Dude'sonfire
TMF Expert
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- May 9, 2004
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Hey happy people! I got the idea for this from a dream I had last night (yes my mind is that screwed up) Who knows i might get round to writing a second part this time, but enjoy in any case.
A woman was tied up by her wrists, and her feet were fixed in magnetic shoes which refused to leave the metal floor. She was naked and blindfolded, and a tall, bald, topless man with no expression on his face whatsoever was kneading her underarms with a cold expertise.
“Please, I-I don’t know anything!” Her strained pleads were interrupted by unwelcome breathless bursts of laughter. “M-make its t-stop!”
There were two more women watching from behind a window, one with a stern face, tied back hair and a slim figure, glasses framing her dark eyes, and the other with voluminous auburn hair and short height. Both were wearing white lab-coat type uniforms, and the shorter woman had a handheld computer with various notes displayed on it.
The taller woman, named Sandra, pursed her lips. “Give her another… thirty minutes. She might yet ‘remember’ something.”
The shorter woman nodded and scribbled something on her portable screen.
“Mmm, I tell you Amy, looking at that man's body makes me wish we hadn’t got rid of all the real men.”
“Why? Androids are technically better lovers anyway.”
Sandra sighed. “I suppose your right.”
“And men used to interrogate through pain.” Amy shuddered. “How barbaric.”
“Yes… yes. Anyway, lets move on. I want to finish this inspection and get home.”
Leaving the woman choking with pained laughter behind, they exited the room and began walking down a long metal corridor, flat white lights illuminating it and giving the place a stale, harsh quality.
They opened a door to their left and found another woman, sitting on the metal floor, her face contorted by awful laughs. This one was quite free save that her feet were locked in box against the wall, and claw at it and hit it and scream all she liked she could get her feet out of it. The sensations coming from within were horribly unsure; something was in there, moist and textured, like a large tongue, yet worse somehow, and it could change shape to torture all her toes at once if it wished. And it never stopped. When Sandra and Amy walked in, it was sliding achingly between her big and second toe on her left foot, and quickly pulsing against the arch of her right, causing yet more tears to flow down her cheeks.
She saw them enter, and cried, “Oh god! I’ll talk! I- Ah! I’ll – Oh God, please it’s horihiblllle!” She couldn’t say anything more.
They watched her writhe for a moment, faces cold as she reached out for them longingly, her whole body trembling, her lungs being racked by spasms. Calmly Sandra reached over to a remote, positioned on the wall – in full view of the patient at all times – and pressed a couple buttons. The sensations abruptly ceased and the woman’s eyes rolled back in her head and she began panting and letting out moans of relief.
Sandra studied her for a moment. “I’ll take care of this one.” She stared at the woman. “Well?”
It took the exhausted lump of woman a minute to catch her breath. “Please… Mercy.”
“Then start talking.”
Doubt came into the woman’s eyes. Sandra saw it, and her finger moved to push a button.
“No! No… I can’t…” The woman took on a slow look of shame then, and said, bitterly, “I know where the North East Headquarters are… district 421, building 17. That’s where my contact worked.” She cringed at herself, and a tear not caused by tickling welled in her eye.
Sandra nodded to Amy, who checked something on her computer. Amy shook her head, and showed the screen to Sandra.
Sandra looked at the patient slowly. “We’ve been in occupation of that building for months.”
The woman’s face went completely pale, and her lips trembled as she spoke, “N-no! No! I was told by…”
“Well dear, either you’re lying or you’ve been giving false information so you can’t talk.” She smiled. “But I have to be sure.” She replaced the remote and reactivated the device, ignoring the woman’s terrified pleas and sobs. As she and Amy left the room, fresh screams and wailing laughs were beginning to erupt from the entrapped subject.
They walked for a moment in silence. “Y’know…” Amy began, her voice uneasy, “I think she was telling the truth.”
Sandra sighed. “Yes, so do I. But we must be thorough. Next.”
They entered another door, and this time were confronted by a woman on a vertical X frame, her limbs and torso tied down motionless, her head thrashing from side to side. Her eyes were blind folded, her ears were plugged, and her mouth was gagged and covered. Muffled sounds came from behind the cover, but her eyebrows and the sweat coating her naked body were the main indicators of her suffering. A tube ran into her left arm, giving her stimulants to keep her alert, as well as water and nutrients to keep her alive.
“Who is this one again?” asked Sandra.
“Oh, em…” Amy stared at her screen for a moment. “She was a spy who was proving incredibly resilient to our methods. We’re giving her mind destruction therapy; once she’s been in here for a few days our Truth Serum should suffice to bring out the truth.”
“Excellent.”
The device the woman was strapped onto was designed so that it delivered erratic electric pulses along the surface of her skin, which produced intensely ticklish sensations. Sometimes it would last for seconds, sometimes for minutes, and it monitored her body reactions so that it could maximise the therapy's effectiveness. As Sandra and Amy were moving on, a crawling electric current ran up and down the woman’s inner thighs and crotch, and a shrill scream was heard, if dampened by the gag and material on top of it. The device worked on this area for some time, sensing that it was of particular sensitivity to the therapy. The woman tried to struggle but her limbs could only twist ever so slightly, not even shaking the frame. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear or move, she could only feel the tickling, always the tickling, her skin ever tickled in the horrible claughstraphobia of silent darkness. Sandra nodded, and she and Amy left the machine to do its work.
“Was that the last one?”
“One more,” Amy replied.
They entered the last door of the hallway. They came into an octagonal room with a number of terminals and screens placed around it, and a large window looking down on what appeared to be a tunnel leading down into the surrounding rock. This was of course the labyrinth, an elaborate interrogation technique, yet one which was one of the most effective in the arsenal.
“Ah yes,” murmured Sandra, “this place. Who’s the unlucky soul?”
“Civilian Jenna Conner. We intercepted a conversation of her discussing ties with the rebellion.”
“So we’re certain she has information?”
“Yes.”
“And she refused to talk in initial questioning?”
“She proved very stubborn for a civilian.”
Sandra twisted her lips. “We’ll see how well she does in here.”
Now the labyrinth was, as the name suggests, a network of caves where the patient was placed in while unconscious. When the patient came to, a group of small, randomly placed androids would begin hunting her, and their orders were to tickle indefinitely when the patient was found, until orders came for them to stop or until the patient simply managed to break free. Ergo the patient would stumble around in the dark, being caught frequently, often by more than one android, depending on her luck, and tickled without pause until she managed to break free, and when she finally found the exit, which often took a considerable length of time, she would only be allowed to leave if she spoke everything they knew. A chamber was positioned at the exit, where the patient was placed, safe from the androids but still imprisoned, so that if she refused to talk the ticklers would simply be allowed in to feast on her sensitised skin.
Sandra tracked the progress of the woman on one of the infa-red sensing monitors. “She’s just approaching the exit.”
“Yes,” said Amy, “but it appears the models have set a trap for her. Watch.”
The girl limped into the chamber in front of the lab, and after shielding her eyes against the harshness of the light, she realised it was the exit, and hope began to swell in her. She moved to run forward, but even as she hoped beyond words that this was the end of her nightmare a hand grabbed her ankle. She panicked. She kicked desperately at the short humanoid form trying to pull her back, thrashing and twisting and crying out. Her legs and ankles were bruised and their were scratches all over her, and her haggard complexion spoke of very little rest. As she was struggling, another hand emerged out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist. She screamed and punched the attacking android with knuckles heavily cut and swollen from previous struggles, but even as she did more appeared and grabbed her remaining limbs. Soon half a dozen of them were on her, the whole pack no less, and their relentless fingers were kneading her underarms and dancing across her ribs, torturing her stomach and plunging her feet into ticklish agony. She was attempting desperately to twist out of their grip, her mind crying out with panic, her body bucking with a absolute need to escape.
Sandra looked on. The androids almost had the girl pinned down perfectly; her body was moving less and less, and she was crying now, partly because of the ceaseless tickling, but also because of her awful despair at being so close then loosing her freedom. She still tried, but she knew she wasn’t going to get free this time. A pair of hands grabbed her hips, and tickled, and tickled, and tickled. She cried out; she couldn’t stand it. She was going to loose her mind. It just wouldn't stop.
Sandra tapped the shoulder of the expressionless artificial man who sat by the central terminal. “That’s en…actually… no, give her a few more moments.” She stood silently for a little while, watching the girl suffer with a little smirk. “Em… well…Ok, there, that’s enough.”
The man pushed a few buttons, and the grip of the androids loosened. The girl had just enough left in her to break free, and she shoved them all off of her and ran for the exit. She banged on the door, looking over her shoulder with terror. The door opened, and she leapt inside the chamber, panting with exertion and relief as the doors slid to.
“Right,” came a voice through a loud speaker. “Now what do you have to tell us.”
The girl dished out everything she knew about rebel operations. After that was finished Sandra finally left the basement, and was glad to do so; she hated visiting the interrogation chambers. At least that’s what she told herself afterwards. In any case, now she could go home and relax.
More to come....?
A woman was tied up by her wrists, and her feet were fixed in magnetic shoes which refused to leave the metal floor. She was naked and blindfolded, and a tall, bald, topless man with no expression on his face whatsoever was kneading her underarms with a cold expertise.
“Please, I-I don’t know anything!” Her strained pleads were interrupted by unwelcome breathless bursts of laughter. “M-make its t-stop!”
There were two more women watching from behind a window, one with a stern face, tied back hair and a slim figure, glasses framing her dark eyes, and the other with voluminous auburn hair and short height. Both were wearing white lab-coat type uniforms, and the shorter woman had a handheld computer with various notes displayed on it.
The taller woman, named Sandra, pursed her lips. “Give her another… thirty minutes. She might yet ‘remember’ something.”
The shorter woman nodded and scribbled something on her portable screen.
“Mmm, I tell you Amy, looking at that man's body makes me wish we hadn’t got rid of all the real men.”
“Why? Androids are technically better lovers anyway.”
Sandra sighed. “I suppose your right.”
“And men used to interrogate through pain.” Amy shuddered. “How barbaric.”
“Yes… yes. Anyway, lets move on. I want to finish this inspection and get home.”
Leaving the woman choking with pained laughter behind, they exited the room and began walking down a long metal corridor, flat white lights illuminating it and giving the place a stale, harsh quality.
They opened a door to their left and found another woman, sitting on the metal floor, her face contorted by awful laughs. This one was quite free save that her feet were locked in box against the wall, and claw at it and hit it and scream all she liked she could get her feet out of it. The sensations coming from within were horribly unsure; something was in there, moist and textured, like a large tongue, yet worse somehow, and it could change shape to torture all her toes at once if it wished. And it never stopped. When Sandra and Amy walked in, it was sliding achingly between her big and second toe on her left foot, and quickly pulsing against the arch of her right, causing yet more tears to flow down her cheeks.
She saw them enter, and cried, “Oh god! I’ll talk! I- Ah! I’ll – Oh God, please it’s horihiblllle!” She couldn’t say anything more.
They watched her writhe for a moment, faces cold as she reached out for them longingly, her whole body trembling, her lungs being racked by spasms. Calmly Sandra reached over to a remote, positioned on the wall – in full view of the patient at all times – and pressed a couple buttons. The sensations abruptly ceased and the woman’s eyes rolled back in her head and she began panting and letting out moans of relief.
Sandra studied her for a moment. “I’ll take care of this one.” She stared at the woman. “Well?”
It took the exhausted lump of woman a minute to catch her breath. “Please… Mercy.”
“Then start talking.”
Doubt came into the woman’s eyes. Sandra saw it, and her finger moved to push a button.
“No! No… I can’t…” The woman took on a slow look of shame then, and said, bitterly, “I know where the North East Headquarters are… district 421, building 17. That’s where my contact worked.” She cringed at herself, and a tear not caused by tickling welled in her eye.
Sandra nodded to Amy, who checked something on her computer. Amy shook her head, and showed the screen to Sandra.
Sandra looked at the patient slowly. “We’ve been in occupation of that building for months.”
The woman’s face went completely pale, and her lips trembled as she spoke, “N-no! No! I was told by…”
“Well dear, either you’re lying or you’ve been giving false information so you can’t talk.” She smiled. “But I have to be sure.” She replaced the remote and reactivated the device, ignoring the woman’s terrified pleas and sobs. As she and Amy left the room, fresh screams and wailing laughs were beginning to erupt from the entrapped subject.
They walked for a moment in silence. “Y’know…” Amy began, her voice uneasy, “I think she was telling the truth.”
Sandra sighed. “Yes, so do I. But we must be thorough. Next.”
They entered another door, and this time were confronted by a woman on a vertical X frame, her limbs and torso tied down motionless, her head thrashing from side to side. Her eyes were blind folded, her ears were plugged, and her mouth was gagged and covered. Muffled sounds came from behind the cover, but her eyebrows and the sweat coating her naked body were the main indicators of her suffering. A tube ran into her left arm, giving her stimulants to keep her alert, as well as water and nutrients to keep her alive.
“Who is this one again?” asked Sandra.
“Oh, em…” Amy stared at her screen for a moment. “She was a spy who was proving incredibly resilient to our methods. We’re giving her mind destruction therapy; once she’s been in here for a few days our Truth Serum should suffice to bring out the truth.”
“Excellent.”
The device the woman was strapped onto was designed so that it delivered erratic electric pulses along the surface of her skin, which produced intensely ticklish sensations. Sometimes it would last for seconds, sometimes for minutes, and it monitored her body reactions so that it could maximise the therapy's effectiveness. As Sandra and Amy were moving on, a crawling electric current ran up and down the woman’s inner thighs and crotch, and a shrill scream was heard, if dampened by the gag and material on top of it. The device worked on this area for some time, sensing that it was of particular sensitivity to the therapy. The woman tried to struggle but her limbs could only twist ever so slightly, not even shaking the frame. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear or move, she could only feel the tickling, always the tickling, her skin ever tickled in the horrible claughstraphobia of silent darkness. Sandra nodded, and she and Amy left the machine to do its work.
“Was that the last one?”
“One more,” Amy replied.
They entered the last door of the hallway. They came into an octagonal room with a number of terminals and screens placed around it, and a large window looking down on what appeared to be a tunnel leading down into the surrounding rock. This was of course the labyrinth, an elaborate interrogation technique, yet one which was one of the most effective in the arsenal.
“Ah yes,” murmured Sandra, “this place. Who’s the unlucky soul?”
“Civilian Jenna Conner. We intercepted a conversation of her discussing ties with the rebellion.”
“So we’re certain she has information?”
“Yes.”
“And she refused to talk in initial questioning?”
“She proved very stubborn for a civilian.”
Sandra twisted her lips. “We’ll see how well she does in here.”
Now the labyrinth was, as the name suggests, a network of caves where the patient was placed in while unconscious. When the patient came to, a group of small, randomly placed androids would begin hunting her, and their orders were to tickle indefinitely when the patient was found, until orders came for them to stop or until the patient simply managed to break free. Ergo the patient would stumble around in the dark, being caught frequently, often by more than one android, depending on her luck, and tickled without pause until she managed to break free, and when she finally found the exit, which often took a considerable length of time, she would only be allowed to leave if she spoke everything they knew. A chamber was positioned at the exit, where the patient was placed, safe from the androids but still imprisoned, so that if she refused to talk the ticklers would simply be allowed in to feast on her sensitised skin.
Sandra tracked the progress of the woman on one of the infa-red sensing monitors. “She’s just approaching the exit.”
“Yes,” said Amy, “but it appears the models have set a trap for her. Watch.”
The girl limped into the chamber in front of the lab, and after shielding her eyes against the harshness of the light, she realised it was the exit, and hope began to swell in her. She moved to run forward, but even as she hoped beyond words that this was the end of her nightmare a hand grabbed her ankle. She panicked. She kicked desperately at the short humanoid form trying to pull her back, thrashing and twisting and crying out. Her legs and ankles were bruised and their were scratches all over her, and her haggard complexion spoke of very little rest. As she was struggling, another hand emerged out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist. She screamed and punched the attacking android with knuckles heavily cut and swollen from previous struggles, but even as she did more appeared and grabbed her remaining limbs. Soon half a dozen of them were on her, the whole pack no less, and their relentless fingers were kneading her underarms and dancing across her ribs, torturing her stomach and plunging her feet into ticklish agony. She was attempting desperately to twist out of their grip, her mind crying out with panic, her body bucking with a absolute need to escape.
Sandra looked on. The androids almost had the girl pinned down perfectly; her body was moving less and less, and she was crying now, partly because of the ceaseless tickling, but also because of her awful despair at being so close then loosing her freedom. She still tried, but she knew she wasn’t going to get free this time. A pair of hands grabbed her hips, and tickled, and tickled, and tickled. She cried out; she couldn’t stand it. She was going to loose her mind. It just wouldn't stop.
Sandra tapped the shoulder of the expressionless artificial man who sat by the central terminal. “That’s en…actually… no, give her a few more moments.” She stood silently for a little while, watching the girl suffer with a little smirk. “Em… well…Ok, there, that’s enough.”
The man pushed a few buttons, and the grip of the androids loosened. The girl had just enough left in her to break free, and she shoved them all off of her and ran for the exit. She banged on the door, looking over her shoulder with terror. The door opened, and she leapt inside the chamber, panting with exertion and relief as the doors slid to.
“Right,” came a voice through a loud speaker. “Now what do you have to tell us.”
The girl dished out everything she knew about rebel operations. After that was finished Sandra finally left the basement, and was glad to do so; she hated visiting the interrogation chambers. At least that’s what she told herself afterwards. In any case, now she could go home and relax.
More to come....?
