Captain Satan
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2011
- Messages
- 195
- Points
- 0
The familiar dilapidation of Jobstown had long shrunk in her rearview mirror before Roisin realised that she was entering a part of the city outskirts that she'd never been before. A city she'd known intimately her whole life, all 21 years of her, still had secrets to tell. The city spoke to her and she told its stories, that was her purpose. Not only as a journalist, but as a Northside Dublin girl with pride of place. She remembers being the only girl from Jobstown going to a private school, how she never fit in with the others, and how noone ever visited her home. She remembers how some of those same people left nasty comments rubbishing her last article on the Dublin hip-hop scene. She realises she's putting too much pressure on the acceleration and quickly relaxes her foot.
Rows upon rows of highrise apartment blocks open up before her in a familiar industrial hegemony, and when she pulls into the car park, she reads the note she transcribed from her e-mail - "apartment 22".
The layout of the building isn't a straightforward as simply going from apartment 1 to apartment 2, and Roisin is left walking up and down the corridor with a heavy camera bag slung over her shoulder. She asks a child where she can find apartment 22 and at first he scrunches his face in thought.
'Oh, the laughing gaf. I'll take you there.' he says.
When the door opens, Roisin is greeted with a smile by a man who looked to be in his 40s, but dressed in a youthful combination of suede tracksuit bottoms and a football jersey from some German team unknown to her. He was every bit the midlife crisis she had expected, but his friendliness and courtesy caught her off-guard. He had signed off his e-mail to her with 'kind regards, The Tickler'.
He invited her to sit down in his small kitchen while he made tea and she began to relax. She'd dealt with dangerous people her whole life, and she couldn't detect any of the tell-tale signs from this man who called himself The Tickler.
'Realistically, I've had this fetish my whole life,' he began, speaking into her dictaphone. She nodded her head every now and then, and her mid-length red hair fell over her eyes.
'I had just gotten out of a 10-year marriage and I wanted to focus on the things I wanted to do, ya know? I've been in love already, now I want to have fun.' He said, and she caught him taking a quick profile of her from her pink converse shoes, up her tight jeans, to the baggy yellow jumper that hung off her slim frame like a poncho. She kind of liked that he looked at her like that. She then quickly put that out of her head.
'So, what do you do, like? What do you like abou tickling?' she asked, her Northside accent coming out like a squeak.
'It's the helplessness, really. The power exchange. I try my best to be a gentleman in life," he said, taking all 5''1 of her in again, 'so I suppose this is how the villain in me creeps in.'
They both laughed.
'What about you, Roisin, what is it about tickling that interests you?' he asked her, and she was taken aback. She hadn't prepared an answer for this.
'You must have some reason you're here?' he asked, 'as opposed to the thousands of other stories you could be covering.'
Her green eyes fell to her dictaphone and she scrambled some words together to form a reply; 'I just thought it'd be an interesting one, like, it all seems popular at the minute, like, and I reckon it's not covered as often, like.'
'So you're an adventurer?' He smiled at her. She nodded.
'Then let's have an adventure.' He stood up.
-----------
His room didn't look like a place of rest whatsoever. The room blushed with a red mood light, and everything in there was black except for a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs that clung to the barred headrest. It could've been the residence of a sex worker in Amsterdam.
'Wow' Roisin remarked, touching the soft black bedsheets, 'you've really got it fit for purpose I see.'
'You haven't seen anything yet,' he said, before opening the bedroom closet to reveal a selection of pink-coloured bondage toys and what she assumed were his implements of torture. She was familair with straps and rope, but the feathers, hair brushes, and various stationary items were new to her. She was suddenly reminded of how tame her sex life was.
'Whoa' her mouth was almost comically agape, 'so those are your tools?'
'Why don't you find out for yourself?' he asked, and her heart skipped a beat. It was a question she could feel bubbling since they spoke in the kitchen. She stammered.
'I mean,' he began, 'you're a journalist, aren't you? You have to approach these things a certain way, get to the objective truth of the story, right?' he said, goading and teasing her. Undressing her with his eyes. Roisin was very suddenly aware that she may have gotten herself into something, but her answer surprised her.
'Ehm, can I stop it when I want to?' she asked. Her reply was the cutest thing he'd ever heard and it made him swell in his trousers.
'Of course, honey.'
'Okay, I mean, like, okay.' she stammered again.
He had her remove her yellow jumper to reveal a tight David Bowie t-shirt that clung to her breasts and waist like clingflim.
'Now the shoes.' he said, and she looked up at him with an expression of mock fear that was only half mock. She sat on the bed and worked the shoelaces of her pink converse before letting them fall to the ground. The Tickler watched her thirstily, and licked his lips at the sight of her green fluffy socks. She told him she bought them in Penny's and they both laughed.
Roisin was very quickly cuffed to the bed, her tight t-shirt riding up her midriff. He then took two straps from the closet and restrained her ankles. He picked lint off her socks which made her stifle a quick laugh and made him hard as a rock.
'You ready for an adventure, Roisin?' he asked, lifting up her t-shirt and watching her face go bright red, almost as red as the hair that blossomed out on the pillow she lay.
'Yeah' she said uncomfortably, testing her restraints, but he had already begun to flick a long feather tickler over her stomach.
She jerked in her restraints slightly, the sensation of the feather dancing on her young skin was new to her, but she figured that a 'mind over matter' approach might be of use to her in this situation. So she refused to look at him or the feather. Especially the feather.
'Does that tickle?' he asked her teasingly. She held her lips closed, even as he lifted her shirt to get her ribs and flutter the feather under her soft underarms.
'Are you sure that's not tickling you? he asked again in a similar manner, watching her try to keep her composure while refusing to acknowledge him or the feather that worked busily over her lithe upperbody. He fluttered the feather over her neck and face before placing it down. She breathed a sigh of relief.
'Sure that was grand!' she said.
'Where are you going? We've only just started!' he laughed, which made her heart race.
He traced a finger along the rim of her bellybutton and she immediately responded with short pelvic thrusts and a throaty, stifled laugh. Her breasts wiggled as she moved. Soon he was straddling her, switching between tapping on her bare belly and counting her ribs. Her head darted from side to side, the sensation coupled with her inability to move was about to make her head explode.
'Just let out it' he teased, and immediately she did.
'Hahahahah! You fucking bastard! Hahahahah!' she jerked and jerked but her small body was helpless under the lanky man that staddled her.
'That's it, girl, just let it all out. You'll feel much better about all this.' he said while tickling up and down her hips and sides, sliding his fingers under the rim of her jeans which made her buck weakly under him.
'AAAAHAHAHAHAHA! No! No! NO!'
She thought he wasn't listening to her but he was. He heard her cries and he loved every second of it.
He began to spider from the palms of her hands down her arms and he watched as her face contorted, her small, up-turned nose sniffled, and she began to snort laughter as his busy fingers worked ever closer to the soft, delicious armpits. And then his fingers found their marks.
'AHHAHAHAHAHAHAH PLEASE! HAHAHAHAHA! NOT THERE! HAHHAHAHA! I CAN'T! HAHAHA! I CAN'T! AHAHAHAHAHAH!' her perky tits bounced and bounced in her shirt as he laughed and cried helplessly.
After a few moments, he stopped. Roisin panted and breathed, still laughing weakly as he crept to the foot of the bed. She knew what was coming next but she felt powerless to stop it. And part of it didn't want it to stop. A part of her that grew bigger by the minute. Roisin thought about his question earlier, what it was about tickling that interested her so much.
She though about that for precisely five seconds before she felt him tugging at her socks.
'Oh I'm going to have fun here' he said, and she looked at him with her big green eyes all watered-up and the sight of her just excited him more.
Just feeling the socks being peeled from her feet was enough of a tickle, which she remarked, but The Tickler was too infatuated with the sight of her small and newly bare feet laying like a tickler's blessing on his bed. Her tiny round toes sat at the top of two silky-smooth soles that were slightly red at the heel and the ball of the foot. He balled up her socks and threw them aside before walking to his closet to fetch something.
'I usually leave this for last' he said, twirling a long, black feather with a narrowing, thin tip that seemed to tickle the air around it, 'but those little feet need the attention from my favourite feather.'
She found it funny and ludicrous that he had a 'favourite feather', but she didn't have much time to think it over before she felt the tip of the feather brush gently across the toes on her right foot.
'Mind over matter' she thought, once again refusing to look at at the foot of the bed where he stood, the sinister feather tip now tracing down the sole of her foot. She tried to ignore it but her brain was on fire.
It moved to left foot and she was soon giggling helplessly in a fit. She learned then and there that one foot was more ticklish than the other.
He knelt down to the bed and began sliding the feather between her toes, counting each one out loud. She settled into a hearty laugh that saw her pulling at her restraints even more than before. She was beginning to enjoy this more than she should be, she thought. There was something sexy about this situation. About the feather dancing on her skin, about this man who lusted so much for her laughter.
The feather ran up and down her sole, from heel to toe, tracing figure 8's on her feet that were scruncing up with every touch. The man now had to hold her toes back with one hand so he could work the feather busily along her defenseless and stretched sole. She quickly crumbled into fits of giggles.
'Hee hee hee hee!! Please! That's ridiculous! hee hee hee!! Stop doing that to my foot! aahah hee!'
He flipped the feather and began to scribble on her sole with the spine and this cracked her up beyond belief. Her head bounced up and down on the pillow.
'It's hilarious, isn't it, hun?' he teased, while she tried to shake her foot from side to side to no avail, 'you're doing really well though, hun, this is so professional of you.' he laughed.
The black feather worked mercilessly on her foot before he began to use his fingers on the other one. She thrashed on the bed like she'd never bounced before, and they both took a moment to assess the situation.
'So it's fingers, is it?' he said, wiggling them just over her toes while she looked on helplessly through teary eyes.
'Ah-tickle-tickle-tickle' he taunted, while tapping his fingers across her tiny toes and working his way lower and lower. He couldn't believe how baby soft they were. How unlucky for her, he thought.
'HAHAHAHA! NOOOO! I CAN'T! HAHAHAHH AAAAHH!!! YOU'VE GOTTA STOP!'
And then he stopped.
She breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling dramatically as he undid the straps on her ankles and cuffs on her wrists. She seemed to be in a world of her own as she freed her from her restraints and handed her socks to her.
'That was...that was...' she began, digging her toes into the carpet at her feet.
'Fun?' he smiled at her, sucking each of his finger tips as though he had just eaten a chicken wing.
She put her shoes and jumper back on and they spoke for a little while in the kitchen before she left. She hugged him before she walked out the door, feeling as though anything was appropriate after her ordeal.
Roisin slid into the seat of her car and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She could still feel his fingers all over her, she could still feel her clothes being peeled off and her body toyed with and her laughter drank. She felt like she'd discovered a secret in herself for once.
She went home and typed up the article, then she masturbated with her vibrator before falling asleep with her socks off for once. A piece of paper on her bedside locker read 'apartment 22'.
Rows upon rows of highrise apartment blocks open up before her in a familiar industrial hegemony, and when she pulls into the car park, she reads the note she transcribed from her e-mail - "apartment 22".
The layout of the building isn't a straightforward as simply going from apartment 1 to apartment 2, and Roisin is left walking up and down the corridor with a heavy camera bag slung over her shoulder. She asks a child where she can find apartment 22 and at first he scrunches his face in thought.
'Oh, the laughing gaf. I'll take you there.' he says.
When the door opens, Roisin is greeted with a smile by a man who looked to be in his 40s, but dressed in a youthful combination of suede tracksuit bottoms and a football jersey from some German team unknown to her. He was every bit the midlife crisis she had expected, but his friendliness and courtesy caught her off-guard. He had signed off his e-mail to her with 'kind regards, The Tickler'.
He invited her to sit down in his small kitchen while he made tea and she began to relax. She'd dealt with dangerous people her whole life, and she couldn't detect any of the tell-tale signs from this man who called himself The Tickler.
'Realistically, I've had this fetish my whole life,' he began, speaking into her dictaphone. She nodded her head every now and then, and her mid-length red hair fell over her eyes.
'I had just gotten out of a 10-year marriage and I wanted to focus on the things I wanted to do, ya know? I've been in love already, now I want to have fun.' He said, and she caught him taking a quick profile of her from her pink converse shoes, up her tight jeans, to the baggy yellow jumper that hung off her slim frame like a poncho. She kind of liked that he looked at her like that. She then quickly put that out of her head.
'So, what do you do, like? What do you like abou tickling?' she asked, her Northside accent coming out like a squeak.
'It's the helplessness, really. The power exchange. I try my best to be a gentleman in life," he said, taking all 5''1 of her in again, 'so I suppose this is how the villain in me creeps in.'
They both laughed.
'What about you, Roisin, what is it about tickling that interests you?' he asked her, and she was taken aback. She hadn't prepared an answer for this.
'You must have some reason you're here?' he asked, 'as opposed to the thousands of other stories you could be covering.'
Her green eyes fell to her dictaphone and she scrambled some words together to form a reply; 'I just thought it'd be an interesting one, like, it all seems popular at the minute, like, and I reckon it's not covered as often, like.'
'So you're an adventurer?' He smiled at her. She nodded.
'Then let's have an adventure.' He stood up.
-----------
His room didn't look like a place of rest whatsoever. The room blushed with a red mood light, and everything in there was black except for a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs that clung to the barred headrest. It could've been the residence of a sex worker in Amsterdam.
'Wow' Roisin remarked, touching the soft black bedsheets, 'you've really got it fit for purpose I see.'
'You haven't seen anything yet,' he said, before opening the bedroom closet to reveal a selection of pink-coloured bondage toys and what she assumed were his implements of torture. She was familair with straps and rope, but the feathers, hair brushes, and various stationary items were new to her. She was suddenly reminded of how tame her sex life was.
'Whoa' her mouth was almost comically agape, 'so those are your tools?'
'Why don't you find out for yourself?' he asked, and her heart skipped a beat. It was a question she could feel bubbling since they spoke in the kitchen. She stammered.
'I mean,' he began, 'you're a journalist, aren't you? You have to approach these things a certain way, get to the objective truth of the story, right?' he said, goading and teasing her. Undressing her with his eyes. Roisin was very suddenly aware that she may have gotten herself into something, but her answer surprised her.
'Ehm, can I stop it when I want to?' she asked. Her reply was the cutest thing he'd ever heard and it made him swell in his trousers.
'Of course, honey.'
'Okay, I mean, like, okay.' she stammered again.
He had her remove her yellow jumper to reveal a tight David Bowie t-shirt that clung to her breasts and waist like clingflim.
'Now the shoes.' he said, and she looked up at him with an expression of mock fear that was only half mock. She sat on the bed and worked the shoelaces of her pink converse before letting them fall to the ground. The Tickler watched her thirstily, and licked his lips at the sight of her green fluffy socks. She told him she bought them in Penny's and they both laughed.
Roisin was very quickly cuffed to the bed, her tight t-shirt riding up her midriff. He then took two straps from the closet and restrained her ankles. He picked lint off her socks which made her stifle a quick laugh and made him hard as a rock.
'You ready for an adventure, Roisin?' he asked, lifting up her t-shirt and watching her face go bright red, almost as red as the hair that blossomed out on the pillow she lay.
'Yeah' she said uncomfortably, testing her restraints, but he had already begun to flick a long feather tickler over her stomach.
She jerked in her restraints slightly, the sensation of the feather dancing on her young skin was new to her, but she figured that a 'mind over matter' approach might be of use to her in this situation. So she refused to look at him or the feather. Especially the feather.
'Does that tickle?' he asked her teasingly. She held her lips closed, even as he lifted her shirt to get her ribs and flutter the feather under her soft underarms.
'Are you sure that's not tickling you? he asked again in a similar manner, watching her try to keep her composure while refusing to acknowledge him or the feather that worked busily over her lithe upperbody. He fluttered the feather over her neck and face before placing it down. She breathed a sigh of relief.
'Sure that was grand!' she said.
'Where are you going? We've only just started!' he laughed, which made her heart race.
He traced a finger along the rim of her bellybutton and she immediately responded with short pelvic thrusts and a throaty, stifled laugh. Her breasts wiggled as she moved. Soon he was straddling her, switching between tapping on her bare belly and counting her ribs. Her head darted from side to side, the sensation coupled with her inability to move was about to make her head explode.
'Just let out it' he teased, and immediately she did.
'Hahahahah! You fucking bastard! Hahahahah!' she jerked and jerked but her small body was helpless under the lanky man that staddled her.
'That's it, girl, just let it all out. You'll feel much better about all this.' he said while tickling up and down her hips and sides, sliding his fingers under the rim of her jeans which made her buck weakly under him.
'AAAAHAHAHAHAHA! No! No! NO!'
She thought he wasn't listening to her but he was. He heard her cries and he loved every second of it.
He began to spider from the palms of her hands down her arms and he watched as her face contorted, her small, up-turned nose sniffled, and she began to snort laughter as his busy fingers worked ever closer to the soft, delicious armpits. And then his fingers found their marks.
'AHHAHAHAHAHAHAH PLEASE! HAHAHAHAHA! NOT THERE! HAHHAHAHA! I CAN'T! HAHAHA! I CAN'T! AHAHAHAHAHAH!' her perky tits bounced and bounced in her shirt as he laughed and cried helplessly.
After a few moments, he stopped. Roisin panted and breathed, still laughing weakly as he crept to the foot of the bed. She knew what was coming next but she felt powerless to stop it. And part of it didn't want it to stop. A part of her that grew bigger by the minute. Roisin thought about his question earlier, what it was about tickling that interested her so much.
She though about that for precisely five seconds before she felt him tugging at her socks.
'Oh I'm going to have fun here' he said, and she looked at him with her big green eyes all watered-up and the sight of her just excited him more.
Just feeling the socks being peeled from her feet was enough of a tickle, which she remarked, but The Tickler was too infatuated with the sight of her small and newly bare feet laying like a tickler's blessing on his bed. Her tiny round toes sat at the top of two silky-smooth soles that were slightly red at the heel and the ball of the foot. He balled up her socks and threw them aside before walking to his closet to fetch something.
'I usually leave this for last' he said, twirling a long, black feather with a narrowing, thin tip that seemed to tickle the air around it, 'but those little feet need the attention from my favourite feather.'
She found it funny and ludicrous that he had a 'favourite feather', but she didn't have much time to think it over before she felt the tip of the feather brush gently across the toes on her right foot.
'Mind over matter' she thought, once again refusing to look at at the foot of the bed where he stood, the sinister feather tip now tracing down the sole of her foot. She tried to ignore it but her brain was on fire.
It moved to left foot and she was soon giggling helplessly in a fit. She learned then and there that one foot was more ticklish than the other.
He knelt down to the bed and began sliding the feather between her toes, counting each one out loud. She settled into a hearty laugh that saw her pulling at her restraints even more than before. She was beginning to enjoy this more than she should be, she thought. There was something sexy about this situation. About the feather dancing on her skin, about this man who lusted so much for her laughter.
The feather ran up and down her sole, from heel to toe, tracing figure 8's on her feet that were scruncing up with every touch. The man now had to hold her toes back with one hand so he could work the feather busily along her defenseless and stretched sole. She quickly crumbled into fits of giggles.
'Hee hee hee hee!! Please! That's ridiculous! hee hee hee!! Stop doing that to my foot! aahah hee!'
He flipped the feather and began to scribble on her sole with the spine and this cracked her up beyond belief. Her head bounced up and down on the pillow.
'It's hilarious, isn't it, hun?' he teased, while she tried to shake her foot from side to side to no avail, 'you're doing really well though, hun, this is so professional of you.' he laughed.
The black feather worked mercilessly on her foot before he began to use his fingers on the other one. She thrashed on the bed like she'd never bounced before, and they both took a moment to assess the situation.
'So it's fingers, is it?' he said, wiggling them just over her toes while she looked on helplessly through teary eyes.
'Ah-tickle-tickle-tickle' he taunted, while tapping his fingers across her tiny toes and working his way lower and lower. He couldn't believe how baby soft they were. How unlucky for her, he thought.
'HAHAHAHA! NOOOO! I CAN'T! HAHAHAHH AAAAHH!!! YOU'VE GOTTA STOP!'
And then he stopped.
She breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling dramatically as he undid the straps on her ankles and cuffs on her wrists. She seemed to be in a world of her own as she freed her from her restraints and handed her socks to her.
'That was...that was...' she began, digging her toes into the carpet at her feet.
'Fun?' he smiled at her, sucking each of his finger tips as though he had just eaten a chicken wing.
She put her shoes and jumper back on and they spoke for a little while in the kitchen before she left. She hugged him before she walked out the door, feeling as though anything was appropriate after her ordeal.
Roisin slid into the seat of her car and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She could still feel his fingers all over her, she could still feel her clothes being peeled off and her body toyed with and her laughter drank. She felt like she'd discovered a secret in herself for once.
She went home and typed up the article, then she masturbated with her vibrator before falling asleep with her socks off for once. A piece of paper on her bedside locker read 'apartment 22'.
