ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 18
There is a place, one where many unfortunate young ladies find themselves time and time again. Isolated deep within a secluded forest, down a narrow dirt road seemingly left untouched since creation, lies a rickety old cabin, its façade understated, its purpose devious beyond compare. Shimmy open one of its many broken windows, its main entrance a rusty padlock away from collapsing unto the floor, and you will find its interior humble to say the least, not one hint of anything more than an old hunting cabin left long forgotten. However, it is to be these modest surroundings that shroud a private entrance of sorts, one nestled behind a false wall, through a narrow corridor, down a flight of stairs, into what its reluctant guests would surely classify as hell incarnate.
Located several stories underground lies a chamber, one exclusively reserved for nightmares to spring to life: a hidden dungeon, crafted for the sole purpose of delivering upon its victims an unrelenting tickle torture beyond all hope and reason. Three feet of solid concrete line its solemn walls, suppressing even the most desperate of shrieks without a second thought. Bright iridescent lights illuminate this chamber of terrible secrets, its contents filled to the brim with contraptions only the most depraved of minds could ever have conceived: bondage racks, x-frames, medieval pillory, wooden stocks, dentist chairs, and length upon length of ropes, chains, and cords for the eyes to behold. Such a space holds dual function of both storage and workshop, the tools of the trade hidden away in countless compartments found throughout, amassed over the course of years of firsthand trial-and-error, the likes of which only the unluckiest of souls get to experience firsthand. There is no end to the possibilities one will find locked away in this desolate hollow, far, far away from any shred of humanity both inside and out…
…and it is here that our young starlet will soon be calling home.
It must have startled her, that unexpected knock at her front door one Saturday night. Little could she have foreseen herself having a visitor, let alone a most unwelcome one at that. She must have tiptoed her way to the door, attempting to shroud her occupancy, for a lonely house is no place for a young lady to find herself in, especially one so remote from such troublesomely alert neighbors as can be the case. Squinting through her peephole, she must have been dumbfounded to find not one hint of anyone’s presence, no doubt chalking it up to yet another juvenile prank. It must have been dumb luck that a light breeze passed its way through her quaint little porch, as she must have caught that curious sight of a handwritten note taped to the banister, flapping precariously in the wind. Slowly opening the door, her curiosity must have adorably taken hold of her, inquiring its contents just out of sight for her to read. However, as she slowly made her way from the safety of her home, pulling the note from its perch as she gently unfolds its contents, she must have been struck with the most unfortunate realization of her tiny little life, reading nothing more than this enlightening message:
“SURPRISE!”
It was then he made his move: lying in wait, lunging from the shadows, he pounces upon the unsuspecting creature. Thrusting a white rag over her face, he subsequently wraps his arm around her biceps, neutralizing any chance of escape out of his vice-like hold. Her frantic screams for help are promptly muffled, the cloth’s thick material doubled by his gloved hand, the nightly crickets proving enough to drown out what’s left of her hapless cries. A pungent odor invades her nostrils, left open for business as they flare at the sheer effort she is exerting at this very moment, struggling mightily against the unknown assailant to no avail. Legs flailing, wildly kicking at the empty air in front of her, she is merely wasting what energy she would surely need, her inevitable fate waiting for her just beyond the fray. The more she struggles, the faster the compound takes its hold, her entire world slowly slipping out of her control right before her eyes. Little by little, as the fight is gradually siphoned out of her, she collapses towards the floor, only to have those same arms catch her on the way down, as gentle as they will ever be. The black silhouette of the lone figure morphs into a fuzzy blur as her eyes slowly close shut, descending into a deep slumber the length of which she will never know.
Precious little Taylor, prepare yourself…
The clasp of an electrical switch echoes through the room, flooding it with a wave of blinding light. Tightening her eyelids, furrowing the skin atop her delicate nose, she responds to such invasive stimuli, having just been abruptly awoken from an extended sleep. She moans, the bright light disorienting her for just a moment as she regains herself after such a long rest. She doesn’t know yet that she has been transported far away from the comfort and protection of her home, housed in this prison of peril and plumes, but she will soon find out, for as she attempts to rise from her horizontal position, she discovers she is completely unable to. In fact, the more she wriggles about, attempting to move even one limb from its stationary position, the more she realizes she can’t move anything by her own free will. A sudden gasp escapes her sumptuous lips, jettisoning her eyes open as wide as saucers as she begins glancing about at her newly revealed bondage with horrified fascination.
She is bound atop a wooden rack, the entirety of her petite figure stretched taut over its design by thick padded leather cuffs wrapped tightly around her wrists and ankles. Wide leather straps bind her flat to the table at three strategically placed points: one at her knees, one just above her chest, and one right around her forehead, securing what peripheral movement she could have hoped to remain left for her. A large cushion, integrated into the device, is stationed just underneath the arch of her back, leaving the entirety of her midsection prominently displayed and easily accessible. Looking down with what vision she has left, she is startled to find herself clad in her floral bikini, confronted with the possibility of having been redressed by the clandestine figure during her extended blackout. She wriggles her toes, one of the only vestiges of freedom left for her, extending far out of sight atop the inescapable contraption she has found herself in.
Her breathing rapidly quickens, turning her head side to side to try and ascertain her surroundings to no avail: shrouded in darkness, it is as though she is on display, a spotlight illuminating her helpless state for the world to see, and no matter how much she tries, she cannot escape. Not knowing where she is or how she got there, Taylor’s desperate search for solid ground comes up pitifully short, her limiting point of view making her predicament seem that much direr. Rendered near mute, only the subtle whimpers of a trapped creature emanate from her gullet, a wash of fear and terror coursing through her body. Tears welling up at the sides of her eyes, she is forced to confront the stark reality of her situation: bound helpless atop an infernal contraption, without a soul in the vicinity to help her…or so she thinks.
“It seems as if my darling is finally awake.”
An ominous voice, seemingly from out of thin air, echoes through the space, sending a chill swiftly down the starlet’s spine. Frantically she peers about, darting her eyes from side to side, hoping to catch glimpse of its source, preparing a most humble speech that will surely secure her freedom. It is after a few painstaking moments that she catches sight of her captor, gradually exiting the shadows to her right as he continues to speak.
“Or should I say: Taylor Darling, welcome home,” he solemnly dictates, revealing the entirety of his form slowly from the darkness from whence he came. He is unmasked, making Taylor tremble under the devilish gaze of his all-seeing watch: gawking upon her outstretched form with ravenous eyes, devouring every detail of her predicament with such a hungry stare, he cannot help himself but to savor the delectable sight he has so meticulously prepared for. “I hope you are finding your accommodations suitable, as I have taken great care in ensuring they cater to you and you alone, my sweet.” Her lower lip trembles, the fright of her peril coming in full clarity to her with this unknown figure standing right over her. She doesn’t know what will be in store for her, but soon, it will reveal itself in full much to her utter dismay.
“What am I doing here?” she meekly asks, the knot in her throat stifling her question to a near inaudible squeak. He begins to circle her, the heels of his shoes knocking against the concrete floor, further adding to the ominous nature of his presence. Not taking his eyes off her for one second, he begins to speak, a cold yet delighted indifference within his tone of voice.
“You’re here because I want you here,” he answers, making his way to the crown of the device, hovering his head above hers. Gazing deep into her doughy gray eyes, he takes note of the fear that is encapsulating them at this very moment. Straining to follow his movements, Taylor is unable to bring herself to interrupting him, fearing any reprisal will result in consequences that may already be underway. “You don’t know just how horrible it is to merely watch you from afar, day after day, a thin layer of glass keeping you from me. No, I just had to experience the full Taylor Darling, ASMR extraordinaire. I am honored you would choose to join me here.” Her extremities tremble as much as they may, Taylor suddenly confronted with a seemingly overzealous fan and his obsession run amok. What delusions he must possess, believing her presence to be voluntary, not knowing he is merely priming her mind to believe that. How she shuttered at the thought that her internet fame would bring her face-to-face with a madman such as he, but not in the slightest could she envision herself in the position she is in now.
“Please!” she quietly begs, the intensity behind her muted pleas showing just how helpless she feels now. “Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone about this! You have my word! Please, just don’t hurt me!” A crack at the end of her voice betrays her meager state, further inserting herself in the position he wants her to be.
“But we’re just about to have some fun!” he exclaims, eliciting a terse gasp from his captive, understanding she is not going to be freed anytime within the near future. “You wouldn’t want to leave before some fun, now would you?” Taylor can barely think, let alone fathom just what this crazed lunatic has in store for her. Little could she imagine the depths of his depraved imagination, the possibilities that this shadowy place holds for her.
However, from this moment on, she won’t have to.
“Admit it: you just couldn’t wait to come here, could you?” he teases her, slowly dragging his fingers across the wooden panels, tapping them in rhythmic pulses against the grain as he makes his way out of her view. Little by little, he commands the power to dictate every frightful sensation coursing through her nerves, her mind slowly being taken over by his growing influence. “You just couldn’t wait to see my dungeon and all its pristine glory. Just wait until you get a taste of what it’s for, then you’ll really see.”
“What…” she attempts to vocalize, the premise of ascertaining his intentions enough to suppress her inquiry if not momentarily. However, the suspense building to an unmanageable peak, she completes her question. “…what are you going to do to me?” Suddenly placing himself to her left, leaning his face right above hers, not three inches from her sparkling eyes, he answers her, the same coldly tender voice falling precariously from his lips:
“I’m going to tickle you…” he says, gently hoisting his fingers up above her head, placing them slightly atop her delicate wrists, not one millimeter below the leather cuff. With excruciatingly slow speed, he begins dragging the tips of his fingers down her forearms.
“…until you can’t take it…” Caressing her tender flesh in tiny circles, inch by agonizing inch, he slowly begins the trek down to her vulnerable underarms, and she knows it.
“…until you’re broken beyond compare…” She jerks, an autonomous reaction to such unwanted stimulation, only to be completely nullified by her inescapable bondage she is trapped in.
“…and then I’m going to tickle you even more…” Goosebumps begin to spread across her body, manifesting the roadmap in which her deranged kidnapper will traverse the bulk of her stay here.
“…until all that is left of you is whatever I want you to be…” Huffing and puffing against his tender touch, Taylor begins slowly losing her composure, slowly bending to his will until the inevitable breaking point.
“…how does that sound?” Spidering his fingers down her arms, he watches as she begins to melt in the palms of his hands much to his pleasure.
"Ppppppppppppppfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfh!” she sputters, pursing her lips with unimaginable force, not giving him one little response in which to grasp hold of. However, the closer he gets to her underarms, passing the crook of her elbow, right over her flexing biceps, the more her defenses begin to dissolve underneath her. Peeling her lips back into a bright toothy grin, silent giggles begin escaping her clenched teeth, clamping her eyes shut as if she could just wish it all away. However, she has no choice but to reveal the ticklish weakness she has pathetically attempted to hide from him, as by the time he reaches his destination, hovering the tips of his fingers over the tender flesh of her underarms, it is as though she is standing on a wire, and he is there to push her over the edge.
“Having fun yet?” he asks, right before lunging his fingers into her armpits, eliciting an ear-splitting shriek from his captive.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!” Her screams of despair swiftly dissolve into torrents of wretched laughter, revealing the ticklish little captive that has been there this entire time. Pitifully, she attempts to free herself, the absolute nullification she is experiencing driving her absolutely out of her head.
“What’s wrong, dear?” he tauntingly asks, delighting in the way he plays her body like an instrument. Frantically closing and opening her eyes, she desperately tries to wake herself from this horrendous nightmare, only to be reminded it is her ultimate reality. Even the premise of such unhindered tickle torture is enough to make her skin crawl, but it appears now she doesn’t have that much time to think anymore, but only feel. Straining against her bonds, attempting to avoid his maniacal touch, she is helpless as he begins finding his way deep into the muscle with effective result.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” she wails, bucking her body against the bonds that still will not budge. Her efforts prove to fall on deaf ears: nothing but her outermost extremities can even move an inch, her most ticklish spots fully exposed to be taken advantage of by what is turning out to be a tickle sadist beyond compare. “STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAP!!”
“Stop? But we’ve just gotten started,” he answers, manipulating her pitiful state, tenderly addressing her like a parent would a child. Ravaging her body, he frenetically begins pulsating his way down her hyper ticklish figure, pushing all the right buttons along the way. “Unless you want me to go to your ribs! Is that it dear?” Lacing his fingers between each of them, her arched back making them stick out so conveniently, he begins ravenously massaging his way into them, eliciting a myriad of primal shrieks emanating from her gullet.
“NAHAHAHAT THE RIBS!! WAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” she squeals at the top of her lungs, arching her head backward as far as it will go, betraying just how helpless she feels at this very moment. Poor creature: lowered to giving away all of her secrets, just to hopefully secure one measly moment of pity from her emotionless captor. Little could she imagine the greater suffering she is to experience, the greater satisfaction he will ultimately receive, a hellish cycle if there ever was one.
“Don’t you just love this little cushion I’ve installed underneath you?” he asks her, gyrating his fingers into her tender ribs, speaking in between her hapless cries. “It’s so easy to get in between each of these ribs, it’s almost too easy if you ask me. You’ll thank me later, I guarantee you.”
“MWAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Exotic sounds begin escaping her, the overstimulation taking hold of her body as well as her mind. She can do nothing to resist: lying there, helpless, inundated with such ticklish sensations beyond belief, all under his complete control. Her face, contorting in the most ungodly of expressions, can barely cope with the endless tickle torture coursing into each and every one of her nerve endings, seemingly endless for the time being. “PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!! MERCYYYYYYYYHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”
“Oh that word doesn’t exist down here,” he responds, lifting his fingers from her midsection, maddening tingles remaining where he left off. “But, if you insist on complaining, I’ll have to find a suitable punishment for you.” She gasps for breath, hoping to secure enough oxygen for the inevitable bout of tickle torture she is surely to face. Had she enough left over, she would have surely made the time to plead her case for freedom, but none will be left for her today. Making his way into the shadows, he makes haste his return, positioning his hands behind his back as her tear-filled eyes catch his.
“Do you remember…these?” he asks her, displaying in his hands two large painter’s brushes, an audible gulp of panic emanating from her strained gullet. Just how many videos these have been a staple of she cannot calculate, only knowing this is all part of his sick obsession, a diabolical reflection of her own design. “I’m sure you never thought they would be used against you, but I must say, they love tender little tummies like yours.” Placing their soft bristles atop her soft stomach, he begins slowly dragging them across her flesh.
“Pfpfpfahahahahahahahaha! Eeeeeeeeeeeeehehehehe!” she squeals, the sensation less intense but no less maddening than previous. Gently he traces his way across her midsection, catching the inevitable ripple and crevice, making her yelp in ticklish surprise. No matter how much she clenches her stomach muscles, it seems as if they always find their mark, tracing in between each and every indentation they find themselves in, only to snake their way into her exposed belly button time and time again. “No wait! Not there! Waiheheheheheheheeeeeet!”
“Is that too much for you dear?” he asks tenderly, finding the distress scrawled across her face so delectable. She cannot answer him, knowing for sure anything she gives him will be used against her seven fold. Unfortunately, silence turns out to be one of them. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Throwing the brushes to the side, her eyes wide as saucers hearing them clasp against the concrete floor, he lunges once again into her tender flesh, digging the tips of his fingers into her protruding stomach muscles.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she screams, bucking against the table, having it momentarily rise from the ground. She curses her toned figure, leaving her most ticklish spots easily accessible, left exposed by not one ounce of fat on her trimmed midsection.
“I hope your ribs don’t get lonely up there,” he dictates, not missing a beat as he attacks her ribs with renewed fervor, sending her cries up yet another octave.
“NAHAHAHAHAHAT AGAAAAAAAAIN!!” What began as simple droplets collecting in the corners of her eyes has transformed into that of a waterfall, streams of tears cascading down her cheeks, collecting pools of tortured kind underneath her. Caked in sweat, her hair has matted itself against her brow, the disheveled mess of a woman lying in pitiful vulnerability having no control in this world whatsoever. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE!!”
“Don’t be such a drama queen!” he demands, thrusting his fingers just below the belly button, throwing her into a maelstrom of ticklish fits beyond reason. Her cackling wails do nothing but drive him further, extracting a tone poem of ticklish delights from his most adorable captive. Who would have known her years of gracing the small screen would lead to this, but such didn’t seem to matter anymore, as reality it seemed slowly to be melting away. Desperately she clings to her sanity, slipping right out of her dainty fingers, the world around her turning into a cacophony of her own ticklish suffering.
“What’s that?” he curiously asks, the mixture of tortured cackles and high-pitched squeals seemingly not clear enough for him. “You want me to go to your feet?” Given the amount of attention inflicted upon her upper body, poor little Taylor had forgotten she even had anything else. In fact, as he disappeared into darkness, revealing a set of purple hairbrushes nestled in his palms, Taylor suddenly began to forget everything about herself.
“No…please…” she attempts to plead, just barely able to mutter these tender words.
“Please tickle my feet?” he goads, her face turning to that of disgust, shying away from what will most likely be ten times what she had already been subject to. “All you have to do is ask.” Without pause, he digs each hairbrush into her trembling soles, ravaging them with their hard bristles, driving Taylor absolutely livid.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!” her pitiful wails echo off these walls, driving her lone captor to bring her to even lower depths of unyielding tickle torture. It is a shame to find such a promising young woman under the sadistic touch of someone so merciless, so calculating as he, a diabolical spirit encompassing each of her senses for the time being, for just as it seems nothing in the world could be any worse than it already is, he steadfast proves her wrong. Finding a most delicate spot just underneath her toes, he does the unthinkable: taking his left hand, he wrenches them backwards, leaving the entirety of her foot stretched taut, completely vulnerable as the hairbrush begins invading its way into her tender flesh. "SOMEBODYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!! WAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"
"Nobody's coming to help you sweetie," he mumbles to himself, the murmuring sound of his voice enough to confirm exactly what Taylor knows: that someone would have had to known she was taken, tracked her whereabouts to this location wherever it may be, finding her in such an unfortunate place. The chance of that alone brings her to endless tears, realizing just how impossible it may be for anyone to rescue her. "You're mine, so get used to it." Her laughter goes silent, the jagged balls atop each and every bristle digging into the tender flesh just underneath her toes, reenacting an exorcism of ticklish proportions.
It is only a shame only her captor would be present to experience her unrelenting torture firsthand, a sight surely to be seen. Had you been able to witness such torments from beginning to end, you’d have been able to truly experience the absolutely special kind of display to be seen here: Taylor Darling, that absolutely adorable internet personality, delighting millions of ASMR fans with her tender voice, gentle gestures, and personal attention for years of end, locked in a tickle hell of which there is no escape. Unfortunately for her, the countless hours of soothing videos she has created have been logged into her captor’s mind, hellbent on taking her places where she has never even dreamed of going before.
It is the juxtaposition of it all that makes it so worthwhile to him: how that delicate soothing voice has reached a metamorphosis, transforming into endless torrents of hapless cries and primal cackles, only its strained shrieks and wails for mercy interrupting from time to time. How her soft glistening eyes, caring and inquisitive one video to the next, are turned wide as saucers, the terror of a thousand ticklish strokes making them gaze upon the ceiling in utter disbelief, only to be shrouded by her clamped eyelids, hoping that it will all go away soon enough. How her fragile fingers, instruments of caressing attention, are seen frantically grasping at thin air, hoping to catch hold of that last shred of sanity she finds slowly slipping away from her right before her eyes. And how her tender face, its soft tone and supple features the comfort to millions across the globe, has distorted into a burlesque of human emotions, contorting into the most horrid of expressions seemingly moment by moment, all at the drop of a feather.
How she couldn’t imagine such a juvenile activity could be used to inflict ungodly torments upon an unfortunate soul as hers, using her own mind and body to do the brunt of the heavy lifting. Memories cascade through her mind, those of pleasure as well as pain, all collapsing in on each other, slowly melding it all together. The moment the hard bristles leave her soles, a tint of red left behind, she is one step away from being broken.
“You love being tickled, I know you do!” he exclaims, dropping the dastardly implements by his sides, approaching her disheveled form. He witnesses her mouth, seemingly forming words her throat has not the breath to vocalize. She has remained sane, up until this point, resisting as much of his influence as she possibly can despite his all-encompassing power over her. However, that is all to change in the coming moments as, once again, circling his prey from above, he goes in for the kill.
“I think these ribs are the best, don’t you think?” he asks, positioning his fingers right above her midsection, ready to ravage her body once more. Suddenly, she breaks her composure, unable to take it any longer, finally falling right into his trap. "Yes, I think so..."
“No! Anything but the ribs!” she exclaims through a strained tone of voice, her desperation in full view of her captor. A devious smile scrawls itself across his face, confirming her truest weakness for him to exploit. “Please! I’ll do anything, just not the ribs!” Sobbing endlessly, she has no choice but to relinquish everything she has left just to secure a modicum of repose from his torments. Unfortunately for her, he desires much more than she is already willing to give.
“Anything my dear?” he caresses her with his tender words, a sniveling snake of a person ready to strike. Meekly she nods her head, staring deep into his piercing gaze which seems to possess not one iota of pity for her tumultuous position he has placed her in.
“Repeat after me…” he says right before lunging once again into her ribs, massaging the muscles in between each crevice, driving her wild despite such lengthy torments as previous.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!!” a final wail of defeat, resolute to experience grueling tickle torture for the rest of her days, for it seems as that is completely inevitable.
“You love to be tickled!” he dictates, lacing his fingers in between her abdominal muscles, extracting her strained cackles. She will be his parrot, conditioning her to confirm his suspicions all along: that she loves the state she is in, wishing to stay his loyal tickle pet for the rest of her days, no matter how consciously she may attempt to resist.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!” she wails, barely able to coax out a response to his unconscionable demands. However, with every fiber of her being, she suppresses whatever resistance has been left behind, succumbing to his egregious demand to echo his words, no matter what they may be. “I LOVE TO BE TICKLED!!”
“You’re so ticklish, isn’t that right?!” he coos at her, pulsating his fingers over her rippling muscles, unable to force such invasive little implements out of their dreaded crevices. The combination of verbal and psychological manipulation is making its way deep into her psyche, already weakened by the hours of torments she has dealt with until now. It is only a matter of time before she believes everything she is saying.
“I’M SO TICKLISH!!” she screams, hoping to end this maddening line of questions. But, much to her dismay, it will only go as fast as he wishes, extracting every last inch of her suffering with such demeaning questions, one after the other.
“Tickle me ‘till I cry!” he demands, thrusting his fingers right underneath her belly button, the absolute worst collection of hyper ticklish nerve endings he has come across to date. The absolute nerve: drowning in her own tears, puddles having collected underneath the waterfall of her eyes, she can barely fathom giving in to such blind assertions. However, she does her best, mouthing the words without having enough breath to say them. “I can’t hear you!”
“TICKLE ME ‘TILL I CRY!!” she shrieks, a pitiful crack in her voice betraying the crack in her defenses, fully vulnerable physically to his ticklish attacks, and now mentally as well.
“Because you’re my new tickle pet, right?!” he says, sealing his ownership of her. She has finally given in: not having one sense left of herself, precious little Taylor finally succumbs to his influence, a mad tickle sadist just cunning enough to sweep her away in the night, take her to his lair, only to break her body and spirit simultaneously.
“I’M YOUR TICKLE PET!!!”
Her fits of rage gradually became tempered, smoothing out into a submissive acceptance of her fate. The glimmer in her eyes slowly faded, not one inch of the old Taylor left inside. Broken by her captor, he has conditioned her to fully accept the tickling that had been inflicted upon her for what was to be hours on end. She will only know the unrelenting touch of her captor as he explores every inch of her untouched flesh, night after endless night, with wild abandonment. What will soon be left of her is that of a foundation, one which a devoted tickle pet will be built, learning firsthand the myriad of tools at his disposal, accepting her new fate as a ticklish little Taylor Darling, forevermore.
Located several stories underground lies a chamber, one exclusively reserved for nightmares to spring to life: a hidden dungeon, crafted for the sole purpose of delivering upon its victims an unrelenting tickle torture beyond all hope and reason. Three feet of solid concrete line its solemn walls, suppressing even the most desperate of shrieks without a second thought. Bright iridescent lights illuminate this chamber of terrible secrets, its contents filled to the brim with contraptions only the most depraved of minds could ever have conceived: bondage racks, x-frames, medieval pillory, wooden stocks, dentist chairs, and length upon length of ropes, chains, and cords for the eyes to behold. Such a space holds dual function of both storage and workshop, the tools of the trade hidden away in countless compartments found throughout, amassed over the course of years of firsthand trial-and-error, the likes of which only the unluckiest of souls get to experience firsthand. There is no end to the possibilities one will find locked away in this desolate hollow, far, far away from any shred of humanity both inside and out…
…and it is here that our young starlet will soon be calling home.
It must have startled her, that unexpected knock at her front door one Saturday night. Little could she have foreseen herself having a visitor, let alone a most unwelcome one at that. She must have tiptoed her way to the door, attempting to shroud her occupancy, for a lonely house is no place for a young lady to find herself in, especially one so remote from such troublesomely alert neighbors as can be the case. Squinting through her peephole, she must have been dumbfounded to find not one hint of anyone’s presence, no doubt chalking it up to yet another juvenile prank. It must have been dumb luck that a light breeze passed its way through her quaint little porch, as she must have caught that curious sight of a handwritten note taped to the banister, flapping precariously in the wind. Slowly opening the door, her curiosity must have adorably taken hold of her, inquiring its contents just out of sight for her to read. However, as she slowly made her way from the safety of her home, pulling the note from its perch as she gently unfolds its contents, she must have been struck with the most unfortunate realization of her tiny little life, reading nothing more than this enlightening message:
“SURPRISE!”
It was then he made his move: lying in wait, lunging from the shadows, he pounces upon the unsuspecting creature. Thrusting a white rag over her face, he subsequently wraps his arm around her biceps, neutralizing any chance of escape out of his vice-like hold. Her frantic screams for help are promptly muffled, the cloth’s thick material doubled by his gloved hand, the nightly crickets proving enough to drown out what’s left of her hapless cries. A pungent odor invades her nostrils, left open for business as they flare at the sheer effort she is exerting at this very moment, struggling mightily against the unknown assailant to no avail. Legs flailing, wildly kicking at the empty air in front of her, she is merely wasting what energy she would surely need, her inevitable fate waiting for her just beyond the fray. The more she struggles, the faster the compound takes its hold, her entire world slowly slipping out of her control right before her eyes. Little by little, as the fight is gradually siphoned out of her, she collapses towards the floor, only to have those same arms catch her on the way down, as gentle as they will ever be. The black silhouette of the lone figure morphs into a fuzzy blur as her eyes slowly close shut, descending into a deep slumber the length of which she will never know.
Precious little Taylor, prepare yourself…
The clasp of an electrical switch echoes through the room, flooding it with a wave of blinding light. Tightening her eyelids, furrowing the skin atop her delicate nose, she responds to such invasive stimuli, having just been abruptly awoken from an extended sleep. She moans, the bright light disorienting her for just a moment as she regains herself after such a long rest. She doesn’t know yet that she has been transported far away from the comfort and protection of her home, housed in this prison of peril and plumes, but she will soon find out, for as she attempts to rise from her horizontal position, she discovers she is completely unable to. In fact, the more she wriggles about, attempting to move even one limb from its stationary position, the more she realizes she can’t move anything by her own free will. A sudden gasp escapes her sumptuous lips, jettisoning her eyes open as wide as saucers as she begins glancing about at her newly revealed bondage with horrified fascination.
She is bound atop a wooden rack, the entirety of her petite figure stretched taut over its design by thick padded leather cuffs wrapped tightly around her wrists and ankles. Wide leather straps bind her flat to the table at three strategically placed points: one at her knees, one just above her chest, and one right around her forehead, securing what peripheral movement she could have hoped to remain left for her. A large cushion, integrated into the device, is stationed just underneath the arch of her back, leaving the entirety of her midsection prominently displayed and easily accessible. Looking down with what vision she has left, she is startled to find herself clad in her floral bikini, confronted with the possibility of having been redressed by the clandestine figure during her extended blackout. She wriggles her toes, one of the only vestiges of freedom left for her, extending far out of sight atop the inescapable contraption she has found herself in.
Her breathing rapidly quickens, turning her head side to side to try and ascertain her surroundings to no avail: shrouded in darkness, it is as though she is on display, a spotlight illuminating her helpless state for the world to see, and no matter how much she tries, she cannot escape. Not knowing where she is or how she got there, Taylor’s desperate search for solid ground comes up pitifully short, her limiting point of view making her predicament seem that much direr. Rendered near mute, only the subtle whimpers of a trapped creature emanate from her gullet, a wash of fear and terror coursing through her body. Tears welling up at the sides of her eyes, she is forced to confront the stark reality of her situation: bound helpless atop an infernal contraption, without a soul in the vicinity to help her…or so she thinks.
“It seems as if my darling is finally awake.”
An ominous voice, seemingly from out of thin air, echoes through the space, sending a chill swiftly down the starlet’s spine. Frantically she peers about, darting her eyes from side to side, hoping to catch glimpse of its source, preparing a most humble speech that will surely secure her freedom. It is after a few painstaking moments that she catches sight of her captor, gradually exiting the shadows to her right as he continues to speak.
“Or should I say: Taylor Darling, welcome home,” he solemnly dictates, revealing the entirety of his form slowly from the darkness from whence he came. He is unmasked, making Taylor tremble under the devilish gaze of his all-seeing watch: gawking upon her outstretched form with ravenous eyes, devouring every detail of her predicament with such a hungry stare, he cannot help himself but to savor the delectable sight he has so meticulously prepared for. “I hope you are finding your accommodations suitable, as I have taken great care in ensuring they cater to you and you alone, my sweet.” Her lower lip trembles, the fright of her peril coming in full clarity to her with this unknown figure standing right over her. She doesn’t know what will be in store for her, but soon, it will reveal itself in full much to her utter dismay.
“What am I doing here?” she meekly asks, the knot in her throat stifling her question to a near inaudible squeak. He begins to circle her, the heels of his shoes knocking against the concrete floor, further adding to the ominous nature of his presence. Not taking his eyes off her for one second, he begins to speak, a cold yet delighted indifference within his tone of voice.
“You’re here because I want you here,” he answers, making his way to the crown of the device, hovering his head above hers. Gazing deep into her doughy gray eyes, he takes note of the fear that is encapsulating them at this very moment. Straining to follow his movements, Taylor is unable to bring herself to interrupting him, fearing any reprisal will result in consequences that may already be underway. “You don’t know just how horrible it is to merely watch you from afar, day after day, a thin layer of glass keeping you from me. No, I just had to experience the full Taylor Darling, ASMR extraordinaire. I am honored you would choose to join me here.” Her extremities tremble as much as they may, Taylor suddenly confronted with a seemingly overzealous fan and his obsession run amok. What delusions he must possess, believing her presence to be voluntary, not knowing he is merely priming her mind to believe that. How she shuttered at the thought that her internet fame would bring her face-to-face with a madman such as he, but not in the slightest could she envision herself in the position she is in now.
“Please!” she quietly begs, the intensity behind her muted pleas showing just how helpless she feels now. “Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone about this! You have my word! Please, just don’t hurt me!” A crack at the end of her voice betrays her meager state, further inserting herself in the position he wants her to be.
“But we’re just about to have some fun!” he exclaims, eliciting a terse gasp from his captive, understanding she is not going to be freed anytime within the near future. “You wouldn’t want to leave before some fun, now would you?” Taylor can barely think, let alone fathom just what this crazed lunatic has in store for her. Little could she imagine the depths of his depraved imagination, the possibilities that this shadowy place holds for her.
However, from this moment on, she won’t have to.
“Admit it: you just couldn’t wait to come here, could you?” he teases her, slowly dragging his fingers across the wooden panels, tapping them in rhythmic pulses against the grain as he makes his way out of her view. Little by little, he commands the power to dictate every frightful sensation coursing through her nerves, her mind slowly being taken over by his growing influence. “You just couldn’t wait to see my dungeon and all its pristine glory. Just wait until you get a taste of what it’s for, then you’ll really see.”
“What…” she attempts to vocalize, the premise of ascertaining his intentions enough to suppress her inquiry if not momentarily. However, the suspense building to an unmanageable peak, she completes her question. “…what are you going to do to me?” Suddenly placing himself to her left, leaning his face right above hers, not three inches from her sparkling eyes, he answers her, the same coldly tender voice falling precariously from his lips:
“I’m going to tickle you…” he says, gently hoisting his fingers up above her head, placing them slightly atop her delicate wrists, not one millimeter below the leather cuff. With excruciatingly slow speed, he begins dragging the tips of his fingers down her forearms.
“…until you can’t take it…” Caressing her tender flesh in tiny circles, inch by agonizing inch, he slowly begins the trek down to her vulnerable underarms, and she knows it.
“…until you’re broken beyond compare…” She jerks, an autonomous reaction to such unwanted stimulation, only to be completely nullified by her inescapable bondage she is trapped in.
“…and then I’m going to tickle you even more…” Goosebumps begin to spread across her body, manifesting the roadmap in which her deranged kidnapper will traverse the bulk of her stay here.
“…until all that is left of you is whatever I want you to be…” Huffing and puffing against his tender touch, Taylor begins slowly losing her composure, slowly bending to his will until the inevitable breaking point.
“…how does that sound?” Spidering his fingers down her arms, he watches as she begins to melt in the palms of his hands much to his pleasure.
"Ppppppppppppppfhfhfhfhfhfhfhfh!” she sputters, pursing her lips with unimaginable force, not giving him one little response in which to grasp hold of. However, the closer he gets to her underarms, passing the crook of her elbow, right over her flexing biceps, the more her defenses begin to dissolve underneath her. Peeling her lips back into a bright toothy grin, silent giggles begin escaping her clenched teeth, clamping her eyes shut as if she could just wish it all away. However, she has no choice but to reveal the ticklish weakness she has pathetically attempted to hide from him, as by the time he reaches his destination, hovering the tips of his fingers over the tender flesh of her underarms, it is as though she is standing on a wire, and he is there to push her over the edge.
“Having fun yet?” he asks, right before lunging his fingers into her armpits, eliciting an ear-splitting shriek from his captive.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!” Her screams of despair swiftly dissolve into torrents of wretched laughter, revealing the ticklish little captive that has been there this entire time. Pitifully, she attempts to free herself, the absolute nullification she is experiencing driving her absolutely out of her head.
“What’s wrong, dear?” he tauntingly asks, delighting in the way he plays her body like an instrument. Frantically closing and opening her eyes, she desperately tries to wake herself from this horrendous nightmare, only to be reminded it is her ultimate reality. Even the premise of such unhindered tickle torture is enough to make her skin crawl, but it appears now she doesn’t have that much time to think anymore, but only feel. Straining against her bonds, attempting to avoid his maniacal touch, she is helpless as he begins finding his way deep into the muscle with effective result.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” she wails, bucking her body against the bonds that still will not budge. Her efforts prove to fall on deaf ears: nothing but her outermost extremities can even move an inch, her most ticklish spots fully exposed to be taken advantage of by what is turning out to be a tickle sadist beyond compare. “STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAP!!”
“Stop? But we’ve just gotten started,” he answers, manipulating her pitiful state, tenderly addressing her like a parent would a child. Ravaging her body, he frenetically begins pulsating his way down her hyper ticklish figure, pushing all the right buttons along the way. “Unless you want me to go to your ribs! Is that it dear?” Lacing his fingers between each of them, her arched back making them stick out so conveniently, he begins ravenously massaging his way into them, eliciting a myriad of primal shrieks emanating from her gullet.
“NAHAHAHAT THE RIBS!! WAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” she squeals at the top of her lungs, arching her head backward as far as it will go, betraying just how helpless she feels at this very moment. Poor creature: lowered to giving away all of her secrets, just to hopefully secure one measly moment of pity from her emotionless captor. Little could she imagine the greater suffering she is to experience, the greater satisfaction he will ultimately receive, a hellish cycle if there ever was one.
“Don’t you just love this little cushion I’ve installed underneath you?” he asks her, gyrating his fingers into her tender ribs, speaking in between her hapless cries. “It’s so easy to get in between each of these ribs, it’s almost too easy if you ask me. You’ll thank me later, I guarantee you.”
“MWAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Exotic sounds begin escaping her, the overstimulation taking hold of her body as well as her mind. She can do nothing to resist: lying there, helpless, inundated with such ticklish sensations beyond belief, all under his complete control. Her face, contorting in the most ungodly of expressions, can barely cope with the endless tickle torture coursing into each and every one of her nerve endings, seemingly endless for the time being. “PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!! MERCYYYYYYYYHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”
“Oh that word doesn’t exist down here,” he responds, lifting his fingers from her midsection, maddening tingles remaining where he left off. “But, if you insist on complaining, I’ll have to find a suitable punishment for you.” She gasps for breath, hoping to secure enough oxygen for the inevitable bout of tickle torture she is surely to face. Had she enough left over, she would have surely made the time to plead her case for freedom, but none will be left for her today. Making his way into the shadows, he makes haste his return, positioning his hands behind his back as her tear-filled eyes catch his.
“Do you remember…these?” he asks her, displaying in his hands two large painter’s brushes, an audible gulp of panic emanating from her strained gullet. Just how many videos these have been a staple of she cannot calculate, only knowing this is all part of his sick obsession, a diabolical reflection of her own design. “I’m sure you never thought they would be used against you, but I must say, they love tender little tummies like yours.” Placing their soft bristles atop her soft stomach, he begins slowly dragging them across her flesh.
“Pfpfpfahahahahahahahaha! Eeeeeeeeeeeeehehehehe!” she squeals, the sensation less intense but no less maddening than previous. Gently he traces his way across her midsection, catching the inevitable ripple and crevice, making her yelp in ticklish surprise. No matter how much she clenches her stomach muscles, it seems as if they always find their mark, tracing in between each and every indentation they find themselves in, only to snake their way into her exposed belly button time and time again. “No wait! Not there! Waiheheheheheheheeeeeet!”
“Is that too much for you dear?” he asks tenderly, finding the distress scrawled across her face so delectable. She cannot answer him, knowing for sure anything she gives him will be used against her seven fold. Unfortunately, silence turns out to be one of them. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Throwing the brushes to the side, her eyes wide as saucers hearing them clasp against the concrete floor, he lunges once again into her tender flesh, digging the tips of his fingers into her protruding stomach muscles.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she screams, bucking against the table, having it momentarily rise from the ground. She curses her toned figure, leaving her most ticklish spots easily accessible, left exposed by not one ounce of fat on her trimmed midsection.
“I hope your ribs don’t get lonely up there,” he dictates, not missing a beat as he attacks her ribs with renewed fervor, sending her cries up yet another octave.
“NAHAHAHAHAHAT AGAAAAAAAAIN!!” What began as simple droplets collecting in the corners of her eyes has transformed into that of a waterfall, streams of tears cascading down her cheeks, collecting pools of tortured kind underneath her. Caked in sweat, her hair has matted itself against her brow, the disheveled mess of a woman lying in pitiful vulnerability having no control in this world whatsoever. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE!!”
“Don’t be such a drama queen!” he demands, thrusting his fingers just below the belly button, throwing her into a maelstrom of ticklish fits beyond reason. Her cackling wails do nothing but drive him further, extracting a tone poem of ticklish delights from his most adorable captive. Who would have known her years of gracing the small screen would lead to this, but such didn’t seem to matter anymore, as reality it seemed slowly to be melting away. Desperately she clings to her sanity, slipping right out of her dainty fingers, the world around her turning into a cacophony of her own ticklish suffering.
“What’s that?” he curiously asks, the mixture of tortured cackles and high-pitched squeals seemingly not clear enough for him. “You want me to go to your feet?” Given the amount of attention inflicted upon her upper body, poor little Taylor had forgotten she even had anything else. In fact, as he disappeared into darkness, revealing a set of purple hairbrushes nestled in his palms, Taylor suddenly began to forget everything about herself.
“No…please…” she attempts to plead, just barely able to mutter these tender words.
“Please tickle my feet?” he goads, her face turning to that of disgust, shying away from what will most likely be ten times what she had already been subject to. “All you have to do is ask.” Without pause, he digs each hairbrush into her trembling soles, ravaging them with their hard bristles, driving Taylor absolutely livid.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOO!!” her pitiful wails echo off these walls, driving her lone captor to bring her to even lower depths of unyielding tickle torture. It is a shame to find such a promising young woman under the sadistic touch of someone so merciless, so calculating as he, a diabolical spirit encompassing each of her senses for the time being, for just as it seems nothing in the world could be any worse than it already is, he steadfast proves her wrong. Finding a most delicate spot just underneath her toes, he does the unthinkable: taking his left hand, he wrenches them backwards, leaving the entirety of her foot stretched taut, completely vulnerable as the hairbrush begins invading its way into her tender flesh. "SOMEBODYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!! WAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"
"Nobody's coming to help you sweetie," he mumbles to himself, the murmuring sound of his voice enough to confirm exactly what Taylor knows: that someone would have had to known she was taken, tracked her whereabouts to this location wherever it may be, finding her in such an unfortunate place. The chance of that alone brings her to endless tears, realizing just how impossible it may be for anyone to rescue her. "You're mine, so get used to it." Her laughter goes silent, the jagged balls atop each and every bristle digging into the tender flesh just underneath her toes, reenacting an exorcism of ticklish proportions.
It is only a shame only her captor would be present to experience her unrelenting torture firsthand, a sight surely to be seen. Had you been able to witness such torments from beginning to end, you’d have been able to truly experience the absolutely special kind of display to be seen here: Taylor Darling, that absolutely adorable internet personality, delighting millions of ASMR fans with her tender voice, gentle gestures, and personal attention for years of end, locked in a tickle hell of which there is no escape. Unfortunately for her, the countless hours of soothing videos she has created have been logged into her captor’s mind, hellbent on taking her places where she has never even dreamed of going before.
It is the juxtaposition of it all that makes it so worthwhile to him: how that delicate soothing voice has reached a metamorphosis, transforming into endless torrents of hapless cries and primal cackles, only its strained shrieks and wails for mercy interrupting from time to time. How her soft glistening eyes, caring and inquisitive one video to the next, are turned wide as saucers, the terror of a thousand ticklish strokes making them gaze upon the ceiling in utter disbelief, only to be shrouded by her clamped eyelids, hoping that it will all go away soon enough. How her fragile fingers, instruments of caressing attention, are seen frantically grasping at thin air, hoping to catch hold of that last shred of sanity she finds slowly slipping away from her right before her eyes. And how her tender face, its soft tone and supple features the comfort to millions across the globe, has distorted into a burlesque of human emotions, contorting into the most horrid of expressions seemingly moment by moment, all at the drop of a feather.
How she couldn’t imagine such a juvenile activity could be used to inflict ungodly torments upon an unfortunate soul as hers, using her own mind and body to do the brunt of the heavy lifting. Memories cascade through her mind, those of pleasure as well as pain, all collapsing in on each other, slowly melding it all together. The moment the hard bristles leave her soles, a tint of red left behind, she is one step away from being broken.
“You love being tickled, I know you do!” he exclaims, dropping the dastardly implements by his sides, approaching her disheveled form. He witnesses her mouth, seemingly forming words her throat has not the breath to vocalize. She has remained sane, up until this point, resisting as much of his influence as she possibly can despite his all-encompassing power over her. However, that is all to change in the coming moments as, once again, circling his prey from above, he goes in for the kill.
“I think these ribs are the best, don’t you think?” he asks, positioning his fingers right above her midsection, ready to ravage her body once more. Suddenly, she breaks her composure, unable to take it any longer, finally falling right into his trap. "Yes, I think so..."
“No! Anything but the ribs!” she exclaims through a strained tone of voice, her desperation in full view of her captor. A devious smile scrawls itself across his face, confirming her truest weakness for him to exploit. “Please! I’ll do anything, just not the ribs!” Sobbing endlessly, she has no choice but to relinquish everything she has left just to secure a modicum of repose from his torments. Unfortunately for her, he desires much more than she is already willing to give.
“Anything my dear?” he caresses her with his tender words, a sniveling snake of a person ready to strike. Meekly she nods her head, staring deep into his piercing gaze which seems to possess not one iota of pity for her tumultuous position he has placed her in.
“Repeat after me…” he says right before lunging once again into her ribs, massaging the muscles in between each crevice, driving her wild despite such lengthy torments as previous.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!!” a final wail of defeat, resolute to experience grueling tickle torture for the rest of her days, for it seems as that is completely inevitable.
“You love to be tickled!” he dictates, lacing his fingers in between her abdominal muscles, extracting her strained cackles. She will be his parrot, conditioning her to confirm his suspicions all along: that she loves the state she is in, wishing to stay his loyal tickle pet for the rest of her days, no matter how consciously she may attempt to resist.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!” she wails, barely able to coax out a response to his unconscionable demands. However, with every fiber of her being, she suppresses whatever resistance has been left behind, succumbing to his egregious demand to echo his words, no matter what they may be. “I LOVE TO BE TICKLED!!”
“You’re so ticklish, isn’t that right?!” he coos at her, pulsating his fingers over her rippling muscles, unable to force such invasive little implements out of their dreaded crevices. The combination of verbal and psychological manipulation is making its way deep into her psyche, already weakened by the hours of torments she has dealt with until now. It is only a matter of time before she believes everything she is saying.
“I’M SO TICKLISH!!” she screams, hoping to end this maddening line of questions. But, much to her dismay, it will only go as fast as he wishes, extracting every last inch of her suffering with such demeaning questions, one after the other.
“Tickle me ‘till I cry!” he demands, thrusting his fingers right underneath her belly button, the absolute worst collection of hyper ticklish nerve endings he has come across to date. The absolute nerve: drowning in her own tears, puddles having collected underneath the waterfall of her eyes, she can barely fathom giving in to such blind assertions. However, she does her best, mouthing the words without having enough breath to say them. “I can’t hear you!”
“TICKLE ME ‘TILL I CRY!!” she shrieks, a pitiful crack in her voice betraying the crack in her defenses, fully vulnerable physically to his ticklish attacks, and now mentally as well.
“Because you’re my new tickle pet, right?!” he says, sealing his ownership of her. She has finally given in: not having one sense left of herself, precious little Taylor finally succumbs to his influence, a mad tickle sadist just cunning enough to sweep her away in the night, take her to his lair, only to break her body and spirit simultaneously.
“I’M YOUR TICKLE PET!!!”
Her fits of rage gradually became tempered, smoothing out into a submissive acceptance of her fate. The glimmer in her eyes slowly faded, not one inch of the old Taylor left inside. Broken by her captor, he has conditioned her to fully accept the tickling that had been inflicted upon her for what was to be hours on end. She will only know the unrelenting touch of her captor as he explores every inch of her untouched flesh, night after endless night, with wild abandonment. What will soon be left of her is that of a foundation, one which a devoted tickle pet will be built, learning firsthand the myriad of tools at his disposal, accepting her new fate as a ticklish little Taylor Darling, forevermore.
