Who am I?1
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Hello! I'm a deviantart fetish writer and a long-time user of this forum.
I've decided to post all my stories here for your enjoyment.
I take commissions! If you want to commission me a story, please contact me THROUGH DA. My profile is: http://the-tickling-master.deviantart.com/gallery/
Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you liked (And especially if you disliked) the story, leave a comment!
This story is a personal project. I used to write for a Writing.com interactive story called "The Facility" and I loved it, but unfortunately the owner had to delete it for personal reasons. I tought that was a setting too good to go to waste, and revived it through my own personal story. The project is more or less on-hold, but I'll post what I have so far.
--------------------------------
This is a story about a far-off world. A world with different physical laws. A world where pain is an unfamilliar concept, and yet suffering and war is part of daily life.
This is the world of The Facility. A land where no one is born, instead simply appearing one day, lost in the fields. A world at war – a very peculiar kind of war. A ticklish war. For some reason, acute pain is non-existant in The Facility. A punch leaves no mark and breaks no bone, a stab wound quickly wound itself without a drop of blood being shed. This, however, never stopped the primal need mankind has for war, conflict and domination. One thing is prevalent in the Facility: Everyone is ticklish. Painfully so. And therefore, tickling became the norm, tickling became the currency, and ticklish-warfare stabilished itself as the way to show dominance.
Upon appearing – or “spawning” – in the Facility, a person receives a coloured feather-sword, the colour identifying the faction that person will belong to. The white feather belongs to the pure and brave Heroes. The Heroes are the kindest of hearts in the Facility, running the only truly safe place in the world: The Haven, where all tickling is forbidden. In Haven, they protect those that can’t handle the hardships of the Facility.
Those would be the Reds. The Reds use the red feather-sword (duh), and are comprised of the weakest, most desperate and most ticklish in the facility. The inevitable destiny of a Red is to end up as a tickle slave – which are the closest thing the Facility has to a currency. Despite being weak, the Reds are by far the most numerous faction in this world – if they were to unite, they would be unstoppable... If they can mantain the courage in the face of a feather-sword (They can’t).
The third biggest faction – and the greatest organized power – in the Facility are the Imperials, bearers of the yeallow feather-sword. The Imperials form a millitaristic faction of unspeakable power, fueled by great discipline and masterfully trained combat tactics. The Imperial Army is the greatest force in the Facility, and Imperial lands are by far the greatest in extension. The Imperials are mostly extremely loyal and brave, like the heroes – but, unlike the heroes, they believe the weak exist to serve the strong, not to be protected by them.
The Imperials have many enemies, but the biggest one by far are the Ninjas, who are distinguished by their Purple feathers... Most of the time, as the Ninjas are elusive and adept of using tricks and illusions. They are the least numerous faction in the facility, but with their tools and skills, it is said that a single well-trained Ninja can take out an entire batallion. The Ninjas come in all shapes and sizes – from kind and brave hearts that would make Heroes look like devils, to tickling demons that makes you doubt the very concept of humanity. But they all share one trait: A deep love for freedom – freedom to be, freedom to act. The Ninjas are also the masters of the Facility’s secret passages and illusions – which it has many – and are masters of ambushes and guerrilla tactics.
Speaking of demons, the Facility has its share. Most end up in in the Sadist faction, characterized by their dark green feather. The sadists are hedonistic beings true and through – They live to satisfy wathever pleasures they may have, and every single living thing also exist for that purpose. As the name imply, many take great pleasure in making their enemies – and even allies – suffer. They invented and always evolve the pratice of torture in the Facility, and are also a very large faction on both number and territory – between their weaponry, ruthlessness and ferocity, they could easily match the might of the Imperial Army... If they could trust one another in order to form a cohesive unit. Sadist infighting keep them from being a truly united force, but they are still the greatest nightmare to any being in this world.
If the Reds are the largest, the Imperials are the third and the Sadists are the fourth, who is the second? That would be the Fetishists. The Fetishists see the Facility as their personal heaven – they love to tickle and/or be tickled, and mostly have a very pleasant, very fulfilling life. The Fetishists are separated in two clans – the F-Fetishists, of females bearing the pink feather-sword, and the M-Fetishists, of males bearing theblue feather-sword. Every week the Fetishists organize a mock-battle in their lands – the open field known as the “Pervert Plains”. In this weekly battle, it becomes clear that the Fetishists are very tough, and deeply trained millitarily speaking. If they only gave a shit, they could give the Empire a run for its money. But they don’t – Fetishists just want to have fun. As a result, everyone likes the fetishists, and they like everyone back – except the Sadists. Even the most willing ‘lee knows to not fall into a Sadist’s hands.
Finally, there is one last faction – a faction so hare that there’s barely a hundred of them. They are the Greys, bearing a grey-coloured feather. The Greys spawn in a particular hideout, and act mostly alone or in small gangs, acting as bounty-hunters or hired muscle – mostly. The Greys are all deeply ambitious and each one has their own desires. The Greys are absurdly powerful – they are the quickest, strongest and fiercest fighters in the Facility. They are as skillfull and resourceful as the Ninjas, as brave and powerful as the Imperials, as terrible and cruel as the Sadist. If you ever cross a Grey, run. Or just give up, because if you see a Grey, you are his target – and if you are his target, there’s nothing you can do.
The Facility itself contains many secrets. The territories of the factions is just a small fraction of this huge, mysterious place. The Facility seems to be divided in small, contained areas – you can be in a forest and leave it for a desert, literally two steps between each other. And, in another area, you can find yourself in a maze of metallic corridoors. Monsters roam the uncharted areas and there are traps everywhere, all built with one intent in mind: Extracting laughter.
This is the Facility. Pick your feather – or rather, let it pick you – and welcome.
-----------------------------------
What a wonderful warm feeling, floating there in the middle of nothing. With her eyes closed, she just savored it, not really conscious, not really alive, like a spirit drifting in eternity. Then, she blinked. White, white as far as the eye could see, white to the right, white to the left, white behind and ahead, above and below. No ground, no nothing – and yet, now she was something, a being. She blinked again, and looked down, noticing her arms and legs. She was a... person? How does she know what a person is?
She blinked again, confused.
Then, in the middle of the nothing she currently drifted, something appeared, conjured from thin air. Seven artifacts, that looked like... a sword? But the blade was full of bristles, made of a more malleable substance than steel, despite still standing erect. Their look and shape made them look like feathers... Or some hybrid. Like a feather-sword.
Once again, she wondered: This was the first time she was seeing those things – or anything at all. Why did she knew it was a feather and a sword and then a hybrid of both?
This was weird.
Nonetheless, she felt a compulsion to grab one of those – they were seven, each with a color. She stared a bit at the closest one – the Red feather – and felt some familiarity. But another grabbed her attention: The neighboring White feather. She moved her limbs and arms, as if she was swimming in the nothingness by instinct, and approached the white feather, mesmerized by it. Some sort of impulse compulsed her to grab it. However, just as she was about to do it, another feather drifted into her view.
The purple feather. For some reason, it fascinated her, much more than any of the others. It was like finding a soulmate. She was drawn towards it. It symbolized some sort of freedom she craved. Without hesitation, she grabbed it.
The white around her started shining, blinding her. She closed her eyes... And finally, opened them again, and how she was somewhere else.
For starters, she was standing over a ground. Looking around, she realized she was in some sort of grassy open field, with some small hills. She was in one of those hills, with some rocks in front of her. On her right hand, she was holding that purple feather-sword. Looking down, she realized she was almost naked – wearing only bra and panties. She felt ashamed, trying to cover herself up – before realizing that there was no one around.
And when did she learned to feel shame? Or to question things? She had just been born.
She looked at the feather-sword, curious. What can you do with a feather? Well... You can tickle person? Wait, she was never tickled, why did she knew what tickling was? Nonetheless, the touched the feather and, as she touched it, a fuzzy feeling went up her fingers, making her retract her hand – it was some sort of ticklish eletric shock. It wasn’t the kind of stimulus she expected from a feather – it tickled a lot more, in fact.
Then, she heard some noise. By instinct, she heard behind the rocks in front of her. Then, she looked around, and noticed the noises were of an entire marching army. Hundreds of people, organized in rows, marching ritimically. It was almost beautiful to see, so much discipline and coordination. In the middle of the army, the girl noticed some people in chains, being dragged and pushed by the army. Exhausted, they fell to the floor constantly, beingpicked up and forced to walk again.
Another thing she noticed is that everyone was also in underwears – guys in boxers, girls in bra and panties. Geez, it was like she was in a world designed by perverts!
She kept observing the army, unsure of what to do. They didn’t seem amicable, not at all – She wasn’t going to trust anyone who were transporting what seemed to be slaves in such a cruel manner. However, she looked around and realized she was in the middle of nowhere, in a place and an existance she didn’t know about, absurdly confused and with no leads to follow except that army. The girl pondered for a moment and made her decision: She was going to follow them. Maybe they would lead to civilization of some sort.
An army on full march can cover impressive distances, so following them wasn’t tedious – the girl needed to be moving all the time. Since she didn’t want to be spotted, she mostly sprinted from cover to cover, or laid low in the open grass, keeping a decent distance – usually losing sight of them and following the trampled grass. Once or twice, she saw scouts coming back from the main army to watch their backs, but she managed to avoid detection.
She was quite surprised with her skills. Someone who was just born shouldn’t be able to do that... Yet she was doing almost by instinct.
As she progresses through that open field, she started to notice signs of civilization – dirt roads, mostly, trails opened in the middle of the grassy fields. Finally, after hours of following the army through the grass, she saw a city on the distance, a huge fortress shielded by enormous, thick walls. A gate was open, through which the army was entering into the city, with it’s slaves.
The girl pondered her options for a minute. There seemed to be no openings, no cracks, no way to invade that fortress-city. The walls were too big to climb, and the gates were heavily watched. Even approaching the city out in the open like that was too dangerous.
Finally, she decided to wait for nightfall. In the darkness, she would have a better chance of not being spotted and, maybe, circle that place in search of an opening. And so she did, hiding behind some rock formations, avoiding being spotted. As the day progressed, she noticed caravans coming into the city through the roads, consistently every two hours – or so she guessed, it was hard to tell going only by the sun. A plan started to form.
Finally, the night fell, and the wagons kept coming. She knew what she was going to do. It was going to be easy: The wagons contained a single rider, which guided the horses pulling the wagon, which was enclosed by a tent. It wouldn’t be hard to sneak in the darkness behind the wagon and hop aboard it. From what she had been observing, the guards at the gate didn’t check inside the wagon. Then maybe, hopefully, she could leave the wagon in a deserted street and sucesfully infiltrate that city.
Maybe, once she was there, she would have some answers.
So, once again acting mostly by instinct, she observed the caravan coming in the road. The rider hummed a song, distracted. When the wagon passed her hiding spot, she rushed, stepping lightly, avoiding making any noises. Quick as a leopard, she hopped into the back entrance of the wagon, embracing safety.
And quickly, she realized she fucked it up, as she was met with the faces of half a dozen confused guys and one tall, blond woman holding yeallow feather-swords. She gulped, then tried to pull a smile, trying to be as amicable as possible.
- Oh... Hey! How are you? – She asked follishly.
- Grab her! – The woman in the wagon ordered. By the tone, it seemed to be the commander. The other five quickly rushed her, grabbing her wrists and immobilizing her quicker than she could process the situation. Laying on her belly, she tried to struggle, but it was futile – those guys knew how to hold someone down.
The woman looked down on her, as one of the guys firmly held her ankles together, immobilizing her feet. The woman-captain drew her feather-sword and, with swift movements, starting stroking the girl’s feet. The reaction was immediately, with the newcomer starting to laugh.
She expected that from the moment she saw the feather-swords, to belocked in some sort of ticklish hijink, but she didn’t expect it to be this quick. And, as the feather-sword made contact her soles, she squealed – it tickled A LOT, a lot worse than she expected from when she touched it for the first time.
- NOHOHOHOHOHO!!! – She screamed in desperation.
- What is your name? – The woman asked, coldly.
- REHEHEHEHBBEHEHEHEHECCCCAAAA!!! – She replied amid laughter. Rebecca, huh? For some reason, that name just felt right – as if this has been her name for a long, long time.
- Rebecca, huh? Well, Rebecca, I’m Captain Clarice. You ‘re now under arrest, Ninja scum. – She said, stopping the tickling. – I’ll stop now to preserve you. But don’t worry – you’ll be laughing a lot at the Dungeon.
I've decided to post all my stories here for your enjoyment.
I take commissions! If you want to commission me a story, please contact me THROUGH DA. My profile is: http://the-tickling-master.deviantart.com/gallery/
Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you liked (And especially if you disliked) the story, leave a comment!
This story is a personal project. I used to write for a Writing.com interactive story called "The Facility" and I loved it, but unfortunately the owner had to delete it for personal reasons. I tought that was a setting too good to go to waste, and revived it through my own personal story. The project is more or less on-hold, but I'll post what I have so far.
--------------------------------
This is a story about a far-off world. A world with different physical laws. A world where pain is an unfamilliar concept, and yet suffering and war is part of daily life.
This is the world of The Facility. A land where no one is born, instead simply appearing one day, lost in the fields. A world at war – a very peculiar kind of war. A ticklish war. For some reason, acute pain is non-existant in The Facility. A punch leaves no mark and breaks no bone, a stab wound quickly wound itself without a drop of blood being shed. This, however, never stopped the primal need mankind has for war, conflict and domination. One thing is prevalent in the Facility: Everyone is ticklish. Painfully so. And therefore, tickling became the norm, tickling became the currency, and ticklish-warfare stabilished itself as the way to show dominance.
Upon appearing – or “spawning” – in the Facility, a person receives a coloured feather-sword, the colour identifying the faction that person will belong to. The white feather belongs to the pure and brave Heroes. The Heroes are the kindest of hearts in the Facility, running the only truly safe place in the world: The Haven, where all tickling is forbidden. In Haven, they protect those that can’t handle the hardships of the Facility.
Those would be the Reds. The Reds use the red feather-sword (duh), and are comprised of the weakest, most desperate and most ticklish in the facility. The inevitable destiny of a Red is to end up as a tickle slave – which are the closest thing the Facility has to a currency. Despite being weak, the Reds are by far the most numerous faction in this world – if they were to unite, they would be unstoppable... If they can mantain the courage in the face of a feather-sword (They can’t).
The third biggest faction – and the greatest organized power – in the Facility are the Imperials, bearers of the yeallow feather-sword. The Imperials form a millitaristic faction of unspeakable power, fueled by great discipline and masterfully trained combat tactics. The Imperial Army is the greatest force in the Facility, and Imperial lands are by far the greatest in extension. The Imperials are mostly extremely loyal and brave, like the heroes – but, unlike the heroes, they believe the weak exist to serve the strong, not to be protected by them.
The Imperials have many enemies, but the biggest one by far are the Ninjas, who are distinguished by their Purple feathers... Most of the time, as the Ninjas are elusive and adept of using tricks and illusions. They are the least numerous faction in the facility, but with their tools and skills, it is said that a single well-trained Ninja can take out an entire batallion. The Ninjas come in all shapes and sizes – from kind and brave hearts that would make Heroes look like devils, to tickling demons that makes you doubt the very concept of humanity. But they all share one trait: A deep love for freedom – freedom to be, freedom to act. The Ninjas are also the masters of the Facility’s secret passages and illusions – which it has many – and are masters of ambushes and guerrilla tactics.
Speaking of demons, the Facility has its share. Most end up in in the Sadist faction, characterized by their dark green feather. The sadists are hedonistic beings true and through – They live to satisfy wathever pleasures they may have, and every single living thing also exist for that purpose. As the name imply, many take great pleasure in making their enemies – and even allies – suffer. They invented and always evolve the pratice of torture in the Facility, and are also a very large faction on both number and territory – between their weaponry, ruthlessness and ferocity, they could easily match the might of the Imperial Army... If they could trust one another in order to form a cohesive unit. Sadist infighting keep them from being a truly united force, but they are still the greatest nightmare to any being in this world.
If the Reds are the largest, the Imperials are the third and the Sadists are the fourth, who is the second? That would be the Fetishists. The Fetishists see the Facility as their personal heaven – they love to tickle and/or be tickled, and mostly have a very pleasant, very fulfilling life. The Fetishists are separated in two clans – the F-Fetishists, of females bearing the pink feather-sword, and the M-Fetishists, of males bearing theblue feather-sword. Every week the Fetishists organize a mock-battle in their lands – the open field known as the “Pervert Plains”. In this weekly battle, it becomes clear that the Fetishists are very tough, and deeply trained millitarily speaking. If they only gave a shit, they could give the Empire a run for its money. But they don’t – Fetishists just want to have fun. As a result, everyone likes the fetishists, and they like everyone back – except the Sadists. Even the most willing ‘lee knows to not fall into a Sadist’s hands.
Finally, there is one last faction – a faction so hare that there’s barely a hundred of them. They are the Greys, bearing a grey-coloured feather. The Greys spawn in a particular hideout, and act mostly alone or in small gangs, acting as bounty-hunters or hired muscle – mostly. The Greys are all deeply ambitious and each one has their own desires. The Greys are absurdly powerful – they are the quickest, strongest and fiercest fighters in the Facility. They are as skillfull and resourceful as the Ninjas, as brave and powerful as the Imperials, as terrible and cruel as the Sadist. If you ever cross a Grey, run. Or just give up, because if you see a Grey, you are his target – and if you are his target, there’s nothing you can do.
The Facility itself contains many secrets. The territories of the factions is just a small fraction of this huge, mysterious place. The Facility seems to be divided in small, contained areas – you can be in a forest and leave it for a desert, literally two steps between each other. And, in another area, you can find yourself in a maze of metallic corridoors. Monsters roam the uncharted areas and there are traps everywhere, all built with one intent in mind: Extracting laughter.
This is the Facility. Pick your feather – or rather, let it pick you – and welcome.
-----------------------------------
What a wonderful warm feeling, floating there in the middle of nothing. With her eyes closed, she just savored it, not really conscious, not really alive, like a spirit drifting in eternity. Then, she blinked. White, white as far as the eye could see, white to the right, white to the left, white behind and ahead, above and below. No ground, no nothing – and yet, now she was something, a being. She blinked again, and looked down, noticing her arms and legs. She was a... person? How does she know what a person is?
She blinked again, confused.
Then, in the middle of the nothing she currently drifted, something appeared, conjured from thin air. Seven artifacts, that looked like... a sword? But the blade was full of bristles, made of a more malleable substance than steel, despite still standing erect. Their look and shape made them look like feathers... Or some hybrid. Like a feather-sword.
Once again, she wondered: This was the first time she was seeing those things – or anything at all. Why did she knew it was a feather and a sword and then a hybrid of both?
This was weird.
Nonetheless, she felt a compulsion to grab one of those – they were seven, each with a color. She stared a bit at the closest one – the Red feather – and felt some familiarity. But another grabbed her attention: The neighboring White feather. She moved her limbs and arms, as if she was swimming in the nothingness by instinct, and approached the white feather, mesmerized by it. Some sort of impulse compulsed her to grab it. However, just as she was about to do it, another feather drifted into her view.
The purple feather. For some reason, it fascinated her, much more than any of the others. It was like finding a soulmate. She was drawn towards it. It symbolized some sort of freedom she craved. Without hesitation, she grabbed it.
The white around her started shining, blinding her. She closed her eyes... And finally, opened them again, and how she was somewhere else.
For starters, she was standing over a ground. Looking around, she realized she was in some sort of grassy open field, with some small hills. She was in one of those hills, with some rocks in front of her. On her right hand, she was holding that purple feather-sword. Looking down, she realized she was almost naked – wearing only bra and panties. She felt ashamed, trying to cover herself up – before realizing that there was no one around.
And when did she learned to feel shame? Or to question things? She had just been born.
She looked at the feather-sword, curious. What can you do with a feather? Well... You can tickle person? Wait, she was never tickled, why did she knew what tickling was? Nonetheless, the touched the feather and, as she touched it, a fuzzy feeling went up her fingers, making her retract her hand – it was some sort of ticklish eletric shock. It wasn’t the kind of stimulus she expected from a feather – it tickled a lot more, in fact.
Then, she heard some noise. By instinct, she heard behind the rocks in front of her. Then, she looked around, and noticed the noises were of an entire marching army. Hundreds of people, organized in rows, marching ritimically. It was almost beautiful to see, so much discipline and coordination. In the middle of the army, the girl noticed some people in chains, being dragged and pushed by the army. Exhausted, they fell to the floor constantly, beingpicked up and forced to walk again.
Another thing she noticed is that everyone was also in underwears – guys in boxers, girls in bra and panties. Geez, it was like she was in a world designed by perverts!
She kept observing the army, unsure of what to do. They didn’t seem amicable, not at all – She wasn’t going to trust anyone who were transporting what seemed to be slaves in such a cruel manner. However, she looked around and realized she was in the middle of nowhere, in a place and an existance she didn’t know about, absurdly confused and with no leads to follow except that army. The girl pondered for a moment and made her decision: She was going to follow them. Maybe they would lead to civilization of some sort.
An army on full march can cover impressive distances, so following them wasn’t tedious – the girl needed to be moving all the time. Since she didn’t want to be spotted, she mostly sprinted from cover to cover, or laid low in the open grass, keeping a decent distance – usually losing sight of them and following the trampled grass. Once or twice, she saw scouts coming back from the main army to watch their backs, but she managed to avoid detection.
She was quite surprised with her skills. Someone who was just born shouldn’t be able to do that... Yet she was doing almost by instinct.
As she progresses through that open field, she started to notice signs of civilization – dirt roads, mostly, trails opened in the middle of the grassy fields. Finally, after hours of following the army through the grass, she saw a city on the distance, a huge fortress shielded by enormous, thick walls. A gate was open, through which the army was entering into the city, with it’s slaves.
The girl pondered her options for a minute. There seemed to be no openings, no cracks, no way to invade that fortress-city. The walls were too big to climb, and the gates were heavily watched. Even approaching the city out in the open like that was too dangerous.
Finally, she decided to wait for nightfall. In the darkness, she would have a better chance of not being spotted and, maybe, circle that place in search of an opening. And so she did, hiding behind some rock formations, avoiding being spotted. As the day progressed, she noticed caravans coming into the city through the roads, consistently every two hours – or so she guessed, it was hard to tell going only by the sun. A plan started to form.
Finally, the night fell, and the wagons kept coming. She knew what she was going to do. It was going to be easy: The wagons contained a single rider, which guided the horses pulling the wagon, which was enclosed by a tent. It wouldn’t be hard to sneak in the darkness behind the wagon and hop aboard it. From what she had been observing, the guards at the gate didn’t check inside the wagon. Then maybe, hopefully, she could leave the wagon in a deserted street and sucesfully infiltrate that city.
Maybe, once she was there, she would have some answers.
So, once again acting mostly by instinct, she observed the caravan coming in the road. The rider hummed a song, distracted. When the wagon passed her hiding spot, she rushed, stepping lightly, avoiding making any noises. Quick as a leopard, she hopped into the back entrance of the wagon, embracing safety.
And quickly, she realized she fucked it up, as she was met with the faces of half a dozen confused guys and one tall, blond woman holding yeallow feather-swords. She gulped, then tried to pull a smile, trying to be as amicable as possible.
- Oh... Hey! How are you? – She asked follishly.
- Grab her! – The woman in the wagon ordered. By the tone, it seemed to be the commander. The other five quickly rushed her, grabbing her wrists and immobilizing her quicker than she could process the situation. Laying on her belly, she tried to struggle, but it was futile – those guys knew how to hold someone down.
The woman looked down on her, as one of the guys firmly held her ankles together, immobilizing her feet. The woman-captain drew her feather-sword and, with swift movements, starting stroking the girl’s feet. The reaction was immediately, with the newcomer starting to laugh.
She expected that from the moment she saw the feather-swords, to belocked in some sort of ticklish hijink, but she didn’t expect it to be this quick. And, as the feather-sword made contact her soles, she squealed – it tickled A LOT, a lot worse than she expected from when she touched it for the first time.
- NOHOHOHOHOHO!!! – She screamed in desperation.
- What is your name? – The woman asked, coldly.
- REHEHEHEHBBEHEHEHEHECCCCAAAA!!! – She replied amid laughter. Rebecca, huh? For some reason, that name just felt right – as if this has been her name for a long, long time.
- Rebecca, huh? Well, Rebecca, I’m Captain Clarice. You ‘re now under arrest, Ninja scum. – She said, stopping the tickling. – I’ll stop now to preserve you. But don’t worry – you’ll be laughing a lot at the Dungeon.
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