You already know my fetish, it’s not about feet, or orgasms, or screaming.
It’s about laughter. Helpless, uncontrollable, body-wracking laughter.
Tickling is my favorite tool, the most beautiful. But it’s not the only one. I have others, crueler tools, to extract laughter, to push the body further than it should go.
But it goes way deeper than that.
TDGrid, my fictional tickling organization, isn’t just some story idea. It’s my mind’s playground.
A massive, secret place where morality is optional, and the only law is pleasure, mine.
In there, I rarely tickle, but others tickle for me. Like a massive on-stage show, women of all types and shapes are immobilized, bound in complex restraint devices, and are tickle-tortured to the edge of madness... while I sit and watch, pleasured. They laugh and scream and thrash, all while being medically sustained, sedated, rehydrated, even paralyzed in bursts, to keep their bodies functional for endless future sessions (Their mind... it's another story). Some are recurring characters. Some play one unforgettable role. But all of them, eventually, laugh for me.
Hundreds of women, stripped of clothes, rights, dignity… all existing for one purpose:
To be tickled past sanity. Past pride. Past reason.
Some break. Some beg. Some offer sex just to make it stop. And yes, that’s part of the fantasy too.
I’ll never catcall, never degrade, never make anyone feel unsafe, not in this world. But that rule only works here, in reality. And honestly? I’m only a part-time resident in this so-called 'real world' anyway.
So… am I fantasizing about rape? Yeah. Sort of.
In TDGrid, some women give in, not with love, but because it’s their only relief. And in that world, they’re rewarded. But still, the line is there, blurry and brutal. And I cross it. Willingly. And they laugh as I do it.
What makes it weirder?
In real life, I can’t watch rape scenes in movies. I flinch. I hate it. And yet, in my fantasy world, I am doing worse!
I’m extremely disabled, physically incapable of hurting anyone. So is that why the monster is allowed out in my head? Maybe.
Maybe not being able to do it makes me want it more. Maybe my mind built TDGrid because it’s the only place I can be free, and dangerous. Either way, here I am.
A harmless man with a mind of a monster, and laughter echoing down every hallway of it.
But even in real life, the monster doesn't sleep, it's just muted. Yet it's still tempting, pointing my focus to things I choose to ignore... until I am alone.
And when I am alone, that monster whispers.
It tortures me too.
"Look at that armpit, it's probably so ticklish, but you'll never touch it."
"Listen to that woman giggling, her full laughter will be hidden from you forever."
"See how she stretched without thinking? She doesn't even know what that does to you."
"Hear that burst of laughter in the background? That's the sound of something you'll never own."
It knows exactly where to poke, what to show, what to deny. It dangles the fantasy just out of reach, reminding me that even in the real world, I’m still under its control.
================================================================
Fantasy #684282216752.2
I’m deep inside her, barely moving. She’s limp, trembling. But I don’t need motion, the heat, the contact, her helplessness… that’s enough.
Her head is down, but her naked body, in sitting position, on me, is stretched. Her arms are spread and up in 45degress, her knees are sinked in soft special hollow in the bed, for both of our comfort and... "accessibility". But her feet are beyond the bed, strapped to the edge by the toes. Two of my "helpers" are next to each foot, waiting for my sign. Another two helpers are at her sides, also waiting my sign.
The woman that sits on me is sweaty, breathing hard and deep, she just went through a very hard session... but she knows that after this... she'll be home, back to her family, back being a mother of 3, and a wife to someone. Well, it might take a couple of days but she signed the papers, and I always fulfill my promises.
I look at her, her semi-saggy breasts, imperfect - beautiful. Her chest and belly in a dance of breath she is about to lose again. She is not even trying to beg, she is exhausted. I enjoy the feeling of her moist skin on mine.
it's time.
I nod to those behind her, and they start tickling her feet. No slow, but full on...
The mother of 3, starts laughing hard... starting with a tiny scream, she thrash her head backwords... her belly quiver. Her laughter goes silent.
One of my helper push her head and hold it forward so I can see her expression. Her "smiling" face with crying eyes... so beautiful.
I nod again and those on her sides, methodically, tickling her sweaty armpits. They giggle, she laughs... I can feel her struggling against the metal framework that is holding her, going weaker and weaker.
I'm savoring the view of her laughing body, so much suffering, so powerless, and yet... "happy". Her breasts jiggles lightly, her nipples hard from stress and cold air, her chest irregularly expand so little, hardly breathing, but it's ok, it won't be long...
They are now moving her lower part, pushing it tiny bit forward and backwards, for friction. I can only reach the edge of her knees so I tickle there, but I guess it's quite irrelevant with all the nonstop tickling that is already going on on her armpits and feet.
She is drooling now... Her saliva slides down her chin, trails across her belly, and then on me.
My eyes always go back staring at her belly. It trembles so beautifully with the tiny excess skin, a result of age and child laboring.
I feel like I am about to explode, I try to hold back, but as if on purpose, maybe because her head moved "wrong" - a tiny voice, barely noticeable, escaped... the most high pitched submissive sound that can ever existed.....
and I am done.... done... done.
They know releasing her. She is collapsed. They took her away.
I'm feeling sorry for the mental damage she probably took. I wonder what part of her is gone now. What laughter used to be for her… and what it’ll mean tomorrow.
She'll be compensated. Probably not enough.
Monster's fantasy - end.
\[until few hours later, probably]
It’s about laughter. Helpless, uncontrollable, body-wracking laughter.
Tickling is my favorite tool, the most beautiful. But it’s not the only one. I have others, crueler tools, to extract laughter, to push the body further than it should go.
But it goes way deeper than that.
TDGrid, my fictional tickling organization, isn’t just some story idea. It’s my mind’s playground.
A massive, secret place where morality is optional, and the only law is pleasure, mine.
In there, I rarely tickle, but others tickle for me. Like a massive on-stage show, women of all types and shapes are immobilized, bound in complex restraint devices, and are tickle-tortured to the edge of madness... while I sit and watch, pleasured. They laugh and scream and thrash, all while being medically sustained, sedated, rehydrated, even paralyzed in bursts, to keep their bodies functional for endless future sessions (Their mind... it's another story). Some are recurring characters. Some play one unforgettable role. But all of them, eventually, laugh for me.
Hundreds of women, stripped of clothes, rights, dignity… all existing for one purpose:
To be tickled past sanity. Past pride. Past reason.
Some break. Some beg. Some offer sex just to make it stop. And yes, that’s part of the fantasy too.
I’ll never catcall, never degrade, never make anyone feel unsafe, not in this world. But that rule only works here, in reality. And honestly? I’m only a part-time resident in this so-called 'real world' anyway.
So… am I fantasizing about rape? Yeah. Sort of.
In TDGrid, some women give in, not with love, but because it’s their only relief. And in that world, they’re rewarded. But still, the line is there, blurry and brutal. And I cross it. Willingly. And they laugh as I do it.
What makes it weirder?
In real life, I can’t watch rape scenes in movies. I flinch. I hate it. And yet, in my fantasy world, I am doing worse!
I’m extremely disabled, physically incapable of hurting anyone. So is that why the monster is allowed out in my head? Maybe.
Maybe not being able to do it makes me want it more. Maybe my mind built TDGrid because it’s the only place I can be free, and dangerous. Either way, here I am.
A harmless man with a mind of a monster, and laughter echoing down every hallway of it.
But even in real life, the monster doesn't sleep, it's just muted. Yet it's still tempting, pointing my focus to things I choose to ignore... until I am alone.
And when I am alone, that monster whispers.
It tortures me too.
"Look at that armpit, it's probably so ticklish, but you'll never touch it."
"Listen to that woman giggling, her full laughter will be hidden from you forever."
"See how she stretched without thinking? She doesn't even know what that does to you."
"Hear that burst of laughter in the background? That's the sound of something you'll never own."
It knows exactly where to poke, what to show, what to deny. It dangles the fantasy just out of reach, reminding me that even in the real world, I’m still under its control.
================================================================
Fantasy #684282216752.2
I’m deep inside her, barely moving. She’s limp, trembling. But I don’t need motion, the heat, the contact, her helplessness… that’s enough.
Her head is down, but her naked body, in sitting position, on me, is stretched. Her arms are spread and up in 45degress, her knees are sinked in soft special hollow in the bed, for both of our comfort and... "accessibility". But her feet are beyond the bed, strapped to the edge by the toes. Two of my "helpers" are next to each foot, waiting for my sign. Another two helpers are at her sides, also waiting my sign.
The woman that sits on me is sweaty, breathing hard and deep, she just went through a very hard session... but she knows that after this... she'll be home, back to her family, back being a mother of 3, and a wife to someone. Well, it might take a couple of days but she signed the papers, and I always fulfill my promises.
I look at her, her semi-saggy breasts, imperfect - beautiful. Her chest and belly in a dance of breath she is about to lose again. She is not even trying to beg, she is exhausted. I enjoy the feeling of her moist skin on mine.
it's time.
I nod to those behind her, and they start tickling her feet. No slow, but full on...
The mother of 3, starts laughing hard... starting with a tiny scream, she thrash her head backwords... her belly quiver. Her laughter goes silent.
One of my helper push her head and hold it forward so I can see her expression. Her "smiling" face with crying eyes... so beautiful.
I nod again and those on her sides, methodically, tickling her sweaty armpits. They giggle, she laughs... I can feel her struggling against the metal framework that is holding her, going weaker and weaker.
I'm savoring the view of her laughing body, so much suffering, so powerless, and yet... "happy". Her breasts jiggles lightly, her nipples hard from stress and cold air, her chest irregularly expand so little, hardly breathing, but it's ok, it won't be long...
They are now moving her lower part, pushing it tiny bit forward and backwards, for friction. I can only reach the edge of her knees so I tickle there, but I guess it's quite irrelevant with all the nonstop tickling that is already going on on her armpits and feet.
She is drooling now... Her saliva slides down her chin, trails across her belly, and then on me.
My eyes always go back staring at her belly. It trembles so beautifully with the tiny excess skin, a result of age and child laboring.
I feel like I am about to explode, I try to hold back, but as if on purpose, maybe because her head moved "wrong" - a tiny voice, barely noticeable, escaped... the most high pitched submissive sound that can ever existed.....
and I am done.... done... done.
They know releasing her. She is collapsed. They took her away.
I'm feeling sorry for the mental damage she probably took. I wonder what part of her is gone now. What laughter used to be for her… and what it’ll mean tomorrow.
She'll be compensated. Probably not enough.
Monster's fantasy - end.
\[until few hours later, probably]
