UberTicklish1
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Mar 27, 2006
- Messages
- 77
- Points
- 0
One thing she couldn’t say was that he had lied about how much weight she’d lose under his care. When she had started The Program she had weighed 262 pounds. Now she weighed 150. At only 5' 3" tall, it was still a lot, but not as much as it use to be.
He had lied about other things though. Like the fact she’d be free to come and go. That he’d show her mercy. She had been in his dungeon so long she had forgotten what natural light looked like. She wondered if her family thought her dead. If her dog was okay. If he’d ever let her free.
He was coming, her grey-green eyes showed her fear as his tall, well muscled frame filled the doorway. Her skin, already pale from months of imprisonment, grew even more pale. When he reached her, he started to stroke her hair. “The brown roots are showing again. We’ll have to dye it.”
She whimpered. “Please - no more. I want to go home.”
“You want to lose weight, don’t you?” He cooed even as he pulled her along by her upper arm. “I promised you I’d get you to weigh 135, and I will. Just like you wanted.”
Now he strapped her into a beauty salon chair. She didn’t dare resist or he’d just spank her again. Then worse. The stench of hair color filled the room as he began to place it on her hair. He massaged in just the right way to make her squirm with giggles. He had been the first to find out that even her scalp was ticklish. By now he had found every ticklish spot.
“Now we’ll just let that sit twenty minutes.” He said, coming around and sitting by her feet with a pan of hot water. “In the meantime I think it’s time for a pedicure.”
Though the rest of her body was nude, he made her keep soft leather slippers on her feet at all times. She had to massage lotion into them every hour on the hour. When she slept he’d wake her to make her do it. So her feet were already extremely soft and sensitive. He gave her a quick tickle that sent her into crazed laughter. Then he began. Letting one foot soak while he buffed the other with a pumice stone. Making sure to tickle her a lot. Carefully trimming and filing the nails. Then brushing the particles away with a soft brush that caused her to plead with him for mercy. Instead he dragged the brush between each toe. He didn’t like nail polish, preferring the natural color of nails. Besides, the twenty minutes were up.
He washed her hair now, several times. Then carefully studied the rest of her body. Once a week he waxed her. Eyebrows, armpits, legs, and pubic hair. In between he made sure no stray hairs appeared. To do this he got very close and ran his fingers all over her sensitive flesh. It was just one of his many excuses to tickle her.
She laughed, squirmed. Tears in her eyes. This inspection went on for over two hours. Two hours of gentle, methodical tickling, soft enough that she didn’t run out of breath, but long enough to torture her. Her stomach hurt from laughing so much.
“Time for your leg lifts.” He said, taking her to the table, making her lay down.
Leg lifts consisted of him putting cuffs around her ankles while her wrists were strapped down. The chains on the cuffs were attached to weights like one would expect on an exercise machine. He would begin to tickle her feet and she would have to lift them up to escape the tickling, causing her to lift the weight. However the weight would bring her leg back down and he’d tickle again. Sometimes he’d do just one foot for awhile. Sometimes he’d do both at once.
She laughed. Laughed and lifted, lifted and laughed. Her legs ached, her stomach ached. Sweat coated her body as she was forced into this ticklish workout. Regretting yet again falling for his words as they stood in the vitamin section of the store. Letting him talk her into coming to what he assured her was his health club. Offering to be her personal trainer.
If she had only known how personal.
The tickling was driving her mad. His fingers scrabbling over her ultra-soft feet. Her throat was getting raw when he finally stopped and put her slippers back on after a liberal dose of the rich lotion.
“Now it’s time to work the upper body.” He said.
This required her wrists being cuffed to another machine. This one more conventional then his homemade leg lift one. It was one of those kind with the bar you pulled down to lift the weights behind you. He always set it for just heavy enough that she couldn’t pull her arms down right away or even all the way. Then straddling her thighs, he started tickling her ribs and underarms. She’d pull her arms down, trying to protect herself, only the weight would pull them back up high above her head. He kept tickling. Never speaking. He was keeping time in his head.
Sometimes, she thought, his fingers must get tired. For suddenly he’d switch to feathers or brushes like he did now. A makeup brush in her left armpit, a feather in her right. Tears streaked her face. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t make a sound.
She always knew he was nearly done with this one when he’d begin to tickle her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples. Her breasts had always been big, even before the weight gain, but his work out had make them stand up more, sag less. Looking more like the breasts of the 29 year old woman she was.
A half hour rest for water, air, and a bathroom break. Then came the other exercises. Inner thigh ones, he’d tickle her bald vulva with a soft feather, causing her to try and close her legs, pulling against the weights. Sit ups, where he’d tickle her stomach, forcing her to sit up to make him stop, but he’d then push her back down.
Then it was massage time. He strapped her down to a massage table. Tickling her neck, her back, then her worse spot of all, where her butt and thighs met. Sending her into screaming laughter. Making her dizzy for lack of oxygen. Then he was back at her feet and she knew what would soon happen as he began to lick and nibble her soles.
He had trained her body well. The hours of being tickled. The torment and forced submission. The entire time she was wet not just from sweat. The entire time she had been in a sexual hell, frozen on the brink of orgasm. He knew this. Knew that the tickling did this to her. It had taken days of training. His tongue lapping at her as his hands tickled her. Hours of torturing her feet with any tickling object he could think of while a vibrator did wicked things to her clit and g-spot.
Unstrapping her and flipping her over, he spread her legs wide. With a paintbrush he began to tickle her swollen clit. Lightly tracing it. Teasing the underside of it. His free hand tickled her foot, now too tired to wiggle free. He kept this up until she came. Then he stepped back and took her feet, slipping nylon socks on them. Then he tied her ankles together, leaving the arches just far enough apart. Freeing himself, he began to pump between her feet, tickling them with his hands as he thrusted.
She wanted to die. Not because of the constant tickling, but because she couldn’t deny she got turned on by it. The shame and anticipation of it all. She feared it, but she craved it. Even now as he finally pulled away and spilled himself on her feet, she prayed in a deep down part of her he’d tickle her more.
“Shower time.” He said.
The shower was no different. Here she was chained to the wall. He used a soft, tickly brush to wash her, gently. Just making her giggle. He’d use a massaging shower head to wash her, focusing it’s pulsating spray between her legs when he was done, spreading her open so she could get the full effect.
Now it was meal time. Lots of protein, very few carbs, sometimes he rewarded her with some chocolate though. Other times “dessert” consisted of a paddling followed by a vigorous tickling of her sensitized rear end. The paddling always made her even more ticklish.
Tonight “dessert” was the latter. After ten good hard smacks to each cheek, he tickled them. First with a stiff feather, then with his fingers. Unlike the tickling work outs he did this until she finally passed out. Putting her down on the bed. He’d wake her in an hour to make her put the lotion on. Of all things he liked her ticklish feet the best.
As he left, he thought about how lovely it was to be an insomniac. Especially since he just got a new client up in the attic gym. She had even more weight to lose.
And he’d make sure she lost it. Even if it took him years.
After all, what kind of personal trainer would he if his clients didn’t come out of the training program - happy?
He had lied about other things though. Like the fact she’d be free to come and go. That he’d show her mercy. She had been in his dungeon so long she had forgotten what natural light looked like. She wondered if her family thought her dead. If her dog was okay. If he’d ever let her free.
He was coming, her grey-green eyes showed her fear as his tall, well muscled frame filled the doorway. Her skin, already pale from months of imprisonment, grew even more pale. When he reached her, he started to stroke her hair. “The brown roots are showing again. We’ll have to dye it.”
She whimpered. “Please - no more. I want to go home.”
“You want to lose weight, don’t you?” He cooed even as he pulled her along by her upper arm. “I promised you I’d get you to weigh 135, and I will. Just like you wanted.”
Now he strapped her into a beauty salon chair. She didn’t dare resist or he’d just spank her again. Then worse. The stench of hair color filled the room as he began to place it on her hair. He massaged in just the right way to make her squirm with giggles. He had been the first to find out that even her scalp was ticklish. By now he had found every ticklish spot.
“Now we’ll just let that sit twenty minutes.” He said, coming around and sitting by her feet with a pan of hot water. “In the meantime I think it’s time for a pedicure.”
Though the rest of her body was nude, he made her keep soft leather slippers on her feet at all times. She had to massage lotion into them every hour on the hour. When she slept he’d wake her to make her do it. So her feet were already extremely soft and sensitive. He gave her a quick tickle that sent her into crazed laughter. Then he began. Letting one foot soak while he buffed the other with a pumice stone. Making sure to tickle her a lot. Carefully trimming and filing the nails. Then brushing the particles away with a soft brush that caused her to plead with him for mercy. Instead he dragged the brush between each toe. He didn’t like nail polish, preferring the natural color of nails. Besides, the twenty minutes were up.
He washed her hair now, several times. Then carefully studied the rest of her body. Once a week he waxed her. Eyebrows, armpits, legs, and pubic hair. In between he made sure no stray hairs appeared. To do this he got very close and ran his fingers all over her sensitive flesh. It was just one of his many excuses to tickle her.
She laughed, squirmed. Tears in her eyes. This inspection went on for over two hours. Two hours of gentle, methodical tickling, soft enough that she didn’t run out of breath, but long enough to torture her. Her stomach hurt from laughing so much.
“Time for your leg lifts.” He said, taking her to the table, making her lay down.
Leg lifts consisted of him putting cuffs around her ankles while her wrists were strapped down. The chains on the cuffs were attached to weights like one would expect on an exercise machine. He would begin to tickle her feet and she would have to lift them up to escape the tickling, causing her to lift the weight. However the weight would bring her leg back down and he’d tickle again. Sometimes he’d do just one foot for awhile. Sometimes he’d do both at once.
She laughed. Laughed and lifted, lifted and laughed. Her legs ached, her stomach ached. Sweat coated her body as she was forced into this ticklish workout. Regretting yet again falling for his words as they stood in the vitamin section of the store. Letting him talk her into coming to what he assured her was his health club. Offering to be her personal trainer.
If she had only known how personal.
The tickling was driving her mad. His fingers scrabbling over her ultra-soft feet. Her throat was getting raw when he finally stopped and put her slippers back on after a liberal dose of the rich lotion.
“Now it’s time to work the upper body.” He said.
This required her wrists being cuffed to another machine. This one more conventional then his homemade leg lift one. It was one of those kind with the bar you pulled down to lift the weights behind you. He always set it for just heavy enough that she couldn’t pull her arms down right away or even all the way. Then straddling her thighs, he started tickling her ribs and underarms. She’d pull her arms down, trying to protect herself, only the weight would pull them back up high above her head. He kept tickling. Never speaking. He was keeping time in his head.
Sometimes, she thought, his fingers must get tired. For suddenly he’d switch to feathers or brushes like he did now. A makeup brush in her left armpit, a feather in her right. Tears streaked her face. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t make a sound.
She always knew he was nearly done with this one when he’d begin to tickle her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples. Her breasts had always been big, even before the weight gain, but his work out had make them stand up more, sag less. Looking more like the breasts of the 29 year old woman she was.
A half hour rest for water, air, and a bathroom break. Then came the other exercises. Inner thigh ones, he’d tickle her bald vulva with a soft feather, causing her to try and close her legs, pulling against the weights. Sit ups, where he’d tickle her stomach, forcing her to sit up to make him stop, but he’d then push her back down.
Then it was massage time. He strapped her down to a massage table. Tickling her neck, her back, then her worse spot of all, where her butt and thighs met. Sending her into screaming laughter. Making her dizzy for lack of oxygen. Then he was back at her feet and she knew what would soon happen as he began to lick and nibble her soles.
He had trained her body well. The hours of being tickled. The torment and forced submission. The entire time she was wet not just from sweat. The entire time she had been in a sexual hell, frozen on the brink of orgasm. He knew this. Knew that the tickling did this to her. It had taken days of training. His tongue lapping at her as his hands tickled her. Hours of torturing her feet with any tickling object he could think of while a vibrator did wicked things to her clit and g-spot.
Unstrapping her and flipping her over, he spread her legs wide. With a paintbrush he began to tickle her swollen clit. Lightly tracing it. Teasing the underside of it. His free hand tickled her foot, now too tired to wiggle free. He kept this up until she came. Then he stepped back and took her feet, slipping nylon socks on them. Then he tied her ankles together, leaving the arches just far enough apart. Freeing himself, he began to pump between her feet, tickling them with his hands as he thrusted.
She wanted to die. Not because of the constant tickling, but because she couldn’t deny she got turned on by it. The shame and anticipation of it all. She feared it, but she craved it. Even now as he finally pulled away and spilled himself on her feet, she prayed in a deep down part of her he’d tickle her more.
“Shower time.” He said.
The shower was no different. Here she was chained to the wall. He used a soft, tickly brush to wash her, gently. Just making her giggle. He’d use a massaging shower head to wash her, focusing it’s pulsating spray between her legs when he was done, spreading her open so she could get the full effect.
Now it was meal time. Lots of protein, very few carbs, sometimes he rewarded her with some chocolate though. Other times “dessert” consisted of a paddling followed by a vigorous tickling of her sensitized rear end. The paddling always made her even more ticklish.
Tonight “dessert” was the latter. After ten good hard smacks to each cheek, he tickled them. First with a stiff feather, then with his fingers. Unlike the tickling work outs he did this until she finally passed out. Putting her down on the bed. He’d wake her in an hour to make her put the lotion on. Of all things he liked her ticklish feet the best.
As he left, he thought about how lovely it was to be an insomniac. Especially since he just got a new client up in the attic gym. She had even more weight to lose.
And he’d make sure she lost it. Even if it took him years.
After all, what kind of personal trainer would he if his clients didn’t come out of the training program - happy?
