Thulcandra
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2006
- Messages
- 54
- Points
- 0
For toolong I've been lurking in the tickle community without contributing. Here is a go at a contribution. Criticism would be greatfully recieved... hope you all like it. 😀
Linked in Separation
Jenny Brell did not seem unusual in any way other than that she was unusually attractive. She had blue eyes in a round, innocent face that got called ‘cute’ and was topped by neck-length blond curls that bounced as she walked. Her figure was curvy without being what anyone other than a rake-chaser would call fat, her breasts the perfect, generous size for her height of five feet four inches. Her appearance went with her voice – a friendly, soft Geordie patter that invited trust.
All in all she was not what she appeared to be.
In her old line of work looking like what you were was a great disadvantage.
Jenny checked herself in the mirror. Since she had come up through the ranks she no longer had to dress to conceal. Indeed it was now mandatory to look the part. Her uniform was made from top quality zevda – a substance as smooth to the touch as silk, as clinging as rubber and as unbreakable as steel. It look like a mint-coloured Twentieth Century dress that stopped halfway to the knees at one end and half an inch above the nipples at the other. Her boots were white and reached almost to her knees.
Satisfied, she left her office and stalked through the corridors of Judicial Central to cell 567/c where her quarry waited unwillingly. Halfway there she traded superficially polite, obviously-devised-to-be-obviously-false smiles with her immediate superior, High Vellicor Zel Drethdeer. Zel was well over six feet tall, green eyed and blessed with long, straight red hair that reached to her stomach in an even cut. She had the body of an Amazon with the exception that her breasts were anything but missing. They hated each other and always had. They were oil and water.
After five minutes of passing silent doorways that perfectly masked the screaming within she reached her destination.
Vellicator Jenny Bell presented her Iris to the door and stepped inside to commence the interrogation.
The suspect was a fragile-looking girl probably three quarters Chinese, at least fourth generation. Her skin was subtle and soft, her hair long and black. She was wrapped in dark blue zevda, pinned upright to the wall two feet from the floor. Her arms were stretched out above her, the zevda ending just after her elbow and beginning again just below her breasts. From there it continued to her ankles. This configuration was crucial – the zevda was measured perfectly to the suspect to allow no movement while causing no pain, as great pressure to the breast and head would. Pain was allowed no part in this procedure.
‘I haven’t done anything!’ she wailed as soon as she saw Jenny. Other than the interrogator and her victim, bound to the wall and already close to tears, the room was bare and white.
Jenny knew full well that the subject was innocent, had known it when she ordered the arrest. Gentle appearance or not, Jenny loved nothing more than the suffering of others and loved no suffering more than that which she feared most.
She ignored the plea and went straight to business.
‘You are under suspicion of having committed sedition against the Vellocracy. This interview will establish the degree of your guilt.’
The victim shook her head and sobbed ‘No…no…no…’ against what she knew was coming.
‘In order to facilitate this interview you have been fitted with a Capacity Unit.’
‘Please! I love the Vellocracy, I’d never do anything against the rules!’
The Capacity Unit was what every citizen dreaded most of all. When surgically inserted into the central nervous system it gave the human body the ability to go without sleep, without food or water. It could even manufacture oxygen and place it directly into the bloodstream, eliminating the need to breath.
In another society this technology would have been a blessing, but in the Vellocracy it was the stuff of nightmares, for it could also be used to produce senstations on command via use of an Input Unit, an interface about half the size of human palm, a device such as the one Vellicator Jenny Brell was holding in her right hand.
‘Please… please…’
‘Will you confess to the charge of sedition?’
‘I’m innocent!’
‘As you wish.’
Jenny moved her finger slowly towards the Input Unit, ready to activate program she had devised that morning – the sensation of all possible hair-brush spokes being drawn across all areas of the feet, including all those that would, without the Unit, be impossible, mutually exclusive as a consequence of occupying the same physical space. Billions upon billions of hair-brush spokes, and no matter how the girl kicked her feet there would be no resistance. There would not even be the dubious relieft of pain. There would be only tickling.
The girl swallowed and fear and whined, beyond words.
Jenny pushed the button.
‘EEEEEEHAHAHAHAAAAA!’ screamed the terrified girl.
‘AAAHA, AAAAAHA!’
Jenny stood and watched, enjoying herself for five minutes while screams and laughter fought for control of her innocent victim.
‘UUUHHH, UUUHHH’ sobbed the “suspect” after Jenny turned the torture program off.
‘Will you confess to the crime of sedition?’
The girl knew what was done with those who pleaded guilty to sedition and somehow found the willpower to gasp ‘Nuh… nuh… I haven’t done anything. Please believe me. I’m begging you.’
‘I see.’
Without another word she switched to an old favourite – a thousand raking fingers down each side with another five hundred set to probing.
‘AHAAAA! AHAAAAA! pl-HAAAA ple-HAHAHAAAA!’
The girl screamed with uncontrollable, unbearable laughter for ten minutes, glistening with sweat and with tears coursing down her face. She wished she could black out but the Capacity Unit kept her blood oxygenated.
At the end of the torture the girl hung limp against her zevda bonds, exhausted and shocked.
‘Will you confess to the crime of sedition?’
‘Yes’ whispered the broken Chinese girl. She had been wrecked by the tickle-torture.
‘Good. You are hereby sentenced to remain here with twenty hands set to roam and torture until such time as I have you released.’
Jenny switched on the A.I. hands and left, she shut door cutting off the renewed screams and begging of the days first victim.
She decided to drop in on 361/f, in which there was a long, voluptuous, dreadlocked black girl from Woolwich. She had been arrested a week ago but had refused to confess and had stared back defiantly even as she screamed under the tickle-torture. Jenny had left here since then with a hundred torturing hands on each underarm and fifty more on the neck.
The sight she found in 361/f brought joy to her evil soul. The poor rebel had tried to rock frantically in the less than a millimetre of give in her bonds, her breasts bouncing with the constant strain and sweat pouring down her as she laughed in agony. Now she hung there, still laughing uncontrollably but too exhausted to struggle. She was screaming in ticklish agony and crying. Her eyes were desperate. Jenny watched a few minutes, letting the girl try to beg to allowed to confess.
‘WAAAA…’
Her laughter sounded sometimes like crying but was also interrupted often and without warning by rapid, high pitched bursts of screeching laughter.
She kept trying to speak. A pitiful sight compared to her former self.
‘plWAAAAAA I c-HAHAHAHAHAHA!’
Until at last Jenny ended her torment.
‘Will you confess to the crime of sedition?’
‘Yeees!’ wailed the once-proud girl, weeping and panting.
‘You are sentenced to remain here under the same torture ad before (the black girls beautiful eyes opened wide in horror but the stupid words ‘you can’t do this’ died in her throat) in addition to which you will suffer five feathers in each gap between the toes, the punishment to continue until I release you from it.’
Jenny turned the tickle-torture back on and looked and listend with satisfaction and the agonised wailing, the helplessly laughing victim utterly broken by relentless tickle-torture. She was pleased.
And that was when everything went black.
Jenny woke up naked to her soft skin and held taught against the wall by zevda.
Standing in front of her was Zel Drethdeer, smiling and holding an Input device.
‘What is the meaning of this Zel you stupid bitch? You’ve done it this time.’
The smile on the face of the High Vellicator grew wider.
‘567/c was a set-up. We know that you knew she was innocent’ she said, her voice full of glee and just retainging the last edge of an Eastern European accent. ‘Contrary to what you seem to believe we Vellicators do actually serve apuropse other than our own amusement. Now understand, this is not an occasion when you have a small chance of ending the torture by confessing. You are obviously guilty. The punishment for your crime under the law of the Vellocracy is to remain here under tortures devised by the arresting officer, me, until such time as your victim should release you. Said victim can of course only be released herself by you.’
‘Please. I know we’ve never got on but… Please!’
Jenny had only been tickled once before in her life, for ten seconds, years ago, by a girl-friend who had immediately become a former girl-friend. In had been unbearable.
Zel was grinning. ‘Fifty long-nailed hands to the sole of each foot.’
The tears welled up in Jenny’s eyes and her mouth turned down at the corners in fear.
‘I’m begging yooouuu!’
‘Ten tongues from each side between each gap between the toes.’
‘Please…. PLEASE!’
‘One hundred raking, one hundred probing and one hundred gouging hands to each side.’
‘No.. please don’t. I‘m begging you, look, I’m begging, please don’t dpo this to me I can’t stand it.’
‘Fifty kneading hands to the belly. One hundred torturing hands to each underarm. Fifty feathers to the neck. Twenty subtle teeth to each ear lobe.
Jenny was now pleading unintelligibly. She was certain, she knew she could never withstand even a small part of this torture. But it was going to happen anway and she was terrified. Zel waited until she had recovered enough composure to beg, to make certain she would hear the rest of the sentence.
‘Please High Vellicator, don’t, don’t I can’t stand it I’’ never get through this.’ She burst into tears.
‘Your neural network has been analysed for weaknesses and as a result I am imposing additional punishment on your most sensitive area. All possible automated tooth-brushes to each nipple.’
‘PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!’
High Vellicator Zel turned the torture device on and left, cursing her busy schedule.
Ex-Vellicator Jenny was assailed all at once by fingers, hands feathers and tongues all over her body, subjecting her to more tickle torture than she thought was possible. She shrieked, laughing uncontrollably and trying to get away from every part of her body at once, unable to tolerate even a moment of tickling anywhere and unable to prevent herself from feeling it everywhere, without stopping, most of all her poor nipples, the sensations drove her wild as she strove to get away from her own body in vain and begged the empty room for mercy.
Jenny screamed, laughed, cried, screamed, laughed, cried, screamed, laughed, cried in the first few unbearable moments of her long, long agony.
Linked in Separation
Jenny Brell did not seem unusual in any way other than that she was unusually attractive. She had blue eyes in a round, innocent face that got called ‘cute’ and was topped by neck-length blond curls that bounced as she walked. Her figure was curvy without being what anyone other than a rake-chaser would call fat, her breasts the perfect, generous size for her height of five feet four inches. Her appearance went with her voice – a friendly, soft Geordie patter that invited trust.
All in all she was not what she appeared to be.
In her old line of work looking like what you were was a great disadvantage.
Jenny checked herself in the mirror. Since she had come up through the ranks she no longer had to dress to conceal. Indeed it was now mandatory to look the part. Her uniform was made from top quality zevda – a substance as smooth to the touch as silk, as clinging as rubber and as unbreakable as steel. It look like a mint-coloured Twentieth Century dress that stopped halfway to the knees at one end and half an inch above the nipples at the other. Her boots were white and reached almost to her knees.
Satisfied, she left her office and stalked through the corridors of Judicial Central to cell 567/c where her quarry waited unwillingly. Halfway there she traded superficially polite, obviously-devised-to-be-obviously-false smiles with her immediate superior, High Vellicor Zel Drethdeer. Zel was well over six feet tall, green eyed and blessed with long, straight red hair that reached to her stomach in an even cut. She had the body of an Amazon with the exception that her breasts were anything but missing. They hated each other and always had. They were oil and water.
After five minutes of passing silent doorways that perfectly masked the screaming within she reached her destination.
Vellicator Jenny Bell presented her Iris to the door and stepped inside to commence the interrogation.
The suspect was a fragile-looking girl probably three quarters Chinese, at least fourth generation. Her skin was subtle and soft, her hair long and black. She was wrapped in dark blue zevda, pinned upright to the wall two feet from the floor. Her arms were stretched out above her, the zevda ending just after her elbow and beginning again just below her breasts. From there it continued to her ankles. This configuration was crucial – the zevda was measured perfectly to the suspect to allow no movement while causing no pain, as great pressure to the breast and head would. Pain was allowed no part in this procedure.
‘I haven’t done anything!’ she wailed as soon as she saw Jenny. Other than the interrogator and her victim, bound to the wall and already close to tears, the room was bare and white.
Jenny knew full well that the subject was innocent, had known it when she ordered the arrest. Gentle appearance or not, Jenny loved nothing more than the suffering of others and loved no suffering more than that which she feared most.
She ignored the plea and went straight to business.
‘You are under suspicion of having committed sedition against the Vellocracy. This interview will establish the degree of your guilt.’
The victim shook her head and sobbed ‘No…no…no…’ against what she knew was coming.
‘In order to facilitate this interview you have been fitted with a Capacity Unit.’
‘Please! I love the Vellocracy, I’d never do anything against the rules!’
The Capacity Unit was what every citizen dreaded most of all. When surgically inserted into the central nervous system it gave the human body the ability to go without sleep, without food or water. It could even manufacture oxygen and place it directly into the bloodstream, eliminating the need to breath.
In another society this technology would have been a blessing, but in the Vellocracy it was the stuff of nightmares, for it could also be used to produce senstations on command via use of an Input Unit, an interface about half the size of human palm, a device such as the one Vellicator Jenny Brell was holding in her right hand.
‘Please… please…’
‘Will you confess to the charge of sedition?’
‘I’m innocent!’
‘As you wish.’
Jenny moved her finger slowly towards the Input Unit, ready to activate program she had devised that morning – the sensation of all possible hair-brush spokes being drawn across all areas of the feet, including all those that would, without the Unit, be impossible, mutually exclusive as a consequence of occupying the same physical space. Billions upon billions of hair-brush spokes, and no matter how the girl kicked her feet there would be no resistance. There would not even be the dubious relieft of pain. There would be only tickling.
The girl swallowed and fear and whined, beyond words.
Jenny pushed the button.
‘EEEEEEHAHAHAHAAAAA!’ screamed the terrified girl.
‘AAAHA, AAAAAHA!’
Jenny stood and watched, enjoying herself for five minutes while screams and laughter fought for control of her innocent victim.
‘UUUHHH, UUUHHH’ sobbed the “suspect” after Jenny turned the torture program off.
‘Will you confess to the crime of sedition?’
The girl knew what was done with those who pleaded guilty to sedition and somehow found the willpower to gasp ‘Nuh… nuh… I haven’t done anything. Please believe me. I’m begging you.’
‘I see.’
Without another word she switched to an old favourite – a thousand raking fingers down each side with another five hundred set to probing.
‘AHAAAA! AHAAAAA! pl-HAAAA ple-HAHAHAAAA!’
The girl screamed with uncontrollable, unbearable laughter for ten minutes, glistening with sweat and with tears coursing down her face. She wished she could black out but the Capacity Unit kept her blood oxygenated.
At the end of the torture the girl hung limp against her zevda bonds, exhausted and shocked.
‘Will you confess to the crime of sedition?’
‘Yes’ whispered the broken Chinese girl. She had been wrecked by the tickle-torture.
‘Good. You are hereby sentenced to remain here with twenty hands set to roam and torture until such time as I have you released.’
Jenny switched on the A.I. hands and left, she shut door cutting off the renewed screams and begging of the days first victim.
She decided to drop in on 361/f, in which there was a long, voluptuous, dreadlocked black girl from Woolwich. She had been arrested a week ago but had refused to confess and had stared back defiantly even as she screamed under the tickle-torture. Jenny had left here since then with a hundred torturing hands on each underarm and fifty more on the neck.
The sight she found in 361/f brought joy to her evil soul. The poor rebel had tried to rock frantically in the less than a millimetre of give in her bonds, her breasts bouncing with the constant strain and sweat pouring down her as she laughed in agony. Now she hung there, still laughing uncontrollably but too exhausted to struggle. She was screaming in ticklish agony and crying. Her eyes were desperate. Jenny watched a few minutes, letting the girl try to beg to allowed to confess.
‘WAAAA…’
Her laughter sounded sometimes like crying but was also interrupted often and without warning by rapid, high pitched bursts of screeching laughter.
She kept trying to speak. A pitiful sight compared to her former self.
‘plWAAAAAA I c-HAHAHAHAHAHA!’
Until at last Jenny ended her torment.
‘Will you confess to the crime of sedition?’
‘Yeees!’ wailed the once-proud girl, weeping and panting.
‘You are sentenced to remain here under the same torture ad before (the black girls beautiful eyes opened wide in horror but the stupid words ‘you can’t do this’ died in her throat) in addition to which you will suffer five feathers in each gap between the toes, the punishment to continue until I release you from it.’
Jenny turned the tickle-torture back on and looked and listend with satisfaction and the agonised wailing, the helplessly laughing victim utterly broken by relentless tickle-torture. She was pleased.
And that was when everything went black.
Jenny woke up naked to her soft skin and held taught against the wall by zevda.
Standing in front of her was Zel Drethdeer, smiling and holding an Input device.
‘What is the meaning of this Zel you stupid bitch? You’ve done it this time.’
The smile on the face of the High Vellicator grew wider.
‘567/c was a set-up. We know that you knew she was innocent’ she said, her voice full of glee and just retainging the last edge of an Eastern European accent. ‘Contrary to what you seem to believe we Vellicators do actually serve apuropse other than our own amusement. Now understand, this is not an occasion when you have a small chance of ending the torture by confessing. You are obviously guilty. The punishment for your crime under the law of the Vellocracy is to remain here under tortures devised by the arresting officer, me, until such time as your victim should release you. Said victim can of course only be released herself by you.’
‘Please. I know we’ve never got on but… Please!’
Jenny had only been tickled once before in her life, for ten seconds, years ago, by a girl-friend who had immediately become a former girl-friend. In had been unbearable.
Zel was grinning. ‘Fifty long-nailed hands to the sole of each foot.’
The tears welled up in Jenny’s eyes and her mouth turned down at the corners in fear.
‘I’m begging yooouuu!’
‘Ten tongues from each side between each gap between the toes.’
‘Please…. PLEASE!’
‘One hundred raking, one hundred probing and one hundred gouging hands to each side.’
‘No.. please don’t. I‘m begging you, look, I’m begging, please don’t dpo this to me I can’t stand it.’
‘Fifty kneading hands to the belly. One hundred torturing hands to each underarm. Fifty feathers to the neck. Twenty subtle teeth to each ear lobe.
Jenny was now pleading unintelligibly. She was certain, she knew she could never withstand even a small part of this torture. But it was going to happen anway and she was terrified. Zel waited until she had recovered enough composure to beg, to make certain she would hear the rest of the sentence.
‘Please High Vellicator, don’t, don’t I can’t stand it I’’ never get through this.’ She burst into tears.
‘Your neural network has been analysed for weaknesses and as a result I am imposing additional punishment on your most sensitive area. All possible automated tooth-brushes to each nipple.’
‘PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!’
High Vellicator Zel turned the torture device on and left, cursing her busy schedule.
Ex-Vellicator Jenny was assailed all at once by fingers, hands feathers and tongues all over her body, subjecting her to more tickle torture than she thought was possible. She shrieked, laughing uncontrollably and trying to get away from every part of her body at once, unable to tolerate even a moment of tickling anywhere and unable to prevent herself from feeling it everywhere, without stopping, most of all her poor nipples, the sensations drove her wild as she strove to get away from her own body in vain and begged the empty room for mercy.
Jenny screamed, laughed, cried, screamed, laughed, cried, screamed, laughed, cried in the first few unbearable moments of her long, long agony.
