Big Brother likes to Tickle people.

[Dude'sonfire]

Hey yall.

Some tickle story slash Foucault-esque social commentary for you. It's not as boring as that sounds. lol.

Here you go:


'I guess we're all done here,' announced the doctor.

'Thank you,' said the young woman with a big smile, putting the strap of her purse around her shoulder. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail, and she had large, friendly eyes behind stylish glasses.

'Oh, almost forgot.' The doctor reached into a drawer, and brought out a pamphlet. 'They've asked me to give this to everyone.'

'Oh.' The woman skimmed over the attractively designed cover. 'What's it for?'

'Medical research. Replacement limbs. They need people to test the effectiveness of the artificial nerve connections.'

'Oh.' She twisted her mouth curiously, and nodded to herself a couple times. 'Thank you.' She smiled at her again and left.

*

'Oh yes, I saw your pamphlet.'

'Oh good!' said the old, plump, thick-glasses adorned secretary in a nice voice. 'They're always looking for people. I'll just give you a couple forms...'

'Thank you.'

*

'Hello!' exclaimed a mature, short haired woman, taking her hand and shaking it heartily. She was wearing a white lab coat. 'I'm so glad we found someone for this latest testing phase. People are reluctant to go in for these things recently, unless it's for money.'

'Oh, I just like the idea of being able to help.'

'Precisely! Now, a couple things. You understand – it said this on the form – that you will need to be naked for us to properly observe the results?'

'Oh, yes, that's not a problem.'

'Also, we will have to put you in light restraint. If something doesn't go as expected, your body could react with too much intensity – your arm might spasm etc – and what with the delicacy of the equipment, you understand why we can't let that happen. Obviously, you will be given an emergency button to hit if you begin to panic.'

'That's fine.' She smiled and nodded.

'Good!' The woman put a hand on her shoulder and led her through a white corridor. 'Please undress in here, then enter through the blue door to your right. The chair's basically a dentist chair; it might look a little scary at first, but it's just what you've been in a hundred times before.' She beamed a smile. 'All set? Alright! I'll be in the observing room, and we'll be able to talk. Thanks again!'

*

She lay down on the medical chair naked, legs together, arms by her sides. The soft surface was a little cold against her back and buttocks, but not too bad, and the room was warm. A nurse came over and, after asking her if she was ready, strapped down her wrists, upper arms, ankles and thighs, firmly but not at all painfully. The nurse then began applying little acupuncture-esque needles into her neck and down her spine, through a thin parting in the chair's back, that in no way impeded its comfort. The woman lying on the chair barely felt them. The needles were each attached to a thin wire, that ran over to a terminal in the wall, positioned beneath a large window, through which a few people in lab coats were watching.

'Thank you,' said someone beyond the glass, the sound coming from a speaker in the ceiling. 'We'll let you know when we're ready to begin.'

The woman in the chair swallowed.

*

On the opposite side of the observation chamber, was a room in which, displayed on a series of low tables, was a collection of synthetic female body parts. Each looked very real, save for the fact that they were all detached from one another. Hands, arms, chests and shoulders, necks and blank-faced heads, breasts and backs, stomachs and waists, hips and crotches and buttocks, legs, feet – all connected to a myriad of little wires that sprouted out of them. There was more than one of each part or pair; more than one kind of synthetic skin had been used, so that varying levels of intensity could be summoned on desire.

'Right,' said the mature woman to her assistant. 'Turn everything on.'

The young female assistant typed something and pressed return a few times. 'Everything on ma'am.'

They saw the young woman in the chair shift a bit.

'Everything all right?' asked the observer, pressing the button to activate the mic.

'Um, yeah, the temperature just shifted a bit suddenly.'

'That's normal. We just established the connection. We're about to start. We'll begin with the hands.'

'Ok.'

She let the mic button go. 'Right. Let's start on this little pretty one. Have them run their finger tips gently over the palms of Hands model 1.'

The assistant relayed the order. They watched the woman in the chair.

Her fingers twitched. She looked down at her hands. Then she closed her fists and wriggled her fingers a bit. She giggled. 'It works,' she assured them. It didn't stop. The giggle broke into a laugh as the sensation continued. '...It really tickles.'

'Yes, it does doesn't it,' muttered the observer, sneering almost imperceptably. She pressed the mic button. 'Don't worry, that's normal.' She let it go. 'Alright, tell them to move onto model 2.'

The woman reacted again, though not as much. She only smiled this time, and moved her hands around a bit.

'Good,' the observer told her. 'This is the last one for the Hands, for now.'

The woman waited nervously. Then she took in a few sharp breath and beamed a smile. She clenched her fists tight and squeezed her eyes shut.

'She's reacting as expected, ma'am,' the assistant said.

'Yes. Tell them to move down to the wrists.'

The woman's smile grew, and she let out a little whimper of a noise as she tried to scratch her wrists against the arm rests she was strapped into.

In the body parts room, a nurse was lightly dancing her fingers tips across two lifeless, pale skinned synthetic wrists, not seeing or hearing any of the reactions from the woman in the chair.

'It works!' the woman in the chair insisted. She laughed a touch. 'Stop!'

The observer nodded, a studious look in her eyes. 'Yes. Right, let's move on.' She pressed the mic button. 'That's it, we're done with the Hands. Arms next.'

* *

The nurse in the body parts room was busy running her fingers along the again lifeless, dry, smooth armpits of a model 3 upper torso. She took care not to scratch, and be as gentle as she could.

'Ma'am,' said the assistant. 'She's pressing the panic button again.'

'How are her stats?'

'She's fine.'

The observer pressed the mic button, and addressed the flushed, cackling woman, 'You're doing fine. We'll move on soon.' She released the button.

The woman didn't have the capacity to reply. Her mouth was stuck in a tortured, gleeful grin below her bright red cheeks and squeezed shut eyes. She pressed the button madly.

'Thank God it doesn't make it a noise when she does that,' muttered the observer. 'Right, ok. Breasts.'

A moment of calm went by for the woman in the chair, where she panted. Then, just as she was about to speak, she started laughing again. The small muscles on her chest flexed as she tried and of course failed to hug her arms to her chest. The observer nodded and took note.

*

The speaker in the body parts room crackled. 'Move onto Feet type 2.'

The nurse looked up, then obeyed, shimming over to the next pair of feet. She stroked up and down the soles, playing around the lifeless toes, skirting down to the heel, circling around the balls. Type 2 wasn't the nicest to touch; the skin was slightly coarser than the others, and no where near as soft as 3. Still, the nurse did what she could with it. This project was very important for some very important people; she couldn't disappoint.

'And type 3.'

The nurse smiled. She loved working with model 3 skin.

The sensations started again, and the woman in the chair's legs began to vibrate. She cackled, her crimson cheeks tear stained now. She threw her head back and wailed, unable to stand it. She had given up pressing the button. She knew there was no point in calling for help. She could only threaten them or beg them to stop, and she was too scared that they would prolong things if she attempted the former.

'Please, please stop!' she cried. 'This is excruciating!' She let out a hight pitched squeal and scrunched up her feet. Of course, the feet in the body parts room did not scrunch up. 'Why do you keep going?' she wailed pathetically. 'You know it works! Stop it!' She grinned madly, and struggled against all her bonds at once, to no avail. 'Plehehease!'

'How long ma'am?' asked the assistant.

'Um... give her another... fifteen seconds.'

'Yes ma'am.'

'Oh God!' cried the woman, before laughing frantically and helplessly for the remaining seconds.

* *

'To gauge the nerve's responses properly, we need to test their reactions to a range of stimuli,' the observer said flatly into the mic, as though reading off a script.

'No!' the woman cried desperately, yet unable to stop grinning. 'Please, let me go, I don't want to do this anymore.'

'Nonsense, you're fine.' She let go of the button. 'Now, let's see how effective this can really be.'

* *

The woman felt the sensation of a coarse, moist tongue running along the globes of her fleshy buttocks, and along her flat stomach. Of course, it wasn't her own body that was feeling this. It was another set of curves and another belly, evidently more sensitive that her own, that were being experimented on. But she felt all of it: felt the tease, the slide, the caress, the stroke, the wriggle, the exploratory moistness, the merciless surface, and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. She had no power to stop it, or even see it. It was invisible. Invisible hands drove her mad. Invisible tongues stroked invisible skin, and wires that she couldn't see sent it all to her from the invisible machine. Somewhere in the walls, or beyond the glass, was that invisible machine. Something evil, that was systematically turning her nerves to betray her. It had utter control of her body.

The tongues wouldn't stop; they just kept going and going, drawing gleefully tortured noises and convulsions from her. They slid around, undetectable, unknowable. She felt something being spread across her skin – the skin – now and then. It felt, from its consistency, like chocolate spread. Then a tongue would attack it. Over and over. She laughed pathetically and trembled, feeling her will slip away. 'Nothing will stop it', swirled around in her head, 'it will play with me forever, destroy me, drive me mad! It loves it, it loves its power! God make it have mercy!'

Her inner thighs joined in the attack on her body, as more spread was applied, and more tongues attacked her.

She had given up begging. Given up struggling. Instead she just laughed and smiled and cried and shook all over. Unseen forces slid and licked all over her freely. Her will slipped utterly; she abandoned herself it it; she let it torture her, let it do what it wanted to her. Her stomach trembled as a tongue that wasn't there hurriedly lapped at it. She tensed her closed-together thighs and squealed as incorporeal tongues slid up them, up and up, but it did no good. They licked where they would. Her cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much for so long.

Suddenly armpits and waist were added to the grand assault, and, finally, feet.

'Ahh!' she screamed. 'Haha, holy shit,' she whimpered. 'No! No! God, help me please!' Then her laughter peaked all over again. The red in her face had spread to her neck and upper chest. She was covered in sweat. She lay there and just laughed and laughed, her mouth a constant, gaping grin. Everything except her face was going still; there was no point. She abandoned mentally all that was left of her body, opened it up. Then everything tickled more. Fresh tears rose in her eyes, and she continued laughing madly, yet more madly. Her feet screamed at her. She felt herself slip deeper into delirium. Then everything tickled even more. She prayed to God again; no relief. Nerves tickled her relentlessly from all over. Then she began begging her own mind for mercy. It made no sense that her own nerves could do that to her: that something could be so completely excruciating and unbearable, so utterly impossible to withstand, yet could continue making her laugh and grin, on and on and on, growing somehow more and more intense.

The question of why this was necessary had long disappeared from her mind. She belonged to it now: her body was its tool. She only existed to be manipulated by the machine that was around and inside her. In her lost, pathetic, hysterical world, that was all she knew, and all that she believed. It was her master.

She continued laughing.

'What is two plus two,' chuckled the observer behind the glass, stroking her chin.

'Sorry ma'am?' asked the assistant.

The observer looked at her from the the corner of her eye. 'I think we have what we need.'

The woman in the chair kept laughing, flushed, helpless.