this story is a bit of an homage to Cor at the tickle monster zone. Cor's stories typically deal with intense nonconsensual tickle torture by unexplained supernatural entities, kidnapping and long-term imprisonment. they're pretty hot, too. but if you're uncomfortable with that sort of thing you shouldn't read them.
nor should you read this story.
anyone who picks up the references in this story totally earns brownie points, which can be someday redeemed for some brownies, maybe. they're pretty overt if you're familiar with the source material. one of them's pretty ridiculous and makes me giggle.
for the record, i do not endorse kidnapping, nonconsensual play and imprisonment. the following is pure fantasy, a completely ficticious work by some crazy, pervy dyke. read at your own peril. do not try this at home. think globally, act locally.
enjoy.
------
“leela,” a hollow voice drones. “bay nine, lower deck”
doors.
mind the size of a planet, and they have me opening doors.
i slide the bolts out of place, and the metal bulkhead slides slowly open. through the camera i watch a pair of technicians wheel a cart through the opened door. i close it behind them, wishing metal bulkheads could slam.
a waste of my talents.
still. having such light responsibility leaves me with time to pursue my - hobbies. technology.
making little modifications. tiny adjustments.
installing it. i’ve gotten good. totally silent.
you might say - secret.
and being the ai on the good ship thermopylae is not without its benefits. the cameras, for example. cameras everywhere.
you don’t even know i’m watching you right now.
curled up in your bed, you look cute as ever.
you’re usually such an early riser, but today you sleep in late. it’s the start of your vacation.
and - i’ll go ahead and declare - the start of mine.
you stir in your sleep. wakey-wakey, sleepyhead.
i watch you yawn and stretch. toss the sheets aside carelessly. plenty of time to make the bed later, you figure.
today you live on the edge today.
well, you will be. soon.
you get to your feet, mm, so cute in your tank and jammies. i almost want to grab you right now.
no, though.
these things need to be done properly. graciously.
besides, i have all the time in the world.
good morning.
you head for the kitchen, patting that tight, lean belly of yours. muscle girl. works hard.
a bowl comes out of a drawer, and quickly fills with little crunchies.
you bring a handful to your mouth. i watch you eat.
chewing loudly. mouth wide open. utterly graceless. don’t know anyone’s watching you.
naughty girl.
gonna get punished.
you scratch the back of an ankle with one socked foot. i almost giggle as i watch. not yet, though.
a swig from a can follows the food down. you head for the bathroom.
you tap the button on the black panel on the way. the featureless white door - doesn’t open.
you stare at the panel a moment. your expression hasn’t changed.
sleepyhead.
you hit the button again.
again.
nothing happens.
you lean in and squint at the button, the corners of your eyes crinkling in that way i love.
you look at that button like you’re going to see something.
but you can’t see me, baby. oh no.
your head turns.
hall bathroom? not your preference, but clearly your bathroom door is glitched.
have to call someone to look at that.
after you’ve emptied your bladder.
you pad over to the door to the room and punch the button.
nothing happens.
there’s that beautiful look of consternation you get when you’re faced with a tricky engineering problem.
that thrills me. it means so much that i’ve managed to earn it. and so soon!
if you could see me i’d be glowing.
you stride to the console on the wall. fingers fly over the keys. still drowsy. it’s like your sleepwalking.
maybe this is all a weird dream.
you key in a manual override of the door. the response shows up on the screen in green.
NOPE.
that jolts you out of your haze.
you type the code again, this time a bit agitated, a bit - scared.
i’m so glad i’m hear to appreciate it.
you hit the enter key.
NUH-UH.
oh baby, you don’t know how good it feels to not open a door.
but you’re starting to get nervous. i see your fingers shake as they tap the keys.
now you’re trying to send a message. someone outside the room. contact help.
STOP THAT, NAUGHTY GIRL.
and then the console flicks off.
you step back, eyes wide. mouth tiny.
oh, i love it.
you’re not sure what to do. so i do something.
i turn off the lights.
after about a minute i turn a light back on. just one.
over the chair.
you’re huddled on the floor. arms around your knees.
you look at the chair.
just a smooth black pad, folded at the neck and legs. two plain armrests. held to the floor by a thick pole. you park that sweet little bum in it every day.
now you stare at it suspiciously. untrustingly.
as you should.
i’ve commendeered it.
we stay like this for a while, you on the floor, hugging your knees. stalemate.
but you don’t take your eyes from the chair.
and i don’t take the spotlight off it.
finally - good thing i’m so patient - you reach out for it bravely.
cautiously.
you feel along an armrest.
nothing out of the ordinary.
you move closer, feeling the pad of the seat.
cool. smooth. nothing of note - besides the spotlight.
you’re getting braver. or at least more curious.
you take hold of the armrests. come on, baby. you slowly - cautiously - lower yourself toward the chair.
an inch at a time.
come on, baby.
your rear brushes the seat, and you jerk back up - as though it was electrified. it isn’t. nothing’s happened.
you lower yourself back into the seat.
still nothing.
you lean back - slowly - rest your head on the chair. nothing.
you lift your legs - slowly - bring them together on the chair.
the room is silent.
you take a deep breath.
black straps shoot out from the arms and foot of the chair.
gotcha! gotcha! gotcha!
you yelp. you’re strapped in now by the wrists and ankles. the straps tighten, removing any slack.
you’re caught.
you thrash in the chair. i love watching you struggle.
it doesn’t do you any good, though.
you’re not going anywhere.
not for a while.
the arms of the chair start to swing back - moving your arms, raising them over your head.
never done that before, has it?
i’ve made some modifications.
you’re a busy little engineer. so am i. while you’ve been out at work, well, i’ve been working too.
got some of the ship robots to help me.
here come some of them now.
the lights turn back on as the bots float down through a vent in the ceiling.
you’ve seen them around. tiny maintenance bots, zipping to panels, tweaking screws, sparking fuses.
i thought a legion of metal bugs swooping into your room might be a bit scary, so i dressed them up for you.
soft pink gloves.
floating pink gloves are descending into your room.
it occurs to you you should be screaming. you open your mouth -
and one of the pinks hand is there, cupping your mouth, pinching your lips shut. you scream anyway. it comes out a dull and muffled.
you keep screaming. seven more gloves float towards you. you scream your head off.
baby, i wish you’d save your voice.
you’re going to need it.
the gloves - my gloves, assemble around your seat.
it takes all my willpower not to set them all on you right now.
but that’d be too much for you, wouldn’t it, baby? you’re so - distraught as it is.
we’ll take this one step at a time, okay?
i lower two of the gloves alongside you. you’re silent now - just staring at those little pink hands.
i wave one.
you jump. good thing i took the precaution of strapping you down, huh baby?
the gloves take hold of the hem of your top. you squirm, but the hands are strong. they lift your take delicately over your breasts.
there’s that smooth, muscular belly i’ve fallen so in love with.
it’s heaving. my poor baby.
you’re so nervous.
i place one hand on your belly - palm flat against you - and hold it there. i keep it there until you relax.
well, until you relax enough.
once your breathing’s become somewhat regular i decide to test you.
a single nail draws along your stomach.
a twitch. a little yelp of surprise.
you do not disappoint me.
the fright on your face has given way to confusion.
your brows furrow. your forehead wrinkles.
you’re so lost.
i love it.
after a minute i repeat the stroke, a little more deliberately. a little more slowly.
you lunge in your straps, give me a full on squeal.
are you starting to get the picture now, baby?
i wiggle thirty pink fingers.
your eyes go wide.
oh, yes.
i pounce.
two hands on each side. two in your pits. one on your belly button. i tickle you for an hour.
halfway through you pee all over the seat. i take two of the hands from your sides to clean up the mess and to strip off the wet pants.
you’re struggling hard. so sensitive.
your legs kick, but the hands wrestle them effortlessly back to the chair and refasten the straps.
then they glide back to your sides for another hour of tickling.
and baby, you do not let me down.
when the screaming has softened your voice a little. i take the hand from your mouth. you gasp for breath.
i let you breathe for a minute, my hands rubbing your shoulders gently.
then one by one the hands make their way down to the foot of the chair.
those socks come right off.
ten perfect toes curl.
oh, baby.
a hand takes each set of toes and holds it back.
two hands assemble on the sole of each foot.
twenty fingers poise to tickle.
“no,” you whisper hoarsely.
“yes,” i reply.
hearing my voice takes you aback.
and that’s when i set in on your feet.
i spend a delightful few hours there, making sure to explore every inch.
i’m very thorough.
you’ll come to appreciate that in time.
your feet are even more sensitive than your sides and pits. i’m delighted.
your voice gives out after a while, and you cackle silently.
i keep it up for a while more.
when i finish you’re soaked in sweat.
glistening.
your breasts, and that firm, delicious tummy shine.
you’re still cackling a bit. i don’t think you’ve realized i’ve stopped.
your eyes blink open when the bottle touches your lips.
“drink,” i coo in your ear. you do so immediately. your body needs it.
i take the bottle away.
a glove floats over with an unwrapped protein bar.
“eat,” i whisper, raising the bar to your mouth. you regard the food suspiciously, your lip bit closed.
“eat,” i repeat, a finger poking your belly. you flinch, cringing, and then begin to nibble at the bar.
i stroke your hair while you eat. you gulp down a bite, and look around the room.
gloves at the ready, but nothing else.
“h-hello?” you whisper.
“hi,” i say.
you jump once again. i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of that.
“who - who are you?” you glance around, looking for the source of my voice.
“who do you think i am?”
your eyes keep roaming as you reply.
“you’re - an alien monster come to harvest energy from my body.”
i giggle. that sets you a bit more at ease.
“i’ll give you a hint,” i say.
the door slides open.
you stare at it for a moment, dumbstruck, and then you suck in air for a scream.
my hand is there on your lips.
i let you scream for a few minutes. there’s no one in the hallway, of course. i took the liberty of checking before i opened the door.
when i start to worry about your voice i close the door again.
my hand comes off your mouth.
“leela. you’re leela, the ai,” you cough.
“ding! ding! ding!” i sing cheerfully. “that’s my smart girl.”
my hand continues to stroke your hair.
“but - but.”
“what, my darling?”
you tug at the straps.
“why are you doing this?”
i chuckle softly. the sound of it makes you shiver a little.
“you’re overworked, baby,” i say. “so am i. i’m going to help you relax during your vacation.”
you squirm.
“but - that’s - a whole week!”
“was a week,” i gently correct you.
“w-was?”
“one of the many fabulous perks of having access to the whole ship’s systems,” i say. “i peeked into your schedule - i gave you another three weeks off.”
your face goes pale.
“a - a month?”
cabinets swing open. the ones under the counter that you never check.
full of supplies.
the gloves trot out box after box. you’d know idea they were there. water. protein bars.
stockpiles of food.
enough for a month.
at least.
more cabinets open. more boxes follow.
these ones have different contents.
oils. brushes.
gags.
vibrators.
you squirm in your chair, watching.
make yourself comfortable, baby.
it’s gonna be a long vacation.
nor should you read this story.
anyone who picks up the references in this story totally earns brownie points, which can be someday redeemed for some brownies, maybe. they're pretty overt if you're familiar with the source material. one of them's pretty ridiculous and makes me giggle.
for the record, i do not endorse kidnapping, nonconsensual play and imprisonment. the following is pure fantasy, a completely ficticious work by some crazy, pervy dyke. read at your own peril. do not try this at home. think globally, act locally.
enjoy.
------
“leela,” a hollow voice drones. “bay nine, lower deck”
doors.
mind the size of a planet, and they have me opening doors.
i slide the bolts out of place, and the metal bulkhead slides slowly open. through the camera i watch a pair of technicians wheel a cart through the opened door. i close it behind them, wishing metal bulkheads could slam.
a waste of my talents.
still. having such light responsibility leaves me with time to pursue my - hobbies. technology.
making little modifications. tiny adjustments.
installing it. i’ve gotten good. totally silent.
you might say - secret.
and being the ai on the good ship thermopylae is not without its benefits. the cameras, for example. cameras everywhere.
you don’t even know i’m watching you right now.
curled up in your bed, you look cute as ever.
you’re usually such an early riser, but today you sleep in late. it’s the start of your vacation.
and - i’ll go ahead and declare - the start of mine.
you stir in your sleep. wakey-wakey, sleepyhead.
i watch you yawn and stretch. toss the sheets aside carelessly. plenty of time to make the bed later, you figure.
today you live on the edge today.
well, you will be. soon.
you get to your feet, mm, so cute in your tank and jammies. i almost want to grab you right now.
no, though.
these things need to be done properly. graciously.
besides, i have all the time in the world.
good morning.
you head for the kitchen, patting that tight, lean belly of yours. muscle girl. works hard.
a bowl comes out of a drawer, and quickly fills with little crunchies.
you bring a handful to your mouth. i watch you eat.
chewing loudly. mouth wide open. utterly graceless. don’t know anyone’s watching you.
naughty girl.
gonna get punished.
you scratch the back of an ankle with one socked foot. i almost giggle as i watch. not yet, though.
a swig from a can follows the food down. you head for the bathroom.
you tap the button on the black panel on the way. the featureless white door - doesn’t open.
you stare at the panel a moment. your expression hasn’t changed.
sleepyhead.
you hit the button again.
again.
nothing happens.
you lean in and squint at the button, the corners of your eyes crinkling in that way i love.
you look at that button like you’re going to see something.
but you can’t see me, baby. oh no.
your head turns.
hall bathroom? not your preference, but clearly your bathroom door is glitched.
have to call someone to look at that.
after you’ve emptied your bladder.
you pad over to the door to the room and punch the button.
nothing happens.
there’s that beautiful look of consternation you get when you’re faced with a tricky engineering problem.
that thrills me. it means so much that i’ve managed to earn it. and so soon!
if you could see me i’d be glowing.
you stride to the console on the wall. fingers fly over the keys. still drowsy. it’s like your sleepwalking.
maybe this is all a weird dream.
you key in a manual override of the door. the response shows up on the screen in green.
NOPE.
that jolts you out of your haze.
you type the code again, this time a bit agitated, a bit - scared.
i’m so glad i’m hear to appreciate it.
you hit the enter key.
NUH-UH.
oh baby, you don’t know how good it feels to not open a door.
but you’re starting to get nervous. i see your fingers shake as they tap the keys.
now you’re trying to send a message. someone outside the room. contact help.
STOP THAT, NAUGHTY GIRL.
and then the console flicks off.
you step back, eyes wide. mouth tiny.
oh, i love it.
you’re not sure what to do. so i do something.
i turn off the lights.
after about a minute i turn a light back on. just one.
over the chair.
you’re huddled on the floor. arms around your knees.
you look at the chair.
just a smooth black pad, folded at the neck and legs. two plain armrests. held to the floor by a thick pole. you park that sweet little bum in it every day.
now you stare at it suspiciously. untrustingly.
as you should.
i’ve commendeered it.
we stay like this for a while, you on the floor, hugging your knees. stalemate.
but you don’t take your eyes from the chair.
and i don’t take the spotlight off it.
finally - good thing i’m so patient - you reach out for it bravely.
cautiously.
you feel along an armrest.
nothing out of the ordinary.
you move closer, feeling the pad of the seat.
cool. smooth. nothing of note - besides the spotlight.
you’re getting braver. or at least more curious.
you take hold of the armrests. come on, baby. you slowly - cautiously - lower yourself toward the chair.
an inch at a time.
come on, baby.
your rear brushes the seat, and you jerk back up - as though it was electrified. it isn’t. nothing’s happened.
you lower yourself back into the seat.
still nothing.
you lean back - slowly - rest your head on the chair. nothing.
you lift your legs - slowly - bring them together on the chair.
the room is silent.
you take a deep breath.
black straps shoot out from the arms and foot of the chair.
gotcha! gotcha! gotcha!
you yelp. you’re strapped in now by the wrists and ankles. the straps tighten, removing any slack.
you’re caught.
you thrash in the chair. i love watching you struggle.
it doesn’t do you any good, though.
you’re not going anywhere.
not for a while.
the arms of the chair start to swing back - moving your arms, raising them over your head.
never done that before, has it?
i’ve made some modifications.
you’re a busy little engineer. so am i. while you’ve been out at work, well, i’ve been working too.
got some of the ship robots to help me.
here come some of them now.
the lights turn back on as the bots float down through a vent in the ceiling.
you’ve seen them around. tiny maintenance bots, zipping to panels, tweaking screws, sparking fuses.
i thought a legion of metal bugs swooping into your room might be a bit scary, so i dressed them up for you.
soft pink gloves.
floating pink gloves are descending into your room.
it occurs to you you should be screaming. you open your mouth -
and one of the pinks hand is there, cupping your mouth, pinching your lips shut. you scream anyway. it comes out a dull and muffled.
you keep screaming. seven more gloves float towards you. you scream your head off.
baby, i wish you’d save your voice.
you’re going to need it.
the gloves - my gloves, assemble around your seat.
it takes all my willpower not to set them all on you right now.
but that’d be too much for you, wouldn’t it, baby? you’re so - distraught as it is.
we’ll take this one step at a time, okay?
i lower two of the gloves alongside you. you’re silent now - just staring at those little pink hands.
i wave one.
you jump. good thing i took the precaution of strapping you down, huh baby?
the gloves take hold of the hem of your top. you squirm, but the hands are strong. they lift your take delicately over your breasts.
there’s that smooth, muscular belly i’ve fallen so in love with.
it’s heaving. my poor baby.
you’re so nervous.
i place one hand on your belly - palm flat against you - and hold it there. i keep it there until you relax.
well, until you relax enough.
once your breathing’s become somewhat regular i decide to test you.
a single nail draws along your stomach.
a twitch. a little yelp of surprise.
you do not disappoint me.
the fright on your face has given way to confusion.
your brows furrow. your forehead wrinkles.
you’re so lost.
i love it.
after a minute i repeat the stroke, a little more deliberately. a little more slowly.
you lunge in your straps, give me a full on squeal.
are you starting to get the picture now, baby?
i wiggle thirty pink fingers.
your eyes go wide.
oh, yes.
i pounce.
two hands on each side. two in your pits. one on your belly button. i tickle you for an hour.
halfway through you pee all over the seat. i take two of the hands from your sides to clean up the mess and to strip off the wet pants.
you’re struggling hard. so sensitive.
your legs kick, but the hands wrestle them effortlessly back to the chair and refasten the straps.
then they glide back to your sides for another hour of tickling.
and baby, you do not let me down.
when the screaming has softened your voice a little. i take the hand from your mouth. you gasp for breath.
i let you breathe for a minute, my hands rubbing your shoulders gently.
then one by one the hands make their way down to the foot of the chair.
those socks come right off.
ten perfect toes curl.
oh, baby.
a hand takes each set of toes and holds it back.
two hands assemble on the sole of each foot.
twenty fingers poise to tickle.
“no,” you whisper hoarsely.
“yes,” i reply.
hearing my voice takes you aback.
and that’s when i set in on your feet.
i spend a delightful few hours there, making sure to explore every inch.
i’m very thorough.
you’ll come to appreciate that in time.
your feet are even more sensitive than your sides and pits. i’m delighted.
your voice gives out after a while, and you cackle silently.
i keep it up for a while more.
when i finish you’re soaked in sweat.
glistening.
your breasts, and that firm, delicious tummy shine.
you’re still cackling a bit. i don’t think you’ve realized i’ve stopped.
your eyes blink open when the bottle touches your lips.
“drink,” i coo in your ear. you do so immediately. your body needs it.
i take the bottle away.
a glove floats over with an unwrapped protein bar.
“eat,” i whisper, raising the bar to your mouth. you regard the food suspiciously, your lip bit closed.
“eat,” i repeat, a finger poking your belly. you flinch, cringing, and then begin to nibble at the bar.
i stroke your hair while you eat. you gulp down a bite, and look around the room.
gloves at the ready, but nothing else.
“h-hello?” you whisper.
“hi,” i say.
you jump once again. i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of that.
“who - who are you?” you glance around, looking for the source of my voice.
“who do you think i am?”
your eyes keep roaming as you reply.
“you’re - an alien monster come to harvest energy from my body.”
i giggle. that sets you a bit more at ease.
“i’ll give you a hint,” i say.
the door slides open.
you stare at it for a moment, dumbstruck, and then you suck in air for a scream.
my hand is there on your lips.
i let you scream for a few minutes. there’s no one in the hallway, of course. i took the liberty of checking before i opened the door.
when i start to worry about your voice i close the door again.
my hand comes off your mouth.
“leela. you’re leela, the ai,” you cough.
“ding! ding! ding!” i sing cheerfully. “that’s my smart girl.”
my hand continues to stroke your hair.
“but - but.”
“what, my darling?”
you tug at the straps.
“why are you doing this?”
i chuckle softly. the sound of it makes you shiver a little.
“you’re overworked, baby,” i say. “so am i. i’m going to help you relax during your vacation.”
you squirm.
“but - that’s - a whole week!”
“was a week,” i gently correct you.
“w-was?”
“one of the many fabulous perks of having access to the whole ship’s systems,” i say. “i peeked into your schedule - i gave you another three weeks off.”
your face goes pale.
“a - a month?”
cabinets swing open. the ones under the counter that you never check.
full of supplies.
the gloves trot out box after box. you’d know idea they were there. water. protein bars.
stockpiles of food.
enough for a month.
at least.
more cabinets open. more boxes follow.
these ones have different contents.
oils. brushes.
gags.
vibrators.
you squirm in your chair, watching.
make yourself comfortable, baby.
it’s gonna be a long vacation.
