mch5
TMF Expert
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This story contains themes of tickling torture, sexual abuse, prostitution, and drug abuse.
It is set in the TDGrid Universe.
Thank you for reading!
I truly hope you enjoy it — and I would really appreciate your thoughts, comments, and feedback.
More stories will be coming soon!
Diane Luk hugged herself against the city's cold breath, standing half-hidden beneath a flickering streetlight. The air smelled faintly of damp concrete, engine fumes, and stale fried food, clinging to her skin like a second layer. The concrete around her was cracked, stained, alive with the distant hum of tires on wet asphalt.
She was small — skin the color of soft, not-dark chocolate, hinting at a Latina heritage, brown eyes twitching under the buzzing neon, her long, uneven hair pushed back with greasy fingers. Her jaw worked unconsciously, grinding against ghosts — a side effect of years chasing synthetic highs she could barely afford.
She needed a fix. Bad.
But the street was dead, and the only thing more invisible than her hunger was the damn sweater swallowing her body, making her look less like temptation and more like a tired waitress at the end of her shift. She yanked it down in frustration, flashing a hint of skin nobody was looking at.
"How the fuck am I supposed to catch anything like this?" she muttered, kicking a crushed can into the gutter.
Far down the street, something rumbled.
A low, mechanical growl — wrong for a car, too steady for a bike.
Diane froze, her blood humming. She peered into the misty dark.
And there it was.
Lurching into view like a ghost that had forgotten it was dead — an old, beat-up city bus. No lights. No markings. Just a single faded word sprayed across its side:
Smile4Cash.com
It slowed down as it neared her, engine growling low, almost inviting. Diane's heart thudded, but the bus kept rolling, pulling into a side alley and vanishing into the dark.
For a moment she just stood there, shivering, debating. Her stomach growled — painfully. Food would be nice. A bag of white powder? Even nicer.
She pulled out her ancient, cracked phone, thumbs fumbling, and typed in the URL.
The website blinked to life — cheap, no-frills, coldly business-like. Smiling faces. Dollar bills fluttering across stock photo backgrounds. One simple line in bold font:
"We pay for you to smile! Call 655-755-9901."
She hesitated. Then looked toward the alley.
Fuck it. Nothing to lose.
She strolled toward where the bus had disappeared. The alley swallowed her in darkness, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the damp air.
She found it. Parked like some metal predator waiting for prey. She knocked on the door. Once. Twice.
"Hello?" she rasped, her voice rough and small in the gloom.
No answer.
She was about to turn away when the bus door hissed open.
A woman stood inside — clipboard in hand, white coat too clean for the grime around her, hair tied back neatly and stiffly, as if she hadn't moved in hours. Looked like a doctor straight out of some charity ad.
Hell no. Diane's gut clenched. She knew the drill. Rehab. Counseling. Judgy smiles and locked doors.
She turned to bolt.
"We start with $10,000," the "doctor" said, her voice smooth and clinical.
Diane froze mid-step.
Ten thousand dollars.
Her stomach twisted again. But this time, it wasn't just hunger.
It was something deeper. Hungrier.
She turned back.
"Up to $200,000, but that might be quite hard."
Diane walked in, the "doctor" (X953 on her tag) moved aside, letting her in.
"Is this a sex thing?"
X953immediately replied, "Of course."
"BDSM, blood, cutting...?" Diane pressed, her voice brittle.
"Oh no, definitely not! Your body won't be harmed," X953 assured her quickly, almost offended.
Deep down, X953 was disgusted by the very notion of blood and pain.
"Please come in. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" X953 asked.
Diane nodded. Whatever perverts these people were, she might still get something out of it.
X953 brought her a sandwich and a can of Coke. Diane devoured the sandwich, but stopped halfway through. The fix. She needed the fix more.
X953 handed her a stack of papers. "Please read thoroughly and sign."
Diane skimmed.
Subject volunteers... Fetish stimulus... mental hyper-something... knsmo-something... restraining... immobilization... sexual stimulating... value per severity selection - $10,000, $20,000, $50,000, $100,000, $150,000, $200,000, $300,000 (warning)...
The moment her eyes caught the highest number, nothing else mattered.
She scribbled an X near the $300,000 slot and signed her name on every page, skipping all disclaimers.
X953 hesitated. "Are you sure about this? Did you read everything?"
"Is this a murder bus? A gang-rape?" Diane shot back — not even recoiling from the words. For that kind of money, she'd endure worse.
"No, nothing like that," X953 assured her firmly.
"So," Diane said, tossing the pen onto the clipboard, "just tell me what to do."
"Very well. Please take this pill. It will calm your digestive system. Need more Coke? Water?" X953 offered.
Diane took the pill and swallowed it dry, without drinking.
"Okay, Diane," X593 said, glancing at the clipboard, "now please go to the next room, take off all your clothes, and lie on the floor at the marked location."
Diane went through a door and found herself in a padded room, the walls lined with small holes and strange instruments she couldn't name. The floor had markings in the shape of a human stick figure, with straps waiting like idle snakes.
She stripped off her clothes, hesitating only a moment before peeling off her bra, but she kept her underwear. She lay down on the floor according to the markings and waited.
A minute later, X953 entered.
Without a word, X953 moved to work, securing Diane's limbs with the straps, tightening them until Diane could barely wiggle.
"How long is this shit going to take?" Diane snapped.
"About six to seven hours," X953 answered calmly.
"What the fuck? No, let me out now!" Diane shouted, tugging against the straps.
X593 continued unfazed, disappearing from Diane's line of sight.
"Let me out!" Diane screamed again.
Then X953 reappeared, carrying an open silvery suitcase—stuffed to the brim with crisp $100 bills.
"You don't want that?" X953 asked coolly.
Diane's mouth snapped shut. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked on the mountain of cash.
She closed her eyes. "Just... done with it," she muttered.
She felt a sudden pressure between her legs as her underwear — black, large, sport-style, not remotely sexy — was pushed aside, exposing her most intimate part. Her pubic hair was overgrown and thick, her labia bulging slightly from overuse. Something unfamiliar was inserted, cold and clinical.
"Here we go, perverts," she thought grimly.
At first, the device simply rested inside her, foreign and cold. Then, almost imperceptibly, it began to wiggle. A slow, sinuous motion, like a small creature stretching lazily in her core.
It felt... nice. Or it should have. Diane registered the sensation, acknowledged it, but the hunger that gnawed at her veins made everything feel muted. Distant. Like her nerves were wrapped in cotton.
She lay there, breathing shallowly, letting the device move inside her, detached, almost bored.
From above, her small form looked slight and vulnerable against the padded floor. Her arms were stretched above her head, wrists strapped down, legs spread wide and bound at the ankles. Her saggy breasts, while drooping with time, still fit her frame in a way that seemed natural, almost defiant. Her nipples, mid-sized and deep brown, pointed slightly outward. Her belly and arms bore the signs of a life spent wrestling hunger and excess—saggy patches of skin that hinted at years of weight loss and gain, now settled into a frame slightly too skinny for health.
A faded tattoo marked her lower left ribs: a butterfly impaled by a bleeding knife, the colors dulled and blurred with time. Grotesque, maybe—but not ugly. If anything, it was easy to see that once, not long ago, Diane had been pretty. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was only the beginning.
It had barely been two minutes, and already impatience gnawed at her insides. The device was nice, sure, but Diane wanted the money — badly. Her mind raced ahead: a real room, a hot shower, a mattress without bedbugs. She could almost feel the needle piercing her vein, the warm flood spreading through her body...
"We are about to start with the main stimulation. Are you okay so far?" X593's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.
Diane nodded impatiently, her whole body tense with need.
X953 crouched next to her, methodically setting up strange devices close to her exposed armpits. They looked almost like miniature versions of those old shouting tubes once scattered across ship decks — wide-mouthed, metallic, vaguely absurd. Each one was positioned with a slight downward angle, aimed squarely at her hairy, vulnerable underarms, as if preparing to play music directly into the tender, unshaven hollows.
X953 stood up and took a few careful steps back, moving as if trying not to disturb a crime scene. She picked up a tablet from a nearby surface, tapped a few commands into it, and waited.
Something stirred.
Diane lifted her head slightly, straining against the straps to see. Tentacles — thin, flexible, mechanical — slithered out of the shouting tubes. They aimed themselves with eerie precision toward her exposed hollows, hovering there, unmoving.
Three long seconds dragged by.
Then, three tentacles on each side sprang to life, wiggling and digging through the thick hair of her armpits, probing the vulnerable flesh underneath.
It was annoying. It felt weird. Uneasy. It was... tickling her.
Diane hadn't been tickled in at least twenty years, and she hated it. "Fuck..." she muttered under her breath. Her body tensed, instinctively trying to squirm away, but the straps held her fast.
She fought against the sensations, breathing deep. "I don't like this," she said aloud, her voice strained.
"Try not to speak," X593 warned calmly. "The Tickltoids are now set to increase activity when voice is detected."
Diane barely understood what that meant — she just wanted the money — but everything about this felt stupid and humiliating. "I don't like this!" she repeated, stubbornly trying to keep her breathing steady.
Immediately, the wiggling tentacles in her armpits sped up, digging through the hair and teasing the tender skin with relentless energy.
"Oh fuck-hak..." Diane giggled, her voice harsh yet carrying a surprising trace of innocence she hadn't heard in herself for years.
Her belly trembled softly, yet nonstop, an undeniable reaction pulsing beneath her thin skin. She was obviously unable to stop it.
"Sto-ha-p... Ple-ha-ss sst-haha-p," she giggled uncontrollably, each attempt to speak only fueling the relentless tickling assault.
"No-ho-ha," Diane spluttered, her voice cracking. The tickling at her armpits had become frantic now; the tentacles wiggled wildly yet somehow remained maddeningly gentle. It was driving her insane.
"Ha-hha..." she gasped, a wide, foolish grin stretching her face—so unlike her usual guarded self, it almost scared her. It was as if a hidden part of her, some childish reflex long buried, was clawing its way back up. Embarrassment burned hot in her chest.
Her belly quivered non-stop, nerves buzzing under her skin. It almost felt good—almost—if only it hadn't been weaponized into pure torture.
Her cheeks tingled strangely, and her soft breasts jiggled with each trembling spasm, almost twice the frantic rhythm of her quivering belly. "I-hiha... I-ha-can'ttt..." Diane whimpered, the words dissolving into helpless giggles. The tentacles were already thrashing at top speed; there was no escalation left, just endless, maddening assault.
"S-ha-ha-p-... Sst-h-op!..." she cried, her voice pitching higher with every broken syllable, rising into a light, airy laughter that sounded far too innocent for the agony behind it.
In desperation, Diane tried holding her breath, thinking she could somehow outlast the sensations. But it backfired immediately — her lungs spasmed, and a fully audible burst of laughter exploded from her chest.
"Hha-ha! Hhiha-Ha-haa..." she howled, her whole body jerking helplessly. Embarrassment stabbed through her harder than the tickling itself. One thing she knew for sure: she definitely wasn't going to try that trick again.
Her eyes teared up; this was too much. And X593 just stood there, that fucking "comforting" smile plastered across her face, as if wordlessly saying, "You're doing great, just an 'eternity' while longer."
Diane lifted her head, that silly, helpless grin still stretching her lips. She wanted to convey something—discomfort, defiance, anything—but all that escaped her mouth was a broken, useless chain of sounds:
"T-ha... p-hahh... ha-ha..."
Her head dropped back onto the padded floor, powerless to do anything but laugh, staring up at the ceiling as the madness continued to consume her.
The butterfly tattoo over her ribs seemed alive with every trembling spasm. It danced and twisted with her skin, as if trying to tear itself free from the ink-knife that pinned it down. Of course, it was only an illusion—the butterfly, with its embedded blade, simply swayed helplessly, mocking her struggle with every ragged breath and shuddering giggle.
Then, the tickling stopped.
Diane gasped fast and shallow, her chest heaving. "D-hh... sto-h-p... No-h-more... no more! Let me go!" she cried out hoarsely.
X593, unhurried and almost serene, lowered herself between Diane's legs.
Still struggling to recover her breath, Diane lifted her head weakly, her silly, helpless grin still smeared across her face. "What are you doing?!" she demanded, her voice cracking with panic.
The device inside her had never stopped running, buzzing faintly in her core. Now, X953 gently removed it, pulling it free with clinical precision. Diane's labia, still wide open from the intrusion, looked almost obscene—like a hungry monster slowly retreating into itself.
"Just breathe deep," X953 said softly. "We are going to try something."
"No! Let me go! I want out! Fuck it! Let me go!" Diane shrieked, panic surging back into her raw throat.
"Calm down. It's okay. You're doing fine," X953 replied in that same infuriatingly soothing tone.
"I don't want this anymore! Please let me go!" Diane pleaded, tears rolling freely now.
"You signed the contract," X593 said simply, her voice almost kind, as she tapped a few more commands into her tablet.
X953 placed her palms gently against Diane's skin, right at the tender edges where the pubic hair began to thin into the soft triangle, just outside the folds of her labia. Diane stiffened immediately; she knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Fuck You!... Help! Help!!!! Somebody help!" she panicked, thrashing against the straps. "Please, somebody!"
X593 remained calm, her hands steady. "The bus is soundproofed. Don't strain yourself. Conserve your energy."
But Diane didn't stop. "Help meeeee! Somebody help me please!" she screamed with every bit of breath she had left, her voice raw and cracking with desperation.
X953, sitting calmly on the padded floor, still holding Diane's pubic fringes at each side, her palms resting steady and unmoving, finally began to act. While Diane was still screaming for help, X953's index and middle fingers on each hand started to slowly but firmly stroke and tickle the fringes, tracing tiny, maddening circles into the tangled hair at the edges of her labia.
The reaction was almost instant.
"Nooo! Staaaaaaa-haha—" Diane shrieked, but the words shattered into laughter so intense she thought her abdomen was going to violently explode.
In reality, she was just shaking uncontrollably, her muscles spasming without coordination, as if her body was trying to tear itself away from... itself.
Her mind screamed one thing — escape — but her body had no choice but to surrender, to shake, to tremble, to laugh.
Ripples coursed through Diane's soft breasts with every helpless spasm. Her nipples, stiff and aching, betrayed a raw, unwanted excitement she couldn't suppress, no matter how much she hated herself for it. Heat flushed under her skin, spreading from her chest down her belly, pooling low between her trembling thighs. She had never laughed like this before — wild, broken, and blisteringly alive — and the aching tension deep inside her was becoming unbearable.
"Hh... k-k-k-k-k-k... hh... k-k-k-k-k-k... hh... k-k-k-k-k-k... hh... k-k-k-k-k-k..."
There was no voice anymore, no coherent breath, only a thin, broken stuttering bubbling out of her throat — pure, raw desperation taking over. Drool leaked freely from the corners of her mouth, wetting her cheek, unnoticed and unchecked. Every trembling syllable shook her body, rattling her chest and belly, her flushed skin twitching with each helpless spasm. She wasn't laughing anymore; she was unraveling, stripped to something primal, wordless, and unbearably alive.
X953 gradually stopped tickling Diane's pubic fringes, lifting her palms away with an almost reverent slowness. Diane's silent laughter still vibrated weakly through her, tremors rippling along her exhausted frame. Small, broken gasps invaded the rhythm now, as she struggled to claw her way back to control, but her body betrayed her — releasing soft, involuntary peals of giggles, as if some part of her refused to let the laughter die.
"Hh-ha-... hhaha... ha-ha... hha-ha... haha-hha..." Diane's body shook with every broken giggle, her mind a fraying wire sparking in the dark. She begged silently for a different touch—any touch—one that would erase the ghostly itch still clawing under her skin where fingers had once scraped her soul raw.
"Hha-h... ha-ha-a... ha-h-pli-... Ha-ha-... Ha-pleaha... Ha-please no more... Please no more! I beg! Hh- I'll do anything... Please... please... please!..." Her pleas disintegrated into trembling, wet sobs. To Diane, it was sweet and beautiful — a blessed relief from the madness of laughter. The crying stretched through her ribs like a broken hymn, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't want the moment to end.
But sweet relief wasn't something X953 was willing to allow. She shifted, repositioning herself with precise movements at Diane's trembling feet. Diane's sobs grew louder, rising in broken waves. "Please no more! Please don't do that anymore! Please!" she cried, her teary, pleading eyes locking onto X953 with raw desperation. But there was no sign of empathy in X953's gaze—only cold, focused patience as she calmly prepared herself for the next "job."
"You might want to stay quiet now," X953 said smoothly, her voice almost playful. "I'm re-enabling the Voice-activated Tickltoids."
She tapped her tablet with deliberate precision.
Instantly, the tentacles positioned at Diane's armpits gave a sharp, teasing twitch — a subtle reminder, like a sleeping predator flexing its claws, that they were still waiting. Watching. Listening.
Diane jerked violently, clamping her lips shut, desperate not to make a sound, as if her very life depended on it. She forced herself to breathe through her nose, each inhale shaky and shallow, terror making her body feel like a live wire ready to snap.
X953 "presented" her right index finger, wiggling it slowly and tauntingly in the air just inches from Diane's face. She wasn't about to let Diane find peace in silence; she needed the ball rolling again. Watching Diane's tear-streaked, pleading eyes, X953 began to move the teasing finger with deliberate slowness, drifting down from Diane's line of sight, tracing an invisible path through the air toward her helpless left foot.
This is so unfair, Diane thought bitterly, her mind howling the words her mouth dared not unleash: This isn't fair!
Then came a touch — the barest pressure, X953's finger planting itself firmly at the center of Diane's vulnerable left foot. X953 froze in that moment, locking eyes with Diane, her stare drilling deep into the raw panic swimming there. And then, without mercy, the wiggling began.
Diane thrashed her head in every possible direction, tendons straining, muscles locking, but there was no escape. She sucked in desperate, ragged breaths through her nose, tried every half-formed trick her panicking mind could conjure. Her belly spasmed violently, her tight-pressed lips trembling, already curling upward against her will—a helpless, inevitable prelude to another round of laughter she couldn't stop.
X953 teased, "Here we go, just a little bit more... just open your mouth... releassssse," she whispered with slow, deliberate cruelty. She knew it was inevitable now—any second, any heartbeat, and Diane's laughter would erupt again, sweet and explosive, tearing through the fragile silence like a storm.
It didn't take long. "...pppppph-grrrkkkk..." Diane spluttered, as her lungs caved under the unbearable pressure her mouth could no longer hold back. Saliva sprayed from her lips as helpless, explosive laughter finally tore free, ripping through her battered body without mercy.
"Hha-ha-haha... Haaha-ha-ha-hhh..." Diane's laughter spilled out uncontrollably, and the Tickltoids immediately responded—tormenting her armpits, the intensity climbing with every syllable that escaped her mouth. Whenever she ran out of air, her laughter faltered, and the Tickltoids slowed, giving her just a heartbeat of mercy. But as soon as her body gasped for breath—a reflex she couldn't control—the wicked machines reactivated, setting off another brutal cycle. Over and over, the laughter, the gasps, and the renewed assault devoured her, an endless loop of desperation and helplessness.
She was made of stone, yet alive — aware of the world but calm as the deep ocean. A door had opened inside her, and she absorbed life itself, everything contained within her trembling shell. The pleasure of being whole flooded her, pure and simple. Diane was dreaming, and on her face bloomed a soft, complete smile of perfect serenity.
The device was inside her again, working its slow, merciless magic on her shattered body. Diane was too drained to resist, too hollowed out to summon any armor. Every barrier she had ever built slipped away like mist. The pleasure came in endless, crashing waves—orgasm after orgasm—pulling her deeper and deeper into a warm, blissful oblivion where nothing mattered except surrender.
She woke up in a cheap, oversized bathrobe, arms wrapped tightly around a heavy silvery suitcase, slumped against her favorite back-alley trashcan. Her whole body tingled with lingering aftershocks, tiny uncontrollable shivers running through her limbs, leaving her shaking and dazed, as if the world itself was still vibrating around her.
She looked around, jittery and paranoid. Cracking the case open just a sliver, she caught a glimpse of the contents inside—enough to snap it shut again in a heartbeat. Her breathing came fast and shallow, tangled in a haze of confusion over what she'd gained and the unspeakable horrors it had cost her. But still—she could buy food now. Find a warm, safe place to sleep. Maybe even rent a car and drive far, far away. Away from this life. Away from the pain. Away from everything.
But first... she needed a fix.
<The End>
It is set in the TDGrid Universe.
Thank you for reading!
I truly hope you enjoy it — and I would really appreciate your thoughts, comments, and feedback.
More stories will be coming soon!
Diane Luk hugged herself against the city's cold breath, standing half-hidden beneath a flickering streetlight. The air smelled faintly of damp concrete, engine fumes, and stale fried food, clinging to her skin like a second layer. The concrete around her was cracked, stained, alive with the distant hum of tires on wet asphalt.
She was small — skin the color of soft, not-dark chocolate, hinting at a Latina heritage, brown eyes twitching under the buzzing neon, her long, uneven hair pushed back with greasy fingers. Her jaw worked unconsciously, grinding against ghosts — a side effect of years chasing synthetic highs she could barely afford.
She needed a fix. Bad.
But the street was dead, and the only thing more invisible than her hunger was the damn sweater swallowing her body, making her look less like temptation and more like a tired waitress at the end of her shift. She yanked it down in frustration, flashing a hint of skin nobody was looking at.
"How the fuck am I supposed to catch anything like this?" she muttered, kicking a crushed can into the gutter.
Far down the street, something rumbled.
A low, mechanical growl — wrong for a car, too steady for a bike.
Diane froze, her blood humming. She peered into the misty dark.
And there it was.
Lurching into view like a ghost that had forgotten it was dead — an old, beat-up city bus. No lights. No markings. Just a single faded word sprayed across its side:
Smile4Cash.com
It slowed down as it neared her, engine growling low, almost inviting. Diane's heart thudded, but the bus kept rolling, pulling into a side alley and vanishing into the dark.
For a moment she just stood there, shivering, debating. Her stomach growled — painfully. Food would be nice. A bag of white powder? Even nicer.
She pulled out her ancient, cracked phone, thumbs fumbling, and typed in the URL.
The website blinked to life — cheap, no-frills, coldly business-like. Smiling faces. Dollar bills fluttering across stock photo backgrounds. One simple line in bold font:
"We pay for you to smile! Call 655-755-9901."
She hesitated. Then looked toward the alley.
Fuck it. Nothing to lose.
She strolled toward where the bus had disappeared. The alley swallowed her in darkness, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the damp air.
She found it. Parked like some metal predator waiting for prey. She knocked on the door. Once. Twice.
"Hello?" she rasped, her voice rough and small in the gloom.
No answer.
She was about to turn away when the bus door hissed open.
A woman stood inside — clipboard in hand, white coat too clean for the grime around her, hair tied back neatly and stiffly, as if she hadn't moved in hours. Looked like a doctor straight out of some charity ad.
Hell no. Diane's gut clenched. She knew the drill. Rehab. Counseling. Judgy smiles and locked doors.
She turned to bolt.
"We start with $10,000," the "doctor" said, her voice smooth and clinical.
Diane froze mid-step.
Ten thousand dollars.
Her stomach twisted again. But this time, it wasn't just hunger.
It was something deeper. Hungrier.
She turned back.
"Up to $200,000, but that might be quite hard."
Diane walked in, the "doctor" (X953 on her tag) moved aside, letting her in.
"Is this a sex thing?"
X953immediately replied, "Of course."
"BDSM, blood, cutting...?" Diane pressed, her voice brittle.
"Oh no, definitely not! Your body won't be harmed," X953 assured her quickly, almost offended.
Deep down, X953 was disgusted by the very notion of blood and pain.
"Please come in. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" X953 asked.
Diane nodded. Whatever perverts these people were, she might still get something out of it.
X953 brought her a sandwich and a can of Coke. Diane devoured the sandwich, but stopped halfway through. The fix. She needed the fix more.
X953 handed her a stack of papers. "Please read thoroughly and sign."
Diane skimmed.
Subject volunteers... Fetish stimulus... mental hyper-something... knsmo-something... restraining... immobilization... sexual stimulating... value per severity selection - $10,000, $20,000, $50,000, $100,000, $150,000, $200,000, $300,000 (warning)...
The moment her eyes caught the highest number, nothing else mattered.
She scribbled an X near the $300,000 slot and signed her name on every page, skipping all disclaimers.
X953 hesitated. "Are you sure about this? Did you read everything?"
"Is this a murder bus? A gang-rape?" Diane shot back — not even recoiling from the words. For that kind of money, she'd endure worse.
"No, nothing like that," X953 assured her firmly.
"So," Diane said, tossing the pen onto the clipboard, "just tell me what to do."
"Very well. Please take this pill. It will calm your digestive system. Need more Coke? Water?" X953 offered.
Diane took the pill and swallowed it dry, without drinking.
"Okay, Diane," X593 said, glancing at the clipboard, "now please go to the next room, take off all your clothes, and lie on the floor at the marked location."
Diane went through a door and found herself in a padded room, the walls lined with small holes and strange instruments she couldn't name. The floor had markings in the shape of a human stick figure, with straps waiting like idle snakes.
She stripped off her clothes, hesitating only a moment before peeling off her bra, but she kept her underwear. She lay down on the floor according to the markings and waited.
A minute later, X953 entered.
Without a word, X953 moved to work, securing Diane's limbs with the straps, tightening them until Diane could barely wiggle.
"How long is this shit going to take?" Diane snapped.
"About six to seven hours," X953 answered calmly.
"What the fuck? No, let me out now!" Diane shouted, tugging against the straps.
X593 continued unfazed, disappearing from Diane's line of sight.
"Let me out!" Diane screamed again.
Then X953 reappeared, carrying an open silvery suitcase—stuffed to the brim with crisp $100 bills.
"You don't want that?" X953 asked coolly.
Diane's mouth snapped shut. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked on the mountain of cash.
She closed her eyes. "Just... done with it," she muttered.
She felt a sudden pressure between her legs as her underwear — black, large, sport-style, not remotely sexy — was pushed aside, exposing her most intimate part. Her pubic hair was overgrown and thick, her labia bulging slightly from overuse. Something unfamiliar was inserted, cold and clinical.
"Here we go, perverts," she thought grimly.
At first, the device simply rested inside her, foreign and cold. Then, almost imperceptibly, it began to wiggle. A slow, sinuous motion, like a small creature stretching lazily in her core.
It felt... nice. Or it should have. Diane registered the sensation, acknowledged it, but the hunger that gnawed at her veins made everything feel muted. Distant. Like her nerves were wrapped in cotton.
She lay there, breathing shallowly, letting the device move inside her, detached, almost bored.
From above, her small form looked slight and vulnerable against the padded floor. Her arms were stretched above her head, wrists strapped down, legs spread wide and bound at the ankles. Her saggy breasts, while drooping with time, still fit her frame in a way that seemed natural, almost defiant. Her nipples, mid-sized and deep brown, pointed slightly outward. Her belly and arms bore the signs of a life spent wrestling hunger and excess—saggy patches of skin that hinted at years of weight loss and gain, now settled into a frame slightly too skinny for health.
A faded tattoo marked her lower left ribs: a butterfly impaled by a bleeding knife, the colors dulled and blurred with time. Grotesque, maybe—but not ugly. If anything, it was easy to see that once, not long ago, Diane had been pretty. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was only the beginning.
It had barely been two minutes, and already impatience gnawed at her insides. The device was nice, sure, but Diane wanted the money — badly. Her mind raced ahead: a real room, a hot shower, a mattress without bedbugs. She could almost feel the needle piercing her vein, the warm flood spreading through her body...
"We are about to start with the main stimulation. Are you okay so far?" X593's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.
Diane nodded impatiently, her whole body tense with need.
X953 crouched next to her, methodically setting up strange devices close to her exposed armpits. They looked almost like miniature versions of those old shouting tubes once scattered across ship decks — wide-mouthed, metallic, vaguely absurd. Each one was positioned with a slight downward angle, aimed squarely at her hairy, vulnerable underarms, as if preparing to play music directly into the tender, unshaven hollows.
X953 stood up and took a few careful steps back, moving as if trying not to disturb a crime scene. She picked up a tablet from a nearby surface, tapped a few commands into it, and waited.
Something stirred.
Diane lifted her head slightly, straining against the straps to see. Tentacles — thin, flexible, mechanical — slithered out of the shouting tubes. They aimed themselves with eerie precision toward her exposed hollows, hovering there, unmoving.
Three long seconds dragged by.
Then, three tentacles on each side sprang to life, wiggling and digging through the thick hair of her armpits, probing the vulnerable flesh underneath.
It was annoying. It felt weird. Uneasy. It was... tickling her.
Diane hadn't been tickled in at least twenty years, and she hated it. "Fuck..." she muttered under her breath. Her body tensed, instinctively trying to squirm away, but the straps held her fast.
She fought against the sensations, breathing deep. "I don't like this," she said aloud, her voice strained.
"Try not to speak," X593 warned calmly. "The Tickltoids are now set to increase activity when voice is detected."
Diane barely understood what that meant — she just wanted the money — but everything about this felt stupid and humiliating. "I don't like this!" she repeated, stubbornly trying to keep her breathing steady.
Immediately, the wiggling tentacles in her armpits sped up, digging through the hair and teasing the tender skin with relentless energy.
"Oh fuck-hak..." Diane giggled, her voice harsh yet carrying a surprising trace of innocence she hadn't heard in herself for years.
Her belly trembled softly, yet nonstop, an undeniable reaction pulsing beneath her thin skin. She was obviously unable to stop it.
"Sto-ha-p... Ple-ha-ss sst-haha-p," she giggled uncontrollably, each attempt to speak only fueling the relentless tickling assault.
"No-ho-ha," Diane spluttered, her voice cracking. The tickling at her armpits had become frantic now; the tentacles wiggled wildly yet somehow remained maddeningly gentle. It was driving her insane.
"Ha-hha..." she gasped, a wide, foolish grin stretching her face—so unlike her usual guarded self, it almost scared her. It was as if a hidden part of her, some childish reflex long buried, was clawing its way back up. Embarrassment burned hot in her chest.
Her belly quivered non-stop, nerves buzzing under her skin. It almost felt good—almost—if only it hadn't been weaponized into pure torture.
Her cheeks tingled strangely, and her soft breasts jiggled with each trembling spasm, almost twice the frantic rhythm of her quivering belly. "I-hiha... I-ha-can'ttt..." Diane whimpered, the words dissolving into helpless giggles. The tentacles were already thrashing at top speed; there was no escalation left, just endless, maddening assault.
"S-ha-ha-p-... Sst-h-op!..." she cried, her voice pitching higher with every broken syllable, rising into a light, airy laughter that sounded far too innocent for the agony behind it.
In desperation, Diane tried holding her breath, thinking she could somehow outlast the sensations. But it backfired immediately — her lungs spasmed, and a fully audible burst of laughter exploded from her chest.
"Hha-ha! Hhiha-Ha-haa..." she howled, her whole body jerking helplessly. Embarrassment stabbed through her harder than the tickling itself. One thing she knew for sure: she definitely wasn't going to try that trick again.
Her eyes teared up; this was too much. And X593 just stood there, that fucking "comforting" smile plastered across her face, as if wordlessly saying, "You're doing great, just an 'eternity' while longer."
Diane lifted her head, that silly, helpless grin still stretching her lips. She wanted to convey something—discomfort, defiance, anything—but all that escaped her mouth was a broken, useless chain of sounds:
"T-ha... p-hahh... ha-ha..."
Her head dropped back onto the padded floor, powerless to do anything but laugh, staring up at the ceiling as the madness continued to consume her.
The butterfly tattoo over her ribs seemed alive with every trembling spasm. It danced and twisted with her skin, as if trying to tear itself free from the ink-knife that pinned it down. Of course, it was only an illusion—the butterfly, with its embedded blade, simply swayed helplessly, mocking her struggle with every ragged breath and shuddering giggle.
Then, the tickling stopped.
Diane gasped fast and shallow, her chest heaving. "D-hh... sto-h-p... No-h-more... no more! Let me go!" she cried out hoarsely.
X593, unhurried and almost serene, lowered herself between Diane's legs.
Still struggling to recover her breath, Diane lifted her head weakly, her silly, helpless grin still smeared across her face. "What are you doing?!" she demanded, her voice cracking with panic.
The device inside her had never stopped running, buzzing faintly in her core. Now, X953 gently removed it, pulling it free with clinical precision. Diane's labia, still wide open from the intrusion, looked almost obscene—like a hungry monster slowly retreating into itself.
"Just breathe deep," X953 said softly. "We are going to try something."
"No! Let me go! I want out! Fuck it! Let me go!" Diane shrieked, panic surging back into her raw throat.
"Calm down. It's okay. You're doing fine," X953 replied in that same infuriatingly soothing tone.
"I don't want this anymore! Please let me go!" Diane pleaded, tears rolling freely now.
"You signed the contract," X593 said simply, her voice almost kind, as she tapped a few more commands into her tablet.
X953 placed her palms gently against Diane's skin, right at the tender edges where the pubic hair began to thin into the soft triangle, just outside the folds of her labia. Diane stiffened immediately; she knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Fuck You!... Help! Help!!!! Somebody help!" she panicked, thrashing against the straps. "Please, somebody!"
X593 remained calm, her hands steady. "The bus is soundproofed. Don't strain yourself. Conserve your energy."
But Diane didn't stop. "Help meeeee! Somebody help me please!" she screamed with every bit of breath she had left, her voice raw and cracking with desperation.
X953, sitting calmly on the padded floor, still holding Diane's pubic fringes at each side, her palms resting steady and unmoving, finally began to act. While Diane was still screaming for help, X953's index and middle fingers on each hand started to slowly but firmly stroke and tickle the fringes, tracing tiny, maddening circles into the tangled hair at the edges of her labia.
The reaction was almost instant.
"Nooo! Staaaaaaa-haha—" Diane shrieked, but the words shattered into laughter so intense she thought her abdomen was going to violently explode.
In reality, she was just shaking uncontrollably, her muscles spasming without coordination, as if her body was trying to tear itself away from... itself.
Her mind screamed one thing — escape — but her body had no choice but to surrender, to shake, to tremble, to laugh.
Ripples coursed through Diane's soft breasts with every helpless spasm. Her nipples, stiff and aching, betrayed a raw, unwanted excitement she couldn't suppress, no matter how much she hated herself for it. Heat flushed under her skin, spreading from her chest down her belly, pooling low between her trembling thighs. She had never laughed like this before — wild, broken, and blisteringly alive — and the aching tension deep inside her was becoming unbearable.
"Hh... k-k-k-k-k-k... hh... k-k-k-k-k-k... hh... k-k-k-k-k-k... hh... k-k-k-k-k-k..."
There was no voice anymore, no coherent breath, only a thin, broken stuttering bubbling out of her throat — pure, raw desperation taking over. Drool leaked freely from the corners of her mouth, wetting her cheek, unnoticed and unchecked. Every trembling syllable shook her body, rattling her chest and belly, her flushed skin twitching with each helpless spasm. She wasn't laughing anymore; she was unraveling, stripped to something primal, wordless, and unbearably alive.
X953 gradually stopped tickling Diane's pubic fringes, lifting her palms away with an almost reverent slowness. Diane's silent laughter still vibrated weakly through her, tremors rippling along her exhausted frame. Small, broken gasps invaded the rhythm now, as she struggled to claw her way back to control, but her body betrayed her — releasing soft, involuntary peals of giggles, as if some part of her refused to let the laughter die.
"Hh-ha-... hhaha... ha-ha... hha-ha... haha-hha..." Diane's body shook with every broken giggle, her mind a fraying wire sparking in the dark. She begged silently for a different touch—any touch—one that would erase the ghostly itch still clawing under her skin where fingers had once scraped her soul raw.
"Hha-h... ha-ha-a... ha-h-pli-... Ha-ha-... Ha-pleaha... Ha-please no more... Please no more! I beg! Hh- I'll do anything... Please... please... please!..." Her pleas disintegrated into trembling, wet sobs. To Diane, it was sweet and beautiful — a blessed relief from the madness of laughter. The crying stretched through her ribs like a broken hymn, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't want the moment to end.
But sweet relief wasn't something X953 was willing to allow. She shifted, repositioning herself with precise movements at Diane's trembling feet. Diane's sobs grew louder, rising in broken waves. "Please no more! Please don't do that anymore! Please!" she cried, her teary, pleading eyes locking onto X953 with raw desperation. But there was no sign of empathy in X953's gaze—only cold, focused patience as she calmly prepared herself for the next "job."
"You might want to stay quiet now," X953 said smoothly, her voice almost playful. "I'm re-enabling the Voice-activated Tickltoids."
She tapped her tablet with deliberate precision.
Instantly, the tentacles positioned at Diane's armpits gave a sharp, teasing twitch — a subtle reminder, like a sleeping predator flexing its claws, that they were still waiting. Watching. Listening.
Diane jerked violently, clamping her lips shut, desperate not to make a sound, as if her very life depended on it. She forced herself to breathe through her nose, each inhale shaky and shallow, terror making her body feel like a live wire ready to snap.
X953 "presented" her right index finger, wiggling it slowly and tauntingly in the air just inches from Diane's face. She wasn't about to let Diane find peace in silence; she needed the ball rolling again. Watching Diane's tear-streaked, pleading eyes, X953 began to move the teasing finger with deliberate slowness, drifting down from Diane's line of sight, tracing an invisible path through the air toward her helpless left foot.
This is so unfair, Diane thought bitterly, her mind howling the words her mouth dared not unleash: This isn't fair!
Then came a touch — the barest pressure, X953's finger planting itself firmly at the center of Diane's vulnerable left foot. X953 froze in that moment, locking eyes with Diane, her stare drilling deep into the raw panic swimming there. And then, without mercy, the wiggling began.
Diane thrashed her head in every possible direction, tendons straining, muscles locking, but there was no escape. She sucked in desperate, ragged breaths through her nose, tried every half-formed trick her panicking mind could conjure. Her belly spasmed violently, her tight-pressed lips trembling, already curling upward against her will—a helpless, inevitable prelude to another round of laughter she couldn't stop.
X953 teased, "Here we go, just a little bit more... just open your mouth... releassssse," she whispered with slow, deliberate cruelty. She knew it was inevitable now—any second, any heartbeat, and Diane's laughter would erupt again, sweet and explosive, tearing through the fragile silence like a storm.
It didn't take long. "...pppppph-grrrkkkk..." Diane spluttered, as her lungs caved under the unbearable pressure her mouth could no longer hold back. Saliva sprayed from her lips as helpless, explosive laughter finally tore free, ripping through her battered body without mercy.
"Hha-ha-haha... Haaha-ha-ha-hhh..." Diane's laughter spilled out uncontrollably, and the Tickltoids immediately responded—tormenting her armpits, the intensity climbing with every syllable that escaped her mouth. Whenever she ran out of air, her laughter faltered, and the Tickltoids slowed, giving her just a heartbeat of mercy. But as soon as her body gasped for breath—a reflex she couldn't control—the wicked machines reactivated, setting off another brutal cycle. Over and over, the laughter, the gasps, and the renewed assault devoured her, an endless loop of desperation and helplessness.
She was made of stone, yet alive — aware of the world but calm as the deep ocean. A door had opened inside her, and she absorbed life itself, everything contained within her trembling shell. The pleasure of being whole flooded her, pure and simple. Diane was dreaming, and on her face bloomed a soft, complete smile of perfect serenity.
The device was inside her again, working its slow, merciless magic on her shattered body. Diane was too drained to resist, too hollowed out to summon any armor. Every barrier she had ever built slipped away like mist. The pleasure came in endless, crashing waves—orgasm after orgasm—pulling her deeper and deeper into a warm, blissful oblivion where nothing mattered except surrender.
She woke up in a cheap, oversized bathrobe, arms wrapped tightly around a heavy silvery suitcase, slumped against her favorite back-alley trashcan. Her whole body tingled with lingering aftershocks, tiny uncontrollable shivers running through her limbs, leaving her shaking and dazed, as if the world itself was still vibrating around her.
She looked around, jittery and paranoid. Cracking the case open just a sliver, she caught a glimpse of the contents inside—enough to snap it shut again in a heartbeat. Her breathing came fast and shallow, tangled in a haze of confusion over what she'd gained and the unspeakable horrors it had cost her. But still—she could buy food now. Find a warm, safe place to sleep. Maybe even rent a car and drive far, far away. Away from this life. Away from the pain. Away from everything.
But first... she needed a fix.
<The End>
