LisaLisaJam
TMF Master
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Let me know how PART 3 makes you feel! Please comment.
That's a Yacht of Tickling
Written by: LisaLisaTickle
PART 3
Yes how interesting that was. His cock was leaking clear pre-cum, despite his protesting for this tickling to stop. She dragged her fingertips down his sides again, feather-light, and he screamed with laughter, his entire body shaking. "HAHAHA! STOP!, Please!, I’ll, I’ll do anything!" His voice was very shaky now, as he begin to realize no matter what he said, she was determined to continue. His laughter was already bordering on sobbing.
She repositioned herself on her knees at his side, letting one underarm rest across the top of his thighs, her wrists limp, fingers poised above his lower torso. The cradle under him kept him suspended perfectly, hips arched, ribs exposed, his entire torso taut and vulnerable. She didn’t hesitate. Both hands descended at once, her fingers spidering more firmly over his ribs, scribbling up and down in tandem. The effect was instant nuttiness. Jonathan howled, his laughter spiraling into something frenzied, his body bucking uselessly against restraints. "HAHAHAHA! NO! NO! HA HA!" His voice cracked, his breath came in ragged gasps between the repetitive peals of laughter. "TOO MUCH! TOO MUCH! HAHAHAHA!"
Too late for him. She was already addicted to this. The sound of his most recent laughter, that high-pitched, desperate, helplessness, sent sparks skittering all over inside her. His ribs flexed beneath her fingers, every muscle tensing and twitching as he tried, and failed, to squirm away. His toes curled and uncurled violently, his fingers clawing at the air. "PLEASE!" he sobbed between laughs, tears streaming down his cheeks. "HAHAHA! I CAN’T, IT'S BAD!"
Cassidy didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The power was intoxicating in a very real way. His suffering, his helplessness, was all hers right now. She had the foreknowledge that she would not get into any kind of trouble for doing this. What an amazing gift! She dug her fingers into his ribs, poking up and down, alternating between feather-light touches and firmer grabs and pressing wiggles. His laughter was now wordless shrieks, his body jerking violently with each new assault. She watched, fascinated, as his cock twitched against his stomach, pre-cum sticking to his flushed skin. He’s enjoying this, right? The realization sent another bolt of heat straight to her core. He’s loving every second of this and it's not enough for him yet, she rationalized to herself.
When actually, he was suffering. To him, tickling, and especially bent back helpless like this, tickling was real torture. Sure it was torture that caused laughter, but it was torture nonetheless. This current feeling of being tickled this way was shocking his entire body and mind with only what he could describe as painful ticklishness. The kind that wouldn't let any real thoughts reside for but a millisecond, then pure hysteria gained control again and this electric wonderful pain continued. "HAHAHA! CASS, CASSDY!" he begged, his voice raw. "STOP! Oh HAHAHA STOP!" His hips jerked, his back arching as much as the restraints allowed. "I’LL, HAHAHA!, I’LL TELL YOU DO ANYTHING!"
She bit her lower lip with delight. "Oh, Jonathan," she purred, her breath short and excited. "I don’t want you to tell me anything." Her fingers skated down to his hips, spidering again over the sensitive skin there. "I just want you to laugh, and eventually cry."
His entire body jolted at her latest touch, his laughter pitching even higher, his muscles clenching desperately as if he could somehow recoil from her fingers. But the cradle held him mercilessly in place, hips lifted, ribs exposed, leaving him utterly defenseless. Cassidy’s pulse hammered in her throat in a frightening way. Gone was the hesitation, the doubt. The wine had dissolved whatever moral tether she’d clung to before. All that remained was this hunger, this raw, insatiable urge to feel and see his body convulse beneath her hands, to hear his laughter dissolve into sobs, then back into laughter, to watch him completely unspool under the relentless assault of her fingertips.
Methodically, she shifted her focus, her nails dancing up his ribs, then down his sides, circling his navel in slow, teasing spirals. Jonathan screamed the whole while, his laughter bordering on delirious, his body twisting in futile little movements. "HAHA, NO! NO MORE!" he begged, as his voice cracked under the tickled strain. She ignored him, remaining entranced by the way his muscles twitched beneath his damp skin, the way his throat worked as he gasped for breath between peals of laughter. His suffering was beautiful. She wondered, how could she have lived this many years without having already done this to someone?
Cassidy leaned in closer, her lips near his ear despite knowing he couldn’t hear her through the hood. "You’re mine," she whispered, the words spilling out unchecked. "And I’m going to break your mind a little bit, if that's ok." With that, she dug all ten fingers into his ribs, wiggling them mercilessly without letup.
The effect was on him was shocking. Jonathan howled as his body arching violently against the restraints, his laughter was just breathless, hysterical shrieks. Tears streaked down his cheeks, his entire frame trembled uncontrollably. Cassidy didn’t let up, she couldn’t. The power of torture was way too intoxicating. The sight of him unraveling in laughter was too delicious. She dragged her nails down his sides again, reveling in the way his laughter pitched into something so desperate, something so broken. She wanted even more.
His cock bounced against his stomach from his minor movements, flushed and dripping. Cassidy’s breath fluttered at the sight of it. She squeezed his sides between her thumbs and fingers, brilliantly in the exact spots that would unwravel his entire ticklish world. His body convulsed, his laughter bordered again on sobbing. "P-PLEASE!" he wailed, his voice raw. "HAHAHA! I C-CAN’T, IT’S TOO, HAHA, TOO MUCH!"
Cassidy exhaled, slow and shaky, her own arousal a steady throb between her thighs. "Oh, but it’s not enough," she murmured. "Not nearly." Her fingers descended again, methodical, relentless, scribbling up his ribs, circling his navel, skimming the delicate skin beneath his arms. Jonathan screamed, his laughter was silly wordless, breathless shrieks.
He screamed out, “Cassidy!” She just grinned. "Cassidy isn't here right now." she said. The realization hit her like another glass of wine, thick and heady. There was no guilt anymore, no flicker of hesitation gnawing at the edges of her arousal. The morality that had once defined her was dissolving under the weight of Jonathan’s glorious laughter, under the exquisite power of watching him break beneath her hands. Kindness? Unselfishness? Those were concepts for people who hadn’t tasted this. For those who had not tasted the raw, visceral thrill of total control of a young person's mind and body.
Cassidy exhaled, slow and satisfied. This was what she wanted, not just his laughter, but the way his breath hitched between screams, the way his muscles locked when she found a particularly sensitive spot, the way his entire being focused on the torment from her touch. She really wanted him wrecked. She wanted him begging. And dammit, she wanted him to love it at the same time, but definitely suffer from it.
Her fingers stilled. The sudden absence of sensation seemed to capture his attention. His laughter choked off into ragged gasps, his body twitching in aftershocks, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. His skin was flushed pink, damp with sweat, and Cassidy traced the outline of one trembling rib with a single fingertip—just enough to make him flinch, but not enough to restart his torment. She watched the way his breath stuttered, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the way his fingers flexed uselessly against the air.
The silence was thick. The only sounds were his wheezing exhales and the distant hum of the yacht's engines beneath them. Jonathan's muscles quivered under her gaze, his toes curling and uncurling as if he couldn't decide whether to brace for more or relax into the reprieve. His cock, painfully hard against his stomach, twitched as a bead of precum slid from it. Cassidy inhaled slowly, cataloging every detail, the salt-sweet scent of his skin, the way his stomach muscles still jumped when she blew a soft breath across them.
"Please," Jonathan whispered finally, his voice raw. It wasn't begging anymore. It was exhaustion. Defeat. His hooded head lolling to one side. "I... I can't."
Cassidy tilted her head, considering him. His breathing was almost steady now, his chest rising in slower, deeper motions. She could see the pulse in his throat, still too quick, but settling down. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She thought to herself that she definitely wanted to do this more, but put him in a different position, and give him some rest. But after this, how would she ever convince him to be bound again? She had to think of some way that he would allow himself once again to be in bondage.
Cassidy inhaled slowly, studying his face. The black hood remained fastened over his head, muffling all sound to his ears, but his nose and mouth were still exposed. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing still ragged from the tickling ordeal. She could see the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his upper lip, and the way his throat worked as he swallowed. His entire body was still trembling slightly, tiny aftershocks from the relentless tickling.
She trailed her fingertips down his chest, skimming lightly over his ribs just to watch him flinch. His breath hitched, his muscles tensing in anticipation of another assault. But Cassidy didn’t tickle him again. Not yet. Instead, she let her fingers drift lower.
His cock twitched at the first brush of her fingers, already hard and flushed against his stomach. Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, as she slightly lifted his cock off of his stomach with her thumb and the next two fingers around it, her touch feather-light, just beneath the head. She could feel the heat of his penis. She squeezed gently, just enough to make him gasp, then stroked up and down, only a half an inch in each direction, with agonizing slowness. Her thumb and fingers didn't slide over it, but actually just stretched the skin up and down, always staying within that half inch area.
Jonathan’s breath stuttered out in a shaky exhale. His hips jerked instinctively, seeking more friction, but Cassidy didn’t give him more. She kept her touch maddeningly slow and gentle, her delicate grip performed teasing strokes, not yet quite enough. His cock pulsed in her grip, precum beading at the tip.
His body arched slightly, his hips canting upward into her hand as if he could somehow chase the climactic pleasure she was denying him. Cassidy smirked, tightening her grip just slightly, just enough to make him groan. She wanted him right on the edge.
Jonathan’s breath came in uneven bursts, his lips parting as soft, broken sounds spilled from them—half-moans, half-applauding and complimenting. "Yeah yes." His throat worked as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each shaky inhale. Every exhale was a whispered curse, a gasped syllable of her name, his voice wrecked and desperate. The sounds he made were deliciously unrestrained, his voice cracking on each ragged exhale as his body trembled under her touch. Cassidy figured that no sight and no sound must certainly be enhancing his pleasure.
She watched, enthralled, as his cock twitched in her hand, the flushed, moist head glistening under the soft light. His thighs tensed, his toes curling and uncurling, his entire body taut with anticipation. He was so responsive, so vocal, his reactions unfiltered and raw. Cassidy could feel the pulse of him beneath her finger pads, the way his cock throbbed in her grip with every tiny stroke.
Even though she knew he could not hear her she said, “You want to come, don’t you?” her voice low and husky. His hips jerked again, seeking more, his breath hitching in a way that told her he was so close.
Cassidy slowed her movements further, her fingers barely grazing him now, just enough to keep him teetering on the edge. Jonathan whimpered, his head tipping back, his lips parting in a silent plea. His cock twitched again, precum slicking her fingers as she continued her torture slow strokes.
She could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way his entire body now shook and trembled. His breath came faster now, his chest rising and falling in shallow, frantic bursts. His throat worked as he swallowed again, his lips forming silent words.
Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, her own arousal a steady throb between her thighs.
Just as Jonathan's body tensed—hips lifting, breath catching, cock pulsing violently in her grip—she withdrew her fingers completely. His reaction was immediate: a choked, animal noise ripped from his throat, his hips bucking into empty air, his entire body arching in desperate search of contact that wasn't there. The disappointment on his exposed lower face was palpable—his lips parted around a silent cry, his jaw trembling, his nostrils flaring with each ragged inhale.
She watched, fascinated, as his cock twitched against his stomach, still achingly hard, a fresh bead of precum welling at the tip. His breathing was uneven, hitching on every other inhale, his chest rising and falling in frantic little jerks. The hood hid his eyes, but Cassidy didn't need to see them to know they'd be wide, begging, with denied pleasure. She could taste his frustration in the air—salt and musk and something electric.
Jonathan's breath hitched, his cock jerking against his stomach, hoping her hand would return. But she didn't. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, his breath stuttering out in a shaky exhale that was almost a sob. Cassidy stood, leaving him suspended and wanting. She went to the control panel near the wall, pressed a button. The cradle lowered inch by inch, Jonathan's arched back gradually flattening against the padded surface until he lay prone. His chest rose and fell unevenly, sweat-slick skin catching the low light as his wrists and ankles flexed against the restraints.
She circled him like a predator, enjoying the way his breathed. Kneeling beside him, Cassidy reached for the hood's fastenings, her fingers brushing the damp curls at his nape. The material peeled away with a whisper, revealing his face, flushed, tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed and glassy from laughter turned torment. His pupils dilated when they met hers, his lips parting around a shaky inhale. The overhead lights painted gold across his damp eyelashes, the trails of his recent tears glistening like veins of quartz in stone.
Cassidy thumbed away a fresh tear before it could drip down. His breath hitched at her touch. The pulse in his throat fluttered like a trapped bird. Her plan was to say nothing. To make him speak first. She was extremely interested in what a person might say who was just put through so much mental and physical torture. She waited. The silence stretched, broken only by the yacht’s hum and Jonathan’s unsteady breathing. His eyelashes trembled, casting spider-leg shadows across his cheekbones. His lips still slightly parted, twitched once, then pressed together as if physically restraining words. The restraint marks bloomed red around his wrists and ankles, stark against his pale skin.
When he finally spoke, his voice was weak and wrecked. "You—" A swallow. His Adam’s apple bobbed. "You didn’t let me." Cassidy tilted her head. "Let you what?" Her fingers trailed down to his ribs, hovering just above the skin. His muscles clenched in anticipation.
Jonathan exhaled sharply through his nose. "Cum," he whispered, then flinched as if the word burned him. His blush deepened, spreading down his neck to his chest.
She tapped one fingernail against his lowest rib—once, twice—smirking when his breath stuttered. "Honey. Did you want to?" She looked him directly in the eyes. His cock rolled to a slightly different position against his stomach, still flushed and leaking, but becoming less hard. A strangled noise escaped him, half-laugh, half-sob. "I—" His teeth dug into his lower lip. The pause stretched. Cassidy watched the conflict play across his face, his shame warring with honesty and desire, his throat working around swallowed admissions.
Then, barely audible: "Yes." Cassidy’s grin widened. "Good boy," she murmured. She dragged her finger pads down his sternum not tickling him, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. His breath hitched when her pads slid lightly over his ribs.
"Here’s what’s going to happen tomorrow," she said, her voice low and deliberate. "You’re going to let me restrain you again. And I’m going to ruin you all over again—" Her fingers spidered up his sides, making him jerk with a startled gasp. "—until you’re sobbing. Until you forget your own name." She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "It's what I want as the guest on this ship. And then, when I decide you’ve earned it…" Her hand slid down, palming his half-hard cock with deliberate slowness. Jonathan’s hips jerked, a broken whimper escaping his throat. "I’ll give you the most fulfilling, best fucking hand job of your life. And believe me I have a lot of experience." The pulse in his throat fluttered wildly. His lips parted, then pressed together, then parted again—a fish gasping on deck. Cassidy watched the war behind his eyes. The horror of being tickled warring with wanting a beautiful stranger to make him cum hard. His shame twisting with anticipation. His cock cradled in her loose grip, betraying him.
"You will—" His voice cracked. Swallowed. Tried again. "You’ll really… after?" Cassidy’s thumb circled the front side of his head, smearing precum. "If you’re a good boy." A full-body shiver wracked him, and for some reason a giggle escaped. His fingers flexed, his toes curling. The silence stretched—too long. Cassidy raised an eyebrow. "Well?" Jonathan exhaled through his nose, his chest rising and falling too fast. Then, barely audible: "Yes." Cassidy’s grip tightened. "Louder."
"Yes." The word tore from him raw and ragged. His entire body trembled with surrender. She released him with a final gently pat on his cock, admiring the slick sheen left on his skin. "Smart boy. And tomorrow, a very happy boy."
She retrieved the key card, the plastic cool against her fingertips. Swiped it over each restraint. The restraints clicked open one by one—first his wrists, then his ankles—each release punctuated by Jonathan’s shuddering inhales. His arms moved and flopped to his sides. His knees drew up instinctively, thighs trembling as they sought relief from forced vulnerability. The imprint of the cuffs lingered on his skin, angry red lines.
Cassidy watched with fascination as he rubbed his wrists, his fingers brushing the inflamed skin with tentative touches. His breath hitched when his fingertips grazed the worst of the marks, his throat working around a swallowed whimper. She could practically see the thoughts flickering behind his eyes—how did I get here? and when can I come back? tangled together in one delicious knot of confusion and want. Her shadow fell across him as she stood over him. "Remember our deal, ok?" The whisper sent a visible tremor through him. "Think about it tonight. Think about how incredible I can make you feel. And do not touch yourself before then Jonathan. I will know about it if you do." She gave him a stern serious stare.
Cassidy gripped Jonathan's wrists, feeling his sweat beneath her fingers as she guided him upright. His knees attempted to buckle, legs rubbery from a long time of stretched out restraint. She walked him forward, his bare feet dragging slightly on the floor. Good thing his door was only about 15 feet from this room's door. The hallway smelled faintly of salt and polished brass, sterile luxury masking something darker on Deck level 0. Cassidy guided him through the open bars, watching his unsteady steps. She watched his naked body collapse onto the white sofa, his body curling inward instinctively, his abused ribs rising and falling in shallow breaths. The bars locked shut with satisfying finality as she closed them. Cassidy went out through the black door and into the hallway. The yacht's ambient hum swallowed the sound of the door locking behind her.
Cassidy exhaled, rolling her shoulders as tension bled from her muscles. The encounter had left her buzzing—not just with power, but with something hotter, deeper. Her thighs pressed together briefly as she walked, chasing the lingering throb between them. What an unexpected sexual turn on that was! She giggled in her thoughts about how she had planned to probably masturbate in bed two or three times during this seven day trip. But Jonathan and Amber had changed everything! It'd probably be twice per day now. Tickle torturing someone was very much a turn on, to say the least.
The corridor stretched empty before her, dim lighting casting elongated shadows. She paused at Amber's door and pressed her palm flat against the cool metal. Tomorrow's plans unfurled in her mind: Amber's short blonde hair between her fingers, Amber's gasps as Cassidy explored every ticklish inch. Her mouth watered at the thoughts. She wondered what the differences might be between the two of them regarding how they reacted, the way they laughed. But first, a nice dinner to celebrate her good day, then lots of wine, then sleep. All of a sudden, the remaining 5 and a half days seemed like a very short span of time.
The shower's hot rainfall setting pelted Cassidy's shoulders with water, steam curling around her body as she worked shampoo into her scalp with languid fingers. She tipped her head back, letting the suds slide down the length of her tight curls while her other hand traced idle patterns down her stomach—slower circles, lower, remembering the way Jonathan's cock had jumped in her grip. Her breath hitched when her fingers dipped between her own thighs, the water sluicing over her wrist as she pressed two fingers inside with a slow, satisfied sigh. Her fingers rubbed perfectly. She came rather quickly, and it was very strong. She tried to stifle the moan that escaped, echoing off the marble tiles.
Wrapped only in a plush robe, Cassidy padded barefoot to the dining area. She relaxingly dined on seared scallops perched on saffron risotto, the scent of browned butter and citrus rising in the air. The first bite melted across her tongue. She ate with deliberate slowness, savoring each mouthful as the yacht swayed gently beneath her, the ocean's rhythm syncing with the pulse still thrumming between her legs. Something Cassidy didn't know was that all of her food this entire trip was laced with a tasteless substance that greatly enhanced sexual arousal and thus the need to satisfy it. The croissants and coffee were (and still are) infused. The wine is spiked with it. Even the toothpaste in her suite contained trace amounts, ensuring round-the-clock exposure. Her body had been priming itself for days, synapses rewiring to prioritize pleasure above reason. Cassidy was completely unaware why she's experiencing heightened sensitivity, the relentless arousal, the way her thoughts spiral back to dominance over the others on board. It wasn’t just the isolation from society, or the lopsided power dynamic. Chemistry had also stacked the deck. The Morality Group had predicted her moral decay and also engineered it molecule by molecule.
Up on the higher deck, the night air clung damp and warm to her freshly showered skin as she poured ruby Cabernet into a crystal glass. The first sip bloomed dark fruit and spice across her palate, the alcohol warmth spreading through her chest as she reclined against the cushions. Her toes pressed against the end of the padded bench as she thought of tomorrow, Amber's startled blue eyes widening as Cassidy's fingers found ticklish spots. She took another long pull of wine, licking a droplet from her lower lip, already imagining the girl's gasps turning into shrieks, her body thrashing in restraints that would hold her just as securely as Jonathan's had. The buzz settled pleasantly behind Cassidy's temples, her smile widening as she refilled her glass.
By dessert, a molten chocolate torte dusted with sea salt, her nipples had tightened beneath the robe's silk. She dismissed it as residual arousal from earlier until her thighs pressed together seemingly of their own accord, heat pooling low in her belly. Cassidy traced a fingertip along the rim, watching the crystal sing, wondering when exactly her body had become this sensitized. The yacht's gentle sway made light dance across the silverware, casting flickering shadows that seemed to pulse in time with her quickening heartbeat.
Cassidy stopped just outside her room for a moment. She had a question. She asked the computer if there was any way to enhance receptiveness of Amber and Jonathan to being tickled and tortured? To make them crave it even more? The system processed for three agonizing seconds before responding: Recommendation: Administration of 50mg Ethroxyphine compound. Red capsules located in the master suite dresser, third drawer. Effect includes prolonged psychosexual arousal state (18-24hr duration). Cassidy put that into simple terms for herself. Those pills would make them greatly crave sexual release. And in their minds, being touched in any way by Cassidy, could lead to them getting that sexual release, thus they would be more willing to be restrained and played with.
She entered her suite with haste, her mind racing with calculations. Ethroxyphine. That name sounded like a pharmaceutical dystopia. She’d seen those red pills nestled among the complimentary toiletries, assumed they were sleep aids. The Morality Group’s true cruelty lay in their precision, of not forcing degradation, but making the subjects beg for it, to need it. The master suite smelled of her shampoo and salty air. Cassidy wrenched open the dresser drawer. There they were: six crimson capsules in a velvet-lined compartment, each embossed with the Group’s insignia, a serpent coiled around a key. She would take one to Amber in the morning.
Once she got in bed, the sheets felt impossibly smooth against her bare skin as she slid between them, her robe had been discarded in a puddle of silk at the foot of the bed. Her fingers drifted down to her lower stomach again, this time with a sharper urgency. Her tickling fingers were tired from today's activity. A realization came to her between panting breaths: she simply, very much enjoyed dominating Jonathan with relentless ticking. Something about this trip so far has amplified sensation, brought her selfish wicked thoughts to the surface, until her need for release bordered on desperation. This wasn't like her to be like this, but it was exciting and she was willing to see where it went. And what are vacations for anyway! Cassidy's laugh was breathless as she reached for the top bedside drawer, her fingers closing around the expensive high-tech vibrator she'd packed as an afterthought. Tomorrow, she'd make Amber scream, and then Jonathan. Tonight though, she'll cum multiple times until her vision blurs. And my how her vision blurred!
... to be continued in Part 4
That's a Yacht of Tickling
Written by: LisaLisaTickle
PART 3
Yes how interesting that was. His cock was leaking clear pre-cum, despite his protesting for this tickling to stop. She dragged her fingertips down his sides again, feather-light, and he screamed with laughter, his entire body shaking. "HAHAHA! STOP!, Please!, I’ll, I’ll do anything!" His voice was very shaky now, as he begin to realize no matter what he said, she was determined to continue. His laughter was already bordering on sobbing.
She repositioned herself on her knees at his side, letting one underarm rest across the top of his thighs, her wrists limp, fingers poised above his lower torso. The cradle under him kept him suspended perfectly, hips arched, ribs exposed, his entire torso taut and vulnerable. She didn’t hesitate. Both hands descended at once, her fingers spidering more firmly over his ribs, scribbling up and down in tandem. The effect was instant nuttiness. Jonathan howled, his laughter spiraling into something frenzied, his body bucking uselessly against restraints. "HAHAHAHA! NO! NO! HA HA!" His voice cracked, his breath came in ragged gasps between the repetitive peals of laughter. "TOO MUCH! TOO MUCH! HAHAHAHA!"
Too late for him. She was already addicted to this. The sound of his most recent laughter, that high-pitched, desperate, helplessness, sent sparks skittering all over inside her. His ribs flexed beneath her fingers, every muscle tensing and twitching as he tried, and failed, to squirm away. His toes curled and uncurled violently, his fingers clawing at the air. "PLEASE!" he sobbed between laughs, tears streaming down his cheeks. "HAHAHA! I CAN’T, IT'S BAD!"
Cassidy didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The power was intoxicating in a very real way. His suffering, his helplessness, was all hers right now. She had the foreknowledge that she would not get into any kind of trouble for doing this. What an amazing gift! She dug her fingers into his ribs, poking up and down, alternating between feather-light touches and firmer grabs and pressing wiggles. His laughter was now wordless shrieks, his body jerking violently with each new assault. She watched, fascinated, as his cock twitched against his stomach, pre-cum sticking to his flushed skin. He’s enjoying this, right? The realization sent another bolt of heat straight to her core. He’s loving every second of this and it's not enough for him yet, she rationalized to herself.
When actually, he was suffering. To him, tickling, and especially bent back helpless like this, tickling was real torture. Sure it was torture that caused laughter, but it was torture nonetheless. This current feeling of being tickled this way was shocking his entire body and mind with only what he could describe as painful ticklishness. The kind that wouldn't let any real thoughts reside for but a millisecond, then pure hysteria gained control again and this electric wonderful pain continued. "HAHAHA! CASS, CASSDY!" he begged, his voice raw. "STOP! Oh HAHAHA STOP!" His hips jerked, his back arching as much as the restraints allowed. "I’LL, HAHAHA!, I’LL TELL YOU DO ANYTHING!"
She bit her lower lip with delight. "Oh, Jonathan," she purred, her breath short and excited. "I don’t want you to tell me anything." Her fingers skated down to his hips, spidering again over the sensitive skin there. "I just want you to laugh, and eventually cry."
His entire body jolted at her latest touch, his laughter pitching even higher, his muscles clenching desperately as if he could somehow recoil from her fingers. But the cradle held him mercilessly in place, hips lifted, ribs exposed, leaving him utterly defenseless. Cassidy’s pulse hammered in her throat in a frightening way. Gone was the hesitation, the doubt. The wine had dissolved whatever moral tether she’d clung to before. All that remained was this hunger, this raw, insatiable urge to feel and see his body convulse beneath her hands, to hear his laughter dissolve into sobs, then back into laughter, to watch him completely unspool under the relentless assault of her fingertips.
Methodically, she shifted her focus, her nails dancing up his ribs, then down his sides, circling his navel in slow, teasing spirals. Jonathan screamed the whole while, his laughter bordering on delirious, his body twisting in futile little movements. "HAHA, NO! NO MORE!" he begged, as his voice cracked under the tickled strain. She ignored him, remaining entranced by the way his muscles twitched beneath his damp skin, the way his throat worked as he gasped for breath between peals of laughter. His suffering was beautiful. She wondered, how could she have lived this many years without having already done this to someone?
Cassidy leaned in closer, her lips near his ear despite knowing he couldn’t hear her through the hood. "You’re mine," she whispered, the words spilling out unchecked. "And I’m going to break your mind a little bit, if that's ok." With that, she dug all ten fingers into his ribs, wiggling them mercilessly without letup.
The effect was on him was shocking. Jonathan howled as his body arching violently against the restraints, his laughter was just breathless, hysterical shrieks. Tears streaked down his cheeks, his entire frame trembled uncontrollably. Cassidy didn’t let up, she couldn’t. The power of torture was way too intoxicating. The sight of him unraveling in laughter was too delicious. She dragged her nails down his sides again, reveling in the way his laughter pitched into something so desperate, something so broken. She wanted even more.
His cock bounced against his stomach from his minor movements, flushed and dripping. Cassidy’s breath fluttered at the sight of it. She squeezed his sides between her thumbs and fingers, brilliantly in the exact spots that would unwravel his entire ticklish world. His body convulsed, his laughter bordered again on sobbing. "P-PLEASE!" he wailed, his voice raw. "HAHAHA! I C-CAN’T, IT’S TOO, HAHA, TOO MUCH!"
Cassidy exhaled, slow and shaky, her own arousal a steady throb between her thighs. "Oh, but it’s not enough," she murmured. "Not nearly." Her fingers descended again, methodical, relentless, scribbling up his ribs, circling his navel, skimming the delicate skin beneath his arms. Jonathan screamed, his laughter was silly wordless, breathless shrieks.
He screamed out, “Cassidy!” She just grinned. "Cassidy isn't here right now." she said. The realization hit her like another glass of wine, thick and heady. There was no guilt anymore, no flicker of hesitation gnawing at the edges of her arousal. The morality that had once defined her was dissolving under the weight of Jonathan’s glorious laughter, under the exquisite power of watching him break beneath her hands. Kindness? Unselfishness? Those were concepts for people who hadn’t tasted this. For those who had not tasted the raw, visceral thrill of total control of a young person's mind and body.
Cassidy exhaled, slow and satisfied. This was what she wanted, not just his laughter, but the way his breath hitched between screams, the way his muscles locked when she found a particularly sensitive spot, the way his entire being focused on the torment from her touch. She really wanted him wrecked. She wanted him begging. And dammit, she wanted him to love it at the same time, but definitely suffer from it.
Her fingers stilled. The sudden absence of sensation seemed to capture his attention. His laughter choked off into ragged gasps, his body twitching in aftershocks, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. His skin was flushed pink, damp with sweat, and Cassidy traced the outline of one trembling rib with a single fingertip—just enough to make him flinch, but not enough to restart his torment. She watched the way his breath stuttered, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the way his fingers flexed uselessly against the air.
The silence was thick. The only sounds were his wheezing exhales and the distant hum of the yacht's engines beneath them. Jonathan's muscles quivered under her gaze, his toes curling and uncurling as if he couldn't decide whether to brace for more or relax into the reprieve. His cock, painfully hard against his stomach, twitched as a bead of precum slid from it. Cassidy inhaled slowly, cataloging every detail, the salt-sweet scent of his skin, the way his stomach muscles still jumped when she blew a soft breath across them.
"Please," Jonathan whispered finally, his voice raw. It wasn't begging anymore. It was exhaustion. Defeat. His hooded head lolling to one side. "I... I can't."
Cassidy tilted her head, considering him. His breathing was almost steady now, his chest rising in slower, deeper motions. She could see the pulse in his throat, still too quick, but settling down. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She thought to herself that she definitely wanted to do this more, but put him in a different position, and give him some rest. But after this, how would she ever convince him to be bound again? She had to think of some way that he would allow himself once again to be in bondage.
Cassidy inhaled slowly, studying his face. The black hood remained fastened over his head, muffling all sound to his ears, but his nose and mouth were still exposed. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing still ragged from the tickling ordeal. She could see the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his upper lip, and the way his throat worked as he swallowed. His entire body was still trembling slightly, tiny aftershocks from the relentless tickling.
She trailed her fingertips down his chest, skimming lightly over his ribs just to watch him flinch. His breath hitched, his muscles tensing in anticipation of another assault. But Cassidy didn’t tickle him again. Not yet. Instead, she let her fingers drift lower.
His cock twitched at the first brush of her fingers, already hard and flushed against his stomach. Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, as she slightly lifted his cock off of his stomach with her thumb and the next two fingers around it, her touch feather-light, just beneath the head. She could feel the heat of his penis. She squeezed gently, just enough to make him gasp, then stroked up and down, only a half an inch in each direction, with agonizing slowness. Her thumb and fingers didn't slide over it, but actually just stretched the skin up and down, always staying within that half inch area.
Jonathan’s breath stuttered out in a shaky exhale. His hips jerked instinctively, seeking more friction, but Cassidy didn’t give him more. She kept her touch maddeningly slow and gentle, her delicate grip performed teasing strokes, not yet quite enough. His cock pulsed in her grip, precum beading at the tip.
His body arched slightly, his hips canting upward into her hand as if he could somehow chase the climactic pleasure she was denying him. Cassidy smirked, tightening her grip just slightly, just enough to make him groan. She wanted him right on the edge.
Jonathan’s breath came in uneven bursts, his lips parting as soft, broken sounds spilled from them—half-moans, half-applauding and complimenting. "Yeah yes." His throat worked as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each shaky inhale. Every exhale was a whispered curse, a gasped syllable of her name, his voice wrecked and desperate. The sounds he made were deliciously unrestrained, his voice cracking on each ragged exhale as his body trembled under her touch. Cassidy figured that no sight and no sound must certainly be enhancing his pleasure.
She watched, enthralled, as his cock twitched in her hand, the flushed, moist head glistening under the soft light. His thighs tensed, his toes curling and uncurling, his entire body taut with anticipation. He was so responsive, so vocal, his reactions unfiltered and raw. Cassidy could feel the pulse of him beneath her finger pads, the way his cock throbbed in her grip with every tiny stroke.
Even though she knew he could not hear her she said, “You want to come, don’t you?” her voice low and husky. His hips jerked again, seeking more, his breath hitching in a way that told her he was so close.
Cassidy slowed her movements further, her fingers barely grazing him now, just enough to keep him teetering on the edge. Jonathan whimpered, his head tipping back, his lips parting in a silent plea. His cock twitched again, precum slicking her fingers as she continued her torture slow strokes.
She could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way his entire body now shook and trembled. His breath came faster now, his chest rising and falling in shallow, frantic bursts. His throat worked as he swallowed again, his lips forming silent words.
Cassidy exhaled, slow and deliberate, her own arousal a steady throb between her thighs.
Just as Jonathan's body tensed—hips lifting, breath catching, cock pulsing violently in her grip—she withdrew her fingers completely. His reaction was immediate: a choked, animal noise ripped from his throat, his hips bucking into empty air, his entire body arching in desperate search of contact that wasn't there. The disappointment on his exposed lower face was palpable—his lips parted around a silent cry, his jaw trembling, his nostrils flaring with each ragged inhale.
She watched, fascinated, as his cock twitched against his stomach, still achingly hard, a fresh bead of precum welling at the tip. His breathing was uneven, hitching on every other inhale, his chest rising and falling in frantic little jerks. The hood hid his eyes, but Cassidy didn't need to see them to know they'd be wide, begging, with denied pleasure. She could taste his frustration in the air—salt and musk and something electric.
Jonathan's breath hitched, his cock jerking against his stomach, hoping her hand would return. But she didn't. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, his breath stuttering out in a shaky exhale that was almost a sob. Cassidy stood, leaving him suspended and wanting. She went to the control panel near the wall, pressed a button. The cradle lowered inch by inch, Jonathan's arched back gradually flattening against the padded surface until he lay prone. His chest rose and fell unevenly, sweat-slick skin catching the low light as his wrists and ankles flexed against the restraints.
She circled him like a predator, enjoying the way his breathed. Kneeling beside him, Cassidy reached for the hood's fastenings, her fingers brushing the damp curls at his nape. The material peeled away with a whisper, revealing his face, flushed, tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed and glassy from laughter turned torment. His pupils dilated when they met hers, his lips parting around a shaky inhale. The overhead lights painted gold across his damp eyelashes, the trails of his recent tears glistening like veins of quartz in stone.
Cassidy thumbed away a fresh tear before it could drip down. His breath hitched at her touch. The pulse in his throat fluttered like a trapped bird. Her plan was to say nothing. To make him speak first. She was extremely interested in what a person might say who was just put through so much mental and physical torture. She waited. The silence stretched, broken only by the yacht’s hum and Jonathan’s unsteady breathing. His eyelashes trembled, casting spider-leg shadows across his cheekbones. His lips still slightly parted, twitched once, then pressed together as if physically restraining words. The restraint marks bloomed red around his wrists and ankles, stark against his pale skin.
When he finally spoke, his voice was weak and wrecked. "You—" A swallow. His Adam’s apple bobbed. "You didn’t let me." Cassidy tilted her head. "Let you what?" Her fingers trailed down to his ribs, hovering just above the skin. His muscles clenched in anticipation.
Jonathan exhaled sharply through his nose. "Cum," he whispered, then flinched as if the word burned him. His blush deepened, spreading down his neck to his chest.
She tapped one fingernail against his lowest rib—once, twice—smirking when his breath stuttered. "Honey. Did you want to?" She looked him directly in the eyes. His cock rolled to a slightly different position against his stomach, still flushed and leaking, but becoming less hard. A strangled noise escaped him, half-laugh, half-sob. "I—" His teeth dug into his lower lip. The pause stretched. Cassidy watched the conflict play across his face, his shame warring with honesty and desire, his throat working around swallowed admissions.
Then, barely audible: "Yes." Cassidy’s grin widened. "Good boy," she murmured. She dragged her finger pads down his sternum not tickling him, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. His breath hitched when her pads slid lightly over his ribs.
"Here’s what’s going to happen tomorrow," she said, her voice low and deliberate. "You’re going to let me restrain you again. And I’m going to ruin you all over again—" Her fingers spidered up his sides, making him jerk with a startled gasp. "—until you’re sobbing. Until you forget your own name." She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "It's what I want as the guest on this ship. And then, when I decide you’ve earned it…" Her hand slid down, palming his half-hard cock with deliberate slowness. Jonathan’s hips jerked, a broken whimper escaping his throat. "I’ll give you the most fulfilling, best fucking hand job of your life. And believe me I have a lot of experience." The pulse in his throat fluttered wildly. His lips parted, then pressed together, then parted again—a fish gasping on deck. Cassidy watched the war behind his eyes. The horror of being tickled warring with wanting a beautiful stranger to make him cum hard. His shame twisting with anticipation. His cock cradled in her loose grip, betraying him.
"You will—" His voice cracked. Swallowed. Tried again. "You’ll really… after?" Cassidy’s thumb circled the front side of his head, smearing precum. "If you’re a good boy." A full-body shiver wracked him, and for some reason a giggle escaped. His fingers flexed, his toes curling. The silence stretched—too long. Cassidy raised an eyebrow. "Well?" Jonathan exhaled through his nose, his chest rising and falling too fast. Then, barely audible: "Yes." Cassidy’s grip tightened. "Louder."
"Yes." The word tore from him raw and ragged. His entire body trembled with surrender. She released him with a final gently pat on his cock, admiring the slick sheen left on his skin. "Smart boy. And tomorrow, a very happy boy."
She retrieved the key card, the plastic cool against her fingertips. Swiped it over each restraint. The restraints clicked open one by one—first his wrists, then his ankles—each release punctuated by Jonathan’s shuddering inhales. His arms moved and flopped to his sides. His knees drew up instinctively, thighs trembling as they sought relief from forced vulnerability. The imprint of the cuffs lingered on his skin, angry red lines.
Cassidy watched with fascination as he rubbed his wrists, his fingers brushing the inflamed skin with tentative touches. His breath hitched when his fingertips grazed the worst of the marks, his throat working around a swallowed whimper. She could practically see the thoughts flickering behind his eyes—how did I get here? and when can I come back? tangled together in one delicious knot of confusion and want. Her shadow fell across him as she stood over him. "Remember our deal, ok?" The whisper sent a visible tremor through him. "Think about it tonight. Think about how incredible I can make you feel. And do not touch yourself before then Jonathan. I will know about it if you do." She gave him a stern serious stare.
Cassidy gripped Jonathan's wrists, feeling his sweat beneath her fingers as she guided him upright. His knees attempted to buckle, legs rubbery from a long time of stretched out restraint. She walked him forward, his bare feet dragging slightly on the floor. Good thing his door was only about 15 feet from this room's door. The hallway smelled faintly of salt and polished brass, sterile luxury masking something darker on Deck level 0. Cassidy guided him through the open bars, watching his unsteady steps. She watched his naked body collapse onto the white sofa, his body curling inward instinctively, his abused ribs rising and falling in shallow breaths. The bars locked shut with satisfying finality as she closed them. Cassidy went out through the black door and into the hallway. The yacht's ambient hum swallowed the sound of the door locking behind her.
Cassidy exhaled, rolling her shoulders as tension bled from her muscles. The encounter had left her buzzing—not just with power, but with something hotter, deeper. Her thighs pressed together briefly as she walked, chasing the lingering throb between them. What an unexpected sexual turn on that was! She giggled in her thoughts about how she had planned to probably masturbate in bed two or three times during this seven day trip. But Jonathan and Amber had changed everything! It'd probably be twice per day now. Tickle torturing someone was very much a turn on, to say the least.
The corridor stretched empty before her, dim lighting casting elongated shadows. She paused at Amber's door and pressed her palm flat against the cool metal. Tomorrow's plans unfurled in her mind: Amber's short blonde hair between her fingers, Amber's gasps as Cassidy explored every ticklish inch. Her mouth watered at the thoughts. She wondered what the differences might be between the two of them regarding how they reacted, the way they laughed. But first, a nice dinner to celebrate her good day, then lots of wine, then sleep. All of a sudden, the remaining 5 and a half days seemed like a very short span of time.
The shower's hot rainfall setting pelted Cassidy's shoulders with water, steam curling around her body as she worked shampoo into her scalp with languid fingers. She tipped her head back, letting the suds slide down the length of her tight curls while her other hand traced idle patterns down her stomach—slower circles, lower, remembering the way Jonathan's cock had jumped in her grip. Her breath hitched when her fingers dipped between her own thighs, the water sluicing over her wrist as she pressed two fingers inside with a slow, satisfied sigh. Her fingers rubbed perfectly. She came rather quickly, and it was very strong. She tried to stifle the moan that escaped, echoing off the marble tiles.
Wrapped only in a plush robe, Cassidy padded barefoot to the dining area. She relaxingly dined on seared scallops perched on saffron risotto, the scent of browned butter and citrus rising in the air. The first bite melted across her tongue. She ate with deliberate slowness, savoring each mouthful as the yacht swayed gently beneath her, the ocean's rhythm syncing with the pulse still thrumming between her legs. Something Cassidy didn't know was that all of her food this entire trip was laced with a tasteless substance that greatly enhanced sexual arousal and thus the need to satisfy it. The croissants and coffee were (and still are) infused. The wine is spiked with it. Even the toothpaste in her suite contained trace amounts, ensuring round-the-clock exposure. Her body had been priming itself for days, synapses rewiring to prioritize pleasure above reason. Cassidy was completely unaware why she's experiencing heightened sensitivity, the relentless arousal, the way her thoughts spiral back to dominance over the others on board. It wasn’t just the isolation from society, or the lopsided power dynamic. Chemistry had also stacked the deck. The Morality Group had predicted her moral decay and also engineered it molecule by molecule.
Up on the higher deck, the night air clung damp and warm to her freshly showered skin as she poured ruby Cabernet into a crystal glass. The first sip bloomed dark fruit and spice across her palate, the alcohol warmth spreading through her chest as she reclined against the cushions. Her toes pressed against the end of the padded bench as she thought of tomorrow, Amber's startled blue eyes widening as Cassidy's fingers found ticklish spots. She took another long pull of wine, licking a droplet from her lower lip, already imagining the girl's gasps turning into shrieks, her body thrashing in restraints that would hold her just as securely as Jonathan's had. The buzz settled pleasantly behind Cassidy's temples, her smile widening as she refilled her glass.
By dessert, a molten chocolate torte dusted with sea salt, her nipples had tightened beneath the robe's silk. She dismissed it as residual arousal from earlier until her thighs pressed together seemingly of their own accord, heat pooling low in her belly. Cassidy traced a fingertip along the rim, watching the crystal sing, wondering when exactly her body had become this sensitized. The yacht's gentle sway made light dance across the silverware, casting flickering shadows that seemed to pulse in time with her quickening heartbeat.
Cassidy stopped just outside her room for a moment. She had a question. She asked the computer if there was any way to enhance receptiveness of Amber and Jonathan to being tickled and tortured? To make them crave it even more? The system processed for three agonizing seconds before responding: Recommendation: Administration of 50mg Ethroxyphine compound. Red capsules located in the master suite dresser, third drawer. Effect includes prolonged psychosexual arousal state (18-24hr duration). Cassidy put that into simple terms for herself. Those pills would make them greatly crave sexual release. And in their minds, being touched in any way by Cassidy, could lead to them getting that sexual release, thus they would be more willing to be restrained and played with.
She entered her suite with haste, her mind racing with calculations. Ethroxyphine. That name sounded like a pharmaceutical dystopia. She’d seen those red pills nestled among the complimentary toiletries, assumed they were sleep aids. The Morality Group’s true cruelty lay in their precision, of not forcing degradation, but making the subjects beg for it, to need it. The master suite smelled of her shampoo and salty air. Cassidy wrenched open the dresser drawer. There they were: six crimson capsules in a velvet-lined compartment, each embossed with the Group’s insignia, a serpent coiled around a key. She would take one to Amber in the morning.
Once she got in bed, the sheets felt impossibly smooth against her bare skin as she slid between them, her robe had been discarded in a puddle of silk at the foot of the bed. Her fingers drifted down to her lower stomach again, this time with a sharper urgency. Her tickling fingers were tired from today's activity. A realization came to her between panting breaths: she simply, very much enjoyed dominating Jonathan with relentless ticking. Something about this trip so far has amplified sensation, brought her selfish wicked thoughts to the surface, until her need for release bordered on desperation. This wasn't like her to be like this, but it was exciting and she was willing to see where it went. And what are vacations for anyway! Cassidy's laugh was breathless as she reached for the top bedside drawer, her fingers closing around the expensive high-tech vibrator she'd packed as an afterthought. Tomorrow, she'd make Amber scream, and then Jonathan. Tonight though, she'll cum multiple times until her vision blurs. And my how her vision blurred!
... to be continued in Part 4
uses a Hitachi wand to tease me when I'm in bondage but she never lets me cum during a tickling session. 
