Disaster Girl

There’s the hazy-eyed drugged-out empty thing, who lives in a foggy world in its own mind. Comfortable and sleepy. Docile and sedated. Kept calm by its own fuzzy mind and memories. It doesn’t know it deserves better. It doesn’t know it’s been dehumanized or even was once a human. On some level it knows it’s being kept, but the idea of resisting is so distant and uncomfortable that it’s just easier to stay in the cage, no matter how secure it actually is. This pet barely feels the pain, jolting it only momentarily from its haze.

Then there’s the clear-eyed, pissed-off but entirely broken pet. It knows exactly what’s been done to it. It knows it’s been degraded and dehumanized. It knows what it once was, knows it doesn’t deserve that treatment, and would bark and bite if it still believed it would help. It’s docile because it’s given up, but that doesn’t mean it accepts it. It does what it needs to do to survive. Maybe it fears me, but it will protect me anyway. The life it had is gone, the option to get away is gone, and it will at least fight to keep what it has, no matter how much it hates it, hates me for what I’ve done to it.

then my fingers wander. running my fingers across the soft mounds, tickling underneath, up the ribs. settling in the armpits for long enough that you pull your arms down. you're so sensitive, it's so easy.

"i haven't even started yet." i tease, tightening the cuffs on your wrists, "you're very ticklish today."

then i start again. around, under, tracing up the ribs. you know what's coming, but this time you have no way to defend against my fingers. i tap each rib on the way up, counting them on each side, the entire time ignoring your nipples, begging for attention. that's for later.

my hands land in your armpits. i tickle ruthlessly, my fingers spidering slowly. then quick. then slow, scraping down your inner arm. i tickle just long enough for you to start to think it'll never end, and i finally stop.

you're panting. i give you a break, stroking your breasts to soothe the ticklish sensation. my fingertips massage, rolling your nipples between my fingers as i lean down and give you a kiss as a reward for being so resilient.

"starting again." i warn you. this time, your nipples are helpless.

i add oil, and my fingers glide over them. i smile as you thrash and squeal, continuing to torment them. rolling circles, tickling the very tips, my touch light and unbearable. it feels so good but tickles so much.

one edge ... two edge ... three edge ... because i love seeing it get all red and swollen. watching it twitch with need. the feathers would feel like far too little, the vibrating makeup brush like far too much. i just sit there, focused on my task. not to make you cum, but just enjoying the process. reminding you that the point of play is sometimes to make you feel as much as you can rather than orgasm.

ten edges. fifteen. you ask if you can cum soon. i ask if you can give me just one minute more. you know what they say, if you can make that one minute, you can make the next as well.

brush, brush, brush. ten minutes later, amid your frantic laughing, you ask if it's been a minute yet. oh, i coo, yes, but you can give me one more, right? just one more. i'm enjoying this so much darling, use your safeword if you need to but please, you can do it. just one more.

how many edges has it been now? we've both lost count. every time i brush even the feather across you, your entire body clenches and you keen. almost over the edge.

not yet! i beg. just a little bit more!

brush, brush- oh!

you came.

by the hour mark, you're dripping. pleading for more, desperate to feel that brush over your clit. it paints your arousal over your lips, avoiding every place but that swollen little bud. you were warned if you closed your legs, you would be tied up, denied, and tickled relentlessly until the ler had their fill.

She has lost her movement, language, and sight privileges

This is like. The tickling equivalent of when someone goes down on you for their own pleasure. HOT.

Is it ticklish agony? Are you right on the edge? Good. 😈