Dave2112
Level of Cherry Feather
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2001
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AP - Hollywood, California
Another bizarre addition to the recent celebrity cancellation epidemic occurred today when Jessica Alba (Dark Angel, Honey) backed out of a role in the upcoming film “Scary Movie 4”. Shooting was scheduled to begin this March, but has been delayed until Ms. Alba’s role can be recast. A spokesperson for Alba stated that the TV and recent film star is suffering from a “sleep disorder” but would not go into further detail. Jessica Alba joins the ranks of such celebrities as Paris Hilton, Rose McGowan, Eliza Dushku, Christina Aguliera and several others who have cancelled appearances, performances and upcoming film roles due to a mysterious sleep disorder. Doctors and therapists for the starlets could not be reached for comment, and their respective agencies have not returned calls seeking information, but a spokesman for the Los Angeles Center for Sleep Studies (speaking on condition of anonymity) denies rumors of a psychiatric epidemic of any kind, laying the blame for the rash of cancellations on “average Hollywood stress”.
Good. Nothing people aren’t used to by now and nothing that very many probably even care about. Another spoiled starlet cracked under the pressure. Of course there’s no comment from the doctors or agents. The sleazy talk-show and tabloid circuit would have a field day if they found out what was affecting these poor things, so it’s no surprise that mouths are staying shut. Even if they don’t stay that way forever, there’s nothing pointing in any direction that affects me in any way…nor will there be.
Enough of the paper, the hour grows late and active young men such as myself do need their sleep. Oh, how I used to dread that word. Sleep. To most people, it is a time of rest, relaxation and maybe even far-away adventures acted out on the stage of the subconscious mind. To me it was a nightly exercise in survival. Toward the end, it was an exercise that occurred maybe twice a week, as I poisoned my body with anything that would keep me awake. “Pattern Nightmares” they called them. Or “Night Terrors”. Whatever the name, the results were the same. Horrible nightmares that trapped me in a world of unknown physics and inescapable terror. And the psychological damage wasn’t even all of it.
Mine were so bad that they often left physical reminders of the night’s festivities. One of my many doctors explained that if the mind is so completely and utterly convinced that something is happening, it can force the physical body to react accordingly. Once, I dreamed of being burned alive…and woke with real first-degree burns on my arms. Another dream took me through a narrow hallway coated in razor blades and my skin actually opened up in a few places as blood flowed. They’d been going on from the age of sixteen, where they were minor annoyances, to the time I was 32, where they’d become life threatening. I learned that if I didn’t find a way to control these nightmares, I could theoretically suffer a massive coronary or a stroke in my sleep. After the last series of them, I attempted suicide.
That’s when Dr. Granger came into my life. As I lay on a hospital bed in Crystal City Psychiatric, wrists sewn and bandaged, Dr. Granger became my sleep therapist. Life Saver is more like it. Then again, you could probably throw Entertainment Director into that list of titles, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves. Granger was a renowned hypno-therapist who specialized in something I’d never even heard of until he bestowed the techniques upon me.
Lucid Dreaming.
The concept is simple. When one is in a lucid state while in REM sleep, one is fully aware that they are dreaming, and can interact and in some cases control their imagined surroundings. As Dr. Granger explained, most of us achieve lucidity once in awhile naturally. However, most people lose grasp of the state once they realize they are lucid. Something about the mental shock. There are techniques on keeping the state intact, and then there are subtle and difficult techniques involved in achieving it spontaneously. Some have even learned to do it at will.
I became one of those, and more.
Even the good Doctor was amazed at how quickly I took to the therapy. Perhaps it was my subconscious mind knowing that this was the only way I could save it from itself. Maybe it was a latent talent that only needed some coaxing along. Well, if I was Luke Skywalker then Dr. Granger was Ben Kenobi and he most definitely taught me the ways of the Force, so to speak. Within two months, I had the night terrors completely under control. I had trained my mind to react to fear with rote actions that achieved lucidity, and then it was a simple task of sweeping away the things that scared me and replacing them with things that I enjoyed. Within a year, I was no longer a patient of Dr. Granger’s, having even become some sort of a consultant when he was faced with a challenging patient. He said that I was the most gifted professional dreamer he’d ever seen. He had no idea.
Within two years, I discovered something that shook me to the core and changed my life forever. During one rather eventful REM period, fearful things attempted to creep back into my sleeping mind. I achieved lucidity and imagined myself and my best friend Jason fighting off hordes of evil creatures with magical swords of light. The next day, Jason told me of a strange dream he’d had…one involving the two of us, glowing swords and a shitload of Orcs. Was it possible? Was there something in me that allowed me to link sleeping minds with another person? Or perhaps it was an ability we all have, but I’d found a way to tap into. Whatever the reason, I began experimenting in earnest.
Now, I’m not an evil person, but they say absolute power corrupts absolutely. In the world of my dreams, I have absolute power. I am a god. I am Vishnu, Gaia, Buddha, Satan…whatever I wish. So I can honestly say that I became a bit corrupted. I needed to know how seriously I could affect someone who came into my dreams…if a serious enough shock would cause me to lose them. Once again I brought Jason into my Orc-fighting dream and “allowed” him to sustain a moderate injury. The next day, he wore a bandage on his arm and a perplexing look. In the dream, Jason stayed in the battle even after his injury, because I had wished it. So, there was no escaping. Interesting.
Now, let’s assume you had this gift. What would you do with it? Don’t lie. Be honest with yourself, if not with me. How many erotic dreams were you woken out of that you wished you could get back? Come on, admit it. You must understand that my tastes go way beyond just boning some nymphet, so the path I chose to follow during my night travels would probably top any fetish video ever made. That’s when I got the idea to do what I like best…with whomever I wished.
I set the paper aside and lay down on my bed. No drugs to help me, I need my mind pure. I’ve gotten to the point where I can fall asleep almost at will, as long as I’m marginally tired to begin with. Lying back, I close my eyes and feel myself slowly falling…picking up a little speed…a little more…this part of my body then that going numb as I reach terminal velocity…the grey clouds whipping past…the ground coming up to meet me…no fear of impact…no real impact…a slowing down of inertia…reality lost…a gentle float down to the ground…a quick look at my hands (one of the subconscious totems that help affix lucidity)…and the world that I long for every night unfolds around me.
The Inner Sanctum. Yes, this will do nicely. I have several places that I like to go during my nocturnal travels, built brick by brick, thought by thought out of the dark recesses of my psyche. There’s the Pink Room, the Steel Forest, the Showroom, the Hotel, the Cruise Ship, the Medieval Chamber…all of them created by my own hand, or should I say mind. But the Inner Sanctum is my favorite, and my first choice when bringing in new “friends”. It is the culmination of everything I’ve dreamed, everything I’ve desired. Like something out of the Twilight Zone, it defies physics, yet still makes perfect sense. Part mansion, part playground, part gathering place, the Inner Sanctum is nothing less than the very center of my id and ego. Facing the huge double doors, I pulled the steel rings and entered my home away from reality.
The Sanctum was my place, but I was not alone there. Those that I had drawn in to my dream-world immediately took their places. Those that were currently asleep in the real world, anyway. After many successful “pulls”, I had learned an interesting trick. I could place something like a psychic “tracer” if you will deep within the mind of my target. When she fell asleep, she came back to where I had placed her. And I had placed many.
Why would I do this, you ask? How can I put this as simply as possible? There are things I want to do to many of the world’s most beautiful women that I simply cannot do in the waking world. It’s the least noble cause, but perhaps the oldest. The Inner Sanctum allows me to live out my deepest fantasies without ever getting caught. The women drawn into my dreams were unwilling participants, and could feel everything I did to them on one level or another, but were helpless to control anything around them. I could hold them there almost indefinitely as long as I stayed asleep. The beauty is…I’d never have a single finger pointed in my direction. Not only would no one believe it if one of them actually thought someone was kidnapping them in their dreams, but whom would they accuse? Me? Certainly not. I was a master of my dream realm, and I knew all of its tricks. I could appear to them in shadow, or as someone they knew. I could be a shapeless form, a disassociated voice, a man they desired, or someone they feared. A monster or a god. As I entered the main entrance to the Inner Sanctum, I took on the look of the Dark Man. Where there should be a human head, my victims would see only a dark space with eyes that bore into the soul. Upon seeing my first guest, I could see that the visage had all of the shock value I had hoped for.
I heard the sharp intake of air as she looked upon me. I had chosen this one weeks ago, and had yet to tire of the fate I’d decided for her. If you are going to have yourself greeted by a knockout beauty when you enter your “home”, it might as well be worth it. Paris Hilton had been enjoying the Giant Feathers every night since I linked up with her sleeping mind. Why her? Why not? The blond beauty was clad in only a pair of thong panties, hanging by her wrists from a thick ceiling beam. Her ankles bound together, she was pulled toward the ground by heavy weights attached to her feet. I got the mental image from a drawing I once saw on the Internet, and thought Ms. Hilton would play the part well. Three large feathers defied gravity and rationale as they floated around her writhing body. They were like snakes, darting in and out, back and forth, seemingly of their own volition. One played back and forth over the bare skin of her soles while the other two took long, slow, purposeful strokes down the sides of her slim body. From the ends of her wrists to the supple bones of her hips, the feathers traced a ticklish path down that luscious body. I waved my hand and the feathers ceased momentarily, hovering in place, their tips undulating inches from Paris’s tight skin.
“Are we having fun this evening, Ms. Hilton?” I teased as I rested my hands on her hips.
“P-Please…lemme wake up…not again….” She stammered as her breath came in gasps.
“Oh, come now,” I said, slowly running my fingertips up her slim body, “your laughter is one of the highlights of my nights, you wouldn’t deprive me of that, would you?”
“This can’t be real…I have to wake up!” she whimpered as my fingers traced small circles over her small breasts.
“It’s real enough,” I said as I watched her twitch under my lightly probing fingers, traveling from breasts to soft underarms, “but you still have some breaking-in to do. You’re not ready for the heavy stuff yet. I think you’ll spend another evening with the Feathers, if you’re not too busy, that is.”
“NOOOO!!!!” she screamed as I backed away and again waved my hand. The floating feathers arched what looked like their “heads” and slowly made contact with the perfect skin of the spoiled hotel heiress. I watched for a moment as her body returned to a state of tickled twitches and her light voice strained with musical laughter. I left the feathers to do their job…light, annoying and endless tickling over every square inch of Paris Hilton’s bound body. As much as I would have liked to stay, there were other places in the Sanctum I needed to check on, and other “guests” I had to greet. I walked away as Paris’s laughter faded. On my right was a similar set of restraints and floating feathers set aside for one Ms. Tara Reid, but it seemed she was not asleep yet. Soon, I told myself…very soon. Probably by the time I came back up this hallway again.
Traveling further, I opened the door to a room I had spent quite a large chunk of imagination on. This was where I kept Christina and Britney. I know what you’re thinking…pretty obvious, but what the hell? I had no love of either’s “music”, but I simply couldn’t resist their hot bodies. What male hasn’t had a fantasy about these two pop-tarts being put in their place? As I walked into the room, I was greeted with a sight that would have melted the libido of a lesser dreamer, and in truth had once jolted me right out of lucidity. I have gotten a lot better since.
Christina and Britney were fastened back-to-back in an X position. A single steel pole descended from the stone ceiling, ending in the center of two more thin poles in the shape of an X. Restraints on both sides of the simple frame held each girl a foot above the floor, body stretched out, asses pressed against each other. Both girls were dressed in skimpy lingerie that struck my fancy at the moment, Britney in pink, Christina in black. As I entered the room, I was not assaulted by threats or pleas as one would expect. Two large ball-gags pressed deep into the mouths of the pop stars prevented that. There would be no talking, no teasing. I liked this part…
Without a word, I approached the hanging girls, circling around them, flexing my fingers before their eyes. They whimpered into their gags and pulled at their restraints. Slim, sexy bodies thrashed against the solid bonds, but to no avail. I walked up to Britney, looked her in the eye, and slowly pointed my right finger into her stretched armpit. Hooking it ever so slightly, I tickled the bare skin as she jerked. Here was the part I really dug. As I pulled my arm away, my hand remained. More accurately, a copy of it remained. It was somewhat like pulling your hand out of a bowl of Jell-O. My hand remained attached to my arm, but a perfect representation of it remained under Britney’s right armpit, tickling away. Cut off cleanly at the wrist, the disembodied hand went about its task of tickle-torment with no further guidance from me.
Reaching down, I placed my hands on Britney’s sexy sides, right above her exposed hips and clawed my fingers around her waist. Digging in slightly, I found the hot spot that caused the blond babe to wriggle about and again pulled my arms out of the psychic Jell-O. Once again, my arms were whole, but a facsimile of each hand remained to continue tickling Britney’s sides. Her laughter slammed against the ball-gag as I circled around to face the struggling Christina Aguliera. Slowly, I brought my hands up to her armpits and reveled in the look of desperation her eyes held as the tickling started. She was pleading with her eyes, but it would do no good. I was setting up their entertainment for the evening, and had much more to do. I tickled her all over her squirming body, each time leaving a copy of a hand to continue the torture after I’d moved to another spot. Circling the bondage framework, I tickled Britney again, then back to Christina. By the time I was finished, the girls were hanging in their restraints each having more than ten hands tickling them all over their bodies and reaching up from the floor to tickle their dangling bare feet. Tears flowed from their eyes and they were drooling around their gags. Their bodies were a quivering mass of naked flesh, tickled against their will.
“Have a nice evening, ladies!” I said as I walked away and closed the door, shutting out the sound of tormented muffled screams.
The next door down was a room I’d set up dedicated to my love of tickling in magic illusions. Upon opening the door, my senses were greeted by a bizarre but strangely comforting sight. It was like a magic show from inside a diseased mind. Well, ok…it was, but that’s beside the point. On the brightly lit stage, Eliza Dushku was encased in a long, thin box…only her head and bare feet poking out. She was divided in two while one of my “Shadows”, dream-servants who were part of my subconscious and created by me to do my bidding and populate my world, tickled her exposed bare feet with her fingers. This Shadow had the appearance of a Vegas Showgirl, acting the part of the magician who was taking great pleasure in torturing the bare feet of the hapless Ms. Dushku. They twitched from side to side, but could not escape the tickling. The gorgeous head that poked out of the other end of the box was contorted in forced laughter, tears flowing from those huge brown eyes. The Shadow had stopped using her fingers to tickle the bare soles and had switched to a stiff hairbrush, bringing Eliza to a crying, laughing fit.
I looked down on a table, populated by more Shadows watching the show, and there in a small box was the detached head of 18-year-old actress Kaley Cuoco, the youngest addition to my dream stable. Her pretty face was twisted with laughter, and I soon saw why. Several other boxes contained various parts of Kaley’s naked body, small doors opened to expose ticklish flesh. The Shadow-patrons drank their drinks and carried on their mindless conversations while aimlessly tickling one part of Kaley or another. One table had a tiny box with the sole of a bare foot being stroked with a feather. Another bore Kaley’s nude chest, her upstretched armpits being tickled by a Shadow-woman’s long nails. Yet another group of patrons were toying with a box laid prone on the tabletop. Walking toward the table, I saw the flap-doors opened and the slim belly of the young blond actress wriggling in torment as several sets of fingers poked, prodded and tickled the girl’s tight midriff.
Seeing that all was well in the Magic Room, I exited the hellish playground and went back into the long hallway. Open doors passed through my peripheral vision, assailing me with pleasurable sights and sounds created in the realm of my dreams. I saw Elisha Cuthbert in a white bikini, hogtied and gagged, being tickled on her feet by two Shadows. Another few feet and my ears beheld the sound of Diane Lane, her shrieking laughter piercing the thick fog the dream. I didn’t have to look to see that she was where I’d left her since last night, hung upside-down while giant tongues licked her all over, tickling her tender spots with their tips, driving her to orgasm after orgasm between her legs. Next to her was rose McGowan, tied nude to a revolving wheel-frame. Feathers placed all around and within the wheel tickled her mercilessly with each revolution. Her nubile body wriggled to escape, but she was secure in her bondage. Room after room presented me with everything I’d dream of, every twisted desire, every ticklish torture I wanted to visit upon the world’s hottest women.
But it was the end of the long hallway that I was headed for. The Presentation Room. The place where I brought every new acquisition to receive her first long night of tickle-torture directly from me. It was an ego thing I did once in awhile, to keep the grasp on my world strong. In actuality, this room probably was my ego, if you looked at it from a certain point of view. And there was someone waiting who would make my collection complete. Someone who I hadn’t thought of bringing in until now. Well, perhaps I’d better rephrase that. I’d though about bringing her in ever since I discovered what I could do with my sleeping subconscious. I had waited. Why? Because she was my ultimate fantasy. She was almost sacrosanct for awhile. Part of me argued that she remained safe so that I’d always have the fantasy in the back of my mind, driving me to greater and greater tortures of the rest of the world’s hottest babes. Another part of me had recently realized why I had really waited until now.
I wanted everything perfect. I wanted to be 100% sure that I had absolute dominion over my dream-world before I brought her in full-time. Over the last week, I had brought her in briefly, letting her see me, letting her feel the loss of control, the out-of-place feeling that her dreams were not her own. By now, in the real world, she was on sleep aids that would only help me demolish her defenses and make a perfect tickle-toy out of my #1 fantasy girl…
Jessica Alba.
With the picture of her firmly in my mind, I entered the Presentation Room, a place I sometimes called the Throne Room. That’s what it would be tonight. My ego was in overdrive, and I was drowning in it. I was Overlord of everything I purveyed, and tonight’s capture of another innocent mind would be my greatest achievement. I entered the room and with barely a side thought, my image had changed. A long, flowing cape extended from my shoulders, trailing behind me. I was clad in violet, blood-red and gold, a King among Shadows. And Shadows there were aplenty. The gigantic hall was filled to capacity with the creations of my psyche. All rose to greet me and bowed deeply. I waved my hands, gesturing them to be seated as I ascended to my throne. Atop the dais at the head of the great hall, the throne conformed to my body as I looked out over the throng. I subconsciously jacked up the “mob-factor”, and the Shadows quickly became restless, eager for the show. I again raised my hand, beckoning for quiet. In the daunting sudden silence, my voice reverberated against the walls, bringing to every ear the four words I had dreamed of saying ever since I first laid eyes on the most gorgeous woman in the world.
“Bring her before me!”
Tall double-doors opened at the other end of the hall and four large shadows dragged Jessica Alba into the Throne Room. Her hands were bound in front of her and she was blindfolded. Struggling against her captors, she was no match for the brutal strength I’d instilled in my servants. Another wave of my hand opened a panel in the floor before my throne. An altar rose from the depths, stone and padding, covered in steel rings with which to fasten inescapable ropes. The four Shadows dragged Jessica up the aisle as she begged for release.
“What’s happening?!? Where am I? Why can’t I wake up?!?!? Let me go!”
I sat wordlessly as I beckoned the Shadows to prepare the victim. Like lighting they acted, in the smooth, efficient manner achieved only in dreams. Jessica was slammed on top of the altar and a blur of arms and hands sent shreds of clothing flying everywhere, lengths of rope circling through the air and around her limbs. It was a shady vapor trail of motion that I enjoyed almost as much as the final result.
Almost.
When the dream-smoke had cleared, the Shadows stepped back and even I marveled at their handiwork. Jessica was bent over the altar; her hands tied together and her arms bent down at the elbows, which came right to the edge of the perfectly-sized table. Her wrists were pulled tight and fastened to a steel ring on the leading side of the altar. Her legs were apart and each one was bent at the knee, each ankle lashed to a steel ring on the bottom side of the table. Completing the bondage were ropes wrapped around her elbows and knees, pinning them down to more rings. The blindfold was removed and a strap was placed over her forehead. The subtle convex arch of the table itself (something I added in at the last moment) curved her tight body slightly upward.
I rose from my throne and walked over to the table, taking in the sight of the woman of my desires so helplessly restrained. She was left with a tiny pair of panties, a small patch of cloth covering her tender area with two long, impossibly thin straps disappearing over her hips. A black spaghetti-strap tank-top came down to just below her ribcage, her hardened nipples pressing against the sheer fabric. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, in life or in dreams. Her face was perfection, those deep, slightly slanted eyes looking at me with confusion and fear…her angelic cheeks, her long flowing hair…and that body. My god. Her breasts were simply perfection, full and tight, her ribs slightly protruding even through the thin fabric of her barely-there shirt, her flat belly and symmetrical waist flaring out into a pair of full hips, bones pressed against the mocha-tanned flesh. Her long legs looked even more attractive encased as they were in ropes of bondage. Her naked feet dangled and flexed, inviting the tortures to come.
“Wh-what’s happening? Where am I? Why can’t I wake up?!?!?” she stammered, just as I had hoped she would. The situation was nothing more than a product of my dream, but the fear was real. That was all Jess.
“It’s just a dream, my dear,” I teased, “Isn’t it? Perhaps you have some deep-seated submissive trait…”
“No, this isn’t real! I can wake up!” she squealed as she struggled against the bonds. In the position she was in, all it managed to do was accentuate her curvy body.
“I’m afraid you can’t, Ms. Alba,” I said as I circled the altar that contained my dream-girl, “I’m afraid you’re trapped here until I decide to wake up. You see, this isn’t your dream…it’s mine. You are my most honored guest.”
At my subliminal command, the Shadows began chanting in a low murmur.
“What’s that?!?” Jessica asked, trying to crane her head around to see what all the fuss was about.
“My servants…your fans,” I said as I trailed my finger lazily over her right nipple, “You wanted fame, didn’t you? You are about to become the very epicenter of all attention in my world.”
The chanting increased in volume until I allowed Jessica to make out what was being said. It was like a single voice spoken by a thousand tongues, all chanting a single word…
“Tick-le…Tick-le…Tick-le…Tick-le…”
“What the hell?” Jessica shrieked, “Tickle? You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” I said with a leer, fully knowing that it was the corniest thing I could have said, but enjoying it nonetheless. I was even tempted very briefly to manifest a long handlebar mustache on my face, just so I could twirl the end in a Dick Dastardly flourish. The chanting grew louder.
“TICK-LE!!! TICK-LE!!! TICKLE!!!! TICKLE!!!!”
I raised my hands for silence. I stood to the side of the table that contained the tied Jessica Alba.
“N-no! PLEASE!!” she begged.
In the brooding silence, I held up a single finger and lowered it onto the smooth flesh of Jessica’s exposed armpit. Wriggling it slightly, I introduced Ms. Alba to the world of tickle-torture. A cheer went up at her first shriek. The mob pressed closer.
I lowered my other hand into armpit range and fluttered my fingers in those smooth, deep hollows. It was real, it was tactile…I could feel the warmth of the flesh, the smoothness of the skin and the attempted movement that strained the muscles of my victim.
“N-NO!!! HAAAHAAA!!! P-PLEASENOPLEASENO…AIIIGHHH!!!!”
“Ticklish, Jessica?” I asked needlessly.
“Y-YES!!!! PuhLEEEZE STAH-HAA-HHAAAAP!!”
“Not quite yet, my darling…we have your whole body to tickle, don’t we?”
Another cheer went up from the crowd. They pressed inward further, adding I knew to Jessica’s sense of claustrophobia and utter capture. My fingers found greater purchase as I willed my nails into long smooth talons. The hard points trailed over and over the ticklish flesh of her stretched armpits. I reached a little under the edges of the small shirt to tickle the sides of her breasts. As she squealed in torment, I picked up the pace, fluttering madly, tracing lines of torment up and down the length of her tied arms. I slowly dragged my nails down her biceps….
“Wait for it…” I teased.
“N-No!...please….” she whispered.
“Here it comes….”
A rise in the murmur of the crowd accompanied the resulting tickling of Jessica Alba’s armpits. Drawing the nails in, I used the tips of my fingers to press into the pits and tickle hard, making little circles over the ticklish mounds that her stretched arms could not protect. Her beautiful face twisted into laughter that I knew she did not want to let loose. The cords on her neck strained with the effort of trying to raise her pretty little head. My hands were a blur of motion as tickle after tickle invaded the deep recesses of her tied armpits.
I almost lost lucidity at the excitement of the moment. This was exactly why I’d waited until now to draw my ultimate fantasy into the dream world. My mastery of the subconscious techniques took over and I backed away, relaxing a bit and refocusing my psyche. A slight shimmer in the walls, a brief feeling of detachment and an even briefer desire to awaken…all of it passed as my world coalesced back into three solid, if imagined, dimensions.
I walked to the end of the table and knelt down. Jessica tried to raise her head to see me, but she was forced to stare at the ceiling in wonder of what was coming next. I let her know quickly.
“You have sexy little feet, Jessica…” I trailed off.
“NO! Don’t you DARE!!!” she screamed.
“Oh, I’m afraid I can do whatever I wish in here, my beauty…and all you can do is experience anything I wish upon you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Please just let me go! Let me out of here! What have I ever done to you?”
“What have you done to me?” I asked rhetorically, “You mean other than haunting my every thought with images of your perfection? Being utterly desirable yet completely unattainable? Being above a person like me?”
“I don’t even know you!” she pleaded.
“But you do now, don’t you? I’m your master, your king….your god.”
Jessica squirmed in her bondage as I ran a single finger over the top of one of her feet.
“Nooooooo….”
“Yes,” I said as I started tickling her feet. That was all that needed to be said. She thrashed her foot around as much as she could in an attempt to escape the single finger that played along her bare sole. The finger became two, then three…soon both of my hands were tickling her feet as her laughter reached an ear-splitting pitch. For the moment, I was enjoying teasing her peds; having fun darting in and out as she tried in vain to pull her feet away. The game of cat-and-mouse was thrilling. Every time I let her pull slightly away, I poked in with another tickling finger. I switched between feet, keeping her guessing and in abject terror. Soon, the time had come for the games to stop and the real foot-tickling to begin. I willed slender threads into being and they wormed their way between her toes. My will forced them to tie themselves tightly around two more rings above and to the side of Jessica’s twitching feet. Her arches were quickly stretched backward, her feet immobile. I extended the long nails yet again.
For my own benefit, I brought them slowly toward her helpless soles. An inch before contact, I began wriggling them wildly. That last inch was a moment frozen in time. The sight of her bare feet, pinned back helplessly, the knowledge that she could not see or brace for what was coming. I had to do it. The nails made contact, and I added a bit of volume increase to Jessica’s immediate squeals of forced laughter. Her giggles and yelps reverberated off the walls as the throng of Shadows cheered and pressed ever forward, held at bay only through my will for it to be so.
Sharp nails invaded her soles, trailing torture over every nerve ending. Fluttering with speed, I tickled her feet with no mercy. No break in contact. No pity. These feet were mine to play with, regardless of whom they were attached to. Scream after scream escaped Jessica Alba’s lips as her feet were tickle-tortured over and over. Nails scraped and tickled, poked, prodded and massaged. The tender area under her toes was not spared, and tickling that sensitive place brought a fresh peal of searing laughter from the most beautiful set of lips in the known world. The room and my world began to slightly shimmer, but I brought everything back to solid. However, I knew that I’d be naturally waking within the hour, so I now needed to get down to what I really wanted to do.
Tickle torture Jessica Alba’s tied body.
Rising from the end of the bondage altar, I allowed Jessica to catch her breath, although it wasn’t necessary. I could sheath her face in a plastic bag and still keep her alive, but it would take a bit of practice. But that’s not what I had in mind.
“Perhaps we should lose this?” I said as I grabbed the lower edges of the flimsy tank-top.
“N-N-no….p-please…haaa…haaa…..nomoreplease…Ican’t…can’t…takeit…”
“Oh, I think you can. Now let’s see this awesome body of yours.”
I pulled the top slowly up her ribs, over her breasts, peeling her like a ripe fruit. I pulled the shirt over her head and as far up her arms as I could. I could have vanished it, but I liked the way it looked draped over her tied elbows, her last vestige of modesty stripped away. The body lying stretched and supine before me was a sight even I wasn’t prepared for. Her breasts reached for the ceiling, no amount of gravity yet affecting them. Each rib poked against tanned skin. Her flat belly heaved with each breath, stretched tight over the subtle arch of the table.
“And now, my dear….prepare to lose your mind.” I looked into her eyes and allowed my will to create a thick gag that filled Jessica’s mouth. I let layers of tape float down and attach themselves over the gag, rendering her utterly helpless and at my mercy.
I had planned on slowly tickling her again, but even I had my limits. The writhing body that I had dreamed about for years was now mine, and I wanted nothing more than to torture it. My hands formed claws as I dug into her ribcage. Back and forth I glided my hooked fingers, between each slight depression, over each hard rib. Jessica was thrashing to no avail, unable to escape the horrible feeling of unwanted tickling on her ribs. I changed to a fluttering motion and traveled up and down her ribs and into her armpits. The sides of her jiggling breasts were delightfully ticklish, and I couldn’t resist tickling one while I pinched her nipple. Having a sudden thought, I manifested two tiny feathers to float over each puffed nipple and dance over the flesh. Making tiny circles, the feathers continued tickling her tits while I moved on to more pressing targets.
Tickling back down her ribs, I rested my hands on her flat belly. Without a word, I started to lightly draw patterns over her tummy, to either side of her navel…working outward until I was tickling the curve of her sexy waist. She wiggled and tried to buck, but the bonds held impossibly well. The speed of my tickling increased until my fingers were flying over the flat expanse of her taut stomach. I drew the claws out and tickled her lower belly over the tiny thong, one hand tickling the sensitive skin over her pussy and the other scraping between her thighs. The edges of the thong were tickled relentlessly as Jessica squealed over and over through the thick gag.
Soon, my hands found her hips. Drawing the nails back in, I grasped her waist right above those hipbones and gave a little squeeze.
“Are you ready to be tickled into insanity?” I asked, not caring what the response would attempt to be.
Jessica pleaded at me with wide, tear-filled eyes, begging me in her only way not to torture her body any further. I ignored the brief feeling of pity that welled up for a moment. This was going to be most unpleasant for the tied babe…
Digging in slowly, I felt the tight muscles beneath Jessica’s skin. Making subtle circles, I rubbed the ticklish skin over the tight muscle, reveling in every sensation, every feeling. I knew that it tickled like hell, and I was about to make it worse.
The crowd again chanted “TICK-LE! TICK-LE! TICK-LE!!” as I squeezed harder and faster. I could contain my desire no longer. Seeing her screaming under the gag, watching her perfect body writhe under the inhuman bondage…it broke my resolve to be subtle. I dug in and tickled her sides with claws from Hell. Pressure just to the point before pain, not enough to hurt, but more than enough to introduce Jessica Alba to the true meaning of Tickle-Torture. She squirmed and wriggled as I tickled her up and down her sides, over her belly and back up to her ribs. My hands moved as if they were the ones controlling me, her nude flanks helpless against the onslaught of tickling. I poked stiff fingers all over her midriff, feeling the muscles tighten with each prod. I massaged her ribs as the feathers danced over her luscious boobs. I added two more feathers to tickle under her arms as I went back to her bare, heaving belly.
Another created feather dipped into her deep, oval navel…tickling her belly-button without conscious mercy. My hands fluttered over her sides and finally dug into the weakest spot I’d found. Jessica was no longer making such loud noises under her gag. Her breath was ragged and a sheen of sweat covered her perfect hard body. My lust was building to a point where I knew I’d lose lucidity if I kept it up much longer. I could have jumped on her right there and fucked the shit out of her, but for some reason, I wanted to save that for another time.
I backed away and raised my arms. Once I dropped them, the signal was clear. The throng of Shadows moved in around the tied-up wriggling starlet and she screamed over and over into the mouth-filling gag. Hands, nails, feathers and brushes attacked every inch of Jessica’s body, tickling her into insanity as I sat back on my throne and watched the world I’d created play itself out. This was a good beginning, tomorrow would be better. Maybe I’d bury her in the sand; perhaps I’d slice her to ticklish pieces in the Magic Room…who knew. I could feel the realm slip away slowly; Jessica’s muffled screams and wriggling, bound tickled body the last things I heard and saw before arriving once again to the familiarity of my own bed….
AP – Malibu, California
In a follow-up to the recent decision by actress Jessica Alba to cancel her upcoming projects, it has been learned that she has checked herself into the Malibu Psychiatric Clinic. Calls to Alba’s management were not returned, but an M.P.C. employee, speaking on condition of anonymity, has confirmed that Ms. Alba will be undergoing therapy for an apparently serious sleep disorder. The employee was quoted as saying that Alba’s spirits were high upon her arrival, she has a positive attitude about her upcoming therapy and was “just tickled to be here” to help herself…
Another bizarre addition to the recent celebrity cancellation epidemic occurred today when Jessica Alba (Dark Angel, Honey) backed out of a role in the upcoming film “Scary Movie 4”. Shooting was scheduled to begin this March, but has been delayed until Ms. Alba’s role can be recast. A spokesperson for Alba stated that the TV and recent film star is suffering from a “sleep disorder” but would not go into further detail. Jessica Alba joins the ranks of such celebrities as Paris Hilton, Rose McGowan, Eliza Dushku, Christina Aguliera and several others who have cancelled appearances, performances and upcoming film roles due to a mysterious sleep disorder. Doctors and therapists for the starlets could not be reached for comment, and their respective agencies have not returned calls seeking information, but a spokesman for the Los Angeles Center for Sleep Studies (speaking on condition of anonymity) denies rumors of a psychiatric epidemic of any kind, laying the blame for the rash of cancellations on “average Hollywood stress”.
Good. Nothing people aren’t used to by now and nothing that very many probably even care about. Another spoiled starlet cracked under the pressure. Of course there’s no comment from the doctors or agents. The sleazy talk-show and tabloid circuit would have a field day if they found out what was affecting these poor things, so it’s no surprise that mouths are staying shut. Even if they don’t stay that way forever, there’s nothing pointing in any direction that affects me in any way…nor will there be.
Enough of the paper, the hour grows late and active young men such as myself do need their sleep. Oh, how I used to dread that word. Sleep. To most people, it is a time of rest, relaxation and maybe even far-away adventures acted out on the stage of the subconscious mind. To me it was a nightly exercise in survival. Toward the end, it was an exercise that occurred maybe twice a week, as I poisoned my body with anything that would keep me awake. “Pattern Nightmares” they called them. Or “Night Terrors”. Whatever the name, the results were the same. Horrible nightmares that trapped me in a world of unknown physics and inescapable terror. And the psychological damage wasn’t even all of it.
Mine were so bad that they often left physical reminders of the night’s festivities. One of my many doctors explained that if the mind is so completely and utterly convinced that something is happening, it can force the physical body to react accordingly. Once, I dreamed of being burned alive…and woke with real first-degree burns on my arms. Another dream took me through a narrow hallway coated in razor blades and my skin actually opened up in a few places as blood flowed. They’d been going on from the age of sixteen, where they were minor annoyances, to the time I was 32, where they’d become life threatening. I learned that if I didn’t find a way to control these nightmares, I could theoretically suffer a massive coronary or a stroke in my sleep. After the last series of them, I attempted suicide.
That’s when Dr. Granger came into my life. As I lay on a hospital bed in Crystal City Psychiatric, wrists sewn and bandaged, Dr. Granger became my sleep therapist. Life Saver is more like it. Then again, you could probably throw Entertainment Director into that list of titles, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves. Granger was a renowned hypno-therapist who specialized in something I’d never even heard of until he bestowed the techniques upon me.
Lucid Dreaming.
The concept is simple. When one is in a lucid state while in REM sleep, one is fully aware that they are dreaming, and can interact and in some cases control their imagined surroundings. As Dr. Granger explained, most of us achieve lucidity once in awhile naturally. However, most people lose grasp of the state once they realize they are lucid. Something about the mental shock. There are techniques on keeping the state intact, and then there are subtle and difficult techniques involved in achieving it spontaneously. Some have even learned to do it at will.
I became one of those, and more.
Even the good Doctor was amazed at how quickly I took to the therapy. Perhaps it was my subconscious mind knowing that this was the only way I could save it from itself. Maybe it was a latent talent that only needed some coaxing along. Well, if I was Luke Skywalker then Dr. Granger was Ben Kenobi and he most definitely taught me the ways of the Force, so to speak. Within two months, I had the night terrors completely under control. I had trained my mind to react to fear with rote actions that achieved lucidity, and then it was a simple task of sweeping away the things that scared me and replacing them with things that I enjoyed. Within a year, I was no longer a patient of Dr. Granger’s, having even become some sort of a consultant when he was faced with a challenging patient. He said that I was the most gifted professional dreamer he’d ever seen. He had no idea.
Within two years, I discovered something that shook me to the core and changed my life forever. During one rather eventful REM period, fearful things attempted to creep back into my sleeping mind. I achieved lucidity and imagined myself and my best friend Jason fighting off hordes of evil creatures with magical swords of light. The next day, Jason told me of a strange dream he’d had…one involving the two of us, glowing swords and a shitload of Orcs. Was it possible? Was there something in me that allowed me to link sleeping minds with another person? Or perhaps it was an ability we all have, but I’d found a way to tap into. Whatever the reason, I began experimenting in earnest.
Now, I’m not an evil person, but they say absolute power corrupts absolutely. In the world of my dreams, I have absolute power. I am a god. I am Vishnu, Gaia, Buddha, Satan…whatever I wish. So I can honestly say that I became a bit corrupted. I needed to know how seriously I could affect someone who came into my dreams…if a serious enough shock would cause me to lose them. Once again I brought Jason into my Orc-fighting dream and “allowed” him to sustain a moderate injury. The next day, he wore a bandage on his arm and a perplexing look. In the dream, Jason stayed in the battle even after his injury, because I had wished it. So, there was no escaping. Interesting.
Now, let’s assume you had this gift. What would you do with it? Don’t lie. Be honest with yourself, if not with me. How many erotic dreams were you woken out of that you wished you could get back? Come on, admit it. You must understand that my tastes go way beyond just boning some nymphet, so the path I chose to follow during my night travels would probably top any fetish video ever made. That’s when I got the idea to do what I like best…with whomever I wished.
I set the paper aside and lay down on my bed. No drugs to help me, I need my mind pure. I’ve gotten to the point where I can fall asleep almost at will, as long as I’m marginally tired to begin with. Lying back, I close my eyes and feel myself slowly falling…picking up a little speed…a little more…this part of my body then that going numb as I reach terminal velocity…the grey clouds whipping past…the ground coming up to meet me…no fear of impact…no real impact…a slowing down of inertia…reality lost…a gentle float down to the ground…a quick look at my hands (one of the subconscious totems that help affix lucidity)…and the world that I long for every night unfolds around me.
The Inner Sanctum. Yes, this will do nicely. I have several places that I like to go during my nocturnal travels, built brick by brick, thought by thought out of the dark recesses of my psyche. There’s the Pink Room, the Steel Forest, the Showroom, the Hotel, the Cruise Ship, the Medieval Chamber…all of them created by my own hand, or should I say mind. But the Inner Sanctum is my favorite, and my first choice when bringing in new “friends”. It is the culmination of everything I’ve dreamed, everything I’ve desired. Like something out of the Twilight Zone, it defies physics, yet still makes perfect sense. Part mansion, part playground, part gathering place, the Inner Sanctum is nothing less than the very center of my id and ego. Facing the huge double doors, I pulled the steel rings and entered my home away from reality.
The Sanctum was my place, but I was not alone there. Those that I had drawn in to my dream-world immediately took their places. Those that were currently asleep in the real world, anyway. After many successful “pulls”, I had learned an interesting trick. I could place something like a psychic “tracer” if you will deep within the mind of my target. When she fell asleep, she came back to where I had placed her. And I had placed many.
Why would I do this, you ask? How can I put this as simply as possible? There are things I want to do to many of the world’s most beautiful women that I simply cannot do in the waking world. It’s the least noble cause, but perhaps the oldest. The Inner Sanctum allows me to live out my deepest fantasies without ever getting caught. The women drawn into my dreams were unwilling participants, and could feel everything I did to them on one level or another, but were helpless to control anything around them. I could hold them there almost indefinitely as long as I stayed asleep. The beauty is…I’d never have a single finger pointed in my direction. Not only would no one believe it if one of them actually thought someone was kidnapping them in their dreams, but whom would they accuse? Me? Certainly not. I was a master of my dream realm, and I knew all of its tricks. I could appear to them in shadow, or as someone they knew. I could be a shapeless form, a disassociated voice, a man they desired, or someone they feared. A monster or a god. As I entered the main entrance to the Inner Sanctum, I took on the look of the Dark Man. Where there should be a human head, my victims would see only a dark space with eyes that bore into the soul. Upon seeing my first guest, I could see that the visage had all of the shock value I had hoped for.
I heard the sharp intake of air as she looked upon me. I had chosen this one weeks ago, and had yet to tire of the fate I’d decided for her. If you are going to have yourself greeted by a knockout beauty when you enter your “home”, it might as well be worth it. Paris Hilton had been enjoying the Giant Feathers every night since I linked up with her sleeping mind. Why her? Why not? The blond beauty was clad in only a pair of thong panties, hanging by her wrists from a thick ceiling beam. Her ankles bound together, she was pulled toward the ground by heavy weights attached to her feet. I got the mental image from a drawing I once saw on the Internet, and thought Ms. Hilton would play the part well. Three large feathers defied gravity and rationale as they floated around her writhing body. They were like snakes, darting in and out, back and forth, seemingly of their own volition. One played back and forth over the bare skin of her soles while the other two took long, slow, purposeful strokes down the sides of her slim body. From the ends of her wrists to the supple bones of her hips, the feathers traced a ticklish path down that luscious body. I waved my hand and the feathers ceased momentarily, hovering in place, their tips undulating inches from Paris’s tight skin.
“Are we having fun this evening, Ms. Hilton?” I teased as I rested my hands on her hips.
“P-Please…lemme wake up…not again….” She stammered as her breath came in gasps.
“Oh, come now,” I said, slowly running my fingertips up her slim body, “your laughter is one of the highlights of my nights, you wouldn’t deprive me of that, would you?”
“This can’t be real…I have to wake up!” she whimpered as my fingers traced small circles over her small breasts.
“It’s real enough,” I said as I watched her twitch under my lightly probing fingers, traveling from breasts to soft underarms, “but you still have some breaking-in to do. You’re not ready for the heavy stuff yet. I think you’ll spend another evening with the Feathers, if you’re not too busy, that is.”
“NOOOO!!!!” she screamed as I backed away and again waved my hand. The floating feathers arched what looked like their “heads” and slowly made contact with the perfect skin of the spoiled hotel heiress. I watched for a moment as her body returned to a state of tickled twitches and her light voice strained with musical laughter. I left the feathers to do their job…light, annoying and endless tickling over every square inch of Paris Hilton’s bound body. As much as I would have liked to stay, there were other places in the Sanctum I needed to check on, and other “guests” I had to greet. I walked away as Paris’s laughter faded. On my right was a similar set of restraints and floating feathers set aside for one Ms. Tara Reid, but it seemed she was not asleep yet. Soon, I told myself…very soon. Probably by the time I came back up this hallway again.
Traveling further, I opened the door to a room I had spent quite a large chunk of imagination on. This was where I kept Christina and Britney. I know what you’re thinking…pretty obvious, but what the hell? I had no love of either’s “music”, but I simply couldn’t resist their hot bodies. What male hasn’t had a fantasy about these two pop-tarts being put in their place? As I walked into the room, I was greeted with a sight that would have melted the libido of a lesser dreamer, and in truth had once jolted me right out of lucidity. I have gotten a lot better since.
Christina and Britney were fastened back-to-back in an X position. A single steel pole descended from the stone ceiling, ending in the center of two more thin poles in the shape of an X. Restraints on both sides of the simple frame held each girl a foot above the floor, body stretched out, asses pressed against each other. Both girls were dressed in skimpy lingerie that struck my fancy at the moment, Britney in pink, Christina in black. As I entered the room, I was not assaulted by threats or pleas as one would expect. Two large ball-gags pressed deep into the mouths of the pop stars prevented that. There would be no talking, no teasing. I liked this part…
Without a word, I approached the hanging girls, circling around them, flexing my fingers before their eyes. They whimpered into their gags and pulled at their restraints. Slim, sexy bodies thrashed against the solid bonds, but to no avail. I walked up to Britney, looked her in the eye, and slowly pointed my right finger into her stretched armpit. Hooking it ever so slightly, I tickled the bare skin as she jerked. Here was the part I really dug. As I pulled my arm away, my hand remained. More accurately, a copy of it remained. It was somewhat like pulling your hand out of a bowl of Jell-O. My hand remained attached to my arm, but a perfect representation of it remained under Britney’s right armpit, tickling away. Cut off cleanly at the wrist, the disembodied hand went about its task of tickle-torment with no further guidance from me.
Reaching down, I placed my hands on Britney’s sexy sides, right above her exposed hips and clawed my fingers around her waist. Digging in slightly, I found the hot spot that caused the blond babe to wriggle about and again pulled my arms out of the psychic Jell-O. Once again, my arms were whole, but a facsimile of each hand remained to continue tickling Britney’s sides. Her laughter slammed against the ball-gag as I circled around to face the struggling Christina Aguliera. Slowly, I brought my hands up to her armpits and reveled in the look of desperation her eyes held as the tickling started. She was pleading with her eyes, but it would do no good. I was setting up their entertainment for the evening, and had much more to do. I tickled her all over her squirming body, each time leaving a copy of a hand to continue the torture after I’d moved to another spot. Circling the bondage framework, I tickled Britney again, then back to Christina. By the time I was finished, the girls were hanging in their restraints each having more than ten hands tickling them all over their bodies and reaching up from the floor to tickle their dangling bare feet. Tears flowed from their eyes and they were drooling around their gags. Their bodies were a quivering mass of naked flesh, tickled against their will.
“Have a nice evening, ladies!” I said as I walked away and closed the door, shutting out the sound of tormented muffled screams.
The next door down was a room I’d set up dedicated to my love of tickling in magic illusions. Upon opening the door, my senses were greeted by a bizarre but strangely comforting sight. It was like a magic show from inside a diseased mind. Well, ok…it was, but that’s beside the point. On the brightly lit stage, Eliza Dushku was encased in a long, thin box…only her head and bare feet poking out. She was divided in two while one of my “Shadows”, dream-servants who were part of my subconscious and created by me to do my bidding and populate my world, tickled her exposed bare feet with her fingers. This Shadow had the appearance of a Vegas Showgirl, acting the part of the magician who was taking great pleasure in torturing the bare feet of the hapless Ms. Dushku. They twitched from side to side, but could not escape the tickling. The gorgeous head that poked out of the other end of the box was contorted in forced laughter, tears flowing from those huge brown eyes. The Shadow had stopped using her fingers to tickle the bare soles and had switched to a stiff hairbrush, bringing Eliza to a crying, laughing fit.
I looked down on a table, populated by more Shadows watching the show, and there in a small box was the detached head of 18-year-old actress Kaley Cuoco, the youngest addition to my dream stable. Her pretty face was twisted with laughter, and I soon saw why. Several other boxes contained various parts of Kaley’s naked body, small doors opened to expose ticklish flesh. The Shadow-patrons drank their drinks and carried on their mindless conversations while aimlessly tickling one part of Kaley or another. One table had a tiny box with the sole of a bare foot being stroked with a feather. Another bore Kaley’s nude chest, her upstretched armpits being tickled by a Shadow-woman’s long nails. Yet another group of patrons were toying with a box laid prone on the tabletop. Walking toward the table, I saw the flap-doors opened and the slim belly of the young blond actress wriggling in torment as several sets of fingers poked, prodded and tickled the girl’s tight midriff.
Seeing that all was well in the Magic Room, I exited the hellish playground and went back into the long hallway. Open doors passed through my peripheral vision, assailing me with pleasurable sights and sounds created in the realm of my dreams. I saw Elisha Cuthbert in a white bikini, hogtied and gagged, being tickled on her feet by two Shadows. Another few feet and my ears beheld the sound of Diane Lane, her shrieking laughter piercing the thick fog the dream. I didn’t have to look to see that she was where I’d left her since last night, hung upside-down while giant tongues licked her all over, tickling her tender spots with their tips, driving her to orgasm after orgasm between her legs. Next to her was rose McGowan, tied nude to a revolving wheel-frame. Feathers placed all around and within the wheel tickled her mercilessly with each revolution. Her nubile body wriggled to escape, but she was secure in her bondage. Room after room presented me with everything I’d dream of, every twisted desire, every ticklish torture I wanted to visit upon the world’s hottest women.
But it was the end of the long hallway that I was headed for. The Presentation Room. The place where I brought every new acquisition to receive her first long night of tickle-torture directly from me. It was an ego thing I did once in awhile, to keep the grasp on my world strong. In actuality, this room probably was my ego, if you looked at it from a certain point of view. And there was someone waiting who would make my collection complete. Someone who I hadn’t thought of bringing in until now. Well, perhaps I’d better rephrase that. I’d though about bringing her in ever since I discovered what I could do with my sleeping subconscious. I had waited. Why? Because she was my ultimate fantasy. She was almost sacrosanct for awhile. Part of me argued that she remained safe so that I’d always have the fantasy in the back of my mind, driving me to greater and greater tortures of the rest of the world’s hottest babes. Another part of me had recently realized why I had really waited until now.
I wanted everything perfect. I wanted to be 100% sure that I had absolute dominion over my dream-world before I brought her in full-time. Over the last week, I had brought her in briefly, letting her see me, letting her feel the loss of control, the out-of-place feeling that her dreams were not her own. By now, in the real world, she was on sleep aids that would only help me demolish her defenses and make a perfect tickle-toy out of my #1 fantasy girl…
Jessica Alba.
With the picture of her firmly in my mind, I entered the Presentation Room, a place I sometimes called the Throne Room. That’s what it would be tonight. My ego was in overdrive, and I was drowning in it. I was Overlord of everything I purveyed, and tonight’s capture of another innocent mind would be my greatest achievement. I entered the room and with barely a side thought, my image had changed. A long, flowing cape extended from my shoulders, trailing behind me. I was clad in violet, blood-red and gold, a King among Shadows. And Shadows there were aplenty. The gigantic hall was filled to capacity with the creations of my psyche. All rose to greet me and bowed deeply. I waved my hands, gesturing them to be seated as I ascended to my throne. Atop the dais at the head of the great hall, the throne conformed to my body as I looked out over the throng. I subconsciously jacked up the “mob-factor”, and the Shadows quickly became restless, eager for the show. I again raised my hand, beckoning for quiet. In the daunting sudden silence, my voice reverberated against the walls, bringing to every ear the four words I had dreamed of saying ever since I first laid eyes on the most gorgeous woman in the world.
“Bring her before me!”
Tall double-doors opened at the other end of the hall and four large shadows dragged Jessica Alba into the Throne Room. Her hands were bound in front of her and she was blindfolded. Struggling against her captors, she was no match for the brutal strength I’d instilled in my servants. Another wave of my hand opened a panel in the floor before my throne. An altar rose from the depths, stone and padding, covered in steel rings with which to fasten inescapable ropes. The four Shadows dragged Jessica up the aisle as she begged for release.
“What’s happening?!? Where am I? Why can’t I wake up?!?!? Let me go!”
I sat wordlessly as I beckoned the Shadows to prepare the victim. Like lighting they acted, in the smooth, efficient manner achieved only in dreams. Jessica was slammed on top of the altar and a blur of arms and hands sent shreds of clothing flying everywhere, lengths of rope circling through the air and around her limbs. It was a shady vapor trail of motion that I enjoyed almost as much as the final result.
Almost.
When the dream-smoke had cleared, the Shadows stepped back and even I marveled at their handiwork. Jessica was bent over the altar; her hands tied together and her arms bent down at the elbows, which came right to the edge of the perfectly-sized table. Her wrists were pulled tight and fastened to a steel ring on the leading side of the altar. Her legs were apart and each one was bent at the knee, each ankle lashed to a steel ring on the bottom side of the table. Completing the bondage were ropes wrapped around her elbows and knees, pinning them down to more rings. The blindfold was removed and a strap was placed over her forehead. The subtle convex arch of the table itself (something I added in at the last moment) curved her tight body slightly upward.
I rose from my throne and walked over to the table, taking in the sight of the woman of my desires so helplessly restrained. She was left with a tiny pair of panties, a small patch of cloth covering her tender area with two long, impossibly thin straps disappearing over her hips. A black spaghetti-strap tank-top came down to just below her ribcage, her hardened nipples pressing against the sheer fabric. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, in life or in dreams. Her face was perfection, those deep, slightly slanted eyes looking at me with confusion and fear…her angelic cheeks, her long flowing hair…and that body. My god. Her breasts were simply perfection, full and tight, her ribs slightly protruding even through the thin fabric of her barely-there shirt, her flat belly and symmetrical waist flaring out into a pair of full hips, bones pressed against the mocha-tanned flesh. Her long legs looked even more attractive encased as they were in ropes of bondage. Her naked feet dangled and flexed, inviting the tortures to come.
“Wh-what’s happening? Where am I? Why can’t I wake up?!?!?” she stammered, just as I had hoped she would. The situation was nothing more than a product of my dream, but the fear was real. That was all Jess.
“It’s just a dream, my dear,” I teased, “Isn’t it? Perhaps you have some deep-seated submissive trait…”
“No, this isn’t real! I can wake up!” she squealed as she struggled against the bonds. In the position she was in, all it managed to do was accentuate her curvy body.
“I’m afraid you can’t, Ms. Alba,” I said as I circled the altar that contained my dream-girl, “I’m afraid you’re trapped here until I decide to wake up. You see, this isn’t your dream…it’s mine. You are my most honored guest.”
At my subliminal command, the Shadows began chanting in a low murmur.
“What’s that?!?” Jessica asked, trying to crane her head around to see what all the fuss was about.
“My servants…your fans,” I said as I trailed my finger lazily over her right nipple, “You wanted fame, didn’t you? You are about to become the very epicenter of all attention in my world.”
The chanting increased in volume until I allowed Jessica to make out what was being said. It was like a single voice spoken by a thousand tongues, all chanting a single word…
“Tick-le…Tick-le…Tick-le…Tick-le…”
“What the hell?” Jessica shrieked, “Tickle? You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” I said with a leer, fully knowing that it was the corniest thing I could have said, but enjoying it nonetheless. I was even tempted very briefly to manifest a long handlebar mustache on my face, just so I could twirl the end in a Dick Dastardly flourish. The chanting grew louder.
“TICK-LE!!! TICK-LE!!! TICKLE!!!! TICKLE!!!!”
I raised my hands for silence. I stood to the side of the table that contained the tied Jessica Alba.
“N-no! PLEASE!!” she begged.
In the brooding silence, I held up a single finger and lowered it onto the smooth flesh of Jessica’s exposed armpit. Wriggling it slightly, I introduced Ms. Alba to the world of tickle-torture. A cheer went up at her first shriek. The mob pressed closer.
I lowered my other hand into armpit range and fluttered my fingers in those smooth, deep hollows. It was real, it was tactile…I could feel the warmth of the flesh, the smoothness of the skin and the attempted movement that strained the muscles of my victim.
“N-NO!!! HAAAHAAA!!! P-PLEASENOPLEASENO…AIIIGHHH!!!!”
“Ticklish, Jessica?” I asked needlessly.
“Y-YES!!!! PuhLEEEZE STAH-HAA-HHAAAAP!!”
“Not quite yet, my darling…we have your whole body to tickle, don’t we?”
Another cheer went up from the crowd. They pressed inward further, adding I knew to Jessica’s sense of claustrophobia and utter capture. My fingers found greater purchase as I willed my nails into long smooth talons. The hard points trailed over and over the ticklish flesh of her stretched armpits. I reached a little under the edges of the small shirt to tickle the sides of her breasts. As she squealed in torment, I picked up the pace, fluttering madly, tracing lines of torment up and down the length of her tied arms. I slowly dragged my nails down her biceps….
“Wait for it…” I teased.
“N-No!...please….” she whispered.
“Here it comes….”
A rise in the murmur of the crowd accompanied the resulting tickling of Jessica Alba’s armpits. Drawing the nails in, I used the tips of my fingers to press into the pits and tickle hard, making little circles over the ticklish mounds that her stretched arms could not protect. Her beautiful face twisted into laughter that I knew she did not want to let loose. The cords on her neck strained with the effort of trying to raise her pretty little head. My hands were a blur of motion as tickle after tickle invaded the deep recesses of her tied armpits.
I almost lost lucidity at the excitement of the moment. This was exactly why I’d waited until now to draw my ultimate fantasy into the dream world. My mastery of the subconscious techniques took over and I backed away, relaxing a bit and refocusing my psyche. A slight shimmer in the walls, a brief feeling of detachment and an even briefer desire to awaken…all of it passed as my world coalesced back into three solid, if imagined, dimensions.
I walked to the end of the table and knelt down. Jessica tried to raise her head to see me, but she was forced to stare at the ceiling in wonder of what was coming next. I let her know quickly.
“You have sexy little feet, Jessica…” I trailed off.
“NO! Don’t you DARE!!!” she screamed.
“Oh, I’m afraid I can do whatever I wish in here, my beauty…and all you can do is experience anything I wish upon you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Please just let me go! Let me out of here! What have I ever done to you?”
“What have you done to me?” I asked rhetorically, “You mean other than haunting my every thought with images of your perfection? Being utterly desirable yet completely unattainable? Being above a person like me?”
“I don’t even know you!” she pleaded.
“But you do now, don’t you? I’m your master, your king….your god.”
Jessica squirmed in her bondage as I ran a single finger over the top of one of her feet.
“Nooooooo….”
“Yes,” I said as I started tickling her feet. That was all that needed to be said. She thrashed her foot around as much as she could in an attempt to escape the single finger that played along her bare sole. The finger became two, then three…soon both of my hands were tickling her feet as her laughter reached an ear-splitting pitch. For the moment, I was enjoying teasing her peds; having fun darting in and out as she tried in vain to pull her feet away. The game of cat-and-mouse was thrilling. Every time I let her pull slightly away, I poked in with another tickling finger. I switched between feet, keeping her guessing and in abject terror. Soon, the time had come for the games to stop and the real foot-tickling to begin. I willed slender threads into being and they wormed their way between her toes. My will forced them to tie themselves tightly around two more rings above and to the side of Jessica’s twitching feet. Her arches were quickly stretched backward, her feet immobile. I extended the long nails yet again.
For my own benefit, I brought them slowly toward her helpless soles. An inch before contact, I began wriggling them wildly. That last inch was a moment frozen in time. The sight of her bare feet, pinned back helplessly, the knowledge that she could not see or brace for what was coming. I had to do it. The nails made contact, and I added a bit of volume increase to Jessica’s immediate squeals of forced laughter. Her giggles and yelps reverberated off the walls as the throng of Shadows cheered and pressed ever forward, held at bay only through my will for it to be so.
Sharp nails invaded her soles, trailing torture over every nerve ending. Fluttering with speed, I tickled her feet with no mercy. No break in contact. No pity. These feet were mine to play with, regardless of whom they were attached to. Scream after scream escaped Jessica Alba’s lips as her feet were tickle-tortured over and over. Nails scraped and tickled, poked, prodded and massaged. The tender area under her toes was not spared, and tickling that sensitive place brought a fresh peal of searing laughter from the most beautiful set of lips in the known world. The room and my world began to slightly shimmer, but I brought everything back to solid. However, I knew that I’d be naturally waking within the hour, so I now needed to get down to what I really wanted to do.
Tickle torture Jessica Alba’s tied body.
Rising from the end of the bondage altar, I allowed Jessica to catch her breath, although it wasn’t necessary. I could sheath her face in a plastic bag and still keep her alive, but it would take a bit of practice. But that’s not what I had in mind.
“Perhaps we should lose this?” I said as I grabbed the lower edges of the flimsy tank-top.
“N-N-no….p-please…haaa…haaa…..nomoreplease…Ican’t…can’t…takeit…”
“Oh, I think you can. Now let’s see this awesome body of yours.”
I pulled the top slowly up her ribs, over her breasts, peeling her like a ripe fruit. I pulled the shirt over her head and as far up her arms as I could. I could have vanished it, but I liked the way it looked draped over her tied elbows, her last vestige of modesty stripped away. The body lying stretched and supine before me was a sight even I wasn’t prepared for. Her breasts reached for the ceiling, no amount of gravity yet affecting them. Each rib poked against tanned skin. Her flat belly heaved with each breath, stretched tight over the subtle arch of the table.
“And now, my dear….prepare to lose your mind.” I looked into her eyes and allowed my will to create a thick gag that filled Jessica’s mouth. I let layers of tape float down and attach themselves over the gag, rendering her utterly helpless and at my mercy.
I had planned on slowly tickling her again, but even I had my limits. The writhing body that I had dreamed about for years was now mine, and I wanted nothing more than to torture it. My hands formed claws as I dug into her ribcage. Back and forth I glided my hooked fingers, between each slight depression, over each hard rib. Jessica was thrashing to no avail, unable to escape the horrible feeling of unwanted tickling on her ribs. I changed to a fluttering motion and traveled up and down her ribs and into her armpits. The sides of her jiggling breasts were delightfully ticklish, and I couldn’t resist tickling one while I pinched her nipple. Having a sudden thought, I manifested two tiny feathers to float over each puffed nipple and dance over the flesh. Making tiny circles, the feathers continued tickling her tits while I moved on to more pressing targets.
Tickling back down her ribs, I rested my hands on her flat belly. Without a word, I started to lightly draw patterns over her tummy, to either side of her navel…working outward until I was tickling the curve of her sexy waist. She wiggled and tried to buck, but the bonds held impossibly well. The speed of my tickling increased until my fingers were flying over the flat expanse of her taut stomach. I drew the claws out and tickled her lower belly over the tiny thong, one hand tickling the sensitive skin over her pussy and the other scraping between her thighs. The edges of the thong were tickled relentlessly as Jessica squealed over and over through the thick gag.
Soon, my hands found her hips. Drawing the nails back in, I grasped her waist right above those hipbones and gave a little squeeze.
“Are you ready to be tickled into insanity?” I asked, not caring what the response would attempt to be.
Jessica pleaded at me with wide, tear-filled eyes, begging me in her only way not to torture her body any further. I ignored the brief feeling of pity that welled up for a moment. This was going to be most unpleasant for the tied babe…
Digging in slowly, I felt the tight muscles beneath Jessica’s skin. Making subtle circles, I rubbed the ticklish skin over the tight muscle, reveling in every sensation, every feeling. I knew that it tickled like hell, and I was about to make it worse.
The crowd again chanted “TICK-LE! TICK-LE! TICK-LE!!” as I squeezed harder and faster. I could contain my desire no longer. Seeing her screaming under the gag, watching her perfect body writhe under the inhuman bondage…it broke my resolve to be subtle. I dug in and tickled her sides with claws from Hell. Pressure just to the point before pain, not enough to hurt, but more than enough to introduce Jessica Alba to the true meaning of Tickle-Torture. She squirmed and wriggled as I tickled her up and down her sides, over her belly and back up to her ribs. My hands moved as if they were the ones controlling me, her nude flanks helpless against the onslaught of tickling. I poked stiff fingers all over her midriff, feeling the muscles tighten with each prod. I massaged her ribs as the feathers danced over her luscious boobs. I added two more feathers to tickle under her arms as I went back to her bare, heaving belly.
Another created feather dipped into her deep, oval navel…tickling her belly-button without conscious mercy. My hands fluttered over her sides and finally dug into the weakest spot I’d found. Jessica was no longer making such loud noises under her gag. Her breath was ragged and a sheen of sweat covered her perfect hard body. My lust was building to a point where I knew I’d lose lucidity if I kept it up much longer. I could have jumped on her right there and fucked the shit out of her, but for some reason, I wanted to save that for another time.
I backed away and raised my arms. Once I dropped them, the signal was clear. The throng of Shadows moved in around the tied-up wriggling starlet and she screamed over and over into the mouth-filling gag. Hands, nails, feathers and brushes attacked every inch of Jessica’s body, tickling her into insanity as I sat back on my throne and watched the world I’d created play itself out. This was a good beginning, tomorrow would be better. Maybe I’d bury her in the sand; perhaps I’d slice her to ticklish pieces in the Magic Room…who knew. I could feel the realm slip away slowly; Jessica’s muffled screams and wriggling, bound tickled body the last things I heard and saw before arriving once again to the familiarity of my own bed….
AP – Malibu, California
In a follow-up to the recent decision by actress Jessica Alba to cancel her upcoming projects, it has been learned that she has checked herself into the Malibu Psychiatric Clinic. Calls to Alba’s management were not returned, but an M.P.C. employee, speaking on condition of anonymity, has confirmed that Ms. Alba will be undergoing therapy for an apparently serious sleep disorder. The employee was quoted as saying that Alba’s spirits were high upon her arrival, she has a positive attitude about her upcoming therapy and was “just tickled to be here” to help herself…
