fabrizio00
Registered User
- Joined
- May 25, 2008
- Messages
- 27
- Points
- 3
The hotel room in Ikebukuro was steeped in tense silence, broken only by the rustle of ropes as Mistress R tightened them with precision. She had tied me to the four corners of the bed, wrists and ankles bound, my body stretched and vulnerable. I had paid her to destroy me, to break me with tickling, and she had accepted with a smile that promised unrelenting torment. The session, she had warned, would last three hours.
Without a word, she approached. Her eyes, sharp and sadistic, pinned me down as her fingers brushed my armpits. It was an explosion. The tickling overwhelmed me, forcing uncontrollable laughter from my lips. I screamed, my body writhing against the ropes, but there was no escape. Her fingers danced, relentless, targeting every weak spot with surgical cruelty. My armpits were hell, each touch a wave of laughter that shattered me.
She stared into my eyes, never speaking. That silence was a weapon, making every sensation sharper, every laugh more desperate. For three hours, there was no respite. Even when she slowed down, my body trembled, anticipating the next assault. In the final half-hour of those three hours, something in me broke. I laughed even during the pauses, a wild, uncontrollable laughter that mingled with sobs. I cried, tears streaming down as she stopped, stared, and then resumed. It was a cycle of laughter and tears, a pendulum swinging me to the edge of sanity.
When the three hours ended, I was ruined. She untied me, but I couldn’t stand. I collapsed on the bed, my breath ragged, my mind in pieces. I had never experienced anything like it: a trial that pushed me beyond every limit, leaving me drained yet strangely alive.
Mistress R gave me one last look, still silent, and left the room. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, knowing those three hours in Ikebukuro would be etched in my memory forever.
Without a word, she approached. Her eyes, sharp and sadistic, pinned me down as her fingers brushed my armpits. It was an explosion. The tickling overwhelmed me, forcing uncontrollable laughter from my lips. I screamed, my body writhing against the ropes, but there was no escape. Her fingers danced, relentless, targeting every weak spot with surgical cruelty. My armpits were hell, each touch a wave of laughter that shattered me.
She stared into my eyes, never speaking. That silence was a weapon, making every sensation sharper, every laugh more desperate. For three hours, there was no respite. Even when she slowed down, my body trembled, anticipating the next assault. In the final half-hour of those three hours, something in me broke. I laughed even during the pauses, a wild, uncontrollable laughter that mingled with sobs. I cried, tears streaming down as she stopped, stared, and then resumed. It was a cycle of laughter and tears, a pendulum swinging me to the edge of sanity.
When the three hours ended, I was ruined. She untied me, but I couldn’t stand. I collapsed on the bed, my breath ragged, my mind in pieces. I had never experienced anything like it: a trial that pushed me beyond every limit, leaving me drained yet strangely alive.
Mistress R gave me one last look, still silent, and left the room. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, knowing those three hours in Ikebukuro would be etched in my memory forever.
I envy you that experience. 
