tickledorange
2nd Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Oct 4, 2002
- Messages
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This is a continuation of the STQ series, which can also be found here.
Christine shuffled around on top of the box that she stood on, moving her bare feet to find a comfortable standing position as her arms hung from the ceiling. She could barely remember being brought in here. All she knew was that Brett had come to her cell earlier that day and demanded that she follow him after unhooking her from the floor of her cell. Now, she stood on top of a plastic milk crate, attached to the ceiling by the padded cuffs that held her wrists. The cuffs were then tied by bungee ropes that were connected to hooks in the ceiling. Her ankles were also tied, but were allowed to move freely on top of the milk crate.
Christine looked up and down at her predicament. She knew the room well: Its plain gray concrete walls, brown carpeting, hooks and chains everywhere, and no windows whatsoever. She was used to being tied by now, being left in isolation in rooms such as this one, but she knew the situation she was in was only temporary. She feared further events that would happen from being kept like she was right now. She tried to look behind her, predicting when the door behind her would swing open and her fears would come true once again.
Brett opened the door casually, staring at her as he strolled to face her eye to eye. Christine looked away from him, looking toward the floor as her hair hang in her face. Brett cupped his hand and brushed her hair behind her head as she carefully raised her head at eye level to him. “Please, I can't go through this again. I...I'll die! You have Katie, now let me go! I gave you what you wanted!”
“Christine, Christine, Christine,” he said, putting his hand on top of her head. “She's not the one I want. She's just a toy, an object. You're the only one for me.”
“No, please, not again,” she screamed, “I can't take this anymore. I just want to go home.”
“That's not what you really want,” he said with a coldness in his voice. “I'm all you want. I'm all you need. You're not going to live without me.”
“Please, please, let me go. I can't live like this anymore!”
“We'll see,” he said, stepping away from her.
Brett stood in front of the milk crate, facing Christine. She watched in horror as he swung his foot back, then quickly shut her eyes as he swung it forward again, kicking the crate out from under her feet. Christine desperately tried to grasp it with her toes, but unclenched at the fear of a broken appendage. She let out a high pitched scream as the crate scooted away from her and her body rocketed toward the floor below her. Seconds later, however, it was all over. Brett quickly took the chain that was attached to her ankle cuffs and tightened it, reattaching it to the floor with its padlock seconds later.
Christine winced at the instant pain, but it easily subsided from the heavy padding from her cuffs. She was now completely immobile, suspended from the ceiling in a Y shape. She hung her head behind her before resting it on her right arm. “What do you want from me?” she asked, flexing her fingers.
“I already told you, I just want you to suffer,” he declared, standing in front of her, staring at her body.
“Please, not again. I hate the tickling. I already gave you Katie, and I helped you torture her. You have her now, you haven't even let us seen each other! I'm already suffering. Look at me! Can't you tell?” She screamed, the tears welling up in her eyes and pouring down her face.
“Oh yeah, I can definitely tell,” he said softly, eying her up and down.
Brett took a few steps toward her and gently squeezed her waist. Christine shook in her bonds, trying to look away as she felt the familiar squeeze. She couldn't for long, though. She watched as Brett squeezed at her waist faster, letting his grip pulse her sides as she bounced underneath his hands. He ran his fingers all around her waist, reaching at the skin beneath her cotton shorts, letting her fall back towards him as she braced herself.
“Please stop it. I'll do anything you want!” she shouted, trying to avoid an hours-long tickle session.
“You know what I want. What is your name?” he said clearly.
“Christine! My name is Christine, you know that!”
“No it's not!” he said, putting his hands on her ribs. “Your name is A.”
“Please, not this. I...can't say it. I won't!”
“Fine, then this is what happens.”
Brett grabbed a roll of tape from a hook on the wall and ripped off a piece of it, then placed it over Christine's mouth. Christine shook her head, continuing even after the tape was secured on top of her lips. After throwing the tape aside, Brett attacked her ribs, letting everything go as he relentlessly tickled up and down her ribs, not leaving one spot uncovered.
Christine screamed into her gag. She let her loud laughter release from her lips as she pulled on her heavy chains. She pushed herself forward, hoping to break the bonds. Her head hung forward, projecting her muffled laughter onto the floor below. She could feel the helplessness once again, but her will was still strong “I can't let him do this, I won't give him the satisfaction,” she thought, bobbing her head around to get some kind of movement.
In mere minutes, it was all over. Christine dangled from the ceiling, flexing her fingers as she huffed in air through her nose. Brett ripped the tape from her mouth and looked at her. “Now say it,” he said, staring at her intensely.
“I...I still can't. I'm sorry,” she said, looking away.
“Then let's continue.”
Brett replaced her gag and stood in front of her this time. He pressed his head against her as he tortured her underarms. Quickly, he moved his hands around inside of them, again leaving no surface behind. He moved in rhythm of her laughter, tickling faster with each heave of her chest. He knew her by now; he knew which pressure points in her underarms to touch to drive her wild and he knew exactly where to stroke them.
Christine's eyes filled with tears as the prolonged underarm tickling began to outlast the torture on her ribs. She swayed her head back and forth as she tried to put her head in the way of the tickling, but Brett just pushed it out of his way, continuing to make his tickling circles in order to extend her suffering. She looked up as she squeezed her lips together, trying to stop the laughter that was making all of this worse. She shook furiously, letting her arms sag as much as they could above her head, as her whole body quivered from the madness of being tortured all over.
Christine sagged as Brett stopped tickling once again. He let her regain her composure, watching as she adjusted herself to get comfortable. Brett then ripped the gag off once again and jumped back as Christine's whole head fell forward as she slouched toward him “Say it,” he demanded.
“No.....I...*huff*...never will.”
“Fine, then have it your way. I'll see you when you wake up.”
“No, please d--”
Christine's speech was cut short by the tape being stuffed over her mouth once again. She tried to blow the tape away, rubbing her tongue against it, but having no success. A few 'mmphs' was all that she could force out before the tickling began once again. She saw the hands coming from behind her and began to laugh as they began tickling her stomach. She winced and twisted around as the fingers pulled and squirmed their paths along her bared stomach. She could feel them going under her shirt, feeling around the upper portion of her ribs as she screamed into her gag.
Brett, however, would not let up. He began to rake his nails along her ribs as her laughter became hoarse beneath him. He could feel the sweat pouting from her as he pressed his cheek against her back, continuing to tickle her ribs. He could hear her muffled pleas being shouted between spurts of laughter. The pain from laughter was becoming more evident as her laughter turned into fits of dry screaming. Her arms and legs quivered, then drooped and sagged from her energy being drained from the merciless tickling.
Christine threw her head back in the last few moments of hysterics. Brett lightly tickled the small spaces between her ribs as he saw her brace her head against one of her arms. He could hear her hoarsely proclaim, “My name is A” as she slowly passed out to sleep.
Brett stepped away and backed out of the room slowly, listening to her moan softly as he closed the door behind him. “I'll come back in a little while to move her,” he thought to himself, locking the wooden door as he left.
Christine shuffled around on top of the box that she stood on, moving her bare feet to find a comfortable standing position as her arms hung from the ceiling. She could barely remember being brought in here. All she knew was that Brett had come to her cell earlier that day and demanded that she follow him after unhooking her from the floor of her cell. Now, she stood on top of a plastic milk crate, attached to the ceiling by the padded cuffs that held her wrists. The cuffs were then tied by bungee ropes that were connected to hooks in the ceiling. Her ankles were also tied, but were allowed to move freely on top of the milk crate.
Christine looked up and down at her predicament. She knew the room well: Its plain gray concrete walls, brown carpeting, hooks and chains everywhere, and no windows whatsoever. She was used to being tied by now, being left in isolation in rooms such as this one, but she knew the situation she was in was only temporary. She feared further events that would happen from being kept like she was right now. She tried to look behind her, predicting when the door behind her would swing open and her fears would come true once again.
Brett opened the door casually, staring at her as he strolled to face her eye to eye. Christine looked away from him, looking toward the floor as her hair hang in her face. Brett cupped his hand and brushed her hair behind her head as she carefully raised her head at eye level to him. “Please, I can't go through this again. I...I'll die! You have Katie, now let me go! I gave you what you wanted!”
“Christine, Christine, Christine,” he said, putting his hand on top of her head. “She's not the one I want. She's just a toy, an object. You're the only one for me.”
“No, please, not again,” she screamed, “I can't take this anymore. I just want to go home.”
“That's not what you really want,” he said with a coldness in his voice. “I'm all you want. I'm all you need. You're not going to live without me.”
“Please, please, let me go. I can't live like this anymore!”
“We'll see,” he said, stepping away from her.
Brett stood in front of the milk crate, facing Christine. She watched in horror as he swung his foot back, then quickly shut her eyes as he swung it forward again, kicking the crate out from under her feet. Christine desperately tried to grasp it with her toes, but unclenched at the fear of a broken appendage. She let out a high pitched scream as the crate scooted away from her and her body rocketed toward the floor below her. Seconds later, however, it was all over. Brett quickly took the chain that was attached to her ankle cuffs and tightened it, reattaching it to the floor with its padlock seconds later.
Christine winced at the instant pain, but it easily subsided from the heavy padding from her cuffs. She was now completely immobile, suspended from the ceiling in a Y shape. She hung her head behind her before resting it on her right arm. “What do you want from me?” she asked, flexing her fingers.
“I already told you, I just want you to suffer,” he declared, standing in front of her, staring at her body.
“Please, not again. I hate the tickling. I already gave you Katie, and I helped you torture her. You have her now, you haven't even let us seen each other! I'm already suffering. Look at me! Can't you tell?” She screamed, the tears welling up in her eyes and pouring down her face.
“Oh yeah, I can definitely tell,” he said softly, eying her up and down.
Brett took a few steps toward her and gently squeezed her waist. Christine shook in her bonds, trying to look away as she felt the familiar squeeze. She couldn't for long, though. She watched as Brett squeezed at her waist faster, letting his grip pulse her sides as she bounced underneath his hands. He ran his fingers all around her waist, reaching at the skin beneath her cotton shorts, letting her fall back towards him as she braced herself.
“Please stop it. I'll do anything you want!” she shouted, trying to avoid an hours-long tickle session.
“You know what I want. What is your name?” he said clearly.
“Christine! My name is Christine, you know that!”
“No it's not!” he said, putting his hands on her ribs. “Your name is A.”
“Please, not this. I...can't say it. I won't!”
“Fine, then this is what happens.”
Brett grabbed a roll of tape from a hook on the wall and ripped off a piece of it, then placed it over Christine's mouth. Christine shook her head, continuing even after the tape was secured on top of her lips. After throwing the tape aside, Brett attacked her ribs, letting everything go as he relentlessly tickled up and down her ribs, not leaving one spot uncovered.
Christine screamed into her gag. She let her loud laughter release from her lips as she pulled on her heavy chains. She pushed herself forward, hoping to break the bonds. Her head hung forward, projecting her muffled laughter onto the floor below. She could feel the helplessness once again, but her will was still strong “I can't let him do this, I won't give him the satisfaction,” she thought, bobbing her head around to get some kind of movement.
In mere minutes, it was all over. Christine dangled from the ceiling, flexing her fingers as she huffed in air through her nose. Brett ripped the tape from her mouth and looked at her. “Now say it,” he said, staring at her intensely.
“I...I still can't. I'm sorry,” she said, looking away.
“Then let's continue.”
Brett replaced her gag and stood in front of her this time. He pressed his head against her as he tortured her underarms. Quickly, he moved his hands around inside of them, again leaving no surface behind. He moved in rhythm of her laughter, tickling faster with each heave of her chest. He knew her by now; he knew which pressure points in her underarms to touch to drive her wild and he knew exactly where to stroke them.
Christine's eyes filled with tears as the prolonged underarm tickling began to outlast the torture on her ribs. She swayed her head back and forth as she tried to put her head in the way of the tickling, but Brett just pushed it out of his way, continuing to make his tickling circles in order to extend her suffering. She looked up as she squeezed her lips together, trying to stop the laughter that was making all of this worse. She shook furiously, letting her arms sag as much as they could above her head, as her whole body quivered from the madness of being tortured all over.
Christine sagged as Brett stopped tickling once again. He let her regain her composure, watching as she adjusted herself to get comfortable. Brett then ripped the gag off once again and jumped back as Christine's whole head fell forward as she slouched toward him “Say it,” he demanded.
“No.....I...*huff*...never will.”
“Fine, then have it your way. I'll see you when you wake up.”
“No, please d--”
Christine's speech was cut short by the tape being stuffed over her mouth once again. She tried to blow the tape away, rubbing her tongue against it, but having no success. A few 'mmphs' was all that she could force out before the tickling began once again. She saw the hands coming from behind her and began to laugh as they began tickling her stomach. She winced and twisted around as the fingers pulled and squirmed their paths along her bared stomach. She could feel them going under her shirt, feeling around the upper portion of her ribs as she screamed into her gag.
Brett, however, would not let up. He began to rake his nails along her ribs as her laughter became hoarse beneath him. He could feel the sweat pouting from her as he pressed his cheek against her back, continuing to tickle her ribs. He could hear her muffled pleas being shouted between spurts of laughter. The pain from laughter was becoming more evident as her laughter turned into fits of dry screaming. Her arms and legs quivered, then drooped and sagged from her energy being drained from the merciless tickling.
Christine threw her head back in the last few moments of hysterics. Brett lightly tickled the small spaces between her ribs as he saw her brace her head against one of her arms. He could hear her hoarsely proclaim, “My name is A” as she slowly passed out to sleep.
Brett stepped away and backed out of the room slowly, listening to her moan softly as he closed the door behind him. “I'll come back in a little while to move her,” he thought to himself, locking the wooden door as he left.
