-processing-chapter-2.447883/
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