waterman
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2006
- Messages
- 507
- Points
- 43
Visit the Grinnerverse for more tickle-torture tales!
The rain fell relentlessly against the frosted windows of the Grinwich Sanatorium, turning its grimy facade into a blurred smear of neon lights and rusted signs. Inside, the corridors reeked of sharp disinfectant, dust, and aged mahogany furniture. In this notoriously disreputable institution, Meridian Grinwich ruled with absolute authority from the confines of her private room, where she had been bedridden due to a paralysis allegedly caused by a horseback fall—an incident that conveniently excused her from the suspicions still harbored by the police regarding the recent death of her wealthy husband, who had also been the sanatorium’s owner.
The sanatorium’s management had “forgotten” to conduct the routine examinations necessary to verify the authenticity of Meridian’s self-proclaimed disability, and trusting in her supposed sincerity, they had issued a medical certificate confirming her inability to move independently.
Meridian had been confined to bed for months, but her plans included miraculously regaining the use of her legs just in time for an overseas trip to Brazil—a trip she would conveniently fail to notify the authorities about in advance. Meridian was used to laughing last, and this time would be no different.
That day, a new nurse entered Meridian’s room. She wore pristine gloves and an immaculate uniform, but her cold gaze betrayed precise intentions.
“Good morning, Mrs. Grinwich. I’m here for your routine check-up,” she said in a detached tone, while Meridian’s foot brushed against the cold ceramic floor beneath the covers.
Under the pretext of preventing any dangerous movements, the nurse immobilized Meridian in bed: soft yet firm straps wrapped around her wrists and ankles. “Just for safety,” she murmured, while activating the radio to play music at high volume.
The Babinski reflex was the first test. Meridian falsified it with skill: her foot arched correctly, the toes seemed to react by the book, and her lips remained sealed. Yet the nurse noticed an almost imperceptible detail: a tremor at the corners of her mouth, a small spasm betraying sensitivity.
Without breaking her professional demeanor, the nurse drew a thin feather brush.
“We also need to check the finer skin response,” she said, sliding the soft tip under Meridian’s foot.
Meridian tensed, biting her lips, trying not to react.
The tickling sensation insinuated itself immediately, sharp and small, like a shiver running along the heel and the arch of her foot. Meridian tried to hold every muscle still, to appear motionless, but every fiber of her body vibrated under the feather’s caresses.
“Mrs. Grinwich, is everything all right?” the nurse asked in a false, soothing tone, as the brush slowly stroked her toes. “I don’t want this to bother you, but I must document everything.”
The feather grazed the sole of Meridian’s foot with an apparent lightness, enough to make her instinctively curl her toes. She tried to control her breath, suppress the slightest twitch, but every arch of her foot seemed to resonate at the contact, sending shivers up to her ankles and knees.
“Just for verification, Mrs. Grinwich,” said the nurse, feigning detachment, as she slipped a finger between the curves of her foot, applying light but persistent pressure. Meridian’s body jerked sharply, a brief but intense shock that made her press her lips together to stifle a moan. The sensation was more than mere discomfort: it was an intense stimulation of nerve receptors, a shiver running through her heels and toes to the central sole, making her jerk against the straps.
She tried to breathe slowly, counting, attempting to maintain control. Every effort failed. The feather slid between her toes, tracing circles on the heel, lingering along the arch and the most sensitive spots, where the skin was thin. Each touch was a subtle electric current that ran through her body, causing involuntary leg contractions, calves trembling.
“All right?” asked the nurse again, pretending routine, as a hand passed behind her heel and along the side of her foot, gently brushing her ankle. Meridian responded with a stifled moan and a torso spasm, her breath short as she tried to hide the rising laughter.
Then the pressure increased. The nurse alternated fingers, fine brushes, and sudden touches, targeting different points of the feet and arches, creating a rhythmic, unpredictable torment. Meridian felt a growing tension in her leg muscles, a nervous energy making her writhe against the straps, against her will. Laughter fought to escape, a buzzing uncontrollable sound pushing past her sealed lips, yet restraint forced her to suppress it.
Her body began to betray her. Calves trembled, thighs contracted involuntarily, pelvis lifted slightly against the straps. Each touch was amplified: her skin hypersensitive, every nerve fiber ignited with a mix of fire and ice. The racing heartbeat merged with suppressed laughter, creating a circuit of excitement and despair.
The feather passed beneath her toes, pressing in the small gaps between them, tracing circles on the heel, stimulating every exposed nerve. Meridian felt the tingling intensify, a continuous shiver climbing up her legs, sliding into her abdomen, forcing muscles to contract uncontrollably. Her mind oscillated between panic and fascination, the fear of giving in and the impossibility of remaining still.
“Please…” she tried to murmur, but the sound mingled with a grin, a small burst of suppressed laughter. The nurse ignored all protest, continuing methodically, tirelessly, using the radio to mask any external noise. Every variation in rhythm, every differing pressure on vulnerable points of the foot, was a precise strike against Meridian’s will to remain calm.
Her breathing became rapid, convulsive; her chest rose and fell in irregular spasms. Feet tried to move against the straps, legs twisted, calves vibrated, but there was no escape. Her body was trapped, every nerve excited, every fiber taut, every attempt at resistance transformed into further torment. And inevitably, laughter erupted: hysterical, uncontrollable, trembling, widening her eyes and shaking her cheeks, while her torso writhed against the straps.
“Hhhahahhhh! Nooo… not… enough…” she sobbed between breaths, but her body offered no respite. Laughter blended with despair, her feet hopping in futile attempts to escape the torment.
When the nurse finally removed contact, Meridian’s wrists and ankles trembled, her feet pulsating with residual energy, and her body was shaken by laughter spasms she could not control. She had resisted as much as she could, but the truth had emerged: every movement, every twitch, every jolt of her legs betrayed her mobility.
“Perfect,” said the nurse, her tone calm, professional, yet icy. “Now we must conclude the protocol.”
Meridian inhaled deeply, her body still shaking, feet and legs throbbing with residual sensitivity. A realization made her stiffen: beneath the immaculate uniform and impassive face, something was amiss.
“I must confess something,” said the nurse, with glacial calm. “I am not a nurse. My name is Thérèse Tempest, and I am an insurance agent. I am here to verify the true condition of your body, Meridian.”
Meridian’s heart skipped a beat. Every fiber of her body reacted. Thérèse continued, slow and methodical, weighing every word.
“Perhaps you did not notice, but the moment I entered, I positioned a recorder. I recorded all your laughter. Quite a lot for someone who supposedly shouldn’t feel ticklish on her feet, don’t you think?”
Meridian felt her blood freeze. “What do you want from me?” she whispered, her voice broken, struggling to maintain her mask of control.
Thérèse produced a document from under her coat. “Sign this bequest in favor of the sanatorium. In this way, the quality of care can be improved. I have already lost relatives in this wretched hospital; I don’t want it to happen to anyone else. In exchange, nothing that has happened here will be reported to the police.”
Meridian shook her head, eyes full of fear and defiance. “I won’t sign, bitch—” her voice firm, “I will not trade my inheritance for… blackmail like this.”
Thérèse smiled faintly, icy. “Too bad,” she said, and without warning, delicately positioned her hands under Meridian’s feet again. Her fingers slid along the curves, tracing subtle, imperceptible lines that were devastating to the nerves. Meridian’s body reacted immediately: a shiver ran through her soles, her heels contracted, toes trembled.
“N-n-no!” she stammered, biting her lip, trying to block the rising laughter. But Thérèse ignored the protests, increasing the pressure with alternating movements of fingers and knuckles, making the foot and calf jump involuntarily. Every touch was calculated, aimed at the most sensitive points. Meridian felt her body betray her: her pelvis lifted slightly, legs writhed, torso vibrated. The previously suppressed laughter burst from her lips.
“Hhhahahhh! Nooo! Ahhh… don’t… stop!” Meridian’s body had become a mixture of involuntary contractions, tremors, and spasms. Her feet kicked, legs bent, and yet Thérèse continued with surgical precision, wiggling toes, stroking soles, pressing lightly on arches.
“See,” said Thérèse, her voice low, almost whispering into Meridian’s hair, “I know your weakness. I could tickle you for hours. Clever to keep the music loud, yes? No one can hear us!”
Minutes passed as if they were eternal. Every attempt at resistance turned into uncontrollable spasms, hands still trembling on the bed, feet pulsating with sensitivity. Finally, with tears in her eyes and breath short, Meridian gave in, unable to resist further: she grabbed the pen and signed the document.
Thérèse set down the feather and retrieved the recorder that had documented everything. “Very good,” she said. “If you do not oppose this act, I will not reveal the truth to the insurance company or the police. Look on the bright side, Meridian: today you did a good deed for the needy, and you even had a few laughs along the way!”
The rain fell relentlessly against the frosted windows of the Grinwich Sanatorium, turning its grimy facade into a blurred smear of neon lights and rusted signs. Inside, the corridors reeked of sharp disinfectant, dust, and aged mahogany furniture. In this notoriously disreputable institution, Meridian Grinwich ruled with absolute authority from the confines of her private room, where she had been bedridden due to a paralysis allegedly caused by a horseback fall—an incident that conveniently excused her from the suspicions still harbored by the police regarding the recent death of her wealthy husband, who had also been the sanatorium’s owner.
The sanatorium’s management had “forgotten” to conduct the routine examinations necessary to verify the authenticity of Meridian’s self-proclaimed disability, and trusting in her supposed sincerity, they had issued a medical certificate confirming her inability to move independently.
Meridian had been confined to bed for months, but her plans included miraculously regaining the use of her legs just in time for an overseas trip to Brazil—a trip she would conveniently fail to notify the authorities about in advance. Meridian was used to laughing last, and this time would be no different.
That day, a new nurse entered Meridian’s room. She wore pristine gloves and an immaculate uniform, but her cold gaze betrayed precise intentions.
“Good morning, Mrs. Grinwich. I’m here for your routine check-up,” she said in a detached tone, while Meridian’s foot brushed against the cold ceramic floor beneath the covers.
Under the pretext of preventing any dangerous movements, the nurse immobilized Meridian in bed: soft yet firm straps wrapped around her wrists and ankles. “Just for safety,” she murmured, while activating the radio to play music at high volume.
The Babinski reflex was the first test. Meridian falsified it with skill: her foot arched correctly, the toes seemed to react by the book, and her lips remained sealed. Yet the nurse noticed an almost imperceptible detail: a tremor at the corners of her mouth, a small spasm betraying sensitivity.
Without breaking her professional demeanor, the nurse drew a thin feather brush.
“We also need to check the finer skin response,” she said, sliding the soft tip under Meridian’s foot.
Meridian tensed, biting her lips, trying not to react.
The tickling sensation insinuated itself immediately, sharp and small, like a shiver running along the heel and the arch of her foot. Meridian tried to hold every muscle still, to appear motionless, but every fiber of her body vibrated under the feather’s caresses.
“Mrs. Grinwich, is everything all right?” the nurse asked in a false, soothing tone, as the brush slowly stroked her toes. “I don’t want this to bother you, but I must document everything.”
The feather grazed the sole of Meridian’s foot with an apparent lightness, enough to make her instinctively curl her toes. She tried to control her breath, suppress the slightest twitch, but every arch of her foot seemed to resonate at the contact, sending shivers up to her ankles and knees.
“Just for verification, Mrs. Grinwich,” said the nurse, feigning detachment, as she slipped a finger between the curves of her foot, applying light but persistent pressure. Meridian’s body jerked sharply, a brief but intense shock that made her press her lips together to stifle a moan. The sensation was more than mere discomfort: it was an intense stimulation of nerve receptors, a shiver running through her heels and toes to the central sole, making her jerk against the straps.
She tried to breathe slowly, counting, attempting to maintain control. Every effort failed. The feather slid between her toes, tracing circles on the heel, lingering along the arch and the most sensitive spots, where the skin was thin. Each touch was a subtle electric current that ran through her body, causing involuntary leg contractions, calves trembling.
“All right?” asked the nurse again, pretending routine, as a hand passed behind her heel and along the side of her foot, gently brushing her ankle. Meridian responded with a stifled moan and a torso spasm, her breath short as she tried to hide the rising laughter.
Then the pressure increased. The nurse alternated fingers, fine brushes, and sudden touches, targeting different points of the feet and arches, creating a rhythmic, unpredictable torment. Meridian felt a growing tension in her leg muscles, a nervous energy making her writhe against the straps, against her will. Laughter fought to escape, a buzzing uncontrollable sound pushing past her sealed lips, yet restraint forced her to suppress it.
Her body began to betray her. Calves trembled, thighs contracted involuntarily, pelvis lifted slightly against the straps. Each touch was amplified: her skin hypersensitive, every nerve fiber ignited with a mix of fire and ice. The racing heartbeat merged with suppressed laughter, creating a circuit of excitement and despair.
The feather passed beneath her toes, pressing in the small gaps between them, tracing circles on the heel, stimulating every exposed nerve. Meridian felt the tingling intensify, a continuous shiver climbing up her legs, sliding into her abdomen, forcing muscles to contract uncontrollably. Her mind oscillated between panic and fascination, the fear of giving in and the impossibility of remaining still.
“Please…” she tried to murmur, but the sound mingled with a grin, a small burst of suppressed laughter. The nurse ignored all protest, continuing methodically, tirelessly, using the radio to mask any external noise. Every variation in rhythm, every differing pressure on vulnerable points of the foot, was a precise strike against Meridian’s will to remain calm.
Her breathing became rapid, convulsive; her chest rose and fell in irregular spasms. Feet tried to move against the straps, legs twisted, calves vibrated, but there was no escape. Her body was trapped, every nerve excited, every fiber taut, every attempt at resistance transformed into further torment. And inevitably, laughter erupted: hysterical, uncontrollable, trembling, widening her eyes and shaking her cheeks, while her torso writhed against the straps.
“Hhhahahhhh! Nooo… not… enough…” she sobbed between breaths, but her body offered no respite. Laughter blended with despair, her feet hopping in futile attempts to escape the torment.
When the nurse finally removed contact, Meridian’s wrists and ankles trembled, her feet pulsating with residual energy, and her body was shaken by laughter spasms she could not control. She had resisted as much as she could, but the truth had emerged: every movement, every twitch, every jolt of her legs betrayed her mobility.
“Perfect,” said the nurse, her tone calm, professional, yet icy. “Now we must conclude the protocol.”
Meridian inhaled deeply, her body still shaking, feet and legs throbbing with residual sensitivity. A realization made her stiffen: beneath the immaculate uniform and impassive face, something was amiss.
“I must confess something,” said the nurse, with glacial calm. “I am not a nurse. My name is Thérèse Tempest, and I am an insurance agent. I am here to verify the true condition of your body, Meridian.”
Meridian’s heart skipped a beat. Every fiber of her body reacted. Thérèse continued, slow and methodical, weighing every word.
“Perhaps you did not notice, but the moment I entered, I positioned a recorder. I recorded all your laughter. Quite a lot for someone who supposedly shouldn’t feel ticklish on her feet, don’t you think?”
Meridian felt her blood freeze. “What do you want from me?” she whispered, her voice broken, struggling to maintain her mask of control.
Thérèse produced a document from under her coat. “Sign this bequest in favor of the sanatorium. In this way, the quality of care can be improved. I have already lost relatives in this wretched hospital; I don’t want it to happen to anyone else. In exchange, nothing that has happened here will be reported to the police.”
Meridian shook her head, eyes full of fear and defiance. “I won’t sign, bitch—” her voice firm, “I will not trade my inheritance for… blackmail like this.”
Thérèse smiled faintly, icy. “Too bad,” she said, and without warning, delicately positioned her hands under Meridian’s feet again. Her fingers slid along the curves, tracing subtle, imperceptible lines that were devastating to the nerves. Meridian’s body reacted immediately: a shiver ran through her soles, her heels contracted, toes trembled.
“N-n-no!” she stammered, biting her lip, trying to block the rising laughter. But Thérèse ignored the protests, increasing the pressure with alternating movements of fingers and knuckles, making the foot and calf jump involuntarily. Every touch was calculated, aimed at the most sensitive points. Meridian felt her body betray her: her pelvis lifted slightly, legs writhed, torso vibrated. The previously suppressed laughter burst from her lips.
“Hhhahahhh! Nooo! Ahhh… don’t… stop!” Meridian’s body had become a mixture of involuntary contractions, tremors, and spasms. Her feet kicked, legs bent, and yet Thérèse continued with surgical precision, wiggling toes, stroking soles, pressing lightly on arches.
“See,” said Thérèse, her voice low, almost whispering into Meridian’s hair, “I know your weakness. I could tickle you for hours. Clever to keep the music loud, yes? No one can hear us!”
Minutes passed as if they were eternal. Every attempt at resistance turned into uncontrollable spasms, hands still trembling on the bed, feet pulsating with sensitivity. Finally, with tears in her eyes and breath short, Meridian gave in, unable to resist further: she grabbed the pen and signed the document.
Thérèse set down the feather and retrieved the recorder that had documented everything. “Very good,” she said. “If you do not oppose this act, I will not reveal the truth to the insurance company or the police. Look on the bright side, Meridian: today you did a good deed for the needy, and you even had a few laughs along the way!”
