dave2112

What to do, what to do? I hate it when it’s one of the girls who fucks up. I’m the one always handling that job. Sure, I didn’t get as bloody as Tony who got the pleasure of beating the snot out of male informants. But the ladies tended to cry, and that always got to me. Now, I know Tony...

Jonathan had quite the collection of tickling fiction. Under the bed, in the closet…pretty much all over. He wasn’t just a purveyor of tickle-porn. Heavens no. He was an inventor. Or so he called himself. Now, Jonathan was a pretty lucky guy in one way. His wife, Lisa, was not only...

(Author's Note: This recounting was written back in '03, although some of the perspective is present tense. - Dave) I don't generally write stories about every tickling experience in my life, and I know that this has been my first in well over a year. Hell, even that one was about an incident...

(This particular story, while rather odd for me, remains memorable. It was originally written for a friend, and also written while VERY stoned. It also remains as the only story I've ever written from start to finish with no breaks, no editing and really no forethought to speak of. What you see...

And now it ends. But not the way Erica wanted it. The way I want it, for a change. This may very well be the first time I’ve been in complete control of anything since I first laid eyes on that little vixen. When she first walked in the door as the new girl where I work, I was not in control...

Ok, I’d sat at the bar long enough. I don’t know what it was, but the feeling of conquest I had when I walked into the smoky place was fading with every sip of the Jack Daniels I’d been ordering shots of for the last hour and a half. I don’t know whether it was the alcohol, the recurring...

All in all, it was a pretty good game. Lots of scoring, fast defense. And overtime. I was tempted to go check on Erica when overtime started, but I figured, what the hell. What’s another twenty minutes or so added on to the last few hours of torture? Gathering myself, I made a pit-stop and...

Dear Diary…yesterday I lost my mind. Yeah, that sounds good. Or how about this one? “Well, everyone always said I was the quite one, Barbara…” Either way, the book that comes out of this ought to be good at least. With Erica still chained to my bed, and not all that terribly happy about...

One blank page after the other. That’s all it had been for months. Too many months. I thought that the ideas would never dry up, the drive never cease, the desire never dilute. But, alas, like every writer before me and every one that will come long after my demise, the ugly demon worked its way...

This was going to be great. I’d finally gotten everything in my new house exactly the way I wanted it, the girlfriend was out of town at her parents for the week, the football season was coming to an end with many great playoff-implication games, and I had the whole Damn week off for Christmas...

My chair! My fucking chair! Not only did I miss the end of the last game (albeit in a most pleasant manner), the conclusion of the first, but now there was an hour before ESPN’s Sunday Night Game, and the woman was in MY CHAIR! Not that it was really planned that way. When Missy charged into...

Two hours. Stacy was going to be home in two hours. The place was wreck, not to mention the partied-out wrecks my friend Randy and I were, and the tickle-tortured wrecks the lovely Marcotti sisters, Maria and Missy, were. This was not going to be easy. Stacy had this way of seeing right...

I am not a bad person. I think this bears stating given the fact that there is a young woman, stripped to her undergarments, gagged and tied quite tightly to a futon in the living room. I haven’t hurt her, nor do I intend to. Like I said, I’m not a bad person. I just let jealousy and primal lust...

(This story was originally published as a sequel of sorts to the "Jessica" series of magic, illusion and tickling. It is provided here now as a conclusion to this series that started it all for Yours Truly.) Tonya was in the cramped dressing quarters of the Las Vegas cabaret she was currently...

Of all the things to be left in his Grandfather’s will, the strange-looking box was the last thing Rick expected. He knew his grandfather was a magician of some fame in the 40’s, but Rick wasn’t one to really get into what he called Granddad’s “Hocus Pocus Stuff”. That was before he read the...

“Well,” said Jessica, looking at the strange cabinet, “Do you want me to ‘introduce’ you, oh Rick the Magnificent?” She bowed toward him in a playful motion, fully intending to give her customer everything he had paid for. “I think that would be appropriate, my dear.” Rick smirked as looked...

After giving poor Jessica some time to gain what little of her composure was left, Rick decided it was time to continue with the utter breaking of his unwilling assistant. For you see, that is what Rick decided it would now be…a breaking. He really didn’t know how far he was going to go with...

Jessica awoke from her brief reverie and remembered where she was. For one fleeting moment, she thought it had all been a dream. Being locked into a mad Magician’s Illusion, having her young body separated and the trapped parts tickle-tortured. It did not take her very long to come back to...

As Rick searched around for the implements of his next torture of Jessica, he was struck by the conflicting emotions flowing through him. What the hell am I doing?, he asked himself, this is pretty much kidnapping at this point, Rickster. And why was he putting this poor girl through so much? He...

Rick was just finishing up his latest project when he looked up at the clock. Two more hours and Jessica would be back. As he painted the final panel of his latest illusion, he lit up a joint and reflected on the last three months. After their first meeting, Jessica wound up shackled to his...