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And the most wonderful story done by Jaynin. Whose tickling stories you can find here: [link]
I hope you enjoy!
Day 1, 8:00PM
We found some kangaroo boy snooping around the back entrance of one of our warehouses today. He claimed that he had gotten lost and was looking for someone to give him directions, but who would look around a warehouse for directions? Clearly, he was some sort of industrial spy or saboteur, although not a very good one if he expected us to be taken in by the cute, naive look he was going for. No matter, though. Itíll be a simple matter to get him to tell us everything he knows, who he was working for, what he was intending to accomplish. After we caught him, I had him brought to my office and placed him in our special detention cell. Heís sitting there right now, a cute and confused look on his face as the security guards lock him into a set of stocks. Clearly he has no idea whatís about to happen to him, and I find that prospect to be particularly alluring. Maybe Iíll tease him for a bit before really getting into the heavy stuff Ė Iím sure heíll crack like an egg as soon as we bring out the heavy-duty tools. Seeing him sitting there so vulnerableÖ mmm. Thinking about it makes me want to get started right away.
Day 1, 11:50PM
Heís so sensitive! This will be perfect. Iím definitely taking my time with this one. Even just running a single feather along his helpless soles made him start to giggle. It would be a shame to spoil the fun so quickly; Iíll have to bother with filing reports and all that other crap once he starts telling me what I want to know, so I wonít break him. Not just yet. The way he insists on being innocent, meeping and squirming with every stroke of the feather against his feet, is delicious. I especially like running the soft down of the feather in between his toes, and gently letting the stem stroke over the sole. Itís not too ticklish, not just yet. More of a teasing tickle. I love seeing the look in his eyes every time I bring the feather closer to his soles. Sometimes I just play with him, tapping his feet with the tip of the feather and hardly stroking it at all. Those eyes of his are adorable when he begs to be let go, but Iíve noticed that he blushes when he looks at me and he does as heís told right away. Come to think of it, maybe whoever sent him was a little smarter than I gave them credit for Ė breaking someone whoís naturally submissive would be a harder task and not something I can simply brute-force by tickling him silly.
Day 3, 4:00PM
Iíve kept him comfortable. When heís not in the stocks I let him sleep on a cot in my office and let him have something to eat and drink. That doesnít mean I donít still love torturing his sensitive soles, itís just that I want him to last longer. Iíve dutifully reported that the subject is resistant to torture but progress is being made, and as of yet no one is hassling me too much over it. I canít take forever, though. Eventually the higher-ups are going to want results, so Iíve stepped it up a bit. The brushes are a little more tickly and Iíve gotten some help in stroking them across his soles. The guards like it. Why wouldnít they? Itís a chance to make this cute roo boy squirm and giggle, all while seeing his ears lower in that delightfully submissive way of his. Right now Iím taking a break and letting two of the guards take over the tickling, stroking those fine brushes everywhere but particularly in between his toes. While he still insists that he knows nothing, even a dedicated submissive could only take so many days of nonstop tickling, gentle though it may be. Itís pleasant to simply lean back and listen to him laugh, watch him struggle against the stocks and plead with me to be let go. Poor boy. I do wonder what he was sent here to do? A saboteur with such a glaring weakness seems like a bad idea, but then again, my methods of persuasion are secret. Lucky me that their infiltrator is unbearably ticklish and cute.
Day 7, 10:00AM
Time to get serious. The higher-ups have started to ask why the prisoner hasnít yielded any useful information yet. Iíve run out of time Ė I have to make him crack and start talking or theyíll just decide he isnít worth the effort and toss him back out. I canít have that. Iíve gotten used to the sound of him laughing all day at work, such a lovely giggle as something or another tickles his sensitive feet. But today I have to get serious. Heís completely nude, now, his hands tied up over his head, and I have more guards working on him. Thanks to a little bit of teasing persuasion, he let slip the fact that he canít stand pinwheels, the little metal kind, so I found a bunch of those and now weíre really making him howl. As a matter of fact, sitting back and watching him now, I like this even better, seeing him cry out with laughter and struggle constantly against the unforgiving bonds while the tools tickle his sensitive flesh everywhere. Heís ticklish in places besides his feet, obviously, and one of the security guards has them running under his arms. The screams of laughter are lovely. He wonít be able to take much more of this, Iím sure; weíve only been going for two hours and I have him scheduled for tickling all day with no breaks. Itís been a fun week, thatís for sure. Itís almost a shame I have to break him and get rid of him after this.
Day 11, 9:00PM
I wonder if he really was innocent. He maintained as such through all three days of interrogation and the higher-ups finally had had enough of keeping him around so I had to turn him loose. But I donít want to. Such a cute and ticklish roo boy would be a waste if left to wander around free, so I promised Iíd let him go, then drove him home and tied him up again. Naturally I canít afford to have him screaming with laughter and making the neighbors suspicious, and Iíd rather he doesnít know where he is, so I managed to scrounge up an old gas mask and blacken the eye-glass so he canít see nor speak. Heís at home now, but I have to make sure heís properly attended to during the day while I work. It would be a terrible waste not to keep tickling that sensitive flesh at all hours of the day, so I rigged up an odd device of sorts. Itís essentially flexible mechanical arms coated with something fleshlike and vaguely rough that run on a repeating pattern, tickling whatever place I position them for the day Ė underarms, nipples, toes, feet, all the good places. Now when I come home from work I get to see what he looks like after a full and unrelieved day of being tickled. The poor, cute thingís ears are drooping. I canít see his eyes nor hear his laughter, but the way his body shakes from sobs of laughter is enough. Sometimes I like to stop the machine and tickle him myself for a few hours before bed, but other times I like to just sit back and watch. Like now. With no vision and no sounds save his own laughter to guide him, he probably has no idea what time it is, or where he is, or even whatís tickling him. The device is unusual enough that I bet he doesnít even know what is going on, probably thinks thereís tentacles or something going at him. Wish I could get some real tentacle monsters to make him scream Ė thatíd be a sight to see for sure. Time for bed, now. I think Iíll drift off to the sounds of his muffled laughter and moans.
Iíve finally done it. I figured out how to have him completely taken care of and tickled all over his body, all day, every day. I rigged up a feeder tube of sorts and ran it into his mouth, connected to a tank full of liquefied nutrients. He has no idea that this is the case because his entire body is now encased in a tight-fitting suit that covers everything save his mouth and nose. Itís like a straitjacket, but with the vital exception that the inside is soft and tickly, and the whole thing vibrates constantly. Thereís a battery unit, but I leave it plugged in so it never needs recharging, and with the hum of the vibration and the muffling of the suit, I canít even hear the mumbled giggles anymore. But thatís all right. Even though he canít move, heís so ticklish that I know heís probably going crazy inside that suit, and just knowing that heís being tickled is enough. It brings a smile to my face whenever I think about it. Sometimes at work I imagine what it must be like. Dark, certainly, and quiet, but warm. Comfortable. And ticklish. Where does his mind go? Does he remember why heís being tickled? Does he remember anything else besides being tickled? No one knows where he is, now. Everyone thinks I simply drove him to some random street, dropped him off, and drove away. The suit is too quiet to tip off nosy neighbors, and just to make sure that no one sees something they shouldnít I keep him here in the bedroom with the curtains always drawn. No one knows about him but me, my own personal tickle toy. I made sure to fill up the nutrient container to full; it should last him for a while, and the thought of him sitting here still being tickled will keep me going. I leave in the morning for a business trip and Iíll be gone for a few weeks. Iím looking forward to seeing what heís like when I get back.