the Premium Interactions Room (a tickle torture story) Carrie & Silas F/M (explicit)

[LisaLisaJam]

Premium Interactions Room (released 12/22/2025)
A tickle torture event inside the Glenhaven Happiness Manor.
Written by: LisaLisaTickle

From the author: This is a spin off from the Glenhaven Happiness Manor series. I strongly suggest you first read the original "Glenhaven Happiness Manor" story, for context on what happens in the Premium Interactions Room. Enjoy.
And please please please just post at least 1 comment after you read it!


She walked out, her steps purposeful yet silent. Down the sterile blue corridor Lena described, descending the cold metal stairs to Level C. The air grew colder, damper. The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit and utterly deserted. A ghost town. No faint hum of machinery, no distant footsteps, no muffled voices. Just oppressive silence, broken only by the soft pad of her own bare feet on the concrete floor. The isolation amplified her power. No one would even hear Silas scream. No one would hear him laugh until he choked. No one would intervene, although here at Glenhaven it was highly unlikely anyone cared to intervene. Still, the secluded area was wonderful. He was hers, completely, in this soundproofed tomb on this underground soundproofed level. A fierce thrill now surged through her – pure, unadulterated sadism, knowing that she could start tickling in literally only a couple more minutes. She had wonderful butterflies in her stomach. Lena hadn't mentioned the hydroponics lab, but Carrie spotted it easily: a large, humid room behind thick glass walls filled with strange, glowing plants. Third door past it. There it was. Solid steel, imposing, labeled "PREMIUM INTERACTIONS ROOM". Below the label, a small sign: "Use Retina Scanner."

She scanned the door frame. There it was – a discreet, glowing red aperture set into the steel beside the panel. Lena hadn't mentioned this, but what the hell let's try it. Carrie leaned forward, pressing her right eye close to the aperture, aligning her lite green iris with the glowing red light. A soft click echoed in the silent hall. The heavy door slid open smoothly, revealing darkness beyond. Carrie stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind her, sealing with a finality that vibrated through the floor. Absolute darkness enveloped her. Then, soft, recessed lights bloomed overhead, illuminating a starkly luxurious space. Thick, midnight-blue carpet muffled her footsteps. On one side of the room was an imposing, hard resin plastic restraint tomb that, she noticed immediately, was the shape of Silas physical body.

As far as Carrie could tell, the device only had a few access holes, the spitting image shape of Silas's body though, for sure. If he were put inside that thing, it would hold him utterly immobilized, like a form-fitting sarcophagus. It lay flat on the carpet, slightly larger than she imagined Silas was, but clearly molded to his dimensions – broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, legs straight and slightly parted. Four thick, industrial cables anchored to a ceiling pulley system were clipped to sturdy rings atop each ankle and wrist section, ready to hoist that contraption off the floor.

Her eyes traced the openings: perfect ovals at the ankles where bare feet would protrude out, feet would be utterly exposed and helpless to move. Above them, oval holes were positioned precisely where she could plunge fingers deep into the armpits. Her breath hitched when she spotted the unmistakable aperture centered above the hip contour – designed no doubt for his cock to jut upward, vulnerable and erect. It seemed quite small of a hole, and she was sure it would grip his cock snugly, almost choking its base. Hilariously to her amusement, there was also two side by side round areas just below that opening, that would house his balls, but keep them inside the contraption, so that only his cock would stick out.

She wondered if that would be kind of painful on his balls. She sure hoped so. At the top, only his face would be visible through a small snug opening literally only the size of his face, only allowing exposure from his eyebrows down to the bottom of his chin, and from side to side only allowing air from his outer cheek bone to outer cheek bone, locking his head immobile, forcing him to stare perpetually upwards. Carrie realized with a thrill, that the entire ceiling above the device was one vast, mirror. Silas would be forced to watch his own agonized reflections throughout his ordeal.

On the opposite side of the room, a sudden drop in the floor caught Carrie’s eye. A wide, rectangular section of floor sank away, bordered by a gleaming steel safety railing. Curiosity propelled her forward. She gripped the cool metal rail and peered over. Below, bathed in soft, recessed light, lay a padded pit, she guessed it to be some 10 feet down.

And Silas was down there in it! She reasoned that it was deep enough so that he could not get out and didn't need to be shackled or bound because of it. Kind of like an animal at a zoo? Naked, he was curled on his side atop a thick, dark purple padded floor. The walls were identically padded. He seemed to be mildly resting. His lean naked body looked impossibly vulnerable, the defined muscles were extremely inviting to Carrie. His breathing was shallow, almost imperceptible. His knees were drawn up slightly, his arms loosely shielding his torso. Carrie’s gaze traced the familiar map of his torture: his underarms, his ribs, his hip bones and waist, the sensitive inner thighs, the soles of his feet – all pale and soft-looking, resting limply against the padding. He looked perfectly helpless. Carrie felt a familiar jolt deep within her – not pity, but a sharp anticipation tightening her stomach. He’s right there. So close. Waiting. She imagined him suspended helplessly above, encased in resin, every ticklish zone exposed for her pleasure.

Her attention shifted to the ergonomic chair positioned perfectly beside the railing. It was an elegant thing, crafted from smooth black leather molded to cradle the body, its curves promising comfort even during prolonged use. Carrie didn’t hesitate. Her thin medical robe, suddenly superfluous in this charged atmosphere of the Premium Room, slid from her shoulders like discarded skin. It pooled softly at her feet on the plush carpet. Standing naked beside the pit, Carrie felt a surge of dark power. Her long, straight black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her soft ivory skin.

She knew her body was beautiful. Nearly all her life both guys and girls complimented her on her lovely body. It was slender, she had high cheekbones accentuated by the overhead light, lite green eyes gleaming with predatory intent. She leaned deliberately against the railing, ensuring Silas, if he woke, would have an unobstructed view. Look at me, she commanded silently, projecting the thought downwards. See what you can never touch. See the person that your helplessness fuels. She pictured him straining against the pit’s padded walls, tormented by her proximity, her beauty a cruel reminder of his utter helplessness and isolation.

A crystalline chime echoed through the Premium Room, startlingly clear in the silence. Carrie spun sharply towards the sound. Across the room, a section of the sleek, dark wall shimmered and silently retracted, revealing a shallow alcove illuminated by a cool blue light. Within it, nestled like precious jewels, lay three small shallow translucent cups. Each contained their own color of pills: stark white, vibrant crimson, and bright pink.

Beside the pills, resting on a bed of plush black felt within the alcove, was the unmistakable, glorious shape of Lena's tuning fork tickler. Its sleek metallic body hummed faintly, dormant yet potent, the small screen dark but promising intricate menus and functions. Carrie’s breath caught sharply in her throat. Recognition slammed into her, visceral and electric. This was Lena’s personal weapon, the very device that had mapped her own helplessness last night, vibrating deep into her core, twisting her forced laughter into sobs. Now, it sat gleaming, offered to her for her use on him. Silas. This one must be mapped to Silas body. Her legs trembled, a wave of pure dizzying arousal washing over her, so intense that warmth flooded her thighs instantly. The sheer power symbolized by that device, combined with the pills, ignited a furnace within her. For a dizzying moment, the promise of Agent Red seemed almost redundant. The tuning fork alone, and it's known capabilities could almost bring Carrie to orgasm.

Her pale fingers lifted the cool metal tuning fork. It felt heavier than she remembered Lena making it look, dense with potential cruelty and technology. It's small screen flickered to life from her touch, bathing her face in a soft, eerie glow. Menus cascaded down, displaying options that made her pulse hammer: Frequency Modulation (Low Thrum to High Scream), Intensity Gradients, Wave Patterns (Flutter, Sawtooth, Random Spike), Target Zones with pre-mapped anatomical diagrams. Every nerve ending, every known ticklish zone meticulously cataloged within this device. She could make him feel spiders crawling inside his ears or a razor-sharp feather endlessly tracing his soles, all from her ergonomic throne chair. This was premium all right. The sheer accessibility of his torment was utterly and completely intoxicating. This must be a dream.

Clear on the opposite end of Glenhaven, Dr. Rita Robinson leaned back in her sophisticated leather chair, the scent of expensive orchids barely masking the faint, antiseptic tang of the Manor. Her perfectly manicured finger tapped a sleek, encrypted phone. "Mrs. Zara Evans? Rita Robinson here. From Glenhaven." Her voice was smooth, professional, utterly devoid of the dark fervor Carrie knew simmered beneath. "Excellent news. Carrie's recalibration has concluded far ahead of schedule. She's demonstrated remarkable… compliance. We believe she's ready to reintegrate."

On the other end, in her meticulously tidy suburban living room, Zara froze mid-sip of her chamomile tea. The cup rattled slightly in its saucer. "Tomorrow evening? But… it's only been six days!" Her voice held disbelief, quickly overlaid with maternal suspicion.

Back in the Premium Room, Carrie traced the smooth leather armrest of the ergonomic throne. Her fingers found the indentation of a standard cupholder – a small, circular recess lined with soft silicone. Perfect. With deliberate reverence, she walked over and lifted each pill from the alcove, and she placed them into the cupholder. The juxtaposition was absurdly luxurious: designer cocktails for sadism. She snorted softly. Sip drinks while watching agony below? Classy. The thought almost made her giggle.

She climbed onto the throne, sinking deep into the plush, body-contouring leather. Instantly, it molded to her slender frame, supporting her lower back and thighs with exquisite precision. It was profoundly comfortable, designed for endurance. Then her hand brushed against sturdy nylon straps tucked discreetly beside her hips – a five-point harness integrated into the seat. What for? The memory struck her with visceral clarity: her third orgasm during Silas's sole torture, the sheer violence of Agent Red's amplification paralyzed her pleasured body, before she collapsed. Her legs involuntarily clenched at the phantom sensation. Of course. The harness wasn't for Silas's benefit; it was for Operator safety. To prevent her from convulsing right out of this throne and plummeting ten feet into Silas's pit during her torture-induced ecstasy. His torture of course. Her ecstasy. A practical, brutal necessity. She felt a thrill of dark amusement. Glenhaven had thought of everything.

Her gaze darted back to the alcove. The tuning fork tickler gleamed under the blue light. She hadn't retrieved it yet. Carrie slid off the throne, the cool air hitting her bare skin. She padded silently across the thick carpet, reached into the alcove, and lifted the weapon. She carried it back to the Operator throne, settling it onto her lap as she sank once more into the leather embrace. It displayed a simplified, wireframe silhouette of a male figure suspended slightly above a surface representing the padded pit floor. Silas's digital avatar.

The interface appeared simple, terrifyingly intuitive. Carrie tapped the silhouette's lower back region. The view zoomed instantly, revealing intricate anatomical detail down to pore patterns. A sub-menu pulsed: ANAL SPHINCTER - PERI-RECTAL ZONE. Options cascaded: Orifice Rim, Interior Canal Depth (0-3cm), Intensity (1-100%), Tactile Simulation. Her finger hovered, pulse quickening. She selected Orifice Rim, set Intensity to a mere 1%, and chose Simulation: Featherlight Oscillating Scratches. A preview animation showed a ghostly feather tip tracing quick, deliberate scratches up and down the avatar's puckered opening. Minimal energy expenditure, maximum humiliation potential. Perfect for waking him up.

Carrie pressed APPLY. Below, Silas stirred. A low, confused groan escaped him. His eyelids fluttered. His head lolled sideways, then lifted. Blinking against the dim light, his gaze traveled upward and locked onto Carrie. Naked, perched high above him on the deep black throne. The tuning fork device rested conspicuously on her lap, its screen casting an eerie glow onto her pale thighs and the focused intensity of her light green eyes. Recognition dawned, followed by stark terror. Carrie turned off the light tickling. “Wakey wakey Silas,” she teased.

"Carrie..." Silas rasped, his voice thick with sleep and panic. "Please... no. Not again." Looking upwards from within the padded pit walls, a trapped animal. "I hate it! It’s torture! Real torture! Look at me – I can’t get away! Can’t stop you! All I can do is scream and laugh until I cry, and then repeat that! Please… don’t!" His voice cracked, raw desperation echoing in the confined space. "What must I do? What must I say to make you believe me?!"

Carrie leaned forward, the tuning fork humming faintly in her grip. Her expression was cool, devoid of any sympathy. "Oh, I believe you, Silas," she stated, her voice low and chillingly calm. "I believe every panicked gasp, every desperate plea. But I also know what you truly are." She tapped the tuning fork screen, highlighting his suspended avatar. "This? This frantic begging? This is your way of asking for it. It’s how you signal your deepest need – to be reduced to nothing but helpless, laughing flesh."

Silas choked, tears welling. "No! I swear! I-" He took one step towards her. "Liar," Carrie responded, her tone sharp. "You were conceived for this. Engineered. Every nerve ending mapped, every reflex tuned." She gestured towards the alcove holding the pills. "Science demands your suffering, don't you agree? I agree that's for sure. And deep down," she leaned forward again, her gaze piercing, "you crave the release only this kind of agony brings. This place? This device?" She lifted the tuning fork meaningfully. "This is your purpose. Just accept it Silas."

His shoulders slumped, defeated before the tickling would even began. He saw the truth reflected in her detached green eyes. Resistance was futile. Worse, it was further fuel for her. Carrie smiled, a cold, calculated curve of her lips. "Good. Now listen carefully. For the next few hours, you belong to me. You will obey every command I give during your tickling, instantly and completely. Hesitate, disobey, or perform poorly..." She paused, letting the threat hang heavy in the air. "...and the tickling intensifies beyond anything you've yet experienced. Do you understand?"

He swallowed hard, the word forced out on a breath. "Yes." His agreement was hollow, a reflex born of terror. He knew resistance only prolonged the torment. His eyes flickered back to the device in her lap, desperate for any scrap of knowledge. "What... what is that thing?" he stammered, trying to mask his fear as curiosity. "I've never seen... that model before." Maybe understanding its functions could offer a sliver of control, a way to brace himself. He truly had never seen that style of tickle device before.

Carrie’s smile widened, predatory. "This?" She stroked the humming metal. "Lena’s masterpiece. It doesn’t just tickle, Silas. It simulates. Any sensation, anywhere." Her finger danced over the screen, selecting SOLES > ARCHES. Intensity: 3%. Simulation: Fingers Dancing. A preview showed gleaming, taps dancing across the avatar’s soles. "Here's an example for your feet. Tell me if you feel it?" She hit APPLY. Below, Silas gasped sharply. His toes curled as invisible, fingernails tapped along his high arches. He shuddered, a whimper escaping. "S-stop! It works it works*!" Carrie watched, fascinated.

Silas fought for breath. "Please! Use your hands! Not that thing!" His voice cracked. "Your fingers... they’re beautiful! Torture me with those!" The plea was desperate, almost pathetic. Carrie tilted her head. "Why not both?" Her tone was chillingly reasonable. "Fingers for tradition... and this?" She tapped the screen again, highlighting ANAL SPHINCTER. "For the inside. Deeper than fingers could tickle. Want a preview?" She selected Interior Canal Depth: 1inch. Intensity: 5%. Simulation: Feather Strokes. The preview showed soft plumes brushing deep inside, but Silas couldn't see it.

Carrie wasn't interested in his answer. She grabbed the Agent Red pill from the cupholder and swallowed it dry, the bitter taste vanishing instantly. A familiar warmth began spreading low in her belly. Anticipation coiled tight. She slid her legs through the throne’s harness straps, pulling the central buckle snug across her hips and torso. The nylon cinched firmly, securing her against the leather. Safety first. Her thumb hovered over the APPLY button for Silas’s anal torture simulation. "Deep breath, Silas," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with Agent Red’s rising euphoria. "This is just the beginning. I'm going to make you suffer... very much." She pressed the button. “So... very... much I promise you.”

Instantly, Silas arched and jumped around. A choked scream tore from his throat – not laughter yet, pure shock and violation. His hips jerked as the phantom feathers stroked inside his rectum, agonizingly light yet impossible to ignore. He gasped with widened eyes. "G-GET OUT! GET IT OUT!" Carrie looked down at him, transfixed. The tuning fork’s screen showed his internal struggle: frantic anus muscles clenching futilely against the intangible intrusion. She increased Intensity to 7%. Silas shrieked, the sound raw and guttural. "AAAAHHHH! PLEASE! TOO MUCH!" His laughter began,, mingling with desperate sobs as the internal tickling struck relentlessly. Carrie’s own breath hitched; Agent Red pulsed through her veins, syncing with his agony. This was power. Pure, exquisite power. And she was Queen.

Carrie's voice sliced through Silas's tortured gasps, cold and clinical. "This fork? Brand new. Lena’s pride. It doesn’t stop." She tapped the screen, increasing the feather simulation’s oscillation speed. Silas howled as the internal strokes became frantic, incessant scrapes. "Tickles inside you," she hissed, leaning back into the seat, her green eyes blazing. "Deep. Places fingers can't tickle." She watched his thighs tremble violently as he rolled around the padded prison, laughing, embarrassingly pressing his hand tight against his asshole. "It’ll shred your sanity, Silas. Hour by hour. No pause. No mercy." Agent Red surged, coiling pleasure low in her belly at his frantic thrashing.

Her fingers danced across the tuning fork’s display. ARMPITS > DEPTH: MAXIMUM. Intensity: 15%. Simulation: Electric Toothbrush Vibrations. APPLY. Instantly, Silas screamed again, his arms snapping up uselessly as invisible, buzzing drills burrowed deep into the hollows beneath his arms. His laughter became a high-pitched shriek, tears now streaming down his face. He rolled onto his side, curling into a ball, hands desperately clutching under each armpit as if he could dig the sensation out. "STOP STOP PLEASE! NOT THERE! AAAAHHHHAAHAHA!" Carrie gasped, arching slightly against her harness as Agent Red amplified his agony into a searing wave of ecstasy, forcing a ragged cry of pleasure from her lips. Her fingers flew again: SOLES > HEELS. Intensity: 20%. Simulation: Slippery Oiled Scrubbing Brush. The preview showed stiff bristles grinding rapidly. APPLY. Silas shrieked anew, hight pitched laugh, kicking his feet wildly against the padded floor, twisting onto his back, hands slapping desperately at his heels. "NO NO NO! OH GOD! TOO MUCH! AHAHAHAHAHA!" His body convulsed, every muscle straining against this unbearable torment.

Carrie’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. She targeted NAVEL > INTERNAL RING. Intensity: 25%. Simulation: Rotating Feather Cluster. APPLY. Silas bucked violently, folding almost in half as the phantom feathers spun inside his belly button. He screamed laughter, hands clawing frantically at his abdomen, tears soaking his face. "MERCY! MERCY! PLEASE CARRIE! I’LL DO ANYTHING! AAAAHHHHAAAA!" Simultaneously, Carrie threw her head back, a guttural scream ripping from her throat as an orgasm detonated, intense. Her vision blurred, her body straining against the harness, slick with sweat. She felt the tears hot on her own cheeks, mingling with the sweat dripping onto her bare chest.

Without pause, and driven by Agent Red’s relentless pull, Carrie stabbed at NIPPLES > AUREOLA. Intensity: 30%. Simulation: Spider Legs Skittering. APPLY. Silas arched off the floor yet again, a strangled, hysterical howl bursting forth as countless phantom legs skittered maddeningly across his sensitive nipples. His hands flew to his chest, fingers digging in futilely. "HAHAHAHA! STOP! STOP! I CAN’T! I CAN’T BREATHE! HAHAHAHA!" He writhed onto his stomach, burying his face in the padding, screaming into the padding with laughter, shoulders shaking violently. Carrie watched, panting, her own body trembling with aftershocks. The tuning fork hummed louder in her lap. She targeted PERINEUM > BASE OF SCROTUM. Intensity: 35%. Simulation: Vibrating Cocktail Picks. APPLY. Silas shot upright, eyes wide with utter panic before collapsing sideways, curling into a fetal position, hands clamped between his legs. His laughter dissolved into desperate, gulping sobs interspersed with shrieks. "PLEASE! JUST KILL ME! HAHA HAHA HAHAHAHA!" (his laughter continued at very high levels)

Carrie leaned forward, her light green eyes fever-bright, tears tracing paths through her sweat. She felt the next climax building, a terrifying pressure fueled by Silas’s unraveling sanity. Her finger hovered over EARS > EAR CANAL. Intensity: 40%. Simulation: Fluttering Moth Wings. She grinned savagely. "Shhh, Silas," she whispered hoarsely, her voice thick with arousal. "Listen... Listen very carefully..." Her thumb pressed APPLY. Instantly, Silas’s entire body spasmed violently. His hands flew to his ears, clawing desperately. An inhuman screech tore from his throat, pure, raw terror obliterating laughter. His eyes rolled back, limbs flailing uncontrollably as the maddening flutter invaded the deepest recesses of his skull. Carrie gasped, her own scream echoing his as ecstasy ripped through her once more, blindingly bright, an orgasm of intense wonderful proportions. She slumped back into the throne, trembling violently within the harness, shaking, weakened yet utterly exhilarated. Below, Silas twitched and whimpered, utterly broken, soaked in sweat and tears. The fork’s humming remained relentless.

Without respite, driven by Agent Red’s endless hunger, Carrie stabbed at INNER THIGHS > UPPER GROIN. Intensity: 50%. Simulation: Electric Feathers. APPLY. Silas shrieked like 10 insane hyenas, folding violently in half, hands slapping frantically at his inner thighs before curling protectively around his groin. His laughter was a wet, choking rasp. Carrie cried out again, another orgasm crashing over her, sharp and brutal. She might have tasted blood where she'd bitten her lip.

She moved randomly, relentlessly. BACK OF KNEES. Intensity: 55%. Simulation: Spider Web Strands Dragging. Silas kicked wildly, curling into a tight ball, hands clutching behind his knees. RIBCAGE > UNDER-RIB SPACES. Intensity: 60%. Simulation: Cocktail Straw Suction. He arched sideways, gasping like a landed fish, his own fingers digging into his ribs. SOLES > TOE WEBS. Intensity: 65%. Simulation: Centipede Legs Crawling. He bucked onto his knees, curling his toes inward, hands frantically rubbing the spaces between them. With each new zone assaulted, Carrie rode another devastating wave of Agent Red ecstasy, screaming with pleasure that mirrored Silas’s screams of agony.

Tears streamed freely down her face, mingling with sweat pooling between her breasts. Her body strained against the harness, slick and convulsing, utterly overwhelmed, filled with well deserved pleasure. Below, Silas was a broken marionette, rolling, clutching, laughing hysterically as he choked, begging incoherently between gasps: "Mercy! Stop! Anything! Please! Not again! I'll do anything! Anything!" His voice was raw, stripped bare, echoing in the pit. The tuning fork glowed, its hum a constant counterpoint to their shared, agonizing symphony. Carrie's finger hovered over the APPLY button once more, targeting BELLY BUTTON again, her own breath ragged. The pit stank of sweat, terror, and her own spent arousal.

Silas saw her thumb descend toward the screen. "NO! WAIT!" he shrieked, scrambling backward against the padded wall. "I’ll... I’ll do it! Anything! What do you want?! TELL ME! HAHA HAHA HAA!" He pressed himself flat, eyes wide and pleading, chest heaving. "Just stop! Stop the tickles!"

Carrie leaned forward slowly, the harness creaking. "Anything?" Her voice was husky, thick with exertion and ecstasy. She deliberately tapped the screen, cycling through torture zones – ARMPITS, SOLES, PERINEUM – letting them flicker randomly, menacingly. Silas flinched violently with each selection, whimpering. "Prove it," she commanded, her tone glacial. "Beg properly. Tell me precisely what you want. And why." She let the implication hang – a plea for more torment was the only currency here. Agent Red thrummed, heightening her anticipation. Would he understand the game? Could he articulate his engineered craving? Below, Silas trembled, trapped between absolute terror and the terrifying realization of what ‘anything’ truly meant in Glenhaven’s pit. Tears tracked fresh paths through the sweat on his cheeks. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound emerged, only a ragged breath.

Her thumb hovered over BELLY BUTTON, Intensity: 70%. Silas screamed, "STOP! PLEASE!" He scrambled forward onto his knees, hands clasped imploringly. "I want... I want..." He choked, gagging on the words. "...I want the tickles... to stop! But... but..." He closed his eyes, shuddering violently. "...but I need... I need..." His voice dropped to a ragged whisper, thick with shame. "...I need... your device... to..." He couldn't finish. His shoulders slumped, utterly defeated. Carrie watched, utterly still, her own breath catching. Agent Red sang in her veins. He understood.

She tapped the fork’s main icon. POWER OFF. The humming ceased instantly. The pit begin to silence, broken only by both their frantic gasps. Silas collapsed onto his side, chest heaving, limbs twitching involuntarily. Carrie slumped back against the leather throne, her body trembling with pleasure within the harness. Sweat poured down her face, stinging her eyes, mingling with the tears streaming freely. Below, Silas curled into a tight ball, muffled sobs and hiccuping giggles escaping him as the tickling sensations slowly faded. Above, Carrie unclenched her jaw, releasing a shuddering sigh. Her mind felt scorched, blank, adrift on the receding tide of Agent Red’s overwhelming ecstasy. Minutes crawled by. Slowly, the frantic pounding of their hearts eased. Their breathing became less ragged, settling into exhausted, shallow rhythms. The sharp edge of hysteria softened, leaving behind a profound, trembling emptiness.

Silas uncurled slowly, wiping tears from his face with trembling hands. His eyes, red-rimmed and terrified, lifted cautiously towards the throne. Carrie watched him, her own gaze distant but regaining focus. She felt raw, scraped hollow, yet strangely… sated. The harness straps snug against her sweat-slicked skin. She released the buckle with clumsy fingers, the nylon straps slithering away. The cool air hit her damp skin, raising goosebumps. She wiped her own face, smearing tears and sweat. "Listen," she commanded, her voice hoarse but regaining its authority. "When I release you from the pit floor… you will wait. Do not move until I tell you." Silas flinched but nodded mutely, pressing his forehead against the padded floor.

Carrie stood on shaky legs, ignoring the ache between her thighs and the lingering tremors in her muscles. She walked to the control panel on the wall. Her finger hovered over the RAISE PIT FLOOR icon. She looked down at Silas’s pitiful form. "Stand," she ordered. He scrambled to his feet with quick obedience, swaying, eyes wide with wary exhaustion. Carrie pressed the icon. With a hydraulic sigh, the padded floor Silas stood on began to rise smoothly towards the floor. She now verbally warned him that she has the tuning tickle fork currently set on 100% intensity, set to tickle 100% of his body, and that if he even looked wrongly at her once he was up to floor level, she would push the APPLY button and he would suffer the worst tickling ever know, until … he dies.

She said these words with dead seriousness, as she was taking a small chance that he might try to rush her and overpower her. "Now," Carrie’s voice cut through the mechanical whirr. "Climb into your encasement. Quickly. Let it seal around you." She then pressed the Open Silas Body Confinement icon. The hard plastic replica of his body split open in half, longways, on the floor.

Silas stared at the gleaming sarcophagus, its open apertures like hungry mouths wanting to eat him. Pure dread washed over his face. He hesitated, instinctively shrinking back. Carrie’s eyes narrowed. "Do it. Now," she hissed, her tone promising immediate reactivation of the fork. Silas whimpered, fresh tears welling, but he obeyed. He reasoned that even if he could rush Carrie and subdue her, this was all on camera and he'd never be able to escape the room itself. He would suffer greatly for an attempted escape. He might not live through the punishment that would be dished out. He hobbled over and clumsily clambered inside the cool, form-fitting hard, thick, plastic shell. He positioned his feet just outside of the ankle apertures, raised is arms into the position of the shell. Hydraulics hissed; the one half started to flip over to close his naked body inside. Just when there was enough room to still put one of her hands inside before it closed, Carrie pushed Pause, it stopped closing.

She slid one hand inside, grabbed his cock and pushed the tip through the small round opening just above it, with her other hand she grabbed the tip and held on to it, with her now free hand she pushed Continue and the entire body-shaped prison concluded its closing sequence, her hand pulling and guiding his cock up through the hole. Now his cock was fully visible and vulnerable. Inside he was utterly immobilized. Silas could not bend a knee, or elbow, or wrist. He could no longer move his head, as only his compressed face was out, free to breathe, free to laugh and scream when the time came. Locks engaged with a series of sharp clunks. The sarcophagus had sealed him in, he was completely immobilized and horribly vulnerable. Carrie stared at her captive, a smile touching her lips. The red pill still pulsed warmly in her veins.

Carrie strode purposefully to the wall panel beside the throne. Her fingertip – still trembling slightly from exertion – found the illuminated button labeled RAISE SUSPENSION. She pressed it firmly. Connected up on the ceiling to Silas's sarcophagus, were thick steel cables, and they tightened. With a low, powerful hum, the entire sarcophagus lifted smoothly off the floor. It ascended precisely four feet high, leaving Silas suspended in mid-air, held rigidly horizontal within his plastic tomb.

His soft bare feet protruded perfectly from the ankle holes, slender and vulnerable, toes curling reflexively against the cool air. The sarcophagus concealed his hands, forearms, elbows and biceps entirely, trapping them uselessly immovable inside. But at Carrie's chest height, oval openings exposed his soft hairless underarms - deep hollows framed by sweat-slicked smooth shaved skin. Carrie took a good look at what was suspended before her. He was fully unable to move an inch, and his only exposed body parts (exposed by perfectly shaped and perfectly sized holes in the plastic armor) were his face, armpits, lower sides, cock and feet.

Carrie retrieved Lena’s tuning fork from the throne seat, its cool metal humming faintly against her palm. Without glancing at Silas’s panic-widened eyes, she navigated the menus: ARMPITS > DEPTH: MAXIMUM. Intensity: 50%. Simulation: Electric Toothbrush Vibrations. APPLY AFTER DELAY: 15 SECONDS. DURATION: 10 SECONDS. The screen flashed confirmation. She set the fork aside. From the throne’s cupholder, she plucked the pink Agent Rose pill. Its phenomenal abilities teased her as she approached Silas’s suspended trapped face.

She saw the dawning horror in his eyes, the frantic flicker towards the fork, in the ceiling, he could see the fork on the floor, activating with something soon. He knows I'm giving him the pink pill. With her left hand, she pinched his nostrils shut, fingers pressing firmly against the bridge of his nose. His chest jerked inside his full body container, becoming desperate for air. He clenched his jaw, lips sealed tight, eyes worried. If his eyes could talk they would say, "Please don't do this. You don't have to. Let's be friends. I'm so ticklish." Five seconds passed. Forced breathlessness. Carrie remained utterly silent, her expression both calm and excited, watching the frantic decision he must soon make. His cheeks flushed crimson, the veins standing out on his temples. His sealed lips trembled. A choked whimper escaped through his locked teeth. His lungs wanted oxygen. The fork’s programmed delay hit fifteen seconds. APPLY.

Instantaneous agony erupted deep within the hollows of his exposed armpits. The simulation wasn't just surface tickling; it was a deep, penetrating, internal buzzing vibration, like furious electric toothbrushes drilling directly into the most hypersensitive nerve clusters buried beneath the smooth shaved skin. His locked jaw flew open in an explosive, unstoppable shriek of hysterical laughter. Carrie’s right hand moved with precision. As his mouth gaped wide in that first agonized scream, she dropped the Pink Agent Rose pill deep onto the back of his tongue. The moment the pink pill touched the wet surface, it started to dissolve instantly into a warm, syrupy liquid, vanishing. Her hand clamped firmly over his mouth, sealing it shut. She released the pinch on his nose. His eyes snapped open wide, locking onto hers with terror and betrayal. He choked, gagging against her palm, muffled screams of "MMMMMPPPHHH!" vibrated against her wet palm.

The intense internal tickling vibration ceased after its brutal ten-second duration. Carrie slowly lifted her hand from his mouth. Silas gasped, gulping air desperately, tears streaming down his temples. He shuddered violently within his plastic prison, his exposed toes curling and uncurling frantically against the air. "Why... why did you?" he rasped, his voice ragged and broken, thick with the lingering terror of the power of Agent Rose flooding his system. Carrie leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "Silence, little toy," she hissed, her voice dripping with contempt. "Your purpose isn't to question me. It’s to suffer. To scream. To laugh until your sanity unravels. You crave this. Every nerve in your conditioned body sings for it. Deny it all you want, but your laughter, your struggles, your pathetic pleas for mercy? I'm doing you a favor by torturing you so efficiently, you should thank me."

Silas whimpered, a fresh wave of tremors wracking his immobilized form. His eyes were wide pools of horrified realization. "It... it feels..." he stammered, struggling against the overwhelming sensory overload. "The Rose... it’s... everywhere! My skin... like... like it's crawling! Alive! The air... just the air...!" He gasped, staring up in the ceiling mirror at his own exposed helpless feet. "A breeze... a breath... hits my soles... and... it feels like... like tiny tickling buzzes! Feathers dipped in tickle fire! Please..." His voice cracked into a sob. "The sensitivity... it’s unbearable already... terrifying! Feel... feeling everything... amplified... tenfold... a hundredfold..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape the overwhelming hypersensitivity radiating from every inch of his trapped skin.

Carrie circled the suspended sarcophagus, slowly. Her gaze lingered on the exposed hollows of his armpits – the smooth, shaved skin gleaming faintly with nervous perspiration. She viewed the vulnerable curve of his ribs visible through the side openings, the softness of his flank just above his hip bone. Her eyes drifted down to his feet, suspended perfectly at a height for easy access tickling. They were slender and nicely shaped, the soles a delicate pale pink and white against the dark plastic, the high arches exposed and trembling. The pads beneath each toe looked impossibly soft, there's no way those are real. They just scream out with ticklishness, calling out with an invitation to touch them.

Her own breathing deepened, her pulse quickening as Agent Red surged warmly within her, mingling with a burgeoning sadistic delight. The sheer helplessness of his position, the pristine vulnerability of these exposed zones, ignited fire deep inside her. Her fingers twitched, craving the tactile proof of his torment. The Pink pill had now made him exquisitely, terrifyingly sensitive; she intended to explore every millimeter of that sensitivity with merciless precision. And the best part is that because of the pink pill, all that was required to drive him quite literally insane, was light taps and scratches from her lovely fingernails. To him, that would feel so unbearably ticklish that he would certainly have trouble breathing.

She stopped directly facing his suspended feet. Leaning in close, her voice dropped to a low, husky murmur thick with her dark promise. "Listen carefully, Silas," she breathed, her hot breath ghosting over the trembling arches of his soles. He flinched violently at the mere breathy sensation. "You think that vibration tool was agony? That was a caress compared to what’s coming." Her fingertip then trailed slowly, feather-light, down the center of his left sole, from middle toe down to heel, barely grazing the hypersensitive skin. Silas jerked as if electrocuted, a choked squeal bursting from his lips. She waited a moment before speaking again. "I’m going to tickle you," she whispered, savoring each word, "in ways you can't yet understand."

Her gaze devoured the exposed landscape before her. The smooth skin of his armpits, hollow and defenseless, begged for slow, circling exploration. She truly thought she heard his armpits asking to be tickled. She imagined dragging just the tip of her pinky finger around the perimeters, spiraling inward towards the deepest, most ticklish core – how his screams would escalate with each millimeter. From just her pinky fingers! That was so powerful to her. His ribs, visible through the side openings, were tantalizingly vulnerable. A light spider-walk with her nails across those gaps would ignite frantic, breathless laughter, trapping air in his lungs until he choked on it. Her focus drifted lower, settling hungrily, once again on his feet suspended perfectly at chest height. The arches were high and taut, the pads beneath each toe impossibly soft, almost translucent. She pictured digging her thumbnails firmly into the fleshy pad beneath his big toe, poking relentlessly while her other fingers tapped like frantic insects over the entire sole – a dual assault designed to shatter coherence. The pink pill ensured he would lose all coherent thought.

Inside his plastic tomb, Silas’s mind fragmented under the unbearable sensations and the current crushing humiliation. An eighteen-year-old girl! Lena’s dominance, cruel as it was, felt almost… understandable. A woman of thirty, hardened, sophisticated. But this? This slender, porcelain-skinned teenager with lite green eyes and short bangs? She shouldn’t wield this kind of power! His 21-year-old face burned crimson, from sheer scorching embarrassment. Her youthful fingers had become instruments of divine torment, his torment. She sees me like this… completely exposed… helpless… laughing like a fool… The sheer indignity of it – his engineered purpose laid bare, being mastered by someone barely out of childhood – was a torture in itself. A layered brutally atop the approaching physical ticklish agony.

Carrie’s gaze, now sharpened by Agent Red’s euphoria, slid deliberately from Silas’s weeping face, down his trembling torso trapped within the sarcophagus, to settle intently on his penis. It jutted vulnerably from its designated round aperture, utterly defenseless. The pale and pink shaft was flaccid, glistening slightly with a sheen of nervous sweat trapped by the plastic rim pressing against his pubic bone. The softness of it struck her – a stark contrast to the rigid confinement surrounding it. Pink Agent no doubt made it hypersensitive, she recalled Lena’s explanation, every nerve ending screaming. She imagined the sheer terror Silas must feel, knowing that soft unprotected naturally sensitive flesh was now a beacon for torment, exposed to whatever cruelty she desired. His utter inability to shield it, to retract it, even an inch, amplified its pathetic vulnerability. It wasn't just physical exposure; it was the complete surrender of his most intimate self, laid bare for her whims. A surge of possessive thrill tightened in her chest. That’s mine to torment.

Carrie retrieved Lena’s tuning fork, her movements unhurried, deliberate. Silas’s eyes widened in panicked understanding. She navigated the menus: GENITALIA > TARGET: PENILE SHAFT > SIMULATION: TAPPING FINGERNAILS. INTENSITY: STARTING AT 5%. INCREMENT: +5% EVERY 15 SECONDS. MAX INTENSITY: 50%. DURATION: UNTIL MANUAL STOP. A soft chime confirmed the setting. She pressed ACTIVATE and stepped back three precise paces, folding her arms. The fork emitted a near-silent hum. Instantly, Silas gasped. A choked, breathy sound. Barely audible taps began – impossibly light, impossibly precise – dancing across the entire length of his exposed shaft. At 5%, it was a maddening whisper of sensation, a ghostly teasing. His hips strained uselessly against the plastic restraints. "Nnngh… please… Carrie…" he whimpered, his voice tight. Fifteen seconds passed. INTENSITY: 10%. The taps gained a fraction more weight, a sharper definition. A sharper gasp escaped him, followed by a strained giggle. "Ah! N-no!" Sweat beaded on his forehead.

To Silas, the tapping became distinct, rhythmic impacts – like impatient fingernails drumming lightly but insistently. His cock twitched against the invisible assault. His breath hitched. "St-stop it! It tickles! Oh god, it tickles!" He began to squirm violently within his sarcophagus, his exposed feet wiggling frantically at the air, toes curling wildly. INTENSITY: 15%. The taps were firm now, undeniable. They marched relentlessly from the base to the tip and back again. His laughter escalated, high-pitched and desperate. "HAHA! PLEASE! HAHA! CARRIE! IT'S TOO MUCH! HAHAHA!" His cock visibly stiffened beneath the barrage, thickening, lifting slightly off his belly. Carrie watched, fascinated. It’s hardening. Not yet fully erect, but undeniably responding to this relentless stimulation. The sheer absurdity – arousal forced by unbearable tickling – twisted her lips into a cruel smile.

INTENSITY: 20%. The tapping intensified more significantly now, sharp little jabs against hypersensitive flesh. Silas shrieked. "HAHAHAHA! NO MORE! NO MORE! HAHAHAHA! IT'S INSANE! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!" Tears streamed freely down his temples. His cock, now semi-erect, pulsed visibly with each frantic laugh. The tapping seemed to find every hypersensitive ridge and vein. "HAHAHA! TOO HARD?! HAHAHA! STOP TICKLING IT! OH GOD, IT'S LIKE! HAHAHA!" His exposed feet moving uselessly against the open air, soles glistening with slippery sweat.

INTENSITY: 25%. The taps transformed into firm, rhythmic drumming. Silas’s laughter was now a breathless, ragged hysteria. "HAHAHAHA! CAN'T... BREATHE... HAHAHA! TOO... TICKLISH... HAHAHA NOOO!" His erection thickened further, straining upwards against the invisible assault, the head flushed darker red. Carrie watched intently – just like a scientist observing her specimen. Was it fully hard? Almost. Does it get harder? Who knows. It stood rigidly angled now, trembling violently with each tap. His pleas dissolved into incoherent shrieks interspersed with desperate gulps of air. His armpits glistened as sweat pooled inside the hollows.

INTENSITY: 30%. The tapping became wild, with punishing impact. Silas convulsed, his entire suspended body jerking violently. His screams were pure agony mixed with laughter. "AAAAIIIEEEEE! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! KILL ME! JUST KILL ME! HAHAHAHA! PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING! ANYTHING! HAHAHAHA!" His cock was fully erect now, rock-hard and throbbing, bouncing slightly under the furious rhythmic bombardment. The sight was grotesquely fascinating – utter torment forcing his undeniable arousal. "HAHAHAHA! IT'S... IT'S LIKE... LIKE HOT ELECTRIC! HAHAHAHA! EVERY TAP... EXPLODING! MAKE IT STOP! I BEG YOU! HAHAHAHAHA! BEGGING!" Spittle flew from his lips as his head tried to move.

INTENSITY: 35%. Carrie remained frozen, arms folded, drinking in the spectacle. He continued to laugh and shriek in abnormal ways.

Slowly, Carrie walked forward until her face hovered inches above Silas’s tear-streaked, panic-contorted facial features. His eyes, wide with frantic agony, locked onto hers. With glacial precision, she raised her hand. Between her thumb and forefinger, a stark white pill gleamed under the harsh lights. She held it poised before his gaze for a lingering heartbeat – a silent promise of his damnation. Then, she popped it into her mouth and swallowed dryly. Silas’s choked laughter faltered for a microsecond, a flicker of raw terror eclipsing the hysteria as comprehension dawned. Agent White. He knew what it did. He’d felt it obliterate empathy in others during his own programming. Then he realized that she was already tickling his cock this mercilessly, and she hadn't taken the Empathy Inhibitor until just now? He was completely doomed. She was wickedly sadistic without out. And now!

Over the next excruciating ten seconds, Silas witnessed the transformation of Carrie's empathy. The faintest trace of vicious amusement – a mere ghost in Carrie’s lite green eyes – evaporated like smoke. The subtle tension around her soft lips, perhaps the faintest echo of shared humanity, smoothed into chilling, emotionless marble. Her high cheekbones seemed sharper, her gaze colder than the steel cables suspending him. It was as if a veil of final, irrevocable detachment lifted. The girl who might have hesitated, who might have felt a thin sliver of pity buried beneath, she vanished. What remained was pure, predatory instrumentality. His soul shriveled. No mercy left. None. The tuning fork’s intensity jumped to 40%. The drumming on his hypersensitive shaft became a brutal jackhammer tickle assault. His laughter exploded anew, some kind of raw animalistic sound of pure suffering, ticklish suffering, drowning out any coherent thoughts beyond the agony. "HHHAAAAAGGGHHH! NOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

Carrie’s expression didn’t falter. Without breaking eye contact, her hand moved again. Another pill, deep crimson this time – Agent Red. She slipped it past her lips. Silas, lost in the vortex of ticklish torment hammering his cock and amplified tenfold by Agent Rose, didn’t register the movement. He only saw her swallow again, the motion clinical and final. The Agent Red ignited within her bloodstream, a familiar scorching wave of euphoria mingling with the 'no mercy' white pill. Her focus sharpened to a laser point. Every choked gasp, every desperate wiggle of his feet, every bead of sweat rolling out of his exposed armpits became her fuel. His ticklish degradation was so exquisite to Carrie.

Her gaze locked onto his penis. It stood rigid, trembling under the relentless 40% tapping stimulation. Each invisible nail strike made the flushed, hypersensitive flesh jump and pulse, a grotesque dance of forced arousal intertwined with the agony of torturous tickling. The shaft glistened, slick with sweat that dripped down onto the hard plastic rim it poked out from. A thin vein throbbed visibly beneath the skin. She dragged her gaze upward. Took in his face: eyes squeezed shut, mouth stretched wide in a silent scream momentarily drowned by a fresh burst of hysterical laughter. Tears and slick strands of saliva coated his chin. His entire skull strained against the sarcophagus inner padding, but he couldn't move at all. Carrie delighted in the utter vulnerability of his position, the raw animal suffering etched onto his features… and the undeniable, shameful erection standing proud amidst it all. He’s laughing so hard he’s choking, she noted clinically, yet his cock is rigid.

Her eyes snapped back down to his groin. The tuning fork ramped up to 45%. The tapping intensified into a furious, staccato drumming up and down his shaft. Silas’s body arched violently, a strangled shriek tearing from his throat. "HHHGGGKKKHHH! HAHAHAHA-NO! NO MORE! PLEASE GOD NO MORE! HAHAHAHA!" Spittle flew. His cock wiggled, the head filling with arousal. She stared at it, absorbing the visual discord: the frantic, involuntary twitching of pure agony, meeting the obscene stiffness of his internal arousal. Back to his face: eyes rolling back briefly, jaw slack, gulping air between screams. His pleas dissolved into fragmented nonsensical syllables soaked in hysteria: "Ticklefire! Buzzdeath! Stopstopstop! Hahaha-she’s killing me! Hahaha-kill me kill me!" The sheer incoherence, the complete shattering of language under her ministrations…

Her gaze oscillated: cock… face… cock… face… cock. The relentless tapping vibrated through the humid air. The Agent Red surged, merging her perception of his suffering with her own burgeoning climax. She saw the desperate flutter of his eyelids, heard the wet gurgle in his throat as laughter strangled his breath, smelled the sharp tang of terror-sweat mingling with something else – the faint, metallic scent of his humiliation. His cock leapt under the high tech tuning fork's invisible fingernails. Her own muscles clenched deep within her core, a sudden, violent tightening that stole her breath. The orgasm hit her like a physical blow, a ferocious wave of pure, electric pleasure that ripped through her body. Her legs buckled instantly, trembling violently. She dropped hard onto her right knee, gasping, her head bowing forward as raw ecstasy washed over her in relentless pulses, amplified and sharpened by the Agents within her. She rode the peak, utterly lost in the symphony of Silas’s agony, her own pleasure inextricably bound to the sight and sound of his complete annihilation.

Carrie slowly raised her head. Her eyes, utterly devoid of warmth or empathy, met his swimming, unfocused gaze. With slowness, she lifted her hand down towards Lena’s tuning fork device. A soft chime echoed in the chamber. DEACTIVATE. The furious drumming ceased instantly. The sudden, profound stillness was noticeable. Silas gasped, a ragged, shuddering inhalation. His body sagged within the sarcophagus, trembling uncontrollably. Only the frantic breathing and the tremor in his exposed feet showed he was still conscious. The abrupt cessation left a ringing void, filled only by his desperate, wet gasps and the faint hum of the Manor itself.

Carrie rose smoothly to her feet. "Now, Silas," she whispered, leaning so close her lips almost brushed his ear, "now you suffer. More than you ever have. More than you imagined possible." She drew back slightly, her chilling gaze pinning him. "Tell me," she commanded, her tone sharpening. "When was the last time you were permitted release? When was the last time you were allowed to cum?"

Silas flinched as if struck. A fresh wave of tears welled up. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before a ragged sob tore free. "I… I…" he stammered, voice thick with phlegm and despair. He gulped air, hiccupped violently, shoulders jerking inside the restraints. "Many months," he finally choked out, the words a wet whisper. "It's not for me…" A shudder racked him. "Miss Robinson… she… she usually forbids it." Tears streamed from his eyes. "S-said… said my… arousal… belonged to… to her… to the Manor." A sob hitched his breath. "Only for… for punishment… or Operator pleasure." He squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation radiating off him in palpable waves. "N-never… never mine." His voice cracked into a despairing whine. "Please… Carrie… can it be... nice…" He trailed off, unable to voice the unspeakable torment he knew awaited his exposed, hypersensitive flesh.

Carrie’s expression remained chillingly placid. She studied his tear-streaked face, the frantic tremor in his suspended feet, the vulnerable rigidity of his penis still flushed and straining – a testament to the torturous arousal that had occurred. "Forbidden," she echoed softly, the word hanging in the humid air. She raised Lena’s tuning fork, her thumb hovering over the interface. GENITALIA > TARGET: PENILE HEAD > SIMULATION: MICRO-FLUTTERING FEATHERS. A predatory gleam sparked in her Agent White-enhanced eyes. "Then it’s time," she murmured, her voice a husky promise thick with Agent Red’s amplifying ecstasy, "to remind you why." Her thumb pressed ACTIVATE.

Instantly, Silas screamed. Not laughter this time – a raw, animalistic shriek of pure sensory overload. The invisible simulation focused solely on the hypersensitive glans just below his cock's head, on the underside. But also, thousands of feather-light touches, impossibly fast and incessant, fluttered against the engorged, hypersensitive tip. Agent Pink amplified each touch into an electric nerve-shredding tickle. His entire body snapped rigid. "AAAAIIIEEEEEE! STOP! STOP IT! GOD! HAHA-NO! TOO MUCH! TOO TICKLES!" His cock jerked violently, bobbing against the invisible onslaught. Sweat poured from his armpits, dripping onto the sarcophagus below. His exposed feet scrabbled frantically, toes curling and uncurling in agonized spasms. "HAHAHAHA! PLEASE! CARRIEAHHAHAHA!" Spittle flew. His eyes rolled wildly, whites showing. The simulation, concentrated on the most sensitive part, bypassed forced arousal and plunged straight into neurological tickle agony. Every flutter was torture amplified beyond comprehension.

She didn't care if it was beyond comprehension. She wasn't feeling it. He was. Carrie watched with contentment, the Agent White pill ensuring not a flicker of pity touched her features. The Agent Red surged more within her, feeding on his torment. Her naked body circled the suspended sarcophagus. She stopped behind his head, gazing down. Below her, Silas’s exposed armpits glistened, deep hollows slick with terrified sweat, vulnerable and utterly defenseless. Agent Red’s euphoria pulsed hotter, merging with the visual feast of his degradation. Her breath hitched slightly. Now.

With startling speed Carrie plunged both hands down. Her fingers, slender and cool, didn't hesitate. She touched them deep into the hollows of Silas’s exposed, trapped armpits, her fingertips finding the soft, hypersensitive skin. Instantly, she began to wriggle and tap – not gently, but with focused, sadistic fervor. Silas’s reaction was volcanic. His face contorted wildly. His scream, already ragged, erupted into a new octave of pure, unhinged hysteria. (crazy suffering laughter) His laughter wasn't joyful to him; it was the sound of a mind fracturing under unbearable sensations. It was higher-pitched, exceedingly frantic, utterly insane. His entire suspended sarcophagus shook with his convulsions. Carrie leaned forward as her legs weakened, thus sort of using this suspended plastic man as a support to stand. She felt the hot, frantic gusts of his laughter blasting against her bare breasts as she bent over him. The heat was intense, a physical manifestation of his terror.

The proximity, the feel of his desperate breath on her skin, the vibration of his choked screams rattling through her arms, the sheer power of his utter helplessness beneath her hands – it ignited Carrie instantly. Agent Red detonated within her. An orgasm ripped through her, sudden and catastrophic. It wasn't just wonderful pleasure; it was a white-hot detonation of pure sadistic ecstasy. Her vision actually blurred. Her legs buckled. She gasped, a sharp, choked sound lost in Silas’s shrieks. Reflexively, seeking anchor, she leaned further forward, pressing her breasts fully onto Silas's sweat-slick forehead. The heat of his skin, the frantic tremors running through him, intensified her own violent tremors.

Her body arched backward involuntarily from the sheer power of the climax, yet her hands, driven by evil intentions, and Agent White’s merciless detachment, didn’t stop. Incredibly, through the blinding waves of molten pleasure-pain washing over her, her fingers kept sporadically wiggling and tapping deep in his armpits. Each spasm made her movements jagged, slow, unpredictable – a cruel counterpoint to Silas’s own frantic thrashing and choked, incoherent pleas. (the room was filled with crazy suffering laughter) He sounded utterly broken. She rode the agonizing peak, her breasts pressed against his captive head and face, her hands delivering slow, torturous jabs into his hypersensitive pits, lost in the symphony of his annihilation and her own amplified, brutal release.

Slowly, her violent tremors subsided. Carrie pushed herself upright, shaky but composed, her face a mask carved from ice. Silas lay suspended, whimpering wetly, tears streaming freely from his eyes, mixing with sweat and saliva pooled on the sarcophagus rim beneath his chin and the sides of his face. His penis, still subjected to the relentless micro-feathering torture on its glans by the tuning fork, twitched and pulsed obscenely – a beacon of hypersensitive agony and unwanted arousal. Carrie circled him. Her gaze raked over his trembling form, lingering on his exposed soles. They were slick with sweat, glistening under the harsh lights, the delicate arches and pads utterly defenseless. The soft ivory skin stretched tight over bones and tendons, the vulnerable spaces between each toe begging for torment. A predatory stillness settled over her.

Without preamble, Carrie stepped close to his suspended feet. She raised both hands, fingers poised like spiders. Then she plunged them down, fingertips landing simultaneously onto the hypersensitive centers of both soles. Instantly, she began to scribble and tap – not gently, but with focused, relentless fervor. Her fingertips danced, dug, and scrabbled across the soft, treacherous soft skin. Silas’s reaction was immediate and catastrophic. His already ragged breathing hitched, choked off entirely for a terrifying 3 seconds. Then his laughter erupted – a piercing, insane shriek that scraped the ceiling. It was pure unhinged hysteria, higher-pitched and more desperate than anything before. His entire suspended sarcophagus bucked and rocked as if electrified.

Carrie moved with methodical cruelty. Her hands slid upwards, each of her index fingers finding the tender, sweat-slicked gaps between his big toe and second toe on each foot. She jabbed deep, wiggling rapidly, tracing the sensitive webbing. Silas’s laughter skyrocketed into an inhuman squeal: Tears streamed sideways from his squeezed-shut eyes. She shifted abruptly, thumbs driving hard into the high, delicate arches, pressing deep into the ticklish hollows beneath the bones, digging in circles. His laughter choked into gasping, wet hiccups: "HIH! HIH! HIH!" Then, like a maestro conducting agony, she slid her hands up to the bases of his toes, where the pads met the sole – a devastating ticklish zone. Her fingernails tapped furiously. His laughter was a breathless, rhythmic shriek: "AIIIII! AIIIII! AIIIII!" She repeated the cycle: toes-webbing-arches-toes, faster now, a relentless whirlwind of torment focused entirely on his hypersensitive soles.

The sheer visual discord fueled Carrie’s Agent Red surge: the glistening soles twitching violently under her assault, the involuntary curling and splaying of his toes. Each insane shriek, each choked gasp between cries, each bead of sweat dripping off his heels became her pure narcotic. Her focus narrowed to the trembling flesh beneath her fingers. Her own muscles clenched violently inside her pussy, deep within her core. A familiar, terrifying pressure built – the Agent Red igniting alongside the Agent White’s cold detachment. It happened too fast. The orgasm detonated, a supernova of molten sadistic ecstasy. Her vision whited out. Her legs buckled catastrophically. She dropped hard onto both knees with a jarring thud, her cry of sweet release for a moment, was louder than Silas’s ongoing shrieks. She was in sadism heaven! She was experiencing extreme physical and emotional pleasure from his great suffering!

Through the blinding waves of agonizing pleasure, her fingers kept moving – sporadically, jaggedly. As her body arched backwards uncontrollably, trembling violently, her thumbs and fingers dug deep, reflexive jabs into his arches. When a spasm rocked her forward, her fingers scrabbled weakly against the bases of his toes. Her face contorted wildly, eyes unfocused, her mouth open in a silent scream of panicked painful pleasure.

Then her legs gave out entirely. She crumpled sideways, falling softly onto the thick, burgundy carpet beside Lena’s tuning fork device. Her chest heaved, sweat-slicked skin sticking to the plush fibers. Her muscles felt liquefied, trembling uncontrollably. Silas’s choked weeping, as the relentless micro-feathering stimulation on his penis filled the room. With a monumental effort, Carrie weakly lifted her right hand. Her fingers brushed the cool metal casing of the fork device. Fumbling, she slapped her finger against the DEACTIVATE icon. A soft chime echoed. The invisible feather assault ceased instantly. The chamber plunged into a different mood, broken only by Silas’s wet, shuddering gasps and Carrie’s own ragged breathing.

Minutes crawled by. Carrie lay curled on the carpet, eyes closed, riding the aftershocks. Beside her, Silas hung suspended, held completely still by his body shaped prison, the occasional tear slipping sideways from his eyes. Sweat pooled beneath his armpits, dripped off his chin. His penis remained rigid, flushed and vulnerable against the sarcophagus rim. Slowly, Carrie pushed herself onto her elbows. She stared blankly at the carpet pattern – swirling burgundy vines on cream – grounding herself. The Agent red pill's euphoria still hummed within her veins: Agent White’s chilling detachment still assisted her to be merciless.

With slowness, she rose to her feet, her legs trembling only slightly. She ignored Silas’s whimper as she stepped over Lena’s tuning fork device. Her gaze locked onto its interface screen. Total control. Her fingers moved with surgical precision across the holographic controls. SIMULATION TYPE: FULL BODY TORRENT. INTENSITY: 100%. TARGETS: ALL KNOWN TICKLISH NERVE CLUSTERS. ACTIVATION TRIGGER: VERBAL COMMAND. COMMAND WORD: SUFFER. She confirmed each setting, her expression cold, focused. A soft confirmation chime echoed. The fork was now primed, waiting only for her voice. Waiting for her to utter the word SUFFER. Its sensors glowed faintly, listening. Silas watched her movements with wide, terrified eyes, utterly unaware of the trap she had just programmed.

Carrie turned away. She walked to the open recess in the wall from earlier. Her fingers closed around a thick, clear tube labeled HYDRO-SLICK. She twisted off the cap. The scent of sterile lubrication with a slight floral scent filled the air. Returning to stand directly between Silas’s spread legs, she tilted the tube. A thick stream of viscous, translucent oil poured onto the head of his hypersensitive penis. It pooled instantly, gleaming under the lights, before cascading down the rigid shaft in slow, glistening rivulets. She squeezed harder, emptying far more than necessary. Oil flooded over him, dripping onto the sarcophagus below, coating his entire exposed length in a thick, impossibly slick layer. It reflected the harsh light obscenely. Silas gasped sharply at the sudden cold, slippery sensation, a shudder running through him. The liquid dripping down also tickled him, causing some giggles and laughs.

Carrie capped the tube, tossing it aside onto the carpet with a soft thud. Silence pressed in, thick with dread. She leaned forward slightly, her lite green eyes locking onto Silas’s beautiful lips and moist chin. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was barely above a whisper, smooth and deadly soft: "Do you want to cum, Silas?"

The question hung like a heavy physical weight. Silas froze, his breath catching in a ragged gasp. His eyes widened impossibly further. Did he hear that correctly? Confusion warred with terror across his tear-streaked face. His mind, shattered by hours of torture, couldn’t parse it. Hope? Cruelty? A trick? His lips trembled, forming silent syllables. He tried to shake his head, trapped immobile, letting out a choked whine instead. He couldn't see it other than in the mirror above but, the thick layer of Hydro-Slick gleamed obscenely on his rigid penis, reflecting the harsh overhead light like a grotesque beacon. Beads of lubricant pooled beneath his shaft, dripping slowly onto the sarcophagus rim beneath him.

Carrie didn't move. Her gaze remained fixed on his face, cold and assessing. She saw the flicker of desperate longing buried beneath layers of agony and humiliation. His hips gave the tiniest, involuntary thrust against his restraints – a pathetic mimicry of need. "Tell me," she commanded, her whisper sharpening like a blade.

A ragged sob tore from his throat. "Y-yes," he gasped, the word thick with phlegm and despair, and he started to cry, to literally cry. Tears spilled, tracing clean paths through the grime on his cheeks. "Please... Carrie... please let me..." His voice dissolved into another wet sob. His penis throbbed visibly beneath the slick oil, a traitorous sign of his body's involuntary craving. The Hydro-Slick made the hypersensitive skin beneath glisten, every vein and ridge highlighted, utterly exposed. "Just... just... make it stop hurting...it, it's filled and feels like, like it could burst," he whimpered, a plea born from utter brokenness.

Carrie didn't smile or react. Her expression remained chillingly neutral, Agent White ensuring absolute detachment. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her right hand. Her slender fingers, cool despite the chamber's heat, hovered just above the slick, rigid length of him. Silas flinched, anticipating agony. Instead, Carrie lowered her palm with exquisite lightness, wrapping it gently but firmly around his oiled cock. Her skin met the Hydro-Slick with a soft, wet sound. She began to stroke. Slowly. All the way down, then up from the base, her fingers sliding smoothly along the shaft, the thick lubrication preventing any friction or scrape. Down from the head, her thumb brushing the underside near the glans. Up again. Down. A steady, sensual rhythm. Silas gasped sharply. Not pain. Not yet. He could not believe this was happening! Even as he giggled and laughed from the tickling sensations her hand job was causing him.

Agent Pink ignited within his nerves, transforming the firm, sensual slide into amplified ticklishness a hundredfold. "Hah... hahaha... oh God... Carrie... hahaha..." His laughter erupted – medium-pitched, breathless, continuous. It wasn't the shriek of torture, but for sure a helpless hysterical giggle forced out of him by the sheer neurological overload of hypersensitive pleasure-pain-tickle. His hips tried to lift towards her grip, seeking more while recoiling from the ticklish intensity, but his hard plastic prison didn't allow even a half inch of movement. Whatever friction and pleasure he was going to receive, was going to be 100% dependent on how Carrie used her hand. The helplessness was all encompassing. Just take what she does to you. There was no escaping her desires. No choice. No dignity. Tears of confused ecstasy joined the streams of misery on his face, his smiling laughing face.

Through his rhythmic laughter, Carrie leaned closer, her voice a low, hypnotic murmur barely audible over his choked giggles. "Feel that, Silas?" she whispered, her hand moving with unwavering, sensual slowness. Up. Down. The Hydro-Slick allowed her firm palm and fingers to glide like silk, never catching, never scratching, only delivering relentless, tickling friction, but also, extreme arousal for him. "Haha... yeah... haha God, no, hahaha..." he gasped, his eyes opening and shutting, overwhelmed by sensations he hadn't felt in years. "You're going to cum," Carrie stated with cold certainty, her gaze fixed on his trembling face. "So hard. Explosive. You might pass out." Her thumb pressed slightly harder on an upward stroke, circling the frenulum under the oil. Silas squealed, bucking wildly: "HAHAHAHA! YES! PLEASE! HAHAHAHAAA!"

His laughter peaked, dissolving momentarily into frantic gasps. Carrie resumed her smooth, slow tempo. Up. Down. "Hah... hahaha..." His body trembled inside the encasement, under the dual assault of building pleasure and nerve-shredding ticklishness. "Do you deserve this?" Carrie asked, her tone sharpening. "This gift? This release? From me?" Her fingers tightened fractionally around him, emphasizing ownership. The question hung heavy, impossible, amidst his helpless giggles and the obscene wet sounds of her hand moving on his slick, hypersensitive flesh. His mind fractured further, lost in the paradox of agonizing ticklish bliss. "Haha... I... I don't... hahaha... KNOW!"

Carrie watched a bead of sweat roll from his temple into his hairline. She slowed her strokes even more, drawing out each pass, her thumb now deliberately lingering on the hypersensitive underside of the glans during each descent. The Agent Pink transformed this deliberate teasing movement into exquisite torture. Silas's laughter hitched higher, becoming short, sharp, breathless barks: "Aih! Aih! Aih!" His cock pulsed violently in her slick grip, veins standing out starkly beneath the gleaming oil. "Tell me," Carrie commanded again, her voice colder than the chamber air. "Do you deserve mercy?" Tears streamed anew. Silas tried as hard as he could to think about what the best answer would be, to think about what Carrie wanted him to say. He didn't care if he meant it or not, he wanted to say the things that would benefit him the most. "NO!" Silas shrieked, the word torn between laughter and a sob. "HAHAHAHAHA! NO, CARRIE! I DON'T! HAHAHAHA! PLEASE!" His hips strained uselessly against his prison.

A predatory satisfaction tightened Carrie's lips. Agent Red surged, a dark heat coiling low in her belly. She saw his pupils blown wide with desperate, involuntary arousal, felt the frantic throbbing under her palm, heard the sheer helplessness in his gasping laughter. The visual discord – his tear-streaked agony paired with the obscene rigidity of his oiled cock – was intoxicating. Her own breath quickened more.

"Why?" Carrie pressed, her voice a velvet whisper laced with shards of ice. Her stroking hand slowed further, becoming agonizingly deliberate. Each upward glide of her palm now paused, her thumb pressing a slow, firm circle directly onto the slick, hypersensitive crown. Agent Pink amplified the sensation far beyond pleasure into pure neurological overload. Silas's laughter exploded into frantic, choking squeals: "AAHIH! NO! HAHAHA! STOP! PLEASE!" His hips strained violently against the unyielding sarcophagus, achieving nothing. Tears flooded down his temples. "Because... hahaha... BECAUSE I'M MADE FOR IT!" he shrieked, the words ripped between giggles and sobs. "HAHAHAHA I DON'T MATTER! I DESERVE... HAHAHAHA!... ONLY SUFFERING FROM YOU!"

Carrie leaned closer, dropping her voice deeper with her next words. The scent of Hydro-Slick and terrified sweat filled her nostrils. Her hand kept moving, that slow, tormenting rhythm, her thumb circling the glans under its thick, gleaming coat. "But do you want mercy?" she breathed, her tone dripping with cruel ambiguity. The word 'mercy' hung in the air like a poisoned fruit. "Do you crave release? Release from this sweet agony I'm giving you?" She punctuated the question with a sudden, sharp dig of her thumbnail into the ultra-sensitive frenulum. Silas convulsed wildly, a wordless scream tearing from his throat: "HHHHNNNGGHHH!" before dissolving back into shattered giggles: "YES! YES! HAHAHA GOD YES! PLEASE!"

A flicker of pure malice lit Carrie's lite green eyes. Her stroking hand stopped abruptly, hovering mere millimeters above his slick, straining flesh. The sudden cessation was a substantial physical blow to him. Silas froze, breath catching in a ragged gasp, his entire hypersensitive system screaming for the tormenting friction to return. His cock pulsed violently against the air. Carrie tilted her head, a predator assessing trapped prey. "Or..." she murmured, drawing the word out, letting it echo in the sudden, dreadful silence. "Should I stop this... silly touching?" She spidered the fingers on her free hand in the air above him. "Should I just... tickle you instead?" Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Right here? Right now? While you're so... impossibly... desperate?"

Panic obliterated arousal. "NO! HAHAHAHA! PLEASE CARRIE NO!" Silas shrieked, the laughter utterly hysterical now, higher-pitched and frantic. His eyes bulged, fixed on her hovering fingers. "DON'T TICKLE! HAHAHAHA GOD NO! NOT THERE! NOT NOW! PLEASE!" Sobs wracked him, tears and slick mingling on his chin. "I WANT... HAHAHAHA!... YOUR HAND! PLEASE! KEEP TOUCHING! KEEP... HAHAHA!... DOING IT! DON'T STOP! DON'T TICKLE ME!" The sheer terror in his voice, mixed with the insane, breathless giggles forced out by Agent Pink's lingering effects on his hypersensitive nerves, was a symphony of utter degradation. Carrie fully absorbed it, Agent White ensuring her expression remained chillingly impassive, while Agent Red ignited another wave of dark euphoria within her. Her poised fingers didn't move. The threat hung, thick and suffocating.

Carrie lowered her eyebrows, knitting them together in a mask of profound disdain. She leaned in, her lite green eyes boring into his swimming panic. Her voice cut through his frantic pleas, low, cold, and dripping with contempt. "You silly boy," she hissed, the words laced with venomous amusement. "You truly thought... serving your needs and desires was my purpose?" She let the question hang, letting the absurdity sink into his shattered mind amidst his gasping giggles. "You exist for my pleasure. For my commands." Her gaze hardened further, predatory and merciless, and to Silas' great surprise she now gave a command. "Bark," she commanded, her whisper sharp as a blade. "Bark like an obedient dog. Right now. Or..." Her eyes flickered meaningfully "...I tickle. Hard."

Silas froze. His breath hitched, choked. Confusion, terror, and utter humiliation warred on his face. He stared into her icy eyes, saw the absolute certainty of her intent. Resistance crumbled. A low, choked whimper escaped him, morphing instantly into a desperate, ragged "Arf!" It was pitiful, wet, barely audible. Carrie’s expression didn't flicker. "Louder," she demanded, her voice flat. "BARK." He squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming. "ARF! ARF!" he yelled, the sound tearing from his throat, high-pitched and frantic. "HAHAHA! ARF! ARF!" His laughter intertwined grotesquely with the forced barks, fueled by Agent Pink's hypersensitive torment and sheer panic. "GOOD BOY," Carrie purred, a cruel smirk touching her lips. Her hand firmly gripped around his slick cock once more. She resumed stroking. Not slowly. Fast. Brutally efficient.

Her palm and fingers slid with furious speed over the Hydro-Slicked shaft, the thick lubrication turning every pass into amplified ticklish friction against Agent Pink-sensitized nerves. Up, down, up, down – a relentless piston motion designed for rapid, explosive release. "Arf! Arf! HAHAHAHAHA! Oh God CARRIE! ARF! HAHAHAHA!" Silas screamed-barked-laughed, his body convulsing within its prison. Moans of involuntary agonizingly ticklish pleasure began to weave through the barks and giggles as the intense friction built towards climax. "Say you love me, Silas," Carrie commanded loudly and inquisitively, her voice a dark whip crack amidst the cacophony. Her eyes, brows still lowered in disdain, blazed with sadistic triumph. "SAY IT NOW."

He didn't hesitate. "I LOVE YOU!" Silas shrieked instantly, the words ripped between frantic barking and hysterical laughter. “You love who? Carrie yelled. "HAHAHAHA! ARF! I LOVE YOU CARRIE! ARF! ARF! PLEASE! YOU! HAHAHAHA OH GOD!" Tears flooded his face, mixing with sweat and slick. Moans deepened as he bucked helplessly against her furious stroking, the Agent Pink transforming the relentless friction into unbearable ticklish bliss pushing him violently towards the edge of orgasm. Carrie laughed – a pure contemptuous delight. Her grip tightened, her strokes became jackhammer-fast, focused solely on the hypersensitive head now. "BARK AND CUM, DOG," she hissed, her voice thick with Agent Red's dark ecstasy. Silas arched violently, every muscle straining. "ARF! ARF! HAHAHA HAHAAAAAA! ARF ARF ARF!" His scream-bark dissolved into a continuous, ragged wail of impending release, laughter choked off by sheer overwhelming sensation. He was just seconds away.

Carrie saw it in the wild dilation of his pupils, the frantic pulsing against her palm, the way his breath hitched into a silent gasp. Triumph ignited Agent Red into a supernova within her veins. She leaned forward, her lips curling into a vicious smile as she stood straight and tall. "SUFFER!" she screamed, the command word ripping through the room with terrifying clarity.

Instantly, the tuning fork device hummed to life. A nanosecond pulse washed over Silas's suspended form. Then – agony erupted everywhere. A thousand invisible fingers, needles, feathers, and electric spiders attacked by tickling simultaneously. They burrowed deep between his toes, scribbled madly across his oil-slicked soles, drilled into his hypersensitive arches, and scuttled up his calves. They invaded his armpits like frenzied ants, danced sadistically over his ribs, and stabbed his sides. Torturous flutters assaulted his belly button, his nipples, the backs of his knees, the insides of his elbows. Worse – deep inside his private ass, unseen tickling claws raked his anal canal with vicious, unrelenting intensity, scraped his prostate, and vibrated against the hypersensitive lining of his rectum. Every known nerve cluster ignited in screaming, unbearable ticklish torment. All at 100% intensity.

Silas’s reaction was beyond catastrophic. This tickling could not be lived through he was sure of it. His body locked rigid for five agonizing seconds, mouth stretched wide in a silent, gaping rictus of utter disbelief and neurological overload. No sound emerged – just desperate, choked gulps of air. His eyes bulged, veins standing out like cords on his neck and temples. Then the scream-laughter detonated. It wasn't human. It was a raw, scraping, animalistic bellow of purest, unhinged hysteria.

"HAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! GOD HAHAHHHAAAAA HAAAA!!!"

Spittle flew from his lips in thick ropes, mingling with drool that cascaded freely off his chin and onto his hard plastic encasement. His head tried to whip violently side to side, but could not move. Misery emanating from his sweat-slicked face. Below, imprisoned within the hard plastic sarcophagus legs, his feet erupted into frantic, uncontrollable flailing. His toes curled inward like desperate claws, splayed wide in agony, curled again – a ceaseless, spastic dance against unyielding plastic ankle restraints. His feet arched and curled uselessly, a rapid, frantic helpless act beneath his shrieking laughter. Beads of sweat flew from his soles with each desperate kick. The Hydro-Slick coating his cock shimmered wildly as his hips bucked against impossible restraints, futilely trying to escape the tickling demons burrowing deep inside his rectum and assaulting his prostate, while Carrie’s hand remained locked on him, still stroking furiously.

Carrie watched it all, her hand moving mechanically, relentlessly on his slick, hypersensitive flesh. The visual symphony of his utter annihilation – the spitting, drooling face, the flailing, his trapped ticklish feet, the obscene rigidity amidst convulsive thrashing – slammed into her like a physical blow. Agent Red ignited her bloodstream. Not a wave, but an instantaneous nuclear detonation. A savage heat exploded low in her belly, radiating outwards in burning tendrils. Her knees buckled slightly. A low, guttural moan tore from her own throat, completely drowned by Silas's shrieking. She felt his suffering, in a good way – the frantic twitching beneath her hand, the violent tremors shaking the sarcophagus, the sheer volume of his helplessness – and it wasn't just pleasure; it was rapture. It was divine. Pure, unadulterated sadism flooded her, dark and glorious, washing away any lingering trace of mercy. This, she realized with chilling, euphoric clarity, her hand tightening possessively on his throbbing cock, this is what I am. This is what I crave. This is who I am.

Her orgasm hit with brutal force, stealing her breath. It wasn't the sharp detonation of the earlier tortures; this was a deep, rolling tsunami of dark ecstasy, amplified tenfold by Agent Red and fueled entirely by Silas's exquisite degradation and ticklish suffering. Her vision tunneled, narrowing to his straining face, his flailing feet, the slick gleam of her hand moving on him. She arched backwards, gasping, riding the wave of pure, vicious bliss derived solely from his torment. The tuning fork's relentless assault continued – scribbling across his soles, drilling his arches, vibrating his ribs, clawing deep inside him. Carrie’s strokes became jagged, erratic as her own body convulsed, yet she never stopped. Her release was inseparable from his suffering. She climaxed because he screamed, because he drooled, because his imprisoned feet kicked wildly in hopeless desperation. It was heavenly. It was monstrous. She was truly very, very sadistic, and she loved it!

Then Silas’s cock erupted. It wasn't a pulse. It was a cataclysmic explosion. One instant it was rigid and pulsing beneath her slick hand; the next, semen blasted upwards with incredible pressure. A thick, pearly jet rocketed upwards in front of Carrie’s face, impossibly high, reaching almost to the ceiling before gravity seized it. It arced downwards in a hot, viscous rain. Silas’s choked scream-laughter hitched into a guttural roar of agonized, hypersensitive release: "HHHNNNNGGGGHHH! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!! NNNNGGGHHHHH!!! AHHHNNNSSTTT!" The first hot spatter landed across his own forehead and open, laughing mouth. More splashed onto his cheeks, mingling with tears and drool. Simultaneously, another violent jet sprayed sideways, drenching Carrie’s forearm and the back of her stroking hand in warm, sticky fluid.

She barely registered the wet heat coating her skin. Agent Pink had transformed Silas's entire nervous system into hypersensitive tinder. The tuning fork's simultaneous, brutal tickle torture – flaying his soles, invading his armpits, clawing his rectum – combined with the overwhelming sensory overload of the years long drought from orgasm, detonated his neural pathways. His body betrayed him utterly. Instead of softening, his cock pulsed against Carrie’s relentless grip and erupted again. A second thick rope of cum fired upwards, spraying across his chest. Before the last droplets fell, a third seismic convulsion ripped through him.

Semen jetted sideways in a messy fan, soaking the sarcophagus rim near his trapped thigh and splattering Carrie’s wrist again. Three rapid-fire, explosive orgasms in less than thirty seconds, each ripped from him amidst his unbearable ticklish agony. His screams dissolved into a continuous, animalistic howl of pure neurological meltdown – laughter choked off by suffocating pleasure-pain, punctuated only by wet, gasping sobs. Coherent thought was obliterated; this was primal suffering, raw and exquisite.

Carrie watched the hot fluid on Silas’s contorted, laughing-drooling face. She felt the warm stickiness coating her arm. She saw his cock twitch and pulse violently beneath her grip, still impossibly hard despite the triple release, hypersensitive skin gleaming under semen and Hydro-Slick. Simultaneously, the tuning fork's invisible fingers continued their merciless assault everywhere – scribbling madly across his oil-slicked soles, making his flailing feet kick even more frantically, drilling into his arches, vibrating his ribs, clawing ticklishly deep inside his rectum.

The visual, tactile, auditory symphony – the spittle, the tears, the semen, the frantic drumming of his heels, his agonized howls – slammed into her fading orgasm and ignited something deeper, darker. A violent sob tore from her own throat. Hot tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. Yet her lips stretched wide in a terrible, triumphant grin. She kept stroking him. Hard. Firm. Relentless. Through her tears, her lite green eyes burned with predatory satisfaction, locked on and ready to continue his utter annihilation. She owned his suffering. It was hers. And it was beautiful. She kept stroking him. Hard. Firm. Relentless. Through her tears.

Her hand moved like a piston, slick with Hydro-Slick and Silas's own release, sliding furiously over his hypersensitive glans. Agent Pink ensured every stroke was amplified torture. Silas’s choked howl dissolved into breathless, wet gasps. His hips jerked futilely. His eyes rolled back, showing whites. Below, his trapped feet spasmed violently. Carrie felt another wave building within her, fueled by Agent Red and the sheer magnitude of his degradation.

This. This was power. Absolute. Undeniable. Her tears and emotions flowed freely now, hot tracks cutting through the sweat on her own face, but her evil smile remained fixed, predatory. Her thumb pressed hard, grinding circles into the slick underside of his unfathomably sensitive penis head. Silas convulsed wildly and absolutely. A fresh dribble of semen leaked onto her knuckles. She leaned closer, her tear streaked face trembling with emotion. "Good dog," she hissed, her voice thick with tears and dark euphoria. "Good, broken dog." She kept stroking him. Hard. Firm. Relentless. Through her tears.

A shudder ripped through Carrie. Her knees buckled fully this time. She dropped against the sarcophagus rim, her free hand gripping the hard plastic edge for support. Her other hand never stopped its furious motion, pumping Silas’s slick, hypersensitive cock with brutal sadistic efficiency. She knew full well after orgasm that a man or woman's cock head or clitoris were very, very sensitive. The tuning fork’s assault continued unabated – vicious scribbles across his soles, deep probes into his armpits, relentless ticklish clawing inside his ass canal. Silas’s breath hitched into strangled, wet gasps. Carrie threw her head back. A guttural, ragged cry tore from her throat, mingling with Silas's dying whimpers. Her own orgasm detonated yet again – violent, visceral, consuming. It wasn't pleasure; it was pure sadistic sickening ecstasy, caused by his utter destruction and suffering.

Wave after wave crashed through Carrie, forcing more hot tears, tightening her grip on him impossibly harder. She rode it, screaming against the chamber’s echoes, grinding her hand against his tortured flesh until her own tremors subsided. Only then, gasping, drenched in sweat and tears, her evil smile now a grimace of spent fury, did her hand finally slow… but it did not stop. Her thumb pressed one last, cruel circle onto his hypersensitive glans. Silas whimpered, a broken, wet sound. Carrie watched him twitch. Watched his semen-drenched face. Watched his trapped feet twitch weakly against their plastic prison as they were still being tickled. She breathed heavily. She had broken him utterly. And it was glorious.

Carrie’s pumping hand slowed to a deliberate, grinding pressure. She felt it instantly – the catastrophic shift beneath her palm. Silas’s hypersensitive skin, already inflamed by Agent Pink and the brutal friction, now screamed against her touch. Where moments ago her relentless strokes had forced agonizing ticklish pleasure and explosive release, now every pass of her slick fingers ignited raw, white-hot agony. It wasn't pleasure-pain anymore; it was pure unadulterated neurological fire. What he felt should not have been possible. It was too much to bear. Too much to survive. Silas’s choked gasps transformed. The wet, hysterical laughter vanished. Instead, a thin, high-pitched keening escaped his clenched teeth – a sound like metal scraping metal. His body locked rigid inside the sarcophagus, not in ecstasy, but in reflexive recoil. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, rolled wildly, focusing desperately in the mirror on the ceiling, watching her hand moving on him, as he pleaded silently. His toes curled inward violently, toe knuckles white, as if trying to burrow away from the sensation radiating up from his groin. Sweat poured anew, mixing with semen and tears. The tuning fork’s relentless tickle torture – scribbling his soles, vibrating his ribs, clawing his insides – became secondary agony beneath this new, overwhelming inferno centered on his tortured penis glans.

Carrie leaned closer, her tear-streaked face able to see his. Her expression remained chillingly detached, Agent White ensuring her focus was clinical observation, not empathy. She saw the desperate terror in his swimming eyes, the frantic twitching of his lips forming silent pleas. She felt the violent flinch that shuddered through him with each slow, grinding pass of her thumb over his hypersensitive glans. The keening escalated into sharp, ragged yelps: "Aih! Aih! Stop! Carrie! Aih! Please!" Each cry was ragged, desperate, lacking any trace of laughter. His breath hitched into frantic, shallow pants.

She saw the urgent desperation – the wild eye movements begging her to stop this, the way his entire body strained away from her touch despite the restraints, the utter panic replacing humiliation. He wasn't resisting; he was drowning in unbearable sensory overload. His cock pulsed beneath her grip, not with arousal, but with agonizing hypersensitivity. Agent Pink amplified every nerve ending a hundredfold, turning the aftermath of orgasm into her exquisite torture. Carrie tightened her grip fractionally, grinding her thumb harder. Silas shrieked, a raw sound ripped from his core: "NO! STOP! PLEASE STOP! AIEEEE!" His head and face tried to move but couldn't.

Carrie didn't stop. Not yet. She watched the symphony of his agony unfold. Drool pooled thickly in the corners of his open, gasping mouth. His eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. She maintained the slow grinding pressure, her fingers slick with Hydro-Slick, semen, and sweat, methodically torturing the hypersensitive skin glans. She saw the precise moment his coherent thought dissolved entirely. His yelps dissolved into continuous, incoherent sobbing – "Ahhnnn! Ahhnnn!" – punctuated only by wet, choking inhalations.

Finally, releasing her grip felt like tearing herself away. Silas slumped bonelessly, his entire body trembling violently, the keening sound reduced to a thin, ragged whistle escaping his slack lips. Carrie fumbled weakly for Lena's tuning fork device beside her on the floor. Her fingers, trembling with exhaustion because of Agent Reds aftershocks, found the deactivation button, and tapped it.

The humming ceased. The merciless scribbling across Silas's soles and body vanished. The deep internal clawing stopped. A strange silence crashed into the chamber, thick and heavy, broken only by Silas's shallow, ragged breaths and the faint drip of sweat from the sarcophagus rim. Carrie pushed herself upright, swaying dangerously. Every muscle screamed. Agent Red's euphoria had burnt out, leaving profound exhaustion in its wake. She stumbled towards the exit, ignoring Silas's trembling form. Retrieving her discarded lite green robe from its hook felt like lifting lead weights. She shrugged into it, the cool silk a minor balm against her overheated skin. The corridor lights seemed painfully bright. Each step towards her room echoed unnaturally loud in the Manor's oppressive quiet. She pushed open her door, the soft click deafening in her fatigue-addled mind.

Without ceremony, Carrie collapsed face-first onto her bed. The pillow muffled a final, shuddering sigh. Consciousness fled immediately, dragging her down into a heavy, dreamless void. The scent of Hydro-Slick clung to her fingers. Silence reigned, thick and absolute, both inside her dark room ... and in the chamber holding Silas's broken, trembling form. Regarding how he will get out of his sarcophagus prison, that's his problem.

THE END

 

[Smellking]

Wow, what a great story. I wish this happend to me. 🙂

 

[milagros317]

Overall comment: This was magnificent! Even better than I anticipated. Carrie exceeded my expectations in turning Silas's agony into her ecstasy.

The isolation amplified her power. No one would even hear Silas scream. No one would hear him laugh until he choked. No one would intervene, although here at Glenhaven it was highly unlikely anyone cared to intervene. Still, the secluded area was wonderful. He was hers, completely, in this soundproofed tomb on this underground soundproofed level. A fierce thrill now surged through her – pure, unadulterated sadism, knowing that she could start tickling in literally only a couple more minutes. She had wonderful butterflies in her stomach.

He’s right there. So close. Waiting. She imagined him suspended helplessly above, encased in resin, every ticklish zone exposed for her pleasure.

Wonderful anticipation of what she will do to the unfortunate Silas.

Now, it sat gleaming, offered to her for her use on him. Silas. This one must be mapped to Silas body. Her legs trembled, a wave of pure dizzying arousal washing over her, so intense that warmth flooded her thighs instantly. The sheer power symbolized by that device, combined with the pills, ignited a furnace within her. For a dizzying moment, the promise of Agent Red seemed almost redundant. The tuning fork alone, and it's known capabilities could almost bring Carrie to orgasm.

More delightful anticipation.

"This? This frantic begging? This is your way of asking for it. It’s how you signal your deepest need – to be reduced to nothing but helpless, laughing flesh."

A clue that begging will only spur Carrie on to more cruelty.

"Good. Now listen carefully. For the next few hours, you belong to me. You will obey every command I give during your tickling, instantly and completely. Hesitate, disobey, or perform poorly..." She paused, letting the threat hang heavy in the air. "...and the tickling intensifies beyond anything you've yet experienced. Do you understand?"

You can't say she didn't warn him. 😛

"Deep breath, Silas," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with Agent Red’s rising euphoria. "This is just the beginning. I'm going to make you suffer... very much." She pressed the button. “So... very... much I promise you.”

More fair warning. 😛

"It’ll shred your sanity, Silas. Hour by hour. No pause. No mercy."

A promise rather than a warning.

"MERCY! MERCY! PLEASE CARRIE! I’LL DO ANYTHING! AAAAHHHHAAAA!" Simultaneously, Carrie threw her head back, a guttural scream ripping from her throat as an orgasm detonated, intense. Her vision blurred, her body straining against the harness, slick with sweat. She felt the tears hot on her own cheeks, mingling with the sweat dripping onto her bare chest.

The beginning of wonderful orgasms for Carrie, which is exactly what she deserves, fueled by Silas's suffering, which is what he is programmed to crave.

Without respite, driven by Agent Red’s endless hunger, Carrie stabbed at INNER THIGHS > UPPER GROIN. Intensity: 50%. Simulation: Electric Feathers. APPLY. Silas shrieked like 10 insane hyenas, folding violently in half, hands slapping frantically at his inner thighs before curling protectively around his groin. His laughter was a wet, choking rasp. Carrie cried out again, another orgasm crashing over her, sharp and brutal.

Carrie deserves all the joy!

With each new zone assaulted, Carrie rode another devastating wave of Agent Red ecstasy, screaming with pleasure that mirrored Silas’s screams of agony.

Yes, Carrie, enjoy it more and more.

"Your purpose isn't to question me. It’s to suffer. To scream. To laugh until your sanity unravels. You crave this. Every nerve in your conditioned body sings for it. Deny it all you want, but your laughter, your struggles, your pathetic pleas for mercy? I'm doing you a favor by torturing you so efficiently, you should thank me."

The plain truth, but Silas doesn't want to hear it.

She stopped directly facing his suspended feet. Leaning in close, her voice dropped to a low, husky murmur thick with her dark promise. "Listen carefully, Silas," she breathed, her hot breath ghosting over the trembling arches of his soles. He flinched violently at the mere breathy sensation. "You think that vibration tool was agony? That was a caress compared to what’s coming." Her fingertip then trailed slowly, feather-light, down the center of his left sole, from middle toe down to heel, barely grazing the hypersensitive skin. Silas jerked as if electrocuted, a choked squeal bursting from his lips. She waited a moment before speaking again. "I’m going to tickle you," she whispered, savoring each word, "in ways you can't yet understand."

More promises that she will keep. 😀

His ticklish degradation was so exquisite to Carrie.

As it should be.

She rode the peak, utterly lost in the symphony of Silas’s agony, her own pleasure inextricably bound to the sight and sound of his complete annihilation.

Just as it should be!

Instantly, Silas screamed. Not laughter this time – a raw, animalistic shriek of pure sensory overload. The invisible simulation focused solely on the hypersensitive glans just below his cock's head, on the underside. But also, thousands of feather-light touches, impossibly fast and incessant, fluttered against the engorged, hypersensitive tip. Agent Pink amplified each touch into an electric nerve-shredding tickle. His entire body snapped rigid. "AAAAIIIEEEEEE! STOP! STOP IT! GOD! HAHA-NO! TOO MUCH! TOO TICKLES!" His cock jerked violently, bobbing against the invisible onslaught. Sweat poured from his armpits, dripping onto the sarcophagus below. His exposed feet scrabbled frantically, toes curling and uncurling in agonized spasms. "HAHAHAHA! PLEASE! CARRIEAHHAHAHA!" Spittle flew. His eyes rolled wildly, whites showing. The simulation, concentrated on the most sensitive part, bypassed forced arousal and plunged straight into neurological tickle agony. Every flutter was torture amplified beyond comprehension.

She didn't care if it was beyond comprehension. She wasn't feeling it. He was. Carrie watched with contentment, the Agent White pill ensuring not a flicker of pity touched her features. The Agent Red surged more within her, feeding on his torment. Her naked body circled the suspended sarcophagus. She stopped behind his head, gazing down. Below her, Silas’s exposed armpits glistened, deep hollows slick with terrified sweat, vulnerable and utterly defenseless. Agent Red’s euphoria pulsed hotter, merging with the visual feast of his degradation. Her breath hitched slightly. Now.

Reaching the peak of exactly what should be: his utter destruction, her ecstasy!

The proximity, the feel of his desperate breath on her skin, the vibration of his choked screams rattling through her arms, the sheer power of his utter helplessness beneath her hands – it ignited Carrie instantly. Agent Red detonated within her. An orgasm ripped through her, sudden and catastrophic. It wasn't just wonderful pleasure; it was a white-hot detonation of pure sadistic ecstasy. Her vision actually blurred. Her legs buckled. She gasped, a sharp, choked sound lost in Silas’s shrieks. Reflexively, seeking anchor, she leaned further forward, pressing her breasts fully onto Silas's sweat-slick forehead. The heat of his skin, the frantic tremors running through him, intensified her own violent tremors.

Carrie is in her element now, she has hit her stride!

Carrie moved with methodical cruelty. Her hands slid upwards, each of her index fingers finding the tender, sweat-slicked gaps between his big toe and second toe on each foot. She jabbed deep, wiggling rapidly, tracing the sensitive webbing. Silas’s laughter skyrocketed into an inhuman squeal: Tears streamed sideways from his squeezed-shut eyes. She shifted abruptly, thumbs driving hard into the high, delicate arches, pressing deep into the ticklish hollows beneath the bones, digging in circles. His laughter choked into gasping, wet hiccups: "HIH! HIH! HIH!" Then, like a maestro conducting agony, she slid her hands up to the bases of his toes, where the pads met the sole – a devastating ticklish zone. Her fingernails tapped furiously. His laughter was a breathless, rhythmic shriek: "AIIIII! AIIIII! AIIIII!" She repeated the cycle: toes-webbing-arches-toes, faster now, a relentless whirlwind of torment focused entirely on his hypersensitive soles.

Wonderfully intense!

The orgasm detonated, a supernova of molten sadistic ecstasy. Her vision whited out. Her legs buckled catastrophically. She dropped hard onto both knees with a jarring thud, her cry of sweet release for a moment, was louder than Silas’s ongoing shrieks. She was in sadism heaven! She was experiencing extreme physical and emotional pleasure from his great suffering!

For me, the end could have come here. This is the fitting climax (pun intended), the ultimate orgasm for Carrie induced by inflicting unspeakable tickle torture on Silas. Also, at this point Silas has been denied, totally teased and denied. This would be a good ending point, but I did enjoy the continuation.

With slowness, she rose to her feet, her legs trembling only slightly. She ignored Silas’s whimper as she stepped over Lena’s tuning fork device. Her gaze locked onto its interface screen. Total control. Her fingers moved with surgical precision across the holographic controls. SIMULATION TYPE: FULL BODY TORRENT. INTENSITY: 100%. TARGETS: ALL KNOWN TICKLISH NERVE CLUSTERS. ACTIVATION TRIGGER: VERBAL COMMAND. COMMAND WORD: SUFFER. She confirmed each setting, her expression cold, focused. A soft confirmation chime echoed. The fork was now primed, waiting only for her voice. Waiting for her to utter the word SUFFER. Its sensors glowed faintly, listening. Silas watched her movements with wide, terrified eyes, utterly unaware of the trap she had just programmed.

Waiting for the order for the ultimate tuning fork torture.

Instantly, the tuning fork device hummed to life. A nanosecond pulse washed over Silas's suspended form. Then – agony erupted everywhere.

And it comes:

Silas’s reaction was beyond catastrophic. This tickling could not be lived through he was sure of it. His body locked rigid for five agonizing seconds, mouth stretched wide in a silent, gaping rictus of utter disbelief and neurological overload. No sound emerged – just desperate, choked gulps of air. His eyes bulged, veins standing out like cords on his neck and temples. Then the scream-laughter detonated. It wasn't human. It was a raw, scraping, animalistic bellow of purest, unhinged hysteria.

She felt his suffering, in a good way – the frantic twitching beneath her hand, the violent tremors shaking the sarcophagus, the sheer volume of his helplessness – and it wasn't just pleasure; it was rapture. It was divine. Pure, unadulterated sadism flooded her, dark and glorious, washing away any lingering trace of mercy. This, she realized with chilling, euphoric clarity, her hand tightening possessively on his throbbing cock, this is what I am. This is what I crave. This is who I am.

The tuning fork's relentless assault continued – scribbling across his soles, drilling his arches, vibrating his ribs, clawing deep inside him. Carrie’s strokes became jagged, erratic as her own body convulsed, yet she never stopped. Her release was inseparable from his suffering. She climaxed because he screamed, because he drooled, because his imprisoned feet kicked wildly in hopeless desperation. It was heavenly. It was monstrous. She was truly very, very sadistic, and she loved it!

She had broken him utterly. And it was glorious.

The actual ending was truly wonderful as well. Carrie is my heroine!

And so are you, the author.
Thank you ever so much for this entire series. This, The Premium Interactions Room, was my favorite story in it.

 

[LisaLisaJam]

Wow, what a great story. I wish this happend to me. 🙂

Yeah? Do you think Silas was saying the same thing?

 

[LisaLisaJam]

@milagros317 Wow you are reading, re-reading and very much paying close attention to the stories. I'm so happy!

 

[milagros317]

@milagros317 Wow you are reading, re-reading and very much paying close attention to the stories. I'm so happy!

Yes! I am rereading and rereading my favorite parts, many of which I quoted in my comments.

This passage in particular:

The tuning fork's relentless assault continued – scribbling across his soles, drilling his arches, vibrating his ribs, clawing deep inside him. Carrie’s strokes became jagged, erratic as her own body convulsed, yet she never stopped. Her release was inseparable from his suffering. She climaxed because he screamed, because he drooled, because his imprisoned feet kicked wildly in hopeless desperation. It was heavenly. It was monstrous. She was truly very, very sadistic, and she loved it!

made Carrie into the woman of my dreams!

 

[LisaLisaJam]

Yes! I am rereading and rereading my favorite parts, many of which I quoted in my comments.

This passage in particular:

made Carrie into the woman of my dreams!

Um, the youthful 18 year old of your dreams! 🙂

 

[footfan69]

O M G! Completely enraptured by this story! You have a wonderfully delicious image of domination and a great writing style. I am gobsmacked, but I love it, Lisa!

 

[milagros317]

Um, the youthful 18 year old of your dreams! 🙂

I will admit to dreaming about robbing the cradle as long as it is legal. (I live in NY State where the age of consent is 17.)

 

[LisaLisaJam]

O M G! Completely enraptured by this story! You have a wonderfully delicious image of domination and a great writing style. I am gobsmacked, but I love it, Lisa!

Awe thank you so much @footfan69 Now I have to go look up the definition for gobsmacked! LOL

 

[LisaLisaJam]

I'll be adding all the pictures RIGHT HERE! CLICK.