Hello everyone!
This is the first part of a story, hopefully around 7-8 chapters long, loosely based on some role-playing scenarios created by Sammi and I some time ago. We're hoping to alternate writing the chapters 🙂 This first one was done by me, Sammi's doing the next one, and so on. Hope you enjoy 😀
There's not an awful lot of tickling content in this one, mainly set up. But, anyway, see what you think. Comments welcome!
Cheers!
-----------------------
Sammi’s Seven Days
ONE
Sammi awoke.
Senses dulled with sleep, she rubbed at her tired eyes with her knuckles. She glanced at the clock that blinked red in the darkness of her room; 3:37 am. She groaned. What on earth had woken her?
Sitting up, Sammi absently stroked the black nylon nets she wore on her lower arms and hands, trying to remember what had roused her from sleep. Was it a dream? A noise? Glancing around the dim room, she saw nothing out of place. Her desk was fine, wardrobe…her eyes finally landed on her PC in the corner; the monitor light was blinking on and off.
Forgot to turn the damn thing off, she thought. Despite the fact that such a meagre light had never woken her before, in her barely awake state she deduced this must be the problem. Clumsily she threw the duvet aside and stepped out of bed. Her bare feet padded across the short distance to her computer. As she bent and fumbled for the monitor’s button in the gloom, she became aware of a dull pressure in her lower belly. She sighed, flicked off the monitor, and thought, so that’s what woke me up. Too much iced tea.
Squirming a little, Sammi yawned and stretched. It hadn’t been the best week for sleep. Almost every night since Sunday she’d been awaken by an astonishingly irritating series of events. First night it had been a cat, squealing outside her window like it was having a tractor tyre pushed up its bottom. Next night she’d left her instant messenger on by mistake, and some teenage boy from Stockholm who’d acquired her address somehow had kept pressing the ‘nudge’ button. A quick glance at the conversation window he’d opened had revealed successive entries of ‘r u tiklish?’ followed by what had seemed like fifteen thousand nudges. Blocked.
The next night had been the oddest, however. She’d been having a dream (be honest Sammi, she thought, it was more like a nightmare) where she was being accused of witchcraft. She was being tortured into confession by three sturdy young men tickling the bare soles of her feet; feet which had been securely locked into a set of foot stocks in the centre of some ancient muddy village, lost in history. She’d actually been awoken by the feeling of gentle tickling on her toes…..giggling, and almost breaking into hysterics, she’d snapped awake to discover her right foot poking out from the covers, being barely caressed by a ribbon tied to her revolving fan. She’d leaped naked from the bed and turned the fan off immediately, some instinct telling her she was still being tickle tortured. She’d half expected to feel her ankles pulling against the rough wood-hewn restraints, or to hear the callous cries of the villagers, screaming for the men to ‘tickle her, tickle the witch, tickle her, tickle the witch…’
The pressure in her bladder forced her back to the present. Wriggling her butt and rubbing her eyes once more, Sammi made her way to the door of her comfortable bedroom.
‘Samantha.’
Sammi’s bare feet dug into the carpet. Who the hell had said that? The voice was as clear as a bell, but spinning on her heels and searching her eyes around the room, there was no sign of anyone.
She fumbled for the light. Blinking against the harsh brightness, she saw that her window was fastened tight. There was nowhere for anyone to hide in the room. Her bed was pressed against the far wall, and she could clearly see the empty space beneath her PC desk. The wardrobe door was closed, but it was also locked; she had the key on her bedside table.
‘What the fuck….’ She began, when once more she heard the crystal clear voice. A whisper, as if the speaker were standing talking directly into her ear, but utterly audible. It took all of Sammi’s self control to keep from peeing herself in fear.
‘Samantha. You must come with me.’
Almost petrified with terror, Sammi tried to answer back through a dry throat.
‘Wh-wh-who s-said that?’
No reply.
A little bolder now, Sammi licked her suddenly parched lips. ‘Wh-who is it? Who’s there?’
The voice didn’t answer immediately, and Sammi had more or less decided that it had been a figment of her overtired imagination, when the floor suddenly opened up beneath her.
‘What the FUUUUUUUU……..’ was all she managed as the physical universe around her ceased to exist, and she fell.
TWO
Falling.
Falling.
Stretching out.
Nothing.
Opening eyes.
Nothing there.
Listening.
Whooshing.
Flailing.
Flailing, kicking.
Screaming.
THREE
Sammi awoke.
For a brief moment, she considered kicking the duvet off, due to the heat. Then she remembered what had happened. The voice. The endless fall in endless darkness. The thud as she landed on what felt like sand.
Sammi scrambled to her feet. She was still wearing her sleeping clothes; white sports bra, black shorts, and her ever-present collar and nets. Her bare soles felt the rough surface beneath them; her eyes registered it as brown-red dust. There were traces of it on her clothes where she’d landed, and it was pressed between her plump toes. Just where the hell was she?
She jumped at the voice once more.
‘Samantha’.
‘Who are you?’ she asked again.
‘That is not important,’ it replied. ‘Know only that you are in my domain now, and here you shall stay, should you refuse me.’
‘Refuse you what??’ gasped the infuriated girl. ‘Where the hell is this place?’
In her mind’s eye, Sammi could almost see the voice smile. Impossible, she knew; how could a voice smile?
‘Precisely.’
‘Precisely what, asshole?’
But Sammi knew exactly what the disembodied voice meant.
The realisation seemed to hit her like a physical impact. She staggered back and collapsed on her butt, too shocked to regain her feet. Hell? I don’t believe in Hell! Shit, I don’t even believe in fortune cookies.
‘I do not need belief to exist,’ the voice answered her thoughts. ‘I merely, am. And I exist to punish the unworthy. You, Samantha, are one of the unworthy.’
Fear gripped Sammi once more. Despite her best efforts at cynicism, the sheer reality and terror of the situation broke through her barrier. ‘Unworthy? Unw-worthy of what? I haven’t done anything!’
‘Are you ticklish, Samantha?’
The question stunned Sammi. ‘What- Ticklish? What the fuck does that have to do with anything? Can’t you show your damned self?’ She spun around helplessly, peering desperately into the endless dim reddish light. All she saw was dunes of crimson dust.
‘I’ve watched you for years, Samantha; or rather, we’ve watched you. Visits to fetish websites. Participation in acts of sexual submission. Masturbation to fantasies of torture.’
Sammi blushed almost as red as the sand under her black-painted toenails.
‘Shut the fuck up. It’s my life! I don’t believe in this crap! I’ll d-do what I like!’ Her blush did not fade, however. She had to admit; there was a bubble of guilt swelling up inside her.
‘The normal punishment for such behaviour is permanent incarceration, down here with us. With fitting punishment.’
Sammi felt dismay and horror in equal measure rise within her. She fought to control herself. She realised dimly that she still needed to pee. She ignored it. ‘What if I refuse? I must have s-s-some rights here. I didn’t know I was being, you kn-know….sinful.’ Sammi bit her lip on this last word.
‘You knew. You just didn’t care.’
‘Look…please, you can’t do this!’ She allowed some genuine desperation into her voice. ‘It’s too harsh a punishment! Not forever! Please!’
No reply. The voice seemed to almost be considering. Sammi decided to push it.
‘I’ll d-do anything.’
The voice, instantly; ‘Anything?’
Sammi paused. Did she really want to agree to anything? Sammi wasn’t stupid. This was the frigging Devil she was talking to. Beelzebub himself; Satan, the Fallen Angel. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hand the horned bastard her arse on a plate to bugger about with freely.
Then again, he was pretty much going to do that anyway, and for all eternity, it seemed. At least this way she could make it temporary.
‘Yeah, a-anything.’
After the briefest of pauses, the voice replied: ‘Agreed.’
Sammi sighed with an odd form of relief. She’d just agreed to let the devil himself do as he pleased with her. Why did she feel relieved?
The feeling didn’t last long, however.
‘The task I give you is this. You must walk to an establishment in your neighbourhood that sells drinks. You will walk into the place, order a complicated drink, sit and drink it completely.’
So far, so good, she thought.
‘You will then ask a man in the establishment to tickle the soles of your feet, for as long as he likes.’
Sammi shuddered. That would be preeeeetty embarrassing, especially considering the sensitivity of her feet; she’d be a giggling mess within seconds, it would be completely humiliating. But still, she’d get over it.
‘You will do this entire task, naked.’
Sammi’s mouth fell open. ‘WHAT?’
‘That is the task.’
She tapped her foot, hands on hips. The urge to relieve herself was growing steadily, soon she’d be unable to hold still. The enormity of the task had not yet completely sunk in, because of this, but it now began to filter through.
‘You want me to strip off, walk four miles down a busy public street, waltz into a Starbucks bareass naked, and order a fucking Frappuccino? Fuck you.’ The venom in her voice was borne of panic, and fear, not bravery, but still it came out.
Again, the disembodied voice seemed to perform a physical act; it shrugged. Impossible, thought Sammi. Then again, this whole screwed up situation was pretty improbable to say the least.
‘That is the offer. You accepted my judgement. If you do not choose to do it now-’
‘I most certainly damned well do not,’ interrupted the irate but terrified Sammi.
‘-then you will do it after seven days of punishment. Torture, tickling and otherwise.’
‘What??’
On cue, two enormous, bronze-red humanoid figures stepped into view, as if they’d been there all along. Sammi started with shock. The figures, around eight feet in height, cloven hooves for feet and enormously muscular, each took one of Sammi’s pale arms in their powerful fists. Sammi struggled pathetically. ‘Let go! Who the hell are you? Get off of me! Let go right now!’
The last thing Sammi heard as the demons (for that’s obviously what they were, and indeed, their future conduct and behaviour would support that unerringly) dragged her kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs to the fate she had sealed for herself, was the voice, cool as a fucking cucumber, repeating his own simple words:
‘Seven days.’
This is the first part of a story, hopefully around 7-8 chapters long, loosely based on some role-playing scenarios created by Sammi and I some time ago. We're hoping to alternate writing the chapters 🙂 This first one was done by me, Sammi's doing the next one, and so on. Hope you enjoy 😀
There's not an awful lot of tickling content in this one, mainly set up. But, anyway, see what you think. Comments welcome!
Cheers!
-----------------------
Sammi’s Seven Days
ONE
Sammi awoke.
Senses dulled with sleep, she rubbed at her tired eyes with her knuckles. She glanced at the clock that blinked red in the darkness of her room; 3:37 am. She groaned. What on earth had woken her?
Sitting up, Sammi absently stroked the black nylon nets she wore on her lower arms and hands, trying to remember what had roused her from sleep. Was it a dream? A noise? Glancing around the dim room, she saw nothing out of place. Her desk was fine, wardrobe…her eyes finally landed on her PC in the corner; the monitor light was blinking on and off.
Forgot to turn the damn thing off, she thought. Despite the fact that such a meagre light had never woken her before, in her barely awake state she deduced this must be the problem. Clumsily she threw the duvet aside and stepped out of bed. Her bare feet padded across the short distance to her computer. As she bent and fumbled for the monitor’s button in the gloom, she became aware of a dull pressure in her lower belly. She sighed, flicked off the monitor, and thought, so that’s what woke me up. Too much iced tea.
Squirming a little, Sammi yawned and stretched. It hadn’t been the best week for sleep. Almost every night since Sunday she’d been awaken by an astonishingly irritating series of events. First night it had been a cat, squealing outside her window like it was having a tractor tyre pushed up its bottom. Next night she’d left her instant messenger on by mistake, and some teenage boy from Stockholm who’d acquired her address somehow had kept pressing the ‘nudge’ button. A quick glance at the conversation window he’d opened had revealed successive entries of ‘r u tiklish?’ followed by what had seemed like fifteen thousand nudges. Blocked.
The next night had been the oddest, however. She’d been having a dream (be honest Sammi, she thought, it was more like a nightmare) where she was being accused of witchcraft. She was being tortured into confession by three sturdy young men tickling the bare soles of her feet; feet which had been securely locked into a set of foot stocks in the centre of some ancient muddy village, lost in history. She’d actually been awoken by the feeling of gentle tickling on her toes…..giggling, and almost breaking into hysterics, she’d snapped awake to discover her right foot poking out from the covers, being barely caressed by a ribbon tied to her revolving fan. She’d leaped naked from the bed and turned the fan off immediately, some instinct telling her she was still being tickle tortured. She’d half expected to feel her ankles pulling against the rough wood-hewn restraints, or to hear the callous cries of the villagers, screaming for the men to ‘tickle her, tickle the witch, tickle her, tickle the witch…’
The pressure in her bladder forced her back to the present. Wriggling her butt and rubbing her eyes once more, Sammi made her way to the door of her comfortable bedroom.
‘Samantha.’
Sammi’s bare feet dug into the carpet. Who the hell had said that? The voice was as clear as a bell, but spinning on her heels and searching her eyes around the room, there was no sign of anyone.
She fumbled for the light. Blinking against the harsh brightness, she saw that her window was fastened tight. There was nowhere for anyone to hide in the room. Her bed was pressed against the far wall, and she could clearly see the empty space beneath her PC desk. The wardrobe door was closed, but it was also locked; she had the key on her bedside table.
‘What the fuck….’ She began, when once more she heard the crystal clear voice. A whisper, as if the speaker were standing talking directly into her ear, but utterly audible. It took all of Sammi’s self control to keep from peeing herself in fear.
‘Samantha. You must come with me.’
Almost petrified with terror, Sammi tried to answer back through a dry throat.
‘Wh-wh-who s-said that?’
No reply.
A little bolder now, Sammi licked her suddenly parched lips. ‘Wh-who is it? Who’s there?’
The voice didn’t answer immediately, and Sammi had more or less decided that it had been a figment of her overtired imagination, when the floor suddenly opened up beneath her.
‘What the FUUUUUUUU……..’ was all she managed as the physical universe around her ceased to exist, and she fell.
TWO
Falling.
Falling.
Stretching out.
Nothing.
Opening eyes.
Nothing there.
Listening.
Whooshing.
Flailing.
Flailing, kicking.
Screaming.
THREE
Sammi awoke.
For a brief moment, she considered kicking the duvet off, due to the heat. Then she remembered what had happened. The voice. The endless fall in endless darkness. The thud as she landed on what felt like sand.
Sammi scrambled to her feet. She was still wearing her sleeping clothes; white sports bra, black shorts, and her ever-present collar and nets. Her bare soles felt the rough surface beneath them; her eyes registered it as brown-red dust. There were traces of it on her clothes where she’d landed, and it was pressed between her plump toes. Just where the hell was she?
She jumped at the voice once more.
‘Samantha’.
‘Who are you?’ she asked again.
‘That is not important,’ it replied. ‘Know only that you are in my domain now, and here you shall stay, should you refuse me.’
‘Refuse you what??’ gasped the infuriated girl. ‘Where the hell is this place?’
In her mind’s eye, Sammi could almost see the voice smile. Impossible, she knew; how could a voice smile?
‘Precisely.’
‘Precisely what, asshole?’
But Sammi knew exactly what the disembodied voice meant.
The realisation seemed to hit her like a physical impact. She staggered back and collapsed on her butt, too shocked to regain her feet. Hell? I don’t believe in Hell! Shit, I don’t even believe in fortune cookies.
‘I do not need belief to exist,’ the voice answered her thoughts. ‘I merely, am. And I exist to punish the unworthy. You, Samantha, are one of the unworthy.’
Fear gripped Sammi once more. Despite her best efforts at cynicism, the sheer reality and terror of the situation broke through her barrier. ‘Unworthy? Unw-worthy of what? I haven’t done anything!’
‘Are you ticklish, Samantha?’
The question stunned Sammi. ‘What- Ticklish? What the fuck does that have to do with anything? Can’t you show your damned self?’ She spun around helplessly, peering desperately into the endless dim reddish light. All she saw was dunes of crimson dust.
‘I’ve watched you for years, Samantha; or rather, we’ve watched you. Visits to fetish websites. Participation in acts of sexual submission. Masturbation to fantasies of torture.’
Sammi blushed almost as red as the sand under her black-painted toenails.
‘Shut the fuck up. It’s my life! I don’t believe in this crap! I’ll d-do what I like!’ Her blush did not fade, however. She had to admit; there was a bubble of guilt swelling up inside her.
‘The normal punishment for such behaviour is permanent incarceration, down here with us. With fitting punishment.’
Sammi felt dismay and horror in equal measure rise within her. She fought to control herself. She realised dimly that she still needed to pee. She ignored it. ‘What if I refuse? I must have s-s-some rights here. I didn’t know I was being, you kn-know….sinful.’ Sammi bit her lip on this last word.
‘You knew. You just didn’t care.’
‘Look…please, you can’t do this!’ She allowed some genuine desperation into her voice. ‘It’s too harsh a punishment! Not forever! Please!’
No reply. The voice seemed to almost be considering. Sammi decided to push it.
‘I’ll d-do anything.’
The voice, instantly; ‘Anything?’
Sammi paused. Did she really want to agree to anything? Sammi wasn’t stupid. This was the frigging Devil she was talking to. Beelzebub himself; Satan, the Fallen Angel. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hand the horned bastard her arse on a plate to bugger about with freely.
Then again, he was pretty much going to do that anyway, and for all eternity, it seemed. At least this way she could make it temporary.
‘Yeah, a-anything.’
After the briefest of pauses, the voice replied: ‘Agreed.’
Sammi sighed with an odd form of relief. She’d just agreed to let the devil himself do as he pleased with her. Why did she feel relieved?
The feeling didn’t last long, however.
‘The task I give you is this. You must walk to an establishment in your neighbourhood that sells drinks. You will walk into the place, order a complicated drink, sit and drink it completely.’
So far, so good, she thought.
‘You will then ask a man in the establishment to tickle the soles of your feet, for as long as he likes.’
Sammi shuddered. That would be preeeeetty embarrassing, especially considering the sensitivity of her feet; she’d be a giggling mess within seconds, it would be completely humiliating. But still, she’d get over it.
‘You will do this entire task, naked.’
Sammi’s mouth fell open. ‘WHAT?’
‘That is the task.’
She tapped her foot, hands on hips. The urge to relieve herself was growing steadily, soon she’d be unable to hold still. The enormity of the task had not yet completely sunk in, because of this, but it now began to filter through.
‘You want me to strip off, walk four miles down a busy public street, waltz into a Starbucks bareass naked, and order a fucking Frappuccino? Fuck you.’ The venom in her voice was borne of panic, and fear, not bravery, but still it came out.
Again, the disembodied voice seemed to perform a physical act; it shrugged. Impossible, thought Sammi. Then again, this whole screwed up situation was pretty improbable to say the least.
‘That is the offer. You accepted my judgement. If you do not choose to do it now-’
‘I most certainly damned well do not,’ interrupted the irate but terrified Sammi.
‘-then you will do it after seven days of punishment. Torture, tickling and otherwise.’
‘What??’
On cue, two enormous, bronze-red humanoid figures stepped into view, as if they’d been there all along. Sammi started with shock. The figures, around eight feet in height, cloven hooves for feet and enormously muscular, each took one of Sammi’s pale arms in their powerful fists. Sammi struggled pathetically. ‘Let go! Who the hell are you? Get off of me! Let go right now!’
The last thing Sammi heard as the demons (for that’s obviously what they were, and indeed, their future conduct and behaviour would support that unerringly) dragged her kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs to the fate she had sealed for herself, was the voice, cool as a fucking cucumber, repeating his own simple words:
‘Seven days.’
