Author's note, feel free to skip to below the line if you just want the story:
There really is no excuse for this story. I don't know how I came to enjoy the particular cocktail of perverse fantasies in it. It should go with saying that this is just a fantasy and that I would never dream of acting on it in real life. Why do I even bother to say this? I consider the non-consensual nature of the fantasy so violating that I struggled for some time with the thought of whether I'm an immoral and disgusting person for even imagining it. In the end, I have to remind myself that my fantasies don't define who I am (that's why they're just fantasies), and that I'm absolutely committed to never acting them out. I also fear that I'm just not qualified to write this story at all, because what do I know about anatomy? About physiology? About writing fiction in general? But in the end I wanted to make the story exist in words and not just in my imagination. Having written it I do feel like it's a bit of a weight off my shoulders, and that it allows me to distance from it a bit better and remind myself that it will never become reality.
I know I didn't invest a lot of words into describing the protagonist, her backstory, or her reasons for exploring this place, but I guess I don't really feel confident in that. I just wanted to get on with the scenario.
While elements of this story have been inspired by various sources, there are three that stand out as particularly influential to this story. If you believe seeing the sources will ruin the surprise, feel free to skip over the below.
The dark halls of the abandoned hospital were caked with dust. Olivia snorted, "well, if there were ghosts here, they sure don't care about tidying up." Local rumors spoke of hauntings and other vaguely-specified mysterious occurrences, but in her opinion it was all nonsense, stories made up to deter the gullible. She slowly walked down the corridors, her trusty flashlight and her healthy dose of skepticism her only companions. As she pushed open a disused door, she briefly brought the flashlight up to illuminate the faded lettering. "Therapy Room," she announced to no-one in particular. As she stepped inside, her beam of light fell upon the centerpiece of the room: a single odd-looking chair. It stood on four legs and looked very heavy, being made entirely out of metal and seeming to have a thicker seat and back than was necessary. Olivia approached the chair to take a closer look and saw metal cuffs attached to the armrests and front legs. "What kind of therapy needs restraints?" she voiced the question aloud to the empty room. The room, of course, provided no answers, neither in response to her query nor in any of its contents. After a few more sweeps of the flashlight along the walls, she decided, "well, nothing more to see here..." and turned to the door to leave.
As if it had been a predator lying in wait, watching for the very moment its prey's back was turned to strike, the chair lurched forward, impossibly fast for how heavy it looked. As it impacted the back of her knees, Olivia fell backwards with a yelp, right onto the waiting seat of the chair. The metal cuffs at the legs of the chair clicked shut around her ankles and her knees. The cuffs on the armrests rose to meet her wrists, then both armrests swiveled upward to raise her arms high above her head. A padded strap cinched around her torso, just under her breasts, pinning her to the chair. Before she could even process what had just happened, she was almost completely immobile in the chair's grip. "Wha...?" Olivia gasped in disbelief. "What is this?!"
Hatches in the sides of the chair opened, mechanical arms ending in scissors extending from them. Olivia could only watch helplessly as they cut away every strip of her clothing, leaving her completely exposed. She shivered, whether from the chill air or the humiliation she didn't know, but rising above either feeling was anger at being subject to such a ridiculous situation by an inanimate object. "Stop it, you PERVERTED MACHINE! Get me off of this stupid thing!" Of course, with nary a living soul in the building except for herself, no aid was forthcoming for Olivia. She bucked wildly in the chair, to no avail. She was completely vulnerable to whatever the machine had in store.
More arms extended from the chair, holding soft brushes, feathers, or even strips of fuzzy material. They danced around her sides, the light touches and teasing causing her to instinctively flinch. Olivia grit her teeth, tamping down the urge to laugh. The strap around her kept her from rising up off of the chair, allowing her to only twist slightly, for all the good that did. If she tried to twist away from the tickling on her left, it only pressed her more firmly into the waiting implements on her right. Twist away from the tickling on her right, and the feathers and brushes on her left fluttered even more eagerly, as if reveling in the increased access to her tender skin. It was incredibly frustrating, and she did not feel in the mood for laughter at all, resulting in strained grunts as she squirmed this way and that as far as the restraints would allow. "So... annoying... mrrgh!"
One of the brushes suddenly entered her belly button and twirled inside it, while another traced lazy circles in the opposite direction on her stomach. Caught completely off guard by the new sensation, she gasped and a giggle leaked out from her, completely unbidden. As if a dam had burst, her resistance faltered, reducing her to girlish squeals and giggle fits as the fuzz, brushes, and feathers traced their maddening paths.
Four more arms extended from the chair to join their mechanical compatriots, two on each side, these ones tipped with soft tendrils. As they approached her armpits, the mere sight of them caused Olivia to redouble her efforts to thrash against her restraints, before they'd even so much as grazed her. As far as she knew, her armpits were her most ticklish spot, a secret she never willingly revealed to anyone, as she hated the way being tickled there made her dissolve into undignified childish giggles. As the four tendrils made contact, just one stroke from them was enough to get an instant reaction. "YAAAAAAAAhahaha! Make it stop!!!" The tendrils traced countless different patterns across her smooth hollows, sometimes light whispers as if licking her skin, sometimes rapid flicks like an unpredictable electric current. As they varied their approaches, the chair seemed to learn and adapt, spending more time on the techniques that produced the most desperation and laughter from her.
Unable to form coherent thought, Olivia barely heard the series of clicks heralding a new set of arms, these ones pointed at her crotch. With a mechanical whir, the cuffs holding her ankles and knees moved apart, spreading her legs open. Feathers traced up and down her inner thighs, brushes flicked and teased her lips, and a soft tendril began an agonizing assault on her perineum. Olivia hadn't known it was even possible to be ticklish down there, but as her frenzied laughter renewed itself with new intensity she realized she'd been wrong her whole life about her armpits being her most ticklish spot. She futilely strained at her restraints trying to close her legs, to block off access to her most intimate of areas, but the firm and unyielding metal didn't budge an inch. Her laughter became screams, the new touches joining with those on her upper body to bring her to new heights of ticklish agony.
Suddenly, the tickling subsided to barely more than a teasing whisper. Olivia sagged in her bonds, panting from exertion. But the chair only gave her mere moments to collect her breath and unscramble her thoughts before arms extended from the back of the chair and fitted a set of headphones over her ears and something that resembled a VR headset over her eyes. The headset's display exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors, the rotating spirals and pulsing colors entrancing her. A calm voice flowed into her ears, smooth as silk, "You're being such a good girl for us, Olivia."
Despite the countless other more important questions, one question found itself on Olivia's lips. "How... how do you know my name?", she whispered. She hadn't uttered it once during the entire expedition, and the unwanted familiarity the voice was claiming felt wholly inappropriate.
Not even deigning to pause to consider her question, the voice simply pressed on, "On the count of three, you will feel incredibly, wonderfully ticklish, more than you've ever felt before."
"I... I don't believe in that kind of stuff!" Olivia asserted with utter certainty. She thought back to that party she'd gone to long ago, where a hypnotist had been hired for entertainment. Olivia had watched in disbelief as the hypnotist coaxed volunteers from the audience into doing all manner of outlandish things. He'd made one forget the number 3 exists, and them asked him to count the fingers of his own hand, the audience roaring in laughter at his visible confusion when he announced that he had six fingers. The hypnotist had asked another volunteer to squawk like a pigeon. Olivia was pretty sure pigeons don't even squawk at all, but the volunteer hadn't thought to question it for a second and had done his very darnedest to produce his best BA-KAAAAAW all the same, punctuating the sound with an exaggerated up-and-down flap of his arms. She'd scoffed at the mere thought of such cheap tricks working on her, and she was just as convinced that whatever the voice in her ears was trying to pull now, it wouldn't work.
But the voice started counting, "one... two... three," accompanied by a snap of the fingers.
All at once, the tickling resumed everywhere on her body. The soft strokes at her sides, the swishes inside her belly button, the maddening swipes of the tendrils in her armpits, the hellish symphony of sensations between her legs. And impossibly, Olivia felt as if they'd all been magnified tenfold, laughing harder than she'd ever had before, harder than she thought it was possible to laugh. "What a good girl you are, Olivia," the voice cooed. "Now, on the count of three, you will feel the overwhelming urge to pee."
"Wha... what?! But... but I don't need to!" She'd made sure to go to the bathroom before venturing inside the hospital. Her bladder was empty, she was sure of it! But as she heard the number "three" and the snap of the fingers, she felt a sudden urgent pressure in her abdomen. Though she tried to muster up all her remaining willpower to hold it in, the tickling quickly caused her to lose control, and she felt the warmth and wetness spatter over her thighs and flow onto the seat beneath her. "Oh.... oh god..." she choked back a sob.
"Naughty, naughty girl," the voice chided, as if scolding a puppy. "A naughty girl who loves to be tickled. On the count of three, you will want to pee again. One... two... three."
Again the inexorable pressure, followed by the humiliating and unwilling release. "Why... why can't I control it?!" she wailed between gasping laughs.
"Naughty girl, making such a mess," the voice intoned. A soapy sponge lathered up Olivia's entire pubic region, followed by a warm wet cloth methodically wiping her down and a nozzle blasting puffs of air to dry her off. Despite the clinical thoroughness, the novel and bizzarre feelings made them tickle in their own way. The full-body tickling never ceased, adding to the torment. "Say you're sorry, Olivia."
"I-I-I'm sorry! Ehehe! I'm so sorry! Hahahahaha! Please, mercy!" she pleaded, desperate for any sort of reprieve.
"Good. You've been such a good girl, Olivia," the voice purred, its tone comforting but also tinged with a wicked anticipation of more to come. "And a good girl like you deserves a reward, doesn't she?"
A small metal ring fit itself over her clit, buzzing with an insistent vibration. The inside of the ring was lined with silken strands. Sometimes the strands would wrap around her clit and trace spirals around it, alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise. Sometimes they would flick with no pattern at all. At the same time, half a dozen smooth tentacles entered her, exploring her inner walls, stroking possesively, teasing with maddening precision. Two of them found a particularly sensitive spot and started tapping rhythmically at it, causing Olivia to gasp as pleasure arced through her body like a live wire.
Inside her, a war raged for control of her thoughts and voice. The teasing, stroking, and vibrations built her up, the rising arousal making her gasp and moan. Before it could peak, the tickling brought her crashing down, laughing herself silly. Build, break, build, break, a cycle that endlessly reinforced itself. Both sides were escalating, the arousal bringing her higher and higher each time, the tickling tools continually refining their methods to produce the most exquisite agony and high-pitched screams of laughter. Until finally, the escalation reached its figurative and literal climax as the tickling reached a fever pitch and the stroking seemed to find the perfect rhythm. The orgasm tore through her body, forcing out a primal scream, and through her mind as well, dissolving her thoughts to mush and leaving only the sheer ecstasy. For what felt like an eternity, she writhed in quivering convulsions, as the waves of blissful pleasure roiled through her.
Finally, she went limp, panting and basking in the afterglow. But as the tickling picked up again, she realized that it felt like it had been magnified another tenfold. It felt like every nerve in her body was dialed up to eleven, able to do naught but feel all the raw sensations in their purest distilled essence. She was in heaven, and she was in hell, a new circle of hell made just for tickling.
The cycle started anew. The vibrations, the internal teasing, the relentless tickling. Each peak got higher and higher, the resulting crash all the more devastating. With each shuddering, earth-shattering climax, the hypnotic voice praised her as her body betrayed her. "Perfect. You are perfect, Olivia. Such a good girl. You love this. You love the laughter. You love the tickling." The world blurred around her, her only awareness being the tickling and teasing wracking her body. She was only dimly aware of the enrapturing iridescent shapes in the visor pulling her deeper and deeper into trance, and the voice's suggestions embedding themselves into her psyche. She lost count of how many times the pleasure and torment consumed her.
Finally, as a particularly powerful orgasm ripped through her, the edges of her vision went dark as her consciousness frayed. She sagged in her bonds, utterly spent. The chair finally mercifully granted a reprieve from the endless tickling and violations, though its arms remained extended and poised for the next time she awoke, coiled vipers waiting to strike and bring her down to an ever-deeper abyss of tickling. The last thing she heard before the darkness took her was "My perfect ticklish girl."
There really is no excuse for this story. I don't know how I came to enjoy the particular cocktail of perverse fantasies in it. It should go with saying that this is just a fantasy and that I would never dream of acting on it in real life. Why do I even bother to say this? I consider the non-consensual nature of the fantasy so violating that I struggled for some time with the thought of whether I'm an immoral and disgusting person for even imagining it. In the end, I have to remind myself that my fantasies don't define who I am (that's why they're just fantasies), and that I'm absolutely committed to never acting them out. I also fear that I'm just not qualified to write this story at all, because what do I know about anatomy? About physiology? About writing fiction in general? But in the end I wanted to make the story exist in words and not just in my imagination. Having written it I do feel like it's a bit of a weight off my shoulders, and that it allows me to distance from it a bit better and remind myself that it will never become reality.
I know I didn't invest a lot of words into describing the protagonist, her backstory, or her reasons for exploring this place, but I guess I don't really feel confident in that. I just wanted to get on with the scenario.
While elements of this story have been inspired by various sources, there are three that stand out as particularly influential to this story. If you believe seeing the sources will ruin the surprise, feel free to skip over the below.
- The tickling RPG "Divirtual", created by noircastle, for the particular form the mechanical antagonist takes, and two of the tools it uses.
- The story titled "Tezlia's Torments", which I thought used to be on this site but can't find anymore, for two more of the tools the antagonist uses.
- Giggle Box V.02 by Tickle Mantis, for one of the tools the antagonist uses, though used in a different way.
The dark halls of the abandoned hospital were caked with dust. Olivia snorted, "well, if there were ghosts here, they sure don't care about tidying up." Local rumors spoke of hauntings and other vaguely-specified mysterious occurrences, but in her opinion it was all nonsense, stories made up to deter the gullible. She slowly walked down the corridors, her trusty flashlight and her healthy dose of skepticism her only companions. As she pushed open a disused door, she briefly brought the flashlight up to illuminate the faded lettering. "Therapy Room," she announced to no-one in particular. As she stepped inside, her beam of light fell upon the centerpiece of the room: a single odd-looking chair. It stood on four legs and looked very heavy, being made entirely out of metal and seeming to have a thicker seat and back than was necessary. Olivia approached the chair to take a closer look and saw metal cuffs attached to the armrests and front legs. "What kind of therapy needs restraints?" she voiced the question aloud to the empty room. The room, of course, provided no answers, neither in response to her query nor in any of its contents. After a few more sweeps of the flashlight along the walls, she decided, "well, nothing more to see here..." and turned to the door to leave.
As if it had been a predator lying in wait, watching for the very moment its prey's back was turned to strike, the chair lurched forward, impossibly fast for how heavy it looked. As it impacted the back of her knees, Olivia fell backwards with a yelp, right onto the waiting seat of the chair. The metal cuffs at the legs of the chair clicked shut around her ankles and her knees. The cuffs on the armrests rose to meet her wrists, then both armrests swiveled upward to raise her arms high above her head. A padded strap cinched around her torso, just under her breasts, pinning her to the chair. Before she could even process what had just happened, she was almost completely immobile in the chair's grip. "Wha...?" Olivia gasped in disbelief. "What is this?!"
Hatches in the sides of the chair opened, mechanical arms ending in scissors extending from them. Olivia could only watch helplessly as they cut away every strip of her clothing, leaving her completely exposed. She shivered, whether from the chill air or the humiliation she didn't know, but rising above either feeling was anger at being subject to such a ridiculous situation by an inanimate object. "Stop it, you PERVERTED MACHINE! Get me off of this stupid thing!" Of course, with nary a living soul in the building except for herself, no aid was forthcoming for Olivia. She bucked wildly in the chair, to no avail. She was completely vulnerable to whatever the machine had in store.
More arms extended from the chair, holding soft brushes, feathers, or even strips of fuzzy material. They danced around her sides, the light touches and teasing causing her to instinctively flinch. Olivia grit her teeth, tamping down the urge to laugh. The strap around her kept her from rising up off of the chair, allowing her to only twist slightly, for all the good that did. If she tried to twist away from the tickling on her left, it only pressed her more firmly into the waiting implements on her right. Twist away from the tickling on her right, and the feathers and brushes on her left fluttered even more eagerly, as if reveling in the increased access to her tender skin. It was incredibly frustrating, and she did not feel in the mood for laughter at all, resulting in strained grunts as she squirmed this way and that as far as the restraints would allow. "So... annoying... mrrgh!"
One of the brushes suddenly entered her belly button and twirled inside it, while another traced lazy circles in the opposite direction on her stomach. Caught completely off guard by the new sensation, she gasped and a giggle leaked out from her, completely unbidden. As if a dam had burst, her resistance faltered, reducing her to girlish squeals and giggle fits as the fuzz, brushes, and feathers traced their maddening paths.
Four more arms extended from the chair to join their mechanical compatriots, two on each side, these ones tipped with soft tendrils. As they approached her armpits, the mere sight of them caused Olivia to redouble her efforts to thrash against her restraints, before they'd even so much as grazed her. As far as she knew, her armpits were her most ticklish spot, a secret she never willingly revealed to anyone, as she hated the way being tickled there made her dissolve into undignified childish giggles. As the four tendrils made contact, just one stroke from them was enough to get an instant reaction. "YAAAAAAAAhahaha! Make it stop!!!" The tendrils traced countless different patterns across her smooth hollows, sometimes light whispers as if licking her skin, sometimes rapid flicks like an unpredictable electric current. As they varied their approaches, the chair seemed to learn and adapt, spending more time on the techniques that produced the most desperation and laughter from her.
Unable to form coherent thought, Olivia barely heard the series of clicks heralding a new set of arms, these ones pointed at her crotch. With a mechanical whir, the cuffs holding her ankles and knees moved apart, spreading her legs open. Feathers traced up and down her inner thighs, brushes flicked and teased her lips, and a soft tendril began an agonizing assault on her perineum. Olivia hadn't known it was even possible to be ticklish down there, but as her frenzied laughter renewed itself with new intensity she realized she'd been wrong her whole life about her armpits being her most ticklish spot. She futilely strained at her restraints trying to close her legs, to block off access to her most intimate of areas, but the firm and unyielding metal didn't budge an inch. Her laughter became screams, the new touches joining with those on her upper body to bring her to new heights of ticklish agony.
Suddenly, the tickling subsided to barely more than a teasing whisper. Olivia sagged in her bonds, panting from exertion. But the chair only gave her mere moments to collect her breath and unscramble her thoughts before arms extended from the back of the chair and fitted a set of headphones over her ears and something that resembled a VR headset over her eyes. The headset's display exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors, the rotating spirals and pulsing colors entrancing her. A calm voice flowed into her ears, smooth as silk, "You're being such a good girl for us, Olivia."
Despite the countless other more important questions, one question found itself on Olivia's lips. "How... how do you know my name?", she whispered. She hadn't uttered it once during the entire expedition, and the unwanted familiarity the voice was claiming felt wholly inappropriate.
Not even deigning to pause to consider her question, the voice simply pressed on, "On the count of three, you will feel incredibly, wonderfully ticklish, more than you've ever felt before."
"I... I don't believe in that kind of stuff!" Olivia asserted with utter certainty. She thought back to that party she'd gone to long ago, where a hypnotist had been hired for entertainment. Olivia had watched in disbelief as the hypnotist coaxed volunteers from the audience into doing all manner of outlandish things. He'd made one forget the number 3 exists, and them asked him to count the fingers of his own hand, the audience roaring in laughter at his visible confusion when he announced that he had six fingers. The hypnotist had asked another volunteer to squawk like a pigeon. Olivia was pretty sure pigeons don't even squawk at all, but the volunteer hadn't thought to question it for a second and had done his very darnedest to produce his best BA-KAAAAAW all the same, punctuating the sound with an exaggerated up-and-down flap of his arms. She'd scoffed at the mere thought of such cheap tricks working on her, and she was just as convinced that whatever the voice in her ears was trying to pull now, it wouldn't work.
But the voice started counting, "one... two... three," accompanied by a snap of the fingers.
All at once, the tickling resumed everywhere on her body. The soft strokes at her sides, the swishes inside her belly button, the maddening swipes of the tendrils in her armpits, the hellish symphony of sensations between her legs. And impossibly, Olivia felt as if they'd all been magnified tenfold, laughing harder than she'd ever had before, harder than she thought it was possible to laugh. "What a good girl you are, Olivia," the voice cooed. "Now, on the count of three, you will feel the overwhelming urge to pee."
"Wha... what?! But... but I don't need to!" She'd made sure to go to the bathroom before venturing inside the hospital. Her bladder was empty, she was sure of it! But as she heard the number "three" and the snap of the fingers, she felt a sudden urgent pressure in her abdomen. Though she tried to muster up all her remaining willpower to hold it in, the tickling quickly caused her to lose control, and she felt the warmth and wetness spatter over her thighs and flow onto the seat beneath her. "Oh.... oh god..." she choked back a sob.
"Naughty, naughty girl," the voice chided, as if scolding a puppy. "A naughty girl who loves to be tickled. On the count of three, you will want to pee again. One... two... three."
Again the inexorable pressure, followed by the humiliating and unwilling release. "Why... why can't I control it?!" she wailed between gasping laughs.
"Naughty girl, making such a mess," the voice intoned. A soapy sponge lathered up Olivia's entire pubic region, followed by a warm wet cloth methodically wiping her down and a nozzle blasting puffs of air to dry her off. Despite the clinical thoroughness, the novel and bizzarre feelings made them tickle in their own way. The full-body tickling never ceased, adding to the torment. "Say you're sorry, Olivia."
"I-I-I'm sorry! Ehehe! I'm so sorry! Hahahahaha! Please, mercy!" she pleaded, desperate for any sort of reprieve.
"Good. You've been such a good girl, Olivia," the voice purred, its tone comforting but also tinged with a wicked anticipation of more to come. "And a good girl like you deserves a reward, doesn't she?"
A small metal ring fit itself over her clit, buzzing with an insistent vibration. The inside of the ring was lined with silken strands. Sometimes the strands would wrap around her clit and trace spirals around it, alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise. Sometimes they would flick with no pattern at all. At the same time, half a dozen smooth tentacles entered her, exploring her inner walls, stroking possesively, teasing with maddening precision. Two of them found a particularly sensitive spot and started tapping rhythmically at it, causing Olivia to gasp as pleasure arced through her body like a live wire.
Inside her, a war raged for control of her thoughts and voice. The teasing, stroking, and vibrations built her up, the rising arousal making her gasp and moan. Before it could peak, the tickling brought her crashing down, laughing herself silly. Build, break, build, break, a cycle that endlessly reinforced itself. Both sides were escalating, the arousal bringing her higher and higher each time, the tickling tools continually refining their methods to produce the most exquisite agony and high-pitched screams of laughter. Until finally, the escalation reached its figurative and literal climax as the tickling reached a fever pitch and the stroking seemed to find the perfect rhythm. The orgasm tore through her body, forcing out a primal scream, and through her mind as well, dissolving her thoughts to mush and leaving only the sheer ecstasy. For what felt like an eternity, she writhed in quivering convulsions, as the waves of blissful pleasure roiled through her.
Finally, she went limp, panting and basking in the afterglow. But as the tickling picked up again, she realized that it felt like it had been magnified another tenfold. It felt like every nerve in her body was dialed up to eleven, able to do naught but feel all the raw sensations in their purest distilled essence. She was in heaven, and she was in hell, a new circle of hell made just for tickling.
The cycle started anew. The vibrations, the internal teasing, the relentless tickling. Each peak got higher and higher, the resulting crash all the more devastating. With each shuddering, earth-shattering climax, the hypnotic voice praised her as her body betrayed her. "Perfect. You are perfect, Olivia. Such a good girl. You love this. You love the laughter. You love the tickling." The world blurred around her, her only awareness being the tickling and teasing wracking her body. She was only dimly aware of the enrapturing iridescent shapes in the visor pulling her deeper and deeper into trance, and the voice's suggestions embedding themselves into her psyche. She lost count of how many times the pleasure and torment consumed her.
Finally, as a particularly powerful orgasm ripped through her, the edges of her vision went dark as her consciousness frayed. She sagged in her bonds, utterly spent. The chair finally mercifully granted a reprieve from the endless tickling and violations, though its arms remained extended and poised for the next time she awoke, coiled vipers waiting to strike and bring her down to an ever-deeper abyss of tickling. The last thing she heard before the darkness took her was "My perfect ticklish girl."
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