Middle-ages aristocrat's daughter who gets caught masturbating and is taken away to the castle's doctor
Tying her to the rack and having a maid hold her still-swollen pussy open while the doctor drives the evil spirits away by using a stiff feather to trail her ticklish insides.
Driving the poor girl insane with ticklish lust as she drenches feather after feather, like a broken cum-faucet, screaming with laughter and begging for "help".
The primal, guttural sounds of unfulfillfed urges and orgasmic delirium coupled with her pleas to be fucked, while giggling to the feather's brush-brush-brushes, only serving as confirmation to the doctor that she is still possessed, perpetrating an endless cycle of in-orgasmic tickle torture.
Only ending when the doctor is no longer watching and the maid herself, in her pity for the poor girl, gives her the mercy of two fingers, greedily clenched, back and forth, back and forth, until her brain functions are turned completely off.
The purchase arrives early on a thursday morning under the bewildered but envious eyes of the rest of the employees who were starting to get fed up with the 'special treatment' I keep receiving.
A modern office chair that is sufficient to dwarf my petite frame sits proudly in place of the old one. You want your secretary to be comfortable sitting long hours in a row in her individual office. If that alone didn't clue me in that you had ulterior motives with this purchase, your low rough whisper of "Take your panties off and flare your mini skirt out when you sit. I want no barriers between your pretty little pussy and the chair." seals the deal.
My cheeks flame bright red at the dirty whisper, chills running down my spine. So you had caught on enough to know I have no hope of resisting when you use that commanding voice of yours, despite the oddity of your request.
It doesn't take long after I sit down exactly as you requested, legs trembling and chest heaving with nerves, to know that something is wrong.
My ankles and knees are suddenly shackled, my hips tilted forward so my pussy sits flattened to the chair. It's then that I'm alerted to the hole in the padded seat as it opens up with a whir beneath my pussy. A gasp rips from my throat as I feel my labia being flayed open so all of my pink valley is exposed, and I hastily scrabble for the hem of my skirt, trying to see and being denied any glimpse except for the outer sight of my labia flared out much like my skirt.
And then it happens.
What must be the softest flat paint brush starts dust away in the core of my weakness, and I let out a keening squeal that dissolves into hopeless giggles at the horrid tickling.
Your voice rings through the intercom, lilting with surprise as you coo in my ear, "So you're ticklish in that special little spot huh? Poor little pussy... Enjoy the next few hours in my brand new chair, because I know I certainly will"
She had done it this time. One too many bratty comments, one too many moments of defiance. It had been a lazy saturday afternoon and she was bored. She had taken it too far. Her owner stood up and spoke softly.
‘That does it. You're going to spend the afternoon on The Chair little one.’
They moved over to her. Took her by the arm. Her desperate protests falling on deaf ears. She struggled. They looked at her.
‘I could make it a day.’ They said sternly. She bowed her head in submission and followed meekly.
Her owner opened the door to a small room. It was cosy and warm. Displayed on the wall were various antiques. A veritable history lesson in the study of tickling and torture through time. Stocks from the revolutionary period, tickling sticks from ancient china. In the center however stood the focus piece of the room.
The Chair.
It was an antique of the French Revolution. Many of the ruling men went into hiding when the uprising took hold. Their mistresses, however, were often captured and tortured to reveal their locations. Most of the revolutionaries although violent in their nature struggled to hurt such beautiful (and more or less) innocent women. The Chair was an elegant solution to that problem.
It was a classic french armchair. Wooden frame but cushioned with wonderful feather patterns. The arms had leather straps at the wrists as did the bottom of the wooden legs. A leather belt was attached to the back rest. The seat was designed so that it resembled more of a U shape. With a gap between the legs and front. In front of the chair sat a wooden wheel with 6 spokes. At the end of each spoke protruded a white fluffy feather. The wheel would normally be hand cranked but a recent addition had introduced a motor.
Mistresses would be dragged screaming to the chair, stripped and bound. Then revolutionaries would work in shifts to slowly crank the wheel. The feathers would slowly stroke the poor girls pussy until she was a babbling dripping wreck. She would tell them everything after about two hours.
Her fate would be spend the rest of the afternoon in this fiendishly effective device. She was told to strip and she dutifully did so. Her owner beckoned her to the chair and she slowly sat. Her hands bound to the arms, the belt put tight around her waist and her feet bound into place. She was and felt helpless.
Matters were made worse by a blindfold being applied and her world went dark. In her minds eye she pictured her naked form bound to this chair. Her raven hair draped over her shoulders providing a startling contrast to her pale white skin. She heard her beautiful owner move. She heard a click. The machine was turned on. She could feel between her legs that she already was. Her shaven womanhood glistened and dripped in anticipation.
Moments later she felt the first stroke. It was softer than she remembered it ever being, and so much more ticklish. The full length of the feather was dragged between her pussy. Is stroked and kissed her already aching clit. It tickled her hole and teased her lips. She began to titter and giggle. She attempted to squirm but it was useless... The whole delicious, torturous, sensation lasted no more than two seconds. Two seconds later the next feather followed its path. Her laughter followed.
In the corner of the room she heard her owner take a seat. She had heard them undress. They were just going to watch the show. The next feather caressed her sex. This time she giggled and moaned. Her toes curled as its long lick finished on the tip of her clit. She shuddered and squealed. The next feather had no mercy as it tickled her most sensitive spot. In the corner she could hear her owner masturbating. Her torment always made them so horny.
The wheel creaked as it moved its slow rotation. As the feathers stroked her they came away glistening and went through a machine blowing hot air which dried them and kept their fluffiness. Their cruelty wouldn’t fade over time. The blindfold ensured she was never quite ready for the next feathery caress.
She certainly wasn't expecting a hand to cup her breast. She felt a warm mouth surround her nipple and suckle. A tongue flick over the sensitive nub. She squealed in delight. She felt fingers explore up and down her ribs. Trying to move away was fruitless. The fingers moved over and started to tickle her breasts. The mouth released from her nipple only to be replaced by ticking fingers. She felt a warm mouth next to her ear.
‘You will learn your lesson little one. How many hours do you think you can take? 3? 4? Maybe I could leave you here all night.’
‘hhheehee please...nohahahehhe mercy….haha he I'm so sorry.’
‘I know my pet. But you broke the rules. You know the punishment.’
Leaving her breasts alone she felt her nipples throb in need. The feathers continually teasing her pussy were relentless. She sensed her clit, aching and erect. A feather kissed it again. She let out a deep moan. She lost track of her owner. A sound of her left foot being unbound gave her a clue. Her ankle was gripped firmly. She knew what was coming.
‘Tickle tickle tickle little pet. I know how much you love having your feet tickled.’
The next thing she felt was a feather licking her pussy and fingers scribbling over her soles. The fingers raked over her soft flesh and invaded the space between her toes. She screamed.
Her owner loved tickling her feet. Their foot lust was evident as they spider tickled her wriggling delicate foot. Taking her toes in their mouth they sucked and licked the tender piggies. Having her toes sucked made her melt. The feathers between her legs added to the need. A wet tongue ran up and down her bare sole followed by a beautiful moan from her owner. They were playing with themselves again. That made it worse.
‘Ohahahhehehehehehe please *pant pant* mercy ahehehahehheeh I can't stand it hahahehehehahehhehe’ She begged.
It fell on deaf ears. She heard a movement and moments later a set of lips kissing her neck. A wet tongue sliding up to her ear lobe. She gasped loudly as she was teased expertly. She began to open buck and push her pussy towards the feathers. She realised soon enough that the contact they offered would not be enough to give her release.
‘Hahehhehehe please hahahehehehhe make me cum hahahehehe please’ she whined.
‘No little pet. Not for you. Not until your punishment is over.’ Came the reply
She screamed and thrashed. Her pussy drooled in desperation. The feathers cared not for her need. They simply tickled and stroked. Her juices trickled down onto the floor and she was drenched in sweat.It had been twenty minutes. All the while she heard the enjoyment her owner was having. Occasionally they would like on the floor just to lick her soles. But for the most part they watched and played. Until the 30 minute mark.
Her owner moved towards her and planted themselves onto her lap. A leg either side of hers. They started to tickle her nipples with both hands and she squealed for mercy. She could hear their own laughter as they enjoyed looking at their pet being helpless teased and tickled. They leaned in and grabbed the back of her head and brought her forward. They kissed her. So much fire and passion in one kiss she actually swooned. Nothing made her weaker than when she was kissed. It reminded her that not only was she owned. She was loved. Wanted. Needed. She felt her owners tongue explore her mouth. She gasped and moaned. A quick pinch of her nipples made her scream into their mouth. She was in heaven.
They made out for ten minutes, despite her giggles and screams. She felt her owner moving their hands, their breath quickened. They began to kiss her neck and she moaned loudly. She felt their body shake and they moaned loudly into her neck. They slumped. Spent. The feathers moved on and continued to torment the object of their affection. They kissed her again, stood up and moved towards the side of the room. She heard them playing with something. It beeped. The alarm clock!
‘ In four hours time this timer will go off. I will return and inspect you. If I believe you have served your punishment and you are truly sorry I will let you go. If not you will do a further four hours. Understand?’
‘Four hours! Hahehah please no mercy hahehehh Mercy!!’ She pleaded.
‘Little one, don't make me add an hour.’ came the stern response.
‘Hehehehe I understand.’ Her head bowed again in utter submission.
Her owner moved in and kissed her once more and whispered in her ear.
‘I love you very much Have fun...’ Before kissing kissing her again.
‘Mmmmmm i love you tooheheheheheheh.’ she replied.
Her owner stood up and walked out the room closing the door behind her. The last thing they heard before the door close was a desperate, tortured laugh.
Middle-ages aristocrat's daughter who gets caught masturbating and is taken away to the castle's doctor
Tying her to the rack and having a maid hold her still-swollen pussy open while the doctor drives the evil spirits away by using a stiff feather to trail her ticklish insides.
Driving the poor girl insane with ticklish lust as she drenches feather after feather, like a broken cum-faucet, screaming with laughter and begging for "help".
The primal, guttural sounds of unfulfillfed urges and orgasmic delirium coupled with her pleas to be fucked, while giggling to the feather's brush-brush-brushes, only serving as confirmation to the doctor that she is still possessed, perpetrating an endless cycle of in-orgasmic tickle torture.
Only ending when the doctor is no longer watching and the maid herself, in her pity for the poor girl, gives her the mercy of two fingers, greedily clenched, back and forth, back and forth, until her brain functions are turned completely off.
Your finger settles on the circle with line emerging from it.
“Leo,” the Host says, pleased. “A room for those who know they deserve attention.”
Esmeralda leads you down a corridor that feels deliberately indulgent. The carpet is thicker here, soft enough that your footsteps vanish. The walls gleam faintly, reds and golds layered in a way that draws the eye forward, refusing to let it linger anywhere else. Even the air feels warmer, scented faintly with something rich and unfamiliar.
She stops before a pair of tall double doors, the lion sigil embossed and gilded so heavily it catches the light from every angle.
“This room,” she says quietly, “is never empty for long.”
The doors open inward.
The observation room feels less like a corridor space and more like a private viewing box. A long velvet bench faces an enormous observation window, framed by heavy drapes that could be drawn, but aren’t.
Low lights glow along the floor, guiding you exactly where to stand, where to look.
“They prefer an audience that doesn’t hide,” Esmeralda murmurs.
Beyond the glass, the Leo room glows with deliberate excess.
Chandeliers scatter golden light across mirrored walls.
Every surface reflects movement—soft fabrics draped over furniture that seems ornamental rather than practical. At the centre stands a raised circular platform, polished smooth, its edge rimmed with subtle lighting like a stage awaiting its cue.
And upon it stands the star.
A woman, tall and radiant, her long hair loose around her shoulders like a mane. She stands with her weight balanced perfectly, chin lifted, smiling not at anyone in particular but at the room itself. Her arms are lifted, wrists resting lightly against decorative posts.
Clearly optional, clearly chosen.
She wears, what can kindly be called a negligee, its see through and it. shows her clear excitement
She laughs before anyone touches her.
“I was wondering when you’d start.” she says.
The attendants approach slowly, unhurried, letting the moment stretch. Figures of various genders in costume of the cabaret, fishnets, waistcoats and painted faces. They circle her once, then again, their hands hovering just short of her skin. The pause is deliberate, theatrical.
“Oh, don’t tease,” she laughs. “They’re watching.”
The first touch is almost nothing,a single fingertip gliding lightly along her side. Her reaction is immediate. Laughter bursts from her, loud and bright, echoing off the mirrors. She shifts her weight, trying to hold her pose, trying to remain upright and composed.
They withdraw.
The laughter hangs, unfinished, almost awkward in its sudden loneliness.
Then they return. Two hands this time, working opposite sides, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along her ribs. Her laughter grows less controlled now, spilling out in uneven bursts as she twists instinctively away, only to find the other set of hands waiting.
“Hahah no no wait wait you can’t hahahhahe”
They change nothing.
One attendant kneels, lifting a foot with exaggerated care, presenting it outward as if to an unseen crowd. The tickling begins slowly, methodically, each stroke separated by a pause just long enough for anticipation to build. Her delicate foot twitches and squirms as its tries to hide.
Her laughter sharpens, turning breathless, her free foot stamping uselessly against the platform.
“Not like that ahahahhehehehe please!”
The mirrors make it impossible to miss anything. Her expressions multiply endlessly, every gasp, every shudder, every failed attempt at dignity reflected back at her from all sides. Her negligee tumbles from her shoulders baring all. The hands begging to roam and explore her body, caressing, squeezing, poking and groping. You are hypontised by the way her butt jiggles as she cackles.
“She knows how she looks,” Esmeralda says softly. “And she knows she’s being judged.”
The hands don’t rush. They linger. When her laughter peaks, they ease back just enough to let her draw in a desperate breath, then resume in the exact same spot, denying her any chance to adjust.
She drops to her knees at last, laughter pouring out unchecked, hair falling into her face, shoulders shaking. The attendants don’t help her up. Instead, they reposition her gently, turning her so her intimate spots face the the unseen audience.
The tickling resumes.
Longer now. Sustained. Fingers return again and again to the same sensitive places, drawing out reactions that have nowhere left to go. Her laughter turns hoarse, broken by gasps, yet still loud. Fingers flick and caress her nipples and her arousal becomes more evident. But they wait. Not yet. She hasn’t earned it yet.
When she tries to curl inward, hands lift her arms again, not forcing, just guiding just presenting her reactions like a living display.
A hand moves between her thighs and you see in her blonde mound a glistening and needy clit. It is soon found by the tickler invading her sensitive area. A lazy finger traces up and down her soft lips and her laughter becomes both haughty and hysterical.
Two hands on her soles softly tickle her feet, making sure its as pleasurable as it is cruel.
The cruelty is not in speed or force. It’s in exposure.
The hand between her legs speeds up, she begins to scream for more. It’s blur as she is tickled to her screaming orgasm, the foot tickles do not relent as they guide her through it. You see her squirt a little.
Eventually, the hands withdraw.
She remains laid back on the platform, chest heaving, laughter still escaping in small, helpless bursts long after the touch has ended. The lights brighten subtly, bathing her in warmth.
Applause fills the room, recorded, you assume.
She smiles through it, blinking sweat from her eyes.
“A fine performance,” Esmeralda says quietly.
She turns away from the glass, already reaching for the door.
“They’ll rest. Drink water. Reapply their confidence.”
She opens it for you.
“And then,” she adds, “they’ll ask for another audience.”
The lobby feels muted when you return. Softer. Smaller. The Host looks up, eyes gleaming with approval.
“Magnificent, aren’t they?” he says. “Some people fear being seen at their weakest.”
He slides the paper back toward you once more.
“Others,” he smiles, “discover it’s the only time they truly shine.”
Your finger hesitates before settling on a symbol formed of two parallel lines.
Gemini,' the Host says pleasantly. 'Ah. A favourite.'
Esmeralda is already moving, heels clicking as she leads you down a different corridor than before. This one feels narrower, the lights brighter but somehow harsher, reflecting off pale walls instead of absorbing into them.
She stops before a door marked with twin figures facing one another, identical except for the direction of their gaze.
'The Gemini room,' she says.
The key turns.
The observation room is unsettling immediately, not dark like Sagittarius, not warm like Virgo. Everything here is symmetrical. Two identical chairs. Two small consoles beneath the glass. Even the lighting is split perfectly down the middle, one half slightly cooler than the other.
The window is larger than the others, wider than it is tall, and divided by a thin vertical seam.
'Two panes,' Esmeralda explains. 'Both one-way.'
You step closer.
Beyond the glass is a room divided cleanly in half by a faint line in the floor. The décor mirrors itself perfectly, two padded seats with feet bound and propped up, two sets of cushions, two identical tables laid with feathers, brushes, gloves.
And two people.
They are seated facing one another, close enough that their knees almost touch.
At first glance they could be twins. Same height. Same build. A distinct lack of clothing. Blonde hair pulled back the same way. Even their posture mirrors, hands bound above their heads.
Two more figures enter the room from opposite sides, each approaching one of the seated pair. Their robed appearance makes it difficult to make our their gender.. When one leans in, so does the other. When fingers flutter over ribs on one side, the same happens on the other.
But the voices overlap, identical tones tripping over one another, making it hard to tell who is speaking first.
Both seated figures jerk back at the same time, laughter exploding out of them in high, breathless bursts. One tries to pull away, only to realise the other has done the same, their movements echoing uselessly.
'They feel everything twice,' Esmeralda says quietly. 'Once directly. Once by watching.'
The tormentors never cross the dividing line. Each stays strictly to their side, using matching motions. Light tickling along sides, teasing scribbles behind knees, slow, deliberate tracing along soles as the laughter grows more desperate.
The two in the center lock eyes.
'Don’t hahahhehe you have tooo hahahhehe don’t laugh—!'
'I can’t hahahahhe oh GOD! I can’t stop!'
Watching them is disorienting. Their reactions sync, then drift apart, then snap back together again. One gasps for breath just as the other collapses backward, laughter cracking into helpless whimpers.
It’s now you notice the timer. A clock in the middle of the room, neatly settled between the divide. It is set to 5 minutes but it isn’t counting down or up.
'If they stop laughing the timer starts, once it gets to zero they win and they swap with their tormentors,' Esmeralda continues. 'But, they both have to stop together, or it resets.'
A brush drags lightly across one set of feet. The other screams before it even touches them. Each time one starts to control her laughter she is let down by her partner. The longest you see the timer move is for 23 seconds. Both held as long as they can but the blonde on the left is broken when a makeup brush is applied to her breasts. As she giggles her tits shake and it elicits a scream from the other girl.
‘Fucks sake ahahahahahehehehehe.’ Turns out her breasts are sensitive too.
The make-up brushes explore their pale skin as they giggle and jiggle for the entertainment of the robed fiends. The brushes move down over their stomachs before moving even further down. You start to be frustrated that you are seeing them side on.
Whatever the brushes are doing they are having the desired effect. The laughs make way for moans and cries of submission and mercy. The torturers continue with no mercy, stroking back and forth on their most tender spot. Then something interesting happens.
The woman on the left breaths and screams get louder and build to a crescendo. The brush continues and teases her to a screaming orgasm; she curses and praises everyone as she rides the ticklish wave.
The woman on the right however, whilst getting to similar crescendo doesn't seem to go over the edge.
‘AHhhhhh I cant cum hahahahhehehe like this please I need more hahahahehhehe please.’ She cries.
But that’s not the rule. They both get the same. The brush continues to tease her as she writhes and bounces trying to finish her building orgasm. The other girl begins to realise that her orgasm was a temporary reprieve as the brush doesn’t stop.
‘NONONONONONO NOT AFTER IVE CUM AHAHHAHE IM TOO AHAHAHHEHEHE OH FUCK!.’ she screams
’Not as identical as we thought.’ Chirps Esmeralda ‘Gemini, The Twins. Associated with the Greek myth of Castor and Pollux, immortal twins who shared their lives, symbolising loyalty and duality. This room is favoured by friends who want to push themselves through each other.’
By the time the tormentors finally step back, both bound figures are shaking, laughter still spilling out in broken hiccups.
The glass reflects your face faintly now, doubled by the seam.
She reaches for the door.
The lobby feels steadier when you return. Singular. Whole.
The Host looks up, amused.
‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘How quickly laughter becomes contagious.’
He slides the paper back toward you once more.
‘So,’ he asks, smiling, ‘shall we split your attention again—or choose something a little more… focused?’
As you look at the symbols your eyes is drawn to one that resembles an arrow. You point your finger at it.
‘Ah! Sagittarius what an interesting choice!’ says your Host, but you get the feeling he would say that regardless of what you gestured towards.
‘If you will follow me.’ Says Esmerlda.
Esmeralda stops in front of a door marked with a stylised arrow drawn across a constellation.
“Sagittarius,” she says. “One of our louder rooms.”
The key turns, and when you step inside, the first thing you notice is the space.
The room you enter is smaller than the other one. The carpet is dark and thick, swallowing sound. The walls are paneled in matte wood that doesn’t reflect light, and the air is cool enough that you’re immediately aware of your skin.
The observation window dominates one wall. It’s set into an ornate frame like the others, but here the glass looks darker, almost smoked, as if designed to erase the viewer rather than display the scene beyond.
“Please,” Esmeralda gestures, “the glass.”
You approach the familiar ornate frame. You peer in.
The room is wide, circular, the ceiling painted like a dusk sky scattered with stars. Warm light flickers from unseen sources, throwing long, moving shadows across the walls. There is no bed. No central fixture at all.
Instead, there are platforms, cushions, low benches, and ropes hanging loosely from beams overhead. Nothing looks designed to hold someone still for long.
Beyond it, motion immediately draws your eye.
Four figures occupy the Sagittarius room. None of them are restrained. None of them are still.
One woman darts past the others, laughing already, her breathless giggle giving her away as two pursuers close in on her from opposite sides. She nearly escapes,nearly, but a hand catches her ankle and she collapses onto a pile of cushions in a burst of laughter.
The sound floods your room as Esmeralda quietly switches the audio on.
“Ah hahaheh no hahahhehe wait hahahah WAIT!”
Hands are everywhere now, light and quick. Fingers flutter across her sides, her stomach, the arches of her feet as she kicks uselessly, shrieking with laughter. One attacker barely touches her, dragging a feather along her sole. Another traces circles just under her ribs, never lingering long enough for her to adjust.
The victim appears to be a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, athletic build, toned legs, average height. Her hair is dark blonde, pulled back into a messy ponytail that loosens as she moves. She wearing what appears to be a loose fitting toga and very little else. Her breasts spill out as tries to squirm away from her tormentors.
The others, a man in his mid-thirties, lean rather than muscular, slightly taller than the others. He has short dark hair, neatly kept. A woman with a slim, flexible build and long red hair that swings freely as she moves. The third tormentor is slightly shorter than the rest, with a compact build. Their hair is jet black, cut short and uneven, framing a pale face with soft but striking features.
“They take turns,” Esmeralda explains calmly. “Sagittarius guests dislike predictability.”
The woman finally wriggles free with a triumphant cry and scrambles to her feet, flushed and grinning. Immediately, the redhead becomes the target, caught mid-taunt, scooped up and half-carried to a low bench.
“No fair! I wasn’t ready!”
“That’s the point,” someone laughs.
You notice the tools now: brushes, feathers, silk scarves, soft gloves. Nothing harsh. Nothing threatening. But the reactions are immediate and intense, howls of laughter, gasps, frantic bargaining.
“They have rules,” Esmeralda smiles. “They set them themselves. How long one must endure before escape. Which spots are fair game. Whether begging buys mercy… or invites more attention.”
On the other side of the glass, the bench victim is laughing so hard they can barely breathe, feet pinned just long enough for someone to scribble light patterns across their soles with maddening precision.
“I can’t! I swear, I’ll do it!”
“Do what?” comes the teasing reply, fingers never stopping.
The room is alive with motion, sound, and anticipation. The laughter is wild, reckless, contagious.
“Sagittarius, The Archer. A half man half centaur creature showing humanities joy in adventures and the hunt. This room is for clients who thrill in the chase” Esmeralda says softly beside you, “Sagittarius is about surrendering to the moment. Chasing joy until it catches you first.”
You realise your hands are clenched at your sides.
She glances at her tablet. “They take breaks but its never for long. Someone always suggests another round.”
You see everyone take position again. The hunt begins.
Hands don’t grab immediately. They brush. A single fingertip skims a side and vanishes. A feather trails across the back of a knee and is gone before the laughter fully escapes. The male this time is captured and pinned with his arms above his head by one guest, the others go to town tickling his torso, he laughs and giggles as he tries to escape in vain. From his prone position his arousal is obvious. A stray hand discovers that his balls are just as ticklish as the rest of him.
This goes on, each one captured, each one tickled. Towards the end of your time the hands become more daring, a hand groping, lips on bare skin. You have a feeling how this will eventually end.
‘Shall we continue?’ comes a voice from behind you.
Esmeralda steps away from the console and opens the door without ceremony. As you follow her out, the observation room seems to shrink behind you, already losing its grip, as if it only exists while watched.
The corridor feels brighter than before. Wider. The patterned carpet softens your footsteps as the familiar warmth of the lobby returns, amber light reflecting off polished surfaces. The Host looks up from his desk as you approach, that same knowing smile waiting for you as if no time has passed at all. He folds his hands neatly on the counter.
‘How was the hunt? I sometimes wonder if its more fun to be the hunter or the prey.’ he muses.
“So,” he says lightly, sliding the paper back toward you, “have you decided where curiosity will take you next?”
The winner of the first poll was Virgo. At the bottom you will see the next poll.
Feather Falls - Virgo Room
You scan the sheet of paper and your eye is drawn to a funny looking M with a fish on the end. You nervously place your finger on it.
‘Virgo…? What a bold opening choice.” He looks up and beckons someone over. For the first time you see that it is not just you and him in the lobby.
‘Esmerlda be a dear and show our guest the observation suite of the Virgo room.
Your new host is a slight woman no older than 30. She's wearing a stunning black dress with matching nylons and high heeled shoes which click as she approaches. Her brown eyes make you feel safe as she beams a smile. She is clutching what appears to be an iPad.
‘If you could follow me?’
You are led down the main corridor of the hotel. You pass what you assume to be a dining area and bar, both empty at the present time. You pass room numbers and other rooms with the zodiac symbols on.
‘Virgo… Virgo…. Ah! Here we are.’ she produces a long old fashioned key with a paper tag attached. You see the symbol you pointed to before.
She unlocks the door and asks you to go on in. You walk into a comfortable room. Carpeted, clean with shades or red and yellow adoring the floral patterns on the wall. You notice on the far wall is a door and next to it, a very ornate picture frame.
‘Welcome to the Virgo room.’ your host says as she shuts the door behind her. ‘Please take a look at the picture frame.’
Moving closer you realise that the frame does not house a painting but instead is a pane of glass. As you move closer you see figures moving, becoming clearer as you move closer.
‘One way glass’ says Esmeralda helpfully. ‘Sound proofed room so they won't hear us either.’
You now start to make sense of the scene you are seeing. In a room similarly decorated to the one you are standing in you can see a bed, a few chairs and a table. Standard affair for a hotel room. But it's what is happening in the middle of the room that grabs you.
A blonde woman in her 20’s is locked in a set of foot stocks in a seated position. Her arms are tied above her head to what seems to be a hook in the ceiling. From what you can tell she is at least partially nude as her breasts sway from side to side.
The two other occupants, one male and one female are at her feet. The male is using his fingers to tickle her left foot whilst the female seems to be licking the soles of the poor victim. It is silent but judging by her movements, our subject is clearly screaming..
‘The Virgo room.’ Esmeralda says, rather like a tour guide. ‘ Also known as the Virgin or Maiden room it is especially reserved for our more devout clients. It is often used by those who have decided to wait before marriage to consummate the relationship and have taken vows of chastity.’
The last word makes a puzzle in your brain click together. The two assilaints are wearing chastity belts. The sometimes shimmer in the low light of the room.
‘Such vows are often very taxing on young lovers and often they come to us for a way of letting off some steam.’ Esmeralda continues.
‘Tonight's room is occupied by… erm… Mr Smith and his fiancée (cute). They have been joined by Janet who is a regular to the hotel and known for her sensitivity. ‘ she finishes.
As if she has just remembered something, Esmeralda shuffles to a switch on the wall. After a quick flick the room is filled with laughter and screaming.
‘The audio in there is now being played in here’ she says, rather proud of herself.
You find taking your eyes off the scene to be quite impossible. Both Mr Smith and Mrs Smith to be are engrossed on their torture of their victim. He works a makeup brush through the toes of the screaming Janet whilst his fiancée sucks and licks the other set of toes. Above the screams and laughter you can hear the moans of the door worshipper.
‘Please ahhahahe hehehe please stop I beg hahahah I beg you hahaha don't make me hahahs’ Janet's begging seems only to spur them on.
It's at this point you notice there is a growing wet spot in the carpet directly below where Janet is sitting. As you beging to wonder what could have caused it you see Mr Smith's Fiancée attempt to answer your question.
Picking up a Hitachi wand she moves it between Janet's legs. Despite you being unable to see where it went it is obvious what it is doing.
‘Not ahahahhaAGAIN HAHAHEHEH NO NO NO MORR AJHAHAH I CANT GIVE YOU ANY JHAHAHA MORREE’
Clearly this is not the first orgasm that Janet has had to endure. The couple starts to passionately kiss and fruitlessly grind into each other. Mr Smith does not let up and on the foot tickling as you head Janet's voice find another octave.
‘Here she comes’ says Esmeralda to no one in particular.
Janet's eyes roll back and she lets out a guttaral scream as she orgams. The couple go back to tickling their entertainment.
‘I think they still have few hours with her if I'm not mistaken.’ Esmeralda says, looking at her iPad. She notices your face. ‘oh! Don't worry they have safe words and wonderful aftercare. Janet has been known to endure far worse. I think she's even been invited to the wedding. ‘
You nod and suddenly realised you haven't swallowed in a while. You also realised that this may be the most turned on you have been in a while.
‘Let me fetch you some water ‘ Esmeralda says as she leaves the room. You stare at the scene once more. Janet is having her breasts tickled and groped by the couple as they take turns making out with her. Her mascara is ruined but she's clearly happy. Both her assailants hump the air mindlessly waiting for the day they can be released.
Esmeralda returns with a glass of water and you down it quickly. Smiling she takes the glass and asks if you ready to return to the lobby. The last thing you see is the Hitachi being moved once more.
As you return to the lobby you see the Host beaming.
‘Welcome back! How was room number 1? I trust the happy couple were having fun? I would feel sorry for Janet if she wasn't so happy. ‘
You smile and nod, unable to find the words to describe how aroused you feel.
Welcome to Feather Falls Hotel - Interactive tickle fiction. Poll at the end.
(Each day I will write a new chapter of this story based on the room that is picked by everyone.)
You find yourself at the 'famous' (in certain circles) Feather Falls Hotel.
As you enter the lobby, you take a look at your surroundings. It's cosy, warm. Wood furnishings surround brick walls. It's an old building but has modern touches throughout. A fireplace is lit and roaring with the kind of chairs designed for napping in surrounding it.
At the reception stands a man who looks you up and down and delivers a beaming smile. He seems truly delighted to see you.
'My friend!' he exclaims ' Welcome to the Feather Falls Hotel, delighted to meet you.'
He wears a white suit, his black hair slicked back. As you approach, he adjusts his cufflinks that catch the light, and you see they have a feather design.
'Now, if we could just take your name?'
You state your name, and he clacks away at the computer in front of him. He beams as the PC confirms you have a reservation.
'Ah! Of course, just the one night in a private room with breakfast included... and already paid for how lovely.'
He continues
'And I see you booked the observational package tonight. You have excellent timing, each of our *special* rooms are fully booked'
He reaches under the desk and pulls out a laminated sheet of paper. You see 12 symbols which you realise are the signs of the Zodiac.
'All you have to do is choose a symbol and I will show you to the room. You can watch the show and then come back and pick another until you have had your fill. Each guest is aware you may be observing and they are excited to welcome you. '
You have started to blush and shuffle a bit on your feet.
'First timers always feel the same. Don't worry. All you have to do is pick a sign.'
It's the softness that kills you. The maddening slowness of the whole thing. It's just a makeup brush.
*wisp - wisp - wisp*
You try to lean into it, but a string hand keeps you pinned. It's so fucking tickly.
*wisp - wisp - wisp*
You can *hear* it, the bristles exploring your sensitive skin. Each stroke finds another spot to tease and tickle.
*wisp - wisp - wisp*
You start to become more audible now, gasps, moans, yelps, giggles. You feel fucking pathetic. That makes it so much worse. You look down.
*wisp - wisp - wisp*
You can see your wetness on it; it shimmers in the lamp light. You feel so humiliated and so turned on. You start to cry out, the hand holding your hips now becomes the hand covering your mouth.
*wisp - wisp - wisp*
Your eyes bulge as you look at them pleading, needing. You feel another orgasm denied. You sob. They nod their head.
*wisp - wisp - wisp*
The nod! Mercy, finally, orgasms! Kisses!
Alas...
They just need to change the brush, you've ruined the last one.
The Princess - M/F Erotic tickling, damsel in distress.
‘Mwahahahahahaha’ he cackled ‘ Finally Princess, I have you right where you belong and no meddling Hero will stop me this time.’
The Princess thrashed in her chains. This was the fifth time the Villain had kidnapped her this year. She would really have to discipline her Royal Guard after she was rescued. No matter, the Hero would rescue her, he always did.
‘You evil Villain! You know the Hero will be here soon to rescue me. Give up already!’ She thrashed about again in her chains. Her arms bound above her head and her feet in a set of stocks. The Villain had removed her royal dress to leave her in just her silk bra and panties.
‘Not today Princess!’ he replied ‘This time you are mine forever!’
Meanwhile
The Hero had been told that the Princess had been kidnapped (again), and had leapt into action. Mounting his horse he was speeding off in the direction of the Villains lair, Doom Castle.
Back at the castle
‘Now Princess, I understand you are upset by my methods, but you can be free if you just confess one tiny thing.’ he said
‘And what’s that?’
‘Oh, just your eternal and undying love for me.’ he grinned.
‘You foul fiend never!’ came her defiant response.
The Villain paused and said with a wry smile,
‘I was hoping you would say that.’
He moved closer to her bound body, she attempted to move away but to no avail. He motioned towards her bare feet. They were pampered and perfect, soft and plump.
‘Tell me Princess, are you…’ he paused for effect ‘...ticklish?’
No, not the tickle torture, anything but that! Her mind raced, why did he tickle her everytime he captured her. She couldn’t stand it. Still she had to be brave, the Hero would be here soon.
Meanwhile
The Hero could see Castle Doom, a fiendish palace of evil surrounded by think vines. Inside the castle were deadly traps and monsters to slay. This wouldn’t be easy but it would be no match for someone as noble as him. He swung his sword at the first vine.
Back at the Castle
With slow menace he moved his fingers towards her feet. She looked on in horror as his nails moved closer and closer. His finger grazed the softness of her sole. It took all she had not to burst in fits of giggles. She had to hold on. He lazily dragged his finger up and down her right foot, zig zagging around her sole. She held her composure, she had to resist.
‘Cootchie cootchie coo Princess’ he whispered.
That did it. She burst into a fit of laughter, unable to hold back anymore. The Villain smiled as he ran his fingers all over her soles. Her feet danced in ticklish agony as they tried to escape his cruel fingers.
‘Tickle tickle, it looks like we have a very ticklish little Princess’
She tried to escape but the chains were too strong and his tickles too teasing. Sapping away her strength. She had no choice but to laugh.
The Villain increased his assault on her beautiful soft soles, a lifetime of pampering and royal service has ensured that her feet were pristine and sensitive. He began to wiggle his evil nails between her toes. He heard her cackle. Her resistance already beginning to fade. He scratched at her soles and watched her feet dance for his pleasure. She was all his. All he wanted in his hands. He focussed on his task. Letting her laughter wash over his senses.
‘Mercy hahahehehehehe hahahhehe oh goodness mercy hahahhehe’ The Princess pleaded, her cries lighting a fire in her torturer’s soul. He moved in and took her toes in his mouth. Warm and wet the Princess was caught off guard. She howled in laughter and tried to move her toes out of his cruel mouth. She failed.
Meanwhile
The final vine had been slain. The doors to the castle lay ahead of him. Finding his breath he moved forward. The vines had grown since his last visit. They had proven a tough challenge. The door was unlocked. As he opened it he heard the ‘Twang’ of a bow, he ducked as the arrow whistled past his head. Drawing his sword he prepared for combat.
Back at the Castle
The Villain had moved himself behind the bound damsel. Standing directly behind her he brought his hands up to her exposed and vulnerable armpits. He heard her hold her breath as she awaited the onslaught. Sensing this he waited. He wiggled his fingers centimetres over her flesh. She began to shake, he leaned in closer and whispered in her ear
‘I’m going to tickle you Princess, right there in your armpits. I hear it’s a bad spot. Are you ready for the tickles?’ He coo’d.
He kept up the suspense. Moving ever closer to tickling her. She began to thrash her head from side to side. It was too much.
‘JUST GET ON WITH IT ALREADY!’ she screamed.
‘With pleasure.’ came the reply.
He buried his fingers into her tender pits and began to scratch and tease the soft flesh. He reaction was instantaneous. Deep belly laughs as the sensations overpowered her resistance. He wriggled his fingers and felt her body try and escape. Bringing her close again he whispered in her ear.
‘Tickle tickle little Princess, it sounds like it’s unbearable. What a shame. Are you just too ticklish there? You know you can make all this stop, all this torture, all you have to do is confess your love for me.’ He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Through the cackles and the laughter a spark of defiance arose.
‘NEVER!’ she screamed .
‘Very well princess, you leave me no choice.’ He raked her armpits faster and she throw her head back in ticklish despair.
Meanwhile
With a heroic flourish he despatched the last of the attacking goblins. His final blow separating the goblins head from his neck. During its final moments it seemed to try to tell him something. Probably plead for mercy.
‘Back to the Pit foul demon!’ he roared as the newly vacated head rolled onto the floor. That was a good one, he thought, pity no one had been around to hear it. He made a mental note to say it again when he recounted his adventures to Dungeon Crawlers Monthly (A free dungeon walkthrough inside every issue!)
He moved on, as mist began to rise, he realised he was heading into the Maze of Horror.
In the Villain's Lair
‘You foul demon!’ she said, whilst gasping for breath. ’Does your evil know no bounds?’
‘No actually.’ Came his response as he moved his hands down to his ribs. ‘Ready for the next round?’
‘ No no no no no ahahahahrheheheeeheheheheh!’ she cried in desperation as his hands began to explore her ribs. Poking and scratching, making sure to count every single one. She was so exhausted she could barely move at this point. Only laugh and cackle as the torture was applied to her body.
He began to laugh himself as he realised that she was completely at his mercy, unable to resist his teases. He moved his hands round to poke and wiggle his fingers over her navel. She squealed again as a new area was tortured. He was having so much fun.
‘Tickle tickle Princess, cootchie cootchie coo! Someone has a ticklish belly! All you have to do if confess.’ She was too weak to even respond.
He let her catch her breath. Pulling out his dagger he quickly cut away at her bra and her breasts fell free. He moved round to admire her.
‘HOW DARE YOU! I AM A PRINCESS YOU HORRIBLE VILLAIN!’ She yelled at him, trying to conceal the fact she was blushing deeply.
He bowed low.
‘ I am truly sorry Princess. What a tragic accident to have befallen you. You are quite the state. Let’s see if we can clean you up a bit.’
Moving over to a table in the corner of the room he opened a drawer. From it he produced two soft goose feathers. The Princesses eyes widened. She began to plead, beg, swear, anything but that.
He couldn’t hear her, even if he wanted to. He was transfixed on his prey. Moving closer he brought the feathers up to her tender breasts. He stroked and caressed them with the feathers softness. She screamed. He was in heaven.
He let the feathers dance around her tender skin as she thrashed in vain to escape their kiss. He moved to her nipples and took great delight in watching them stiffen as the feathers teased them. Sawing them gently back and forth the Princess ceased to be coherent as babbled and laughed in tortured agony.
Meanwhile
The Hero rolled out of the way of another incoming boulder. The rocks smashing around him as he made it to the exit of the Maze. There had been some new traps installed since his last adventure here. Rescuing the Princess and stealing… acquiring the Villains gold crown. It had been a profitable adventure.
‘Jehovah begins with an I…’ he muttered under his breath as he dusted away the rubble from his robes and armour.
His last test lay before him. The Never Ending Staircase straight to Villains Lair. An incredible, if not confusing, feat of engineering.
He took the first step. The loot better be worth it.
In the Villain's Lair
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she let out a deep moan. The torture on her nipples was proving too much. She ached and laughed as the Villain showed his skill. He asked her to confess, against herself she refused.
She truly was a gift.
Unsheathing his dagger once more he knelt in front her and cut away her panties and pulled them away. He inspected them.
‘Soaked’ he remarked. The Princess blushed a deep red.
He turned a lever. The cushioned seat she was sat on shifted leaving a hole right in the middle, still supporting the back of her butt and thighs but exposing her sex. Her pussy dripped and pouted in full view of the Villain. He waved the goose feather in front of her.
‘Last chance.’ He threatened.
She hesitated. It had all been too much. But she was a Princess, she couldn’t let him win. She shook her head.
He wasted no time. He moved the feather towards the lips of the pussy and started to caress them. He heard her moan and giggle in need. He dragged the feather up and down as her juices begin to drip. Parting her lips with one hand he moved the feather to tease her clit. It was aching and throbbing for attention he was happy to provide. Her moans depend.
‘Tickle tickle little Princess.’ He said.
Faster now the feather fluttered against her most sensitive spot. Up and down, teasing and tickling her to maddess. She felt it build within her. He could sense it too. Faster still he moved the feather as he watch her pussy pulsate. She began to snatch her breathe when…
‘You know what to do’ came his reply. As he began to tickle her feet.
‘AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHEHEHEHEHAHAAHHEEHEHEHEHEHEHH PLEASSEEEE HAHAHHEHEHEHEH I LOVE YOU HAHAHAHHEHEHE I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.’
He stopped tickling her and moved close. Looking at her deep brown eyes he spoke again.
‘Do you mean it? He asked.
Through the tears and her flushed cheeks she looked at him. A big beaming smile came over her face.
‘Of course I do you silly goose.’ she said and kissed him passionately. He kissed her long and deep.
7 strokes later she screamed his name.
…
The Hero burst through the door.
‘Back to the Pit foul Demon’ he yelled as he dived into a combat roll. He really liked that line. His sword drawn he looked around…
… an empty room.
Completely cleaned out except for a note on the table. Picking it up it read:
I’m sorry Hero
But your Princess is in another castle.
It had been handwritten. He screamed in frustration as threw the note away and made for the door. He stopped. Picking up the note he studied the handwriting.
Funny, he thought, the Villain has very neat handwriting for one so evil. It was dainty, feminine.
Like it had been written by a Princess…
Epilogue
It had been the second kidnapping that he realised that it had been a little too easy to catch the Princess. Always going to the forbidden forest by herself. The fourth time she walked up to the front door and handed herself over.
They made a plan. He would leave a life of villainy and she would renounce her throne. The Hero arrived and rescued her cutting the plan short.
The fifth time they ran away together. A little cottage by the sea called The Castle.
I've come across people who love the phrase “coochie coo,” and others absolutely cringe at it. Is it a generational thing? Or a kink-language preference?
Comment below: do you love it or hate it, and why?
NSFW Warning: Contains intense tickle torture and forced orgasms
The Ticklegasm Machine
Fear nearly overwhelmed Jen as she stared at the woman strolling around her. She had on a tight jumpsuit of black leather with bright green accents. It perfectly matched her crimpy hair. She regarded Jen the way a prospector might examine a very large diamond.
Jen had no idea how she got into this room. The last thing she remembered was sitting in her car after work. Then she woke up naked on this futuristic-looking table. When the woman pulled out a pair of little silver nodes and approached her, she finally found her voice.
“What…” she paused, swallowing. “What are those?”
“They’re just to monitor your reactions to various stimuli. They won’t hurt you.” She placed one on each of Jen’s temples. “This table is a machine. It will find out what pleases you the most and what tickles you the worst. Then it will fine-tune its techniques.”
Her heart leapt in fear. “Techniques for what?”
“Ticklegasm torture, of course,” she replied.
“But... why me? What do you want?”
“Just your ceaseless laughter, dear.” Then she flipped a switch on the machine.
“Tickle Test Mode initiated,” it intoned in a robotic voice.
She jumped as panels opened on the machine. Two arms came out and slithered toward her. They slunk around her ankles. She leaned down to try and pry them off, but more arms appeared. They ensnared her wrists, entwining up to her elbows. Then they began to retract, forcing her to lean back. As soon as her shoulders touched the table, a strap snapped around her waist. It tightened to secure her in place.
At the same time, the ones holding her legs hoisted them up. Then they spread her legs apart completely exposing her naked body to the room.
The top part of the table began to rise so that her spread-eagle body was almost upright. There was a mirror in front of her, and she caught a glimpse of her defenseless body. Then something else grabbed her attention. Another half-dozen arms sprang from the machine. Her eyes bulged as she looked at all the hands. Each one had eight long fingers that were coated in silk or velvet. They rotated around ominously while edging toward her.
They descended onto her sides and ribs. The soft fingers pressed into her torso, touching way too many spots at once. Jen squeaked. “Who are you? What the hell is this place?!” The hands began to rotate, and the octo-fingers started vibrating. Lightening seemed to shoot across her skin. It tickled so much that it nearly short-circuited her mind. “Ahhhahaha!”
“My name is Raven, and this is an interrogation facility.”
“But you haven’t…hahaha! You haven’t asked me anything!” she cried as the hands roamed over her trapped upper body.
Raven remained silent, looking enthralled as she watched the machine work her over.
Her skin quivered under the intensity of the buzzing digits. Jen barked with laughter, pale breasts rippling as her sides were tickled. She fought to free her limbs, but it was pointless. The arms held her easily. She felt more helpless than ever, which made her even more sensitive.
“Please, turn it off! Haha! I’m too ticklish! I caaaan’t! I can’t take it! Whahaha! What do you want to know? I’ll tell you! Hahaha! I’ll tell you anything! Please, just turn it off!”
“Unfortunately, you aren’t the one with the information we need. You’re just an innocent little bunny who’s been caught in a tickle trap.”
“Then whyyyyyy meeehehe? What do you want from me?”
“Only that hot, ticklish laughter of yours, Jennifer.”
The sets of hands split, two moving higher and two lower. The first pair stopped at her neck while the others inched onto her tummy. Jen held her breath. The higher ones started tracing her collarbone then gliding up toward her ears.
She hooted, head rocking back and forth evasively. A hand gripped her crown and held her head still while the other grazed her neck. She tutted with laughter, struggling to free herself.
Jen wasn’t sure how long the machine tormented her neck and belly, but it seemed like hours. It used every technique, even blowing cool air across her ears. That coated her entire body in goosebumps. Then the terribly tickly fingers went for her armpits.
“Ohhhh nooooo! Hahahaaaa!”
The buzzing sensation in her helpless hollows tickled worse than anything so far. She begged Raven to stop her torment, but her pleas were ignored. All she could do was take it.
“Fuuu-huh-huh-uuuck that tickles so bad!”
The woman only chuckled at her predicament. “I can tell.”
The fingers scrawled across her armpits in every direction at once. The hand dancing in the right one was coated in velvet while the other was silk. She couldn’t decide which fabric tickled most. Soon, Jen became slick with sweat, making her even more tender. The dampness also allowed the fingers to glide easier. They drifted around her smooth pits like ice skaters.
She lost track of where she was and why she was there. All she could think about was how badly it tickled. Those awful vibrating fingers were the only real things in the world.
The hands didn’t slow as she gasped for air. In fact, the ones on her belly seemed to speed up. They poked across her pelvis and squeezed her hips, kneading the pockets beside the bones. The machine tested every inch while mapping out her nerve-endings. Like before, it used various techniques to see which got a better response.
She laughed until her voice went hoarse. One humming finger poked into her navel and wriggled around while the others continued abrading her tummy. Jen bucked her hips, forcing the hands to lose their grip. That’s when more arms popped out of the machine to hold her down. Thrills rushed through her, and Jen lost control. She shuddered with ceaseless laughter. The animalistic sounds she made were humiliating, but she couldn’t help it.
“Pleeeeheeheeheeease! Make it stop! IT TICKLES! AHHHAAHAA!”
“It’s supposed to,” Raven said provocatively. “Such a ticklish little toy. I could stop it, but I won’t. You’ll just have to grin and bear it. Literally, bare it all.” She chuckled at her own wit. Her eyes flashed as she regarded Jen’s naked, shuddering body.
The spidery hands moved down without giving her a break. They each started massaging one of her thighs. When they got to the meaty bits, Jen lost it. Her body went stiff as she screeched louder than ever. The awful vibrating fingers didn’t let up at all, they pressed harder.
As they tickled her senseless, she caught glimpses of Raven’s lascivious grin. She was enjoying herself way too much as she watched Jen’s ticklish torment.
The fingers made their way to her feet. That was her worst spot.
“No! Not the feet! Anything but that!”
They ignored her and skittered over her soles wildly. Her feet and legs shook as she tried desperately to escape the exploring fingers. Unfortunately, they clamped around her heel to hold her foot steady. Then the thrumming fingers snatched her toes. They started with the biggest and twisted each one by one. When they got to her pinky toes, she giggle-screamed louder than ever.
“NOOO! Let go of those! Letgoletgoletgo!”
The machine only spun her little toes quicker, and she devolved into desperate laughter. After that, they held her toes apart and used a tiny buzzing tine to tickle the gaps with precision.
The two tines were mind-numbingly ticklish. “Ohhhooo my God! Fuck those things! Hahaha! Get them outta there! GET OUT! HAHAHA!”
They all froze suddenly, lifting off her. She panted in relief, then looked down to see what they had in store for her poor feet next. A bunch of tiny prongs sprang out from each of the fingertips, filling her with dread. They looked like miniature hairbrushes.
“No! No! Don’t touch me with those things!” she begged as they inched closer. The fingers reached her soles first and began stroking. The others descended on her toes.
“FU-HUH-HUH-UCK MY LIFE!” Jen shrieked between breying laughs.
Drool leaked from the corner of her lips and tears rolled down her cheeks, but the tickling continued unabated. It went on and on until she thought she was going to pass out or pee. Once it had thoroughly explored most of her body for ticklishness, it finally relented.
Jen sucked in air as she watched the awful fingers. The tines vanished, and they were replaced with dangerous-looking feathers, some fluffy, some stiff. Then they got back to work on her overly sensitive skin. Even though the feathers were vibrating wickedly, they didn’t tickle as terribly as the fingers. It was a short respite that allowed her to wipe the fog from her mind.
Eventually, they slowed to a crawl. Then they stopped and retracted back into the fingers.
“That was just a little taste of what this baby is capable of,” Raven said. She ran her hand along the bottom of the machine and pressed another button.
“Ticklegasm Mode initiated,” it said.
The buzzing hands sprang back into motion, trailing toward her naughty bits. The ones that made it to her breasts began to strum across her nipples. Jen gasped in surprise. The sound developed into a moan as the velvet digits teased her nipples to stiffness.
Two more fingers slipped between the lips of her pussy. She tried to close her legs, but more arms appeared to ensnare her thighs. Then they spread them even further apart.
The vibrating fingers nestled around her clit and began to stroke her. When one digit moved up, the other moved down, making her pink bud rotate between them.
“Ohhh, God,” she murmured, shocked by how good it felt. “What are they doing to me?”
“Oh, don’t worry. They’re just going to tease out an orgasm… or six.”
“Whuuuhuhuh-what?!”
“Word of advice, try not to cum. It’s going to make you climax over and over, but it’ll punish you with intense tickle torture every time you do. Best to hold off as long as you can.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Let me outta’ here! You can’t do this to me.” Fear filled her veins as the tips of the octo-fingers opened again. The mismatched feathers returned, then the hands edged toward her spread legs.
“Ohhh no, this is going to be bad,” she said.
“Oh, I think it’s going to be good,” Raven said, giving her wink. “At least until you cum.”
The machine bent her knees and brought them toward her face. It spread her pussy lips wide open. An elongated tailfeather landed on her pelvic arch and started to spin.
Jen shivered as it drew downward. The silken edge of the feather slid along the sensitive crease connecting her thigh to her pubic bone. The thing was so long that it felt endless. When it reached her butt, the hand rotated around and started pulling it back up the same spot again.
Another hand approached with the same long feather and set it on the opposite crease. They both drew downward, extracting a giggle-whine from Jen’s throat. On the next pass, the finger wobbled back and forth, forcing the tresses of the feather up onto the edges of her pussy.
“Ohhhhuhuhuh that huh-huh feels good,” Jen moaned. The fact that she was completely out of control turned her on more than she wanted to admit.
They started circling around her smooth-waxed mound, getting closer to the red button in the center with each sweep. They almost seemed to be chasing each other as they dashed around her glistening pussy. The circle tightened so that they were caressing the folds of her labia.
She was so enthralled watching them work on her through the mirror, she didn’t even notice another set of hands inching toward her chest. Not until a pair of stiff feathers fluttered across her breasts. They were the same variety as the ones between her legs.
Her nipples were already engorged, but they rose higher to greet the fluttery feathers.
“Ohhhoho, that feels really good.”
“Believe me, I know,” Raven said poignantly.
The way she said it made Jen wonder if she’d tested this machine herself.
The fleecy feathers swished across her nipples and twirled along the rim of her pussy. They were so broad, they whisked her inner thighs at the same time. Tittering, breathy moans took her over. Every flourish dragged her deeper into the pit of desire. It felt as if her entire body was ensconced in grazing feathers. She jolted as they brushed the sides of her breasts and under-boobs, but it tickled worse on her feet.
“Oh my. Hmhmhm. That tickles so much, but it feels so good. It’s driving me crazy!”
After a dozen rotations, the tickly feathers whisked onto her pussy and nipples. Pleasure washed through her. They teased her gently until she was hornier than ever. She longed for something sturdier to grind against, but the spiraling feathers just continued to flick her swollen nipples and clit. They edged her for several minutes before they all went still.
Then suddenly, the soft vibrating fingers were there instead. They grabbed her pussy lips and held them open, then started outlining her needy clit while downy feathers spun across the tip. Another pair moved up to her breasts, pinching her nipples and rotating them in swift spirals.
“Ohhh God, yes.” Her eyes closed, and her head fell back in ecstasy.
The buzzing fingers pressed into the tender wells on either side of her pussy and massaged her wet bud. It felt so good that colors bloomed in the darkness of her eyelids.
Jen groaned in pleasure. She couldn’t stop herself from trying to hump the hands, but the machine kept her still. She was helpless to the buzzy ministrations.
“Are you even trying to stop that orgasm rushing toward you?” Raven chided.
“Yes,” she yelped. “I’m just soooo close. It feels too good. I… I can’t help it.”
“You’re gonna be sorry.”
The velvet fingers tweaked her nipples, teasing the sides as well as the tips. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Then the machine spoke.
“Maximum arousal achieved.” The fingers and feathers oscillated even faster.
Hearing it confirmed like that turned her on even more. It felt way too good. She was going to cum. Jen tried to tighten the muscles of her pelvic floor to stop the advancing orgasm, but it was useless. She couldn’t even curl her toes to help hold it back.
“So close…so close. Oh God,” she groaned in bliss. “I can’t… Can’t stop it.” Her pussy began to pulse with pleasure. The blissful release rolled through her, making her body spasm to the beat of her climax.
Feathers and fingers continued pleasing her, pulling out throb after throb as she came harder than she ever had before. They didn’t relent until the pulsations finally stopped.
“Orgasm detected,” the machine intoned. It almost sounded angry. The hands lifted from her, and the feathers were replaced with some kind of nozzles. They looked like the tops of spray bottles. “Punishment mode commencing in three... two…”
“Wait! What’s it gonna do now?” she squealed as the countdown concluded.
“One.”
The nozzles started dousing her in a sweet-scented liquid. It coated her entire body, making her skin sleek and shiny. Before the tickling even started again, she realized the oil was making her tingly. While it started chilly, it was growing warmer.
The viscous liquid clung to her skin, enhancing her sensitivity to an unimaginable degree. After that came the most frightening brushes Jen had ever seen. They were longer and wider than the ones on toothbrushes, and they had spinners every few centimeters. When the brushes touched her soles and sides, it tickled so much that she wanted to leap out of her skin.
Although the bristles felt surprisingly soft, the brushes coupled with the oil tickled more than any of the other tools in its arsenal. It was even worse when some moved to her armpits, toes, and thighs. Jen was overwhelmed by desperate ticklish laughter once again.
The oiled brushes abraded all over her helpless form as she howled. Then they began to focus on each of her most sensitive spots one at a time. It was a waking nightmare.
When they were ricocheting back and forth along the creases of her inner thighs, her legs jerked violently. She actually managed to get a bit of movement. Regrettably, more hands came out to hold her writhing body still. So many, she lost count. Her voice took on a cracked cackle.
When the whirring brushes sped up, she knew she was going to lose her mind. The relentless vibrations made her eyes roll back in her head. Still, she remained conscious enough to feel every tickly torment the machine threw at her.
“Pleeeeease stop,” she begged weakly. “Ssssstop. No… no more. I-eee beg you. Mercy.”
The emotionless machine paid no attention to her plight, and Raven only chuckled. “I told you you’d be sorry.”
“I ammmmmhmhmhmhm s-s-sorry. Please. Mercy! I’ll do any… anything you want.”
When the buzzing reverberated through her pubic bone, she felt like she was going to die.
“Oh no! Turn it off! It’s too much! Oh God! Please! TURN IT OFF!!” she protested.
The brushes continued their grisly task of tickling her beyond reason, and all Jen could do was take it and laugh herself to exhaustion. Soon, she was completely soaked in sweat.
Without warning, the machine spoke again. “Cleaning Mode initiated.”
Her eyes popped open to see that the brushes had retracted from the fingers. They’d been replaced with more nozzles. Before she could get her bearings, it started spraying her down with warm soapy water. It was so powerful that the jet gave her a pulse of pleasure each time it struck her tender rosebud.
Once she was soaked from head to toe in bubbles, the fingers changed back to brushes. Then they started to scrub her clean. It made her wail with fresh ticklishness.
Part of the table beneath her butt lifted, forcing her pelvis into the air. The brushes continued whirring all over her thighs and soapy kitty. They moved so quickly that bubbles leapt off her body. It tickled too much, even more than before. She couldn’t stand it, but there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it.
“Make them haha stoooohohohop! Please!” Jen sputtered as more brushes moved into position around her. “Ahhhhaaa! Nooo! Not more of them! No moooooore!”
The sudsy brushes began swiveling all over her overstimulated body at the same time. They washed her feet, toes, pits, and tits. The devious brushes even crept between her butt cheeks. They scoured her sides, ribs, and belly as if they were polishing a car.
“Too many! HAHAHA! Too many scrubbers! I CAN’T! HAHAHA! IT TICKLES!”
No matter what she said or how she struggled, the machine did not yield. Jen was a crying, drooling mess by the time they finally came to a stop.
Jen huffed as it blew her dry with warm air. She was surprised by how comforting it felt. The machine said something, but she couldn’t hear it over the hum of the fan.
As soon as the warm air shut off, the vibrating digits turned on.
“Oh no! Not again!” she cried as the silk and velvet octo-fingers closed in on all sides. Her pelvis was still elevated with her legs spread and her knees bent. She could see herself in the mirror ahead as if she were on display. Her red hair was a complete wreck and her skin was pink.
They started on her chest this time. They spidered below her breasts and into the hollows under her arms. Others started tickling her hips while the brushes returned to her soles.
Jen’s hoarse laughter returned with a vengeance. The warm air seemed to make her ultrasensitive. Thankfully, the machine seemed to be taking it easy on her. She didn’t have to wonder why for long.
Supple-but-strong hands cupped her breasts, lifting them. Then two pairs of fingers crept onto her areolas. The thrumming fingertips chased each other around, edging closer to the twin nubs in the center. She clenched her teeth when they brushed the sides of her nipples. They gently coaxed them back to stiffness. The machine gave each one a coating of tingly oil as the fingers toyed with her nipples. A warm spray between her legs gave her a jolt.
She glanced down to see three of the mechanical hands approaching her glistening pussy. Then they began to tease her with languid strokes.
“It’s still t-t-tickling me! Is it gonna do b-both?”
Raven grinned at her predicament. She said nothing but she looked enthralled.
It wasn’t long before she was giggle-moaning madly.
Suddenly, she felt something larger circling her wetness. A look in the mirror made her eyes go wide. One of the vibrating fingers was thicker than the others, and it was pointing right at the center of her royal flower.
She was soaked and spread, so the larger digit slid into her easily. It began to pump in and out as the fingers kept buzzing on her clit. The speed and force increased gradually. Using the stimuli sensors on her temples, it found the perfect rhythm and depth for her particular anatomy.
It tickled like crazy on her feet and underarms, but what it was doing to her pussy felt amazing. She screamed in ticklish bliss. It was only a minute before she wanted to cum again. The machine seemed to recognize this, and the intensity of the vibration increased.
Jen tried to ignore the growing need. She knew how bad the punishment would be. Alas, the machine knew exactly how to please her now. In less than thirty seconds, her pussy clenched around the thrusting finger in orgasmic ecstasy.
The walls of her pussy convulsed harder than ever as the orgasm rushed through her. She moaned loudly and bounced against the hands. The fingers pressed in around her clit as the other plunged into her wetness, making her gush even more. They twisted her nipples quicker, prolonging her orgasm as long as possible.
“Ohhh fuuuuck yes! Ohh God!” she screamed. The pleasure coursed unchecked throughout her entire body.
“Orgasm detected,” the machine said emotionlessly. The spray nozzles reappeared. “Punishment mode commencing in three… two…”
Jen screamed the word no just as the machine said one. Then the nozzles sprayed the sensitivity enhancing oil all over her again. More hands came out of the machine. They had a mix of fingers, scrubbers, feathers, and brushes. Her mind tried to leave her body, but there was no escape. She still didn’t even know why she was in this cursed room.
When her laughter rang hollow, the machine finally stopped. She gasped in relief before she realized that the octo-hands were moving into position between her legs again. Fingers and brushes hovered over her breasts.
“What?” Jen groaned. “What now? I thought it was o-o-over.”
The fingers and tools fell upon her, and the tickle-pleasure began anew.
“Over?” Raven repeated. “It’s only forced out two orgasms. There are so many more to come.”
One of the fingers moved up to make a ring around Jen’s asshole and she lost track of things. It tickled so terribly that her butt cheeks clenched. Of course, the mechanical fingers spidered along her thighs and grabbed her ass. They pried open her cheeks and set four of the vibrating fingers to work.
Oh God! Am I going to be tickle tortured for the rest of my life? Jen worried. Then she started begging Raven to make it stop again.
“No can do, doll. I’ve got things to be about,” she said, sauntering toward the door.
“Wait! Where are you going? You’re not…” the thought of it terrified her so much, she couldn’t speak the words.
Raven opened the door and glanced over her shoulder at Jen. “What was that?”
“Don’t leave me here in this… this thing!” Jen blurted out.
“Don’t worry, silly. It won’t kill you. It won’t even let you pass out.”
“But…but… You can’t! Please! I’ll do anything! Anything you want!”
“I told you, we just need that squealy laugh. Just try to focus on not cumming. It’ll only make it worse. I’ve seen it tickle people to insanity. Best to keep your wits about you. Have fun!” Raven stepped through the door and closed it behind her.
The room went black, and she heard a lock click with finality. The sound of that lock coupled with the helplessness she felt in the darkness nearly broke her mind right there.
The machine continued to tickle and please her relentlessly as she screamed into the empty room. “Noooooo!”
If you enjoy my stories, please check out my books on Amazon: Lady.Featherquill.Books
Stories that used to Tickle you. @takesomet2 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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