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Prisoner of UniSex (-/M Intense)

ttgore

2nd Level Red Feather
Joined
Jan 23, 2004
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Here's a science-fictional tale of ticklish terror that explores the dark side of a future Utopia. It's a brave new world indeed! But there's one little catch…

:jester:

PRISONER OF UNISEX

by

T.T. Gore


***​

“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” the naked prisoner screamed. He was a slender, almost girlishly good-looking young man: blonde and brown-eyed, with skin like silk. “STOP!!! STOP IT! AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!! IT TICK-HICK-EEEEEE-HICK-HICKLES MEEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE!!!”

“Yes,” a disembodied voice replied. “And it will KEEP tickling you until you tell us what we want to know.”

The prisoner released another howl of tortured laughter. He arched his back and wiggled his curvy bare behind in a desperate attempt to free himself from the bonds that secured him in place. It was an exercise in futility. He was all alone in the white-walled, brightly lit cell, stretched out with his wrists and ankles strapped to the ends of a narrow padded table. He could squirm and struggle, but there was no escape from the infernal device that was tickling him and tickling him and TICKLING him—!

The device, a featureless metal cylinder made of some dull-colored metal, was installed beneath the table. The Tickler, as the disembodied voice called it, had just extruded two flexible metallic tentacles that were now were caressing the bottoms of the prisoner’s bare feet. Their delicately pointed tips glided back and forth over his unbearably sensitive soles, sending intense thrills of ticklish sensation racing up his trembling legs. “EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” he shrieked as the tentacles stroked, and stroked, and stroked. “HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE!!!”

“Simply tell us all about your Crooked friends,” the voice intoned. “Tell us who they are and where they congregate. Tell us when they plan to meet next. Tell us. Tell us. TELL US!”

The tentacles were probing the delicate spaces between the prisoner’s squirming TOES and the sensation thus produced was absolutely UNENDURABLE—! His laughter escalated to a high-pitched shriek of anguished hilarity. His svelte belly rippled and convulsed. Goose bumps roughened his silken skin, causing the blonde hairs on his arms and legs to stick up like tiny wires. His shapely derriere bounced on the table. His limbs trembled violently.

“Answer our questions and we will turn the Tickler off,” the voice promised. “Where do your friends plan to meet next? What are their names?”

“OH-HO-HO-OH-NO-HO-OH-HO-HO!!! I DON’T KNOW-HO-HO-OH-HO-HO-HO!!!” the prisoner bellowed. “OH PLEEEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEEEEESE!!! YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT STOP!!!”

“Yes,” the voice agreed. “We’ll make it stop once you’ve given us the information we require.”

But he said nothing. There was nothing he COULD say! They hadn’t TOLD him anything yet! Yes, yes, Adrienne had vouched for him, but the group was cautious. They had to be. Any group of Crooked people had reason to be paranoid in this, the fifty-first year since the advent of UniSex…

Unisex. The sacred principles of Unisex. The iron-fisted ideology that had dominated the world for as long as he could remember. Oh, certainly, the fist was fitted with a comfortable velvet glove. For those who were content to obey, life was now an endless, all-consuming erotic bacchanal. Human beings had no more need to concern themselves with the struggle for existence. Fusion technology supplied unlimited power; machines did all the work. It was paradise.

The ancient philosophers had foolishly believed that such a world would liberate the human spirit. Freed once and for all from a life of drudgery, humanity would reach for the stars. But alas, most people turned out to be uninterested in devoting their now-unlimited leisure to art, literature and the so-called finer thing in life. They preferred drunken, drug-fueled orgies over high culture. And that’s exactly what they got—with a catch.

Heterosexuality was outlawed.

The great change had been accomplished in short stages, aided by certain newly developed drugs capable of reconfiguring the human libido. And within a few years, same-sex love had become the accepted norm, while opposite-sex love was reviled as an antisocial and indeed subversive perversion.

Thus began the reign of UniSex—actually a small cabal of shadowy leaders whose names and faces nobody knew. All this was done in the name of population control and resource management. Children were now produced using the techniques of in vitro fertilization and artificial wombs. And the world became a happy, carefree place—except for the small minority of people on whom UniSex drug therapy worked imperfectly or not at all.

“Resistance is futile,” the voice advised. The Tickler extruded two more tentacles.

“EEEEEEYAAAAAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” the prisoner screamed as the additional tentacles began to probe his defenseless armpits. “OH PLEEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEEEEEESE YOU’RE KILLING MEEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE!!!”

“Talk to us, then,” the voice cooed. “Give us the information we require. If you do that, the Tickler will be switched off. And all will be forgiven. Forgiven. FORGIVEN—!”

“BUT I DON’T KNOW-HO-OH-HO-OH-HO-HO-HO-HO!!!” he screamed in reply. “OH PLEEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEEEESE YOU MUST BEEEE-LEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEEEEVE MEEEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”

But they WOULDN’T believe him—he knew that—and they would simply keep TICKLING him until he went INSANE! Already he could feel total HYSTERIA creeping closer and closer like a horrid SPIDER—and soon it would take possession of him—and there was NOTHING he could DO to make it STOP—!

The Tickler extruded two more tentacles. They began to stroke the prisoner’s ribs.

“GAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-AAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” he bellowed, writhing with mad energy in a hopeless attempt to escape the attentions of the tickling tentacles. His svelte belly convulsed as he laughed and laughed and LAUGHED—!

“Really now,” the voice went on in an insinuating tone, “was she worth it? Oh, yes, we do understand the attractions of forbidden fruits. We understand how some people—good people, loyal citizens and followers of UniSex—can sometimes be tempted into criminal misbehavior. But look at the result! All the dirty, disgusting, things you did with that perverted woman and her friends have brought you here, to this room.”

“YAAAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAR-HAR-HAR-AAR-HAR-HAR-AAR-HAR!” the prisoner howled. He made a desperate, convulsive attempt to defend his delicate hollows by jerking his arms down, but the stout leather strap around his wrists was unyielding. He struggled with equal futility to jerk his feet free. He wiggled and squirmed and trembled and sweated and screamed with manic laughter. But he couldn’t tell them what he didn’t know himself, and he couldn’t persuade them of his ignorance. So the torture continued. And it went on for a very long time, until he was too exhausted to do anything but shiver and croak.

“Well, if you insist in being stubborn, so be it.” the voice concluded. “We shall have to see what we can do to persuade you to change your mind.”

And with that, the tickling tentacles retraced. But the pink-faced, sweat-covered prisoner barely had time to emit a sob of relief before a needle slid into his arm. The drug’s effect was swift. After that, he knew nothing for a long, long while.

***​

The prisoner awoke to find himself bound in a different position. Now he was suspended from the ceiling by his bound wrists. His legs were parted and his ankles were strapped to a pair of metal rings. He was hoisted just high enough to lift his heels from the floor. His balls dangled between his thighs in a way that made him feel horribly defenseless and exposed.

And the Tickler squatted on the floor between his legs.

“In Stage Two, additional stimulation is applied to assist in breaking down the subject’s resistance,” the voice intoned, as if addressing an invisible audience. “This often has an additional, therapeutic benefit, helping to realign the subject’s libido with societal norms.”

The Tickler extruded a tentacle. It was larger than the ones that had tortured him earlier, and it has a smoothly rounded head. Its surface was slick with some kind of lubricant.

“Though this subject is partially resistant to the libido-norming drug cocktail,” the voice continued, “prolonged tickling coupled with intensive anal-genital stimulation may be capable of overcoming this resistance.”

“NOOOOOO!” the prisoner screamed at the top of his lungs, struggling wildly to slip his bonds. “NO! You can’t DO this! Oh PLEASE you just CAN’T—!”

But neither the voice nor the Tickler paid the slightest attention to his protests. The tentacle extended itself. It stroked the prisoner’s balls, causing them to sway slightly. He responded with a girlish shriek.

“Everything ready?” the voice inquired. “Good, then let’s begin.”

The prisoner tensed as the well-lubricated head of the tentacle slipped past his balls and began to insinuate itself between his twitching butt cheeks. He clenched the muscles of his curvaceous derriere in a frantic attempt to defend himself, but already he knew that the effort would be futile.

The tip of the tentacle touched his tightly puckered orifice—and TICKLED it! “AAAARRRRGGGGH!!!” he growled as a horrid, joyous sensation swept over his squirming body. The tentacle’s maddeningly intimate caress was UNBEARABLE! Oh, it was driving him INSANE—!

“No one can resist for long,” the voice observed in a detached, clinical tone.

But he would resist, the prisoner insisted to himself. He WOULD! To submit was impossible—UNTHINKABLE! They couldn’t possibly make him do it! No, he WOULDN’T!

“But you will,” the voice insisted. “You will. You WILL—!”

The tentacle probed his asshole insistently.

He told himself that he would NOT premit it to happen—and for a few seconds, as he tightened his ass muscles defiantly, he thought that he might actually be able to resist this intimate invasion.

But then the Tickler whirred into action.

The infernal device extended four more supple tentacles and went to work with mindless efficiency on the prisoner’s defenseless torso! “YAAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR-AAR-HAR-HAR-HAR-ARR-HAR-YAAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR!!!” he bellowed, writhing wildly as his ribs and hollows were insistently stroked. “HAR-UGH!!! HAR-UGH!!! HAR-UGH!!! HAR-HAR-AAR-HAR-AAR-HAR-UGH-UGH-UGH!!!”

Meanwhile the other tentacle continued to probe his asshole. It didn’t push too hard, as if politely disinclined to enter where it had not yet been invited. But it was definitely making its presence felt. And the naked, squirming prisoner could feel his resistance DISSOLVING—!

“You will submit,” the voice assured him. “Everyone submits in the end.”

“OH-NO-HO-HO-OH-HO!!!” the prisoner protested. Two of the tickling tentacles were now stroking his thighs and two were stroking his drum-tight belly. Oh, it was driving him MAD! He couldn’t THINK! He couldn’t maintain his focus on the need to keep his asshole squeezed SHUT—!

And suddenly he found that he was no longer struggling to PREVENT this violation, but pressing DOWN to invite it! He couldn’t HELP himself! His muscles relaxed and the tentacle oiled its way IN—deeper and DEEPER—until it touched a spot so deliciously SENSITIVE that he went up on his TOES and danced with DELIGHT—!

“This will engage your interest,” the voice said.

The tentacle began to vibrate! This sent a fierce, urgent thrill through the prisoner’s body. His balls tightened. “EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” he squealed, trembling like a leaf as goose bumps roughened his skin. The blonde hairs on his arms and legs jumped to stiff, quivering attention. His cock began to stiffen. In seconds he was fully erect.

The tickling tentacles shifted their attention to the backs of his legs. The prisoner shrieked girlishly and squeezed out a clear, tiny drop of pre-cum. It clung for a moment to the very tip of his tumid tool before dripping to the floor.

“If you tell us what we want to know,” the voice promised, “you will be granted the release you so desperately crave. Oh, yes, you crave it—don’t deceive yourself. No one is capable of resisting these techniques. How COULD they be resisted? When all is said and done, we are merely giving you the thing you most deeply desire. A return to favor. A minor readjustment that will permit you to once more take your proper place in society.”

“GRRRRRRUMMMMMMPH!!!” the prisoner grunted in reply. He arched his back and wiggled his hips. The tentacle responded by withdrawing slightly, then pressing back in—just a little more insistently. The pressure on his sensitive spot produced a thrill so intense, intimate and sweet that he nearly swooned. The tentacle began once more to vibrate.

“And now, if you don’t mind, we would like to hear about your Crooked friends.” The voice had taken on a sly, insinuating tone. “Of course, we shall do all we can to help you concentrate.”

And no sooner had this promise been made than the tickling tentacles shifted their attention to the most delicate portions of the prisoner’s masculine anatomy! One began to stroke his BALLS—another began to tease the throbbing head of his COCK—!

“UNNNNNNGH!!!” the prisoner moaned. He squeezed out another drop of pre-cum. Somehow it no longer mattered to him that he didn’t possess the information that the voice was demanding. All that mattered was the delicious, delicate torture to which he was now being subjected—a torture that he prayed fervently would go on and on and ON until he was raving mad with LUST and orgiastic LAUGHTER—!

“You will note,” said the voice, addressing an unseen audience, “that the prisoner’s sexual response is returning to normal parameters.”

The prisoner could feel it now—low in his belly and in his balls—an urgent, driving sensation that he recognized as prelude to orgasm. Steadily, relentlessly, the stroking, probing tentacles were teasing him closer and closer and CLOSER to the edge of ECSTASY—!

“This prisoner obviously does not possess the information we require,” the voice went on. “Based on his physical and psychological profile, he would have broken down and confessed after no more than an hour of treatment. Therefore he is ignorant of the true identities and meeting places of his Crooked associates.”

The prisoner wiggled his hips. The tentacles wiggled back.

“Our task now is to rehabilitate this prisoner,” the voice added. “His preliminary evaluation suggests the need for twice-daily sessions over a period of thirty days."

The prisoner’s body tensed. The tentacles stroked his cock, balls and legs with a mindless persistence—and more firmly with every passing moment.

“The therapeutic protocol will be similar to the one specified for interrogation of male subjects,” the voice advised. “That is, tickling combined with anal-genital stimulation.”

“AAAAAAHHH!!!” the prisoner cried. Oh, he was SO close now! Oh YES it was going to happen any MOMENT now—!

“He will not, of course, be permitted to achieve orgasm during these sessions,” the voice added. “As has been well established, prolonged orgasm denial is the most effective method of re-norming the male libido.”

“Oh no!” The prisoner cried as the teasing tentacles ceased to stroke him and retracted into the housing of the Tickler. “Oh PLEASE NO! I’m READY! I can DO it! You have to LET me do it!”

“And we will let you do it,” the voice agreed. “Eventually. But for now…”

The Tickler hummed. It extruded six tentacles.

“For now we’re more interested in how LOUDLY you can LAUGH!” And for the first time, the disembodied voice seemed tinged with malice.

“HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HIIIEEEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” the prisoner shrieked as the tentacles went back to work on his armpits and torso. “IT TICK-HICK-EEEEEE-HICK-EEEEEE-HIIIIEEEE-HICK-HICKLES MEEEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!”

“Louder, please,” the voice commanded. “Much louder.”

And the prisoner did his best to comply. He laughed long and hard. The sweat flew from his writhing, shivering body. His face turned bright pink. He laughed until his sides and belly ached fiercely and his trembling legs gave out on him. Then he laughed some more. But try as he might, the prisoner couldn’t seem to make himself laugh loudly enough to satisfy the hectoring, demanding voice, and eventually he found himself too exhausted to laugh at all. Instead, he wheezed.

“Surely you can wheeze louder than THAT!” the voice chuckled. “Perhaps if we tickled you HARDER—!”

“But it’s not FAIR!” the prisoner protested.

This time it was the voice that laughed. Then came the reply. “Indeed not, sweetie pie—but rank DOES have its privileges, you know!”
 
Last edited:
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