#it was hot and sharp and was all through my thoracic spine

[nix-that-rad-lass]

Lol so funny that I’ve been having weird extreme excruciating pain this week but it only happens around midnight and for a few hours at a time so I can’t go to the doctor because they definitely won’t believe me and will blame it on hormones (except my endocrinologist just said my hormones have finally stabilized) or my weight (except I’ve been losing weight and I’ve had minor pains like this even when I was underweight) or just that I’m hysterical

Like ok sure let’s just hope I don’t fucking die so I can actually go to the doctor in the midst of the symptoms so maybe there’s a chance I’ll be believed lmao

[peachyteabuck]

wildness is answering—

summary: you wake up in a cold van, bound and gagged. in some way you feel you should be scared, but in truth the rush down your spine as you hear your lover’s sinister laugh floods your panties and heats your skin. 

or: you knew this was a bad idea when natasha’s grin became wide, so sinister you’d think she’d been practicing this for years. “you’d do anything for my birthday?” 

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 3,075

trigger warnings: consensual kidnap play. includes: over stimulation, knife play (no blood play), rope play, degradation 

notes/other: THIS IS A CONSENSUAL BDSM SCENE PRE-NEGOTIATED BY TWO CONSENTING ADULTS. don’t come into my inbox with rape fantasies, you will immediately be blocked. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Everything hurts.

Every fiber of every muscle, every blood cell, every electrical pulse your heart stubbornly sparks. It hurts.

It’s dark where you are, wherever you are. Or maybe you’ve just gone temporarily blind. No matter how hard you try to open your eyes they’re forced closed, head fruitless in its moving side to side in some sad attempt to search for changes in light or warmth or something that would clue you to into where you are, what you’re there for, why you’re stuck in the pitch black.

Then you can feel something move across skin that you don’t think is yours. As several slender something’s graze across what you assume is (your?) leg, you realize it’s someone’s hand. And as it trails up to your abdomen you do all you can do, which is whimper something that sort of sounds like a choked “please.”

A voice you immediately recognize lets out a little laugh, one that sends a tide’s worth of heat crashing inside of you. “Please what, pretty girl?”

You gasp when you realize its her. Natasha. You subsequently groan when your ribs hiss in pain at the sudden expansion of your lungs.  “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Natasha purrs as your senses are overwhelmed due to the assault of low light. When your eyes stop watering, you realize in her hand is a thick, wool blindfold. As you blink and your pupils strain to adjust, you feel the entire back side of you pressing against a cold floor. For some reason, that makes it worse. “Ya know, I went through a lot of trouble getting you, so it’s going to be extra nice once I get my hands on you,” you gulp again as she laughs deep in her thoracic cavity. “I’m going to have so much fun with my new little toy.”

She’s looming over you, dressed in big, bulky boots and a tight stealth suit you’ve never seen before. The unfamiliarity of it all, the frigid and dry and dark environment and your sore body clothed in an outfit you don’t recognize and Natasha’s sadistic smirk a special kind of sick, they all come together to turn your heart into a mouse’s in both size and speed of each beat. Though, maybe a rat king is a more appropriate metaphor as she presses one of her harsh boots into the soft flesh of your stomach – skin not totally exposed but covered by a thin t-shirt - a tangle of uncovered wires all vibrating and feeding off the others’ energy. You can’t stay still, but you can’t move, so you’re stuck simply whimpering and pushing on the thick ropes that keep your legs bent with your heels pressing into your inner thighs, with your arms folded and tied across your back.  

Natasha moves her foot to just push the toes of her boot under your back to push you on your side, your face away from her. As you realize all you could see now was some vast, vacant nothingness, you whine and try to push yourself back to where you could see her. Worse to know what’s coming than stare into an abyss, with the corners of your eyes just registering the small light hanging from the ceiling.

Immediately, Natasha tsks and holds you still with a foot on the half of your ribcage not pressed into the floor. “Stay still, pathetic slut,” she hisses, and replaces your limited view with darkness as she places another thick – but less itchy – cloth over your eyes and tying it around your head.

A small, high-pitched noise escapes from behind the cloth in your mouth as you once again lose the privilege of sight, but you remain inert, desperate to please your captor in any way.

Behind you, you hear her working on something – pulling at rolls of duct tape and opening heavy plastic containers and unbuckling metal entrapments. At one point she moves you so that you’re sitting up against a wall, leaning on your side. Once again, you’re crying out in surprise and pain as the freezing metal bites into the bottom flesh of the butterfly position she’s got your legs in, that section of skin not used to the cold. She coos a little and pets down the side of your tear-stained face; Each second she touches you feels like you’re being blessed by God. Her touch now feels…you gulp. Each touch feels comforting against your freezing skin. Somewhere deep in you you’re silently begging for her to touch you again. The revelation makes you try and press your thighs together, like some repressed Catholic turned on by another nun from her convent.

It feels like hours when you feel her move closer to you once again, move closer to your face. Natasha removes the blindfold and your pupils are suddenly assaulted once again, this time with a brighter light. She graces you with a few moments to allow your eyes react, but the second your pupils have shrunk she’s pushing you to the cold ground with the back of a knife to your throat and a switch blade, sheathed but ready to be exposed, to your clothed cunt.

You do not remember taking off the pants you put on that morning. In that moment, you do not care.

“You ready to play, little girl?” She asks, lips pulled into a snarl and eyes nearly on fire. “You ready for me to play with your pussy?”

All you can do is whimper. But still, you don’t shake your head in disagreement.

“You don’t wanna talk, that’s fine,” Natasha pulls some sort of black cloth from her back pocket before wrapping it into a bunched length. “But either way I’m gonna make sure I don’t have to hear any pretty cries for help. Don’t need the neighbors callin’ the cops, or nothin’ like that. You understand?”

She bends down to wrap it between your upper and lower jaw, corners of your eyes are wet and red and your upper lip stained with snot from crying. It not like Natasha minds, though. In fact, your girlfriend seems to revel in it. Like a reptile on a hot stone, her deep breaths and hooded eyes make her seem almost lost to the pleasure. She dips down, shortening the distance between your eyes. For a moment you just stare at her, pleading for her to do something.

The black bandana wrapped between your upper and lower jaw keeps your mouth from completely closing, and as she gazes at you with this almost indescribable look on her face. You know you’ve seen this before, seen the wide eyes and small smile and fire behind each individual breath.

As you gulp, and more drool trails down your chin and onto the floor below you, you notice her eyes following it. Then, then you recognize it. It’s the face you saw in your little brother when he burned ants with a magnifying glass, or when this kid in your ninth-grade biology class performed his first dissection – a rat, who ended being pregnant. You named her Bernadette. You never told him that.

It’s one of fascination, a curious kind of itch that burrows into the brains of those that may know they have power, but do not know the bounds of the superiority position they hold.

Natasha pushes a stray strand of hair from your face with the metal sleeve of a box cutter. “You’re so pretty when you cry,” she whispers to you, lips barely grazing your ear. A violent shiver shoots itself down your spine despite your face heating up.

She pulls a knife out of her left thigh holster, one with two sharp sides and a black leather handle. You watch her with shaky breath and a racing heart and lungs that struggle to keep up with the previous two cardiovascular functions.

Natasha twirls the knife in her fingers, just like you’ve seen her do when she’s concentrating on something other than the sharp object flying between her fingers. In a split second, she’s got the handle firmly against her palm with one of the flat sides pressed medially over the thin lace of your panties. Just like the wall, the cool metal provides both relief and torture before you feel her lift the expensive pair of underwear and cut through the soaked, white lace.

“Like unwrapping a present,” Natasha says absentmindedly. Her deft fingers and their callous pads run through your slick just as unconsciously as her fingers when they toy with her knife. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you are, how much you want her to touch you, to fuck you. “Gonna have so much fun with you, best little toy I’ve ever been given.”

The box cutter is dragged down your chest, and every few inches she pushes the sharp blade past its protective sheath a little more. Each sharp click into place as she pushes it further upwards makes you flinch, and each flinch makes Natasha laugh wickedly.

You’re visibly shaking when Natasha cuts the worn t-shirt from your body, the sweat on your skin mixed with the air causes your nipples to harden. She takes a moment to pinch at them, grope your breasts and trail an angry line between them. There’s no blood, no Natasha’s too skilled for that, but there is a small pinch that makes you squeak.

“Oh no, did I hurt you?” She asks with an exaggerated pout.

You shake your head, mumbling out something that sounds like an uh-uh, even through your gag.

Natasha leans forward again, the knife and boxcutter threateningly close to that vital artery in your neck. “Good, because when I do hurt you, I want to hear you scream.”

Guess she doesn’t care about those neighbors anymore.

Before you can whimper or plead or anything your legs are untied, you’re flipped over, and your ass is in the air. Quickly she’s slams her hand down on each cheek, one, twice, three times, before your muscles are shaking and you’re pliant under her rough, experienced hands. It’s the moments like these Natasha cherishes most, the moments where you’re so good for her. Some of the moments are when she catches you off guard, like this one, nevertheless she enjoys them just the same/

More quick, succinct smacks to your ass and thighs, more pleas for mercy, more ghosting of her fingertips over your dripping pussy, more pleas for her to touch you. It’s not long before you’re crying again, brain unable to decide between begging her to stop leaving large welts all over you or begging her to sink her deft fingers into you. It’s spank twenty-five (but who’s counting) when Natasha finally lets up, lets you sink into her as your eyes flutter shut in relief.

“Did you like that princess?” she coos before yanking you up by your hair. “Do you like it when I hit you?”

With your heavy, wanton breathing it’s hard to nod, but somehow you manage a small mhmm as you look up at her with bloodshot eyes as you pant heavily.

“Good.”

You’re dropped to the ground with a loud thud, and through the ringing in your ears you hear the distinct sound of something unzipping and something else’s lid popping open before being closed again. With the fog in your brain you’re unable to fit together the seemingly-obvious series of events, unable to understand what your captor is doing until you feel something hard, slick, cold drag through your folds. You whine, though you’re not sure for what, and in an instant, you’re flipped over as Natasha mutters something about wanting to see your face when you cum.

She laughs when the toy is merely rubbed through your dripping slick, the miniscule movements making you begin to beg for further movement. It amuses her to watch you abandon whatever sense of self-respect you had left just to feel her silicon cock inside of you.

“You’re so cute,” she coos, pushing away strands of sweat-slick hair from your tear-stained face. “So cute under me, in this dirty old van with nothing on but some ruined little skirt…”

Natasha trails off as she beings to thrust into you, but only shallowly. No use in fulfilling such a fantasy if she doesn’t get to hear your strangled cries. Though, as a hot copper coil tightens in her own abdomen, her sinister smile truly shines as you sing – deep and loud – when she fucks the toy all the way into your dripping, abused pussy. With your arms still tied you can’t draw her closer, can’t grip onto her, but you figure that would only make her edge you harder; the price you’d pay for the gift of touching her.

Each leg, though, kicks with its own volition and keeps her close, a sin she does not command repentance for. Still, she moves them to your chest, allowing deeper angles into you and forcing deeper groans out of you. It’s not long, not long at all, before you’re begging to be pushed over the edge; It’s not far, not far at all, and you can barely grasp it with your fingertips that have since fallen asleep under you.

“Hm,” Natasha ponders your request as she continues to fuck into your tight heat. “If you beg me for it, I may let you come.”

A small noise that loosely translates to how am I supposed to do that!? leaves you, and Natasha laughs. “Oh, right. I forgot about that. How about…”

Without warning she’s off of you, grabbing rope, and tying your legs into their bent positions with the back of your thigh pressing into your calf. You think that’s all she’ll do, but then she flips you over and ties your arms behind your back once again. Freedom is so fleeting around her.

With your arms stuck behind your back and legs tied into a bent position, you’re now completely reliant on Natasha to move anywhere else besides the floor. She lifts you up, gingerly placing you on the bed before sitting in front of you.

You don’t know what to do, still fighting the urge to break out in tears as you sniffle.

She pulls you closer to slowly. Like you’re a deer she’s captured, and it’s got one limb out of the trap. It’s not that she doesn’t have your life your hands, it’s just that you have a little more leverage that she would like.

“I’ll make you a bargain, okay pup?” She runs her thumb over your bottom lip. Feeling it quiver under the callous skin nearly makes her devour you right there. “How about you ride me, and I’ll think about letting you go.”

You nod, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Good girl,” she tells you, and pulls you into her lap and onto the silicone cock. Immediately you realize you can’t do it, you can’t move. You can’t move without falling. You’d have to fall onto her chest and push against her or have her loom over you as your legs get numb. Natasha notices nearly as soon as you do, but of course, of course she has a solution. Without hesitation, she wraps her left hand around your throat. “Just lean on it for balance, pup.”

You nod again and do as you’re told. It’s hard, takes all of your fried brain to not to crumble right there, to just cry and beg for forgiveness and hope she lets you go. But you don’t, don’t crumble as your breath starts coming out in short spurts and the color drains from your face. Even as the world goes black around the edges of your vision, you don’t stop.

Natasha’s the one to give you relief, using the pocket knife from earlier to cut the ties that bound your wrists together. For a moment you don’t know what to do – the newfound freedom surprising and your brain still starved of the oxygen vital to critical thinking. Understanding this, Natasha guides you with one hand on your hip and the other between your shoulders, each pushing on you at different times to guide your movements. It takes a few seconds for what she’s doing to register in your neurons, but once it does it feels like air has filled your lungs for the first time in years.

For the first time that night, your body fills with unabashed pleasure as you fuck yourself up and down Natasha’s cock. Deep moans fill the space you’re in – a van, you remember her saying – as you grind, as Natasha sticks her thumb in your mouth before rubbing it over your neglected clit. Your orgasms come quickly, almost embarrassingly so. One right after the other, three you’re able to count before Natasha’s flipping you over again.

Face down onto the cool floor with your ass presented to her, Natasha easily slips back into you and pulls on your skirt to fuck you onto her.  “C’mon baby,” she coos. “Lemme see that sweet little ass.”

You whimper as she slaps your ass again, skin still hot and sore from the last time she spanks you. You scream, but as the feeling of the thick strap on dragging in and out of you becomes more and more pleasurable, they soon turn to deep moans.

Natasha reaches one hand down to your clit and the other up into your hair. You come again, and again, before Natasha decides you’ve had enough.

The second she lets you go you crumble onto the floor as if you’re lifeless, boneless, soulless. Somewhere in the distance you can hear Natasha giggle, and somewhere closer you feel her pick you up. Closer still to you hear her low mumbling, thick Russian accent present as ever: “C’mon darling, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You come to near the sound of rushing water and the thick scent of lavender in the air.

“You okay baby?” Natasha coos, lowering you into the large bathtub. You release a happy noise when your sore, bruised body meets the water that’s just on this side of hot. It’s soothing to your aching muscles, to your back – which still feels cool from the metal lining of the vehicle you were just fucked in. “Good.”

The last thing you remember before slipping into sweet, sweet unconsciousness is the sound of Natasha whispering praises into your ear as her fingers traced the bruises over your hips.

//

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Heartsick. (chapter 1)

Another AU inspired by @jamesrhodey‘s amazing Tony/Rhodey AU gifsets. This particular one is based on this set and it’s a mutual product from myself and the brilliant @tonystark5ever

Enjoy :)

Links to chapter 2, chapter 3

Chapter 1

“James Rhodes, my man!” a familiar high-pitched voice draws his attention just as he opens his wardrobe locker, and he barely resists the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance.  Justin Hammer. Great.  And here he was naively hoping for a pleasant start to his morning…

“Dr. Hammer.” Forcibly, he relaxes his shoulders, turning away from the locker to face the lanky slick-haired surgeon that’s striding toward him with a repulsively smarmy smile on his bespectacled face.  Does his best to plaster on, what he hopes is, a civil enough smile in return.  “What can I help you with?”

Hammer’s lips stretch out even further, impossibly wide.  He reminds Rhodey of a hyena, laughing tauntingly over its prey.  The comparison disturbs him, sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

“Rhodes, Rhodes, Rhodes, my colleague, my brother, my friend,” Hammer flops his scraggy form squarely into his personal space, draping one arm unceremoniously over Rhodey’s shoulder.  It’s all Rhodey can do not to throw him right off.  “You have it all wrong.  It’s what I can do for you.”

Rhodey ignores the invitation for further chatter a moment, contemplating. Justin Hammer is an up-and-comer, and though there are plenty of people who don’t like the guy, himself included, he thinks it wise to not antagonize him. “Well?” He asks, sliding his OR scrubs over his head. “What can you do for me, then?”

“There’s this patient. Make or break kind of a deal. I’d do it myself, I have the expertise, but the guy is a huge jack ass, doesn’t know talent when it slaps him in the face! I’m tempted to let him die on the table, to be honest, it’d be doing the world a favor. But ‘do no harm’ and all that, so I was thinking about letting you take a crack at it.”

“Are we talking thoracic surgery or neurologic?” Rhodey has a rare double specialty, while Hammer’s a general surgeon (exceptionally gifted, according to his own frequent proclamations, though Rhodey suspects he is more well connected than he is capable), so it could go either way.

“It’s a complicated heart case, though the patient is mostly a head case.” Hammer laughs at his own joke, grinning at Rhodes’ eye roll. “Look I just want you to know what you’re getting into if you accept the case. You can’t blame me for not warning you, you know?”

“You know I’m due for surgery,” Rhodes prompts, tying on his surgical mask. He’s curious despite himself, and he knows he must be giving at least some of that curiosity away, judging from the brief predatory spark he sees in Hammer’s eyes.

“Well if you’re interested, I’ll catch you for a consult after. Take a look at his chest CT.”

Hammer holds up his phone, images of the CT on it, and Rhodey pauses, unable to believe his eyes. “What am I looking at?”

“Exactly what it looks like.”

Exactly what it looks like, right, Rhodey thinks.  Because what it looks like is a massive lump of scar tissue surrounding a piece of metal that sits mere centimeters away from the heart enlarged from the stress of the horrific injury.  What it looks like is something out of an old medical textbook with X-rays pictures of soldiers who miraculously managed to survive having pieces of shrapnel in their chest.  What it looks like is a picture of a dead man walking.

“How the hell is this guy even still alive?” he blurts out, the shocked question slipping out unbidden. “That heart’s so damaged I’m surprised it’s still beating.” He pulls the phone closer, fascinated by the images.  “He a soldier?”

“Soldier, bah!” Hammer’s face folds into an expression of disdainful disgust.  “Stark’s a weapons designer.  Merchant of Death, they call him.  Perhaps you’ve heard of him?  He did make a career out of blowing soldiers up, though.  So, I guess, this is kind of… poetic justice?” He laughs, seeming just a tad too delighted for someone discussing a man’s life-threatening condition.  It leaves an unpleasant taste in Rhodey’s mouth. Even if the subject of their conversation may not be as… virtuous of a person, it’s still no excuse to talk about him like that.

“He’s on a transplant list,” Hammer adds, interrupting Rhodey’s train of thought, “but you can see how complicated it would be.”

“You’ve done surgery on this guy?” Rhodey asks skeptically. For all Hammer touts his skills, Rhodey has never been particularly impressed with the man’s work. He’d seemed more selective with his cases, keeping them confined to those he was sure to succeed on or those who would bring him prestige. Rhodey knows that it sometimes takes risks to make a good surgeon an excellent one but Hammer has always struck him as someone who has too big of an ego to take on more complicated patients.

“Well, yeah! Saved his life!” Hammer boasts, voice full of bluster. “Would you believe he threw a drink in my face after? Threatened to sue me!”

Rhodey narrows his eyes, his sharp gaze drilling into the other surgeon, and Hammer squirms, obviously uncomfortable.

“Look,” Hammer puts up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Boss lady says we gotta make nice with this guy. The dude’s rich. You play nice, you probably end up getting that grant you’ve been angling for, just saying.”

“What’s Pepper Potts got to do with this case?”

Something flickers across Hammer’s face - an odd expression, wolfish and unkind.  But it’s gone as quickly as it appears, and the other surgeon relaxes visibly, favors Rhodey with a sleazily conspiratorial look.

“Personally? I think everything she has to do with it happens between the sheets, you know what I’m saying?” He laughs again, winking at Rhodey as though inviting him to join in on the fun.  “He’s not only rich, but he’s also an entitled prick, using his connections to get moved up on the transplant list.” Hammer leans in close, voice dropping down to near whisper.  “You know that kid in 302? Parker? I hear Stark just got him bumped down the list so he could get his place.  That’s just between us, of course.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rhodey feels anger flare hot and ready in his chest. He knows that kid, of course he does.  Everybody in this goddamn hospital knows Peter.  The kid’s the most precocious, sweetest, brightest 15-year-old he’s ever met, and he won’t live to celebrate his 16th birthday if he doesn’t get a heart transplant some time in the next few months.  To hear that some entitled rich prick has just made that wait even longer makes his blood boil. This guy has to be some special kind of narcissistic bastard if he’s pushing people out of the way, or sleeping around with people to get what he wants.

“I’ll do a consult, Hammer,” he grits out through clenched teeth. If nothing else, he can put this patient in his place, grant or no grant, he’ll show him that not everyone’s soul is for sale. “But you’re going to owe me big time.”

Hammer, for his part, seems completely unbothered by his fury.  More so, he appears strangely pleased by it. “Whatever you say,” he replies, wiggling his fingers in goodbye as Rhodey shoves past him on his way to the surgical suite.

[franklyshipping]

The Price of Buffness (Part 2) ~ A Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

Well, this is a part 2 to THIS fic because when I finished it my mind was whirring with ideas....evil ideas. Just so you know, this fic includes very intense tickling BUT there will be a lot of care! AND ALSO: DESPITE INTENSE TEASING THIS IS A CONSENSUAL TICKLE SCENARIO! However, if you don't like intensity, you don't have to read on! Don't you guys worry! LET'S DO IT!

The man stirred....slowly....very slowly....as if his subconscious was dragging out the process of his awakening. Soon however, Chase Brody was.....awake....and struggling. He was strapped down, immobilised to a metal table by his ankles, by his wrists at his sides, and there was even a strap across his forehead. Chase's eyes were wide as it also transpired that he was only in his underwear, and the chill of the table was already causing goose-bumps to rise on his pale skin. Chase let out gasps as he tugged and squirmed, but he barely budged one millimetre. Chase still had his voice though.

'Hey! HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE S-SOMEONE GET ME OUT!!'

Chase voice echoed in the whitewashed room....and as Chase flicked his eyes about....a pang in his stomach gave him this sense of familiarity. He'd seen this room before.....but how-?

'Oh quiet down little boy, your stupid cries are pointless.'

Chase flinched at the new sudden voice, and gulped when he heard footsteps getting closer to him. Another reason as to why he'd paled was because of how the sharp, unforgiving voice was distinct....and well-known to Chase. Therefore, Chase wasted no time in glaring when the sneering Dr Schneeplestein leant over him into his eye-line. He spat his words at the doctor.

'What the HELL are you playing at man?! This is fucking wrong! LET ME OUT!!'

At Chase's animosity, Schneeplestein merely let out a derisive laugh through his nose, before gripping Chase's jaw as he replied.

'If you know what's good for you, you'll shut your mouth. Unless you want to be gagged.'

Chase's eyes widened up at the doctor as he tried to move his head, but the doctor's grip was secure, it was only when Schneeple released his jaw that he could then turn his head away from him; he could only do it by a fraction though, thanks to the forehead strap. Chase had gulped. He very much wanted to keep the use of his voice, so he continued to glare up at the doctor. The doctor snickered.

'Well, well, at least you can follow orders. That only makes you MOSTLY useless, instead entirely useless like I've always thought.'

Chase quivered, Schneeple's words stinging him and making him purse his lips. He wouldn't let the doctor get to him. He wouldn't. Schneeple grinned, his teeth gleaming as he crooned at Chase like someone might croon at their pet....except without kindness.

'Everyone knows that the only thing usable and useful about you is how sensitive you are. With sensitivity everywhere, you are the perfect test subject. It's only good manners that you give yourself up to me....although, it's not like you really have a choice.'

Schneeple let out a string of high pitched, slightly insane-sounding chuckles, which sent fearful chills down Chase's spine. All Chase could do as Schneeple laughed was struggle and struggle and struggle. He knew damn well how ticklish he was....and with how malevolent the doctor seemed to be, Chase knew that he was going to torture him, go to extremes...he could see those flames in Schneeple's eyes. That craving. That craving to make someone cry out and beg mirthfully for mercy. The sadistic tickler inside Dr Schneeplestein was known to very few....and Chase was unlucky enough to be one of those few. Chase whimpered from his own thoughts as the doctor wheeled in a tray of apparatus....none of which Chase was able to see; damn restraints. Before Chase could try and beg, try and appeal to the kindness that was inside the doctor, oil was being drizzled all over his bared torso.

'You might as well enjoy this part, while you can.'

Schneeple sneered as he watched Chase gasp and squeak at the coldness....and then fail to repress his hums when Schneeple's warm hands rubbed it all in, working deep into his torso. No part of Chase's torso was untouched...and much to Chase's embarrassment, it felt beyond lovely and calming, which was something he wasn't expecting to feel in this situation. Thus, he knew it wouldn't last long....this was the last opportunity he had to try and get himself out of this.

'Schn-neeple.....a-ahpleaseplease.....f-f-friend....p-please....'

Chase's eyes were wide and puppy-like, and under normal circumstances anyone with a hint of morality would have succumbed, released Chase, and made him a nice hot cocoa. However.....Chase was not dealing with someone with morality. Schneeple had warned him to keep his mouth shut, but with this disobedience Schneeple figured it was time to get things going.

'I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT YOUR MOUTH?!'

Chase jumped, then shrieked magnificently. Schneeple's blunt fingernails had initiated a scribbly assault in Chase's, now slick and soft, underarms. The oil, of course, increased Chase's sensitivity by A LOT. That meant....he was DOUBLY insanely ticklish.

'AHAHAHAHA SHIHIHIHAHAHAHA SAHAHAHAHARRY SAHAHAHARRYYYY!!!'

Chase was cackling wildly as he squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed at how he was instantly brought to hysterics....this was going to be torture. Thankfully, Schneeple didn't intend to spend long at that spot, he just wanted to give his test subject a little warning. Soon, Schneeple removed his hands and went to dry the oil off them as Chase panted and tried his best to recover. However, even though he got his breath back....his flustered nerves only increased as he saw what the doctor did next. Dangling right above Chase was a microphone, like the sort that coroners would use to record their actions and findings during autopsies. Schneeple pulled it towards him, tapped it, and spoke into it.

'This is Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestein MD, PhD, MVP, FFS, engaging in research into sensitivity of humanoids of....basic intelligence....'

Chase whimpered and blushed when Schneeple flashed him a smirk; the doctor then continued addressing the microphone.

'So far I have determined that the subject can be coerced into obedience from sporadic stimulation to the surface of the axillae, but now I am going to investigate the reactions to intense, focused stimulation to the thoracic vertebrae and the surrounding flesh.'

Chase squirmed and quivered as he watched the doctor let the microphone dangle in the air; thoracic vertebrae? What the fuck was he going to do to him? Chase cursed how the doctor had restricted his head movement....but soon Schneeple revealed precisely what Chase was going to have to endure. The doctor held a round headed electric toothbrush....in EACH hand. Two focused sources of vibrating, torturous bristles. Chase's eyes widened as the buzzing filled the air and Schneeple's sadistic grin filled his view.

'D-D-Doctor....w-we c-c-can take ab-bout this c-can't we-EEEEEEE!!!'

Well....at least Chase now knew what his thoracic vertebrae were, aka, his ultra-sensitive ribs. The doctor had set the brushes at the top ribs either side of his ribcage and were rubbing them against the bones, making Chase arch his back desperately. Schneeple meanwhile was relaxed and musing, observing Chase as he commented to the air.

'High sensitivity once again, however true results can only be collated by testing each vertebra fairly, so 10 seconds will be dedicated to the stimulation of each one.'

10 seconds......per rib. Fuck. That.

'STAHAHAHAP AHAHAHA FAHAHAHACK STAHAHAPPITSTAHAPPIT AAAHHHHH!!!'

Chase's laughter was loud and of a medium pitch at present, which meant that he thankfully wouldn't go hoarse from this stage of experimentation. Chase unfortunately didn't have the focus to do the mathematics of his endeavour, but thankfully I can. Ahem: With two brushes going at once and working in synchronicity, they would be working at TWO ribs at the same time. Two ribs every 10 seconds. Therefore if we take the total amount of ribs a person has, 24, and thus divide by 2, that makes 12 ribs; 12 stages of rib tickling. Therefore, 12 multiplied by 10 is 120 seconds. Two minutes. Only two minutes of tickling at his ribs. If Chase had known that then perhaps it would have made it easier...but then again, when you're being tickle tortured....two minutes can feel like two thousand.

'Oh but we have such a long way to go.....I've always liked how there are just so....many....ribs....'

Schneeple taunted in a cool voice as his tools moved down to the next pair of bones, making Chase wail and cry out in mirthful despair. He let out similar cries at the third, fourth, fifth AND sixth pairs. By the half way point I think he was ready to sell his soul for just an ounce of mercy. The bristles had no hindrance at his skin...that damn oil....Chase was going to make it his life's work to make sure NO kind of oil was created EVER again.

'IHIHIHIH CAHAHAHAN'T!!! PLEHEHEHEEEASE PLEHEHEASE HEHEHENRIHIHIK!!!'

Chase was gazing into the doctor's eyes weepily, his eyes glistening whilst Schneeple's remained as hard as weathered granite. Then....for one shining moment....there was a glimmer of mercy. Schneeple removed the tools and Chase gasped for relief....but soon, Schneeple was leaning over him, their faces inches away. Chase had never felt more intimidated. Chase felt like the doctor was looking into his very soul, boring into him. Then Schneeple spoke calmly....but not to Chase.

'It seems....that my subject thinks that by using my name, he can appeal to some glimmer of humanity he believes is inside my soul....'

Chase. Had. Goosebumps. His voice....despite his words, was so damn kind. That was what had struck Chase into a revered, obedient silence. Somehow....Schneeple leant down closer to Chase....did their lips brus-NO JEEZ CHASE! Chase chastised himself for his.....wishful thinking. He couldn't stop the hot crimson burning at his cheeks though, and he could have sworn he saw Schneeple....wink after he purred.

'In my....professional opinion....that is adorably naïve.'

Aaaaand Chase was screaming once again, the doctor was not planning on leaving the rest of his ribs un-tickled, for research purposes of course.

'OHOHOHOH C'MOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAAAN!!!'

Chase whined amidst squealing laughter; the bottom half of his ribcage had softer flesh, which made it rather more sensitive...and more fun to tickle. As Schneeple progressed with stage after stage after stage, he grew more and more teasing rather than bothering to maintain his stoicism. What could he say, he enjoyed his line of work.

'Poor little thing, even after a break you just tumble right back into hysterics....this must be agony for you....'

Chase whimpered as he tried to nod, but only managed a few twitches of his head as the vibrating bristles made his body jolt constantly.

'IHIHIHIT IHIHIHIHIIIISSSS AHAHAHAAAHHH DOHOHOHOHOHOC!!!'

Chase was thrashing as much as his bonds would allow as Schneeple's menacing chuckles reverberated around the room....but then....it all stopped. Two minutes, complete. Chase was shocked for a few moments, his mind still trying to convince him that he was being tickled....but he soon realised that this was a window of mercy. It was a large one too. It was silent for a while as Chase slowly but surely breathed, gasped, breathed, gasped...and breathed. He was sweating and glistening all over as his eyes fluttered shut a few times; it was only thanks to the good night's sleep he'd had last night that he didn't fall asleep for a nap right then and there. Chase doubted the doctor would have even allowed that to happen though. Speaking of whom....

'Awww.....is my little subject going to cry like a little baby?'

On top of everything else....he just HAD to fucking croon at him. Chase averted his eyes...which were starting to water....but he wouldn't give in. He pursed his lips and mumbled.

'....n-no....'

Schneeple raised an eyebrow, then snickered.

'I'll soon fix that.'

The bottle of oil was in one hand, and the hanging mic was in his other hand as he moved....to sit in his desk chair. His desk chair, that was next to Chase's bare feet. Chase gulped and scrunched up his feet when he felt the oil being drizzled down his soles, then squeaked and whined when Schneeple forced his toes back so he could get the oil underneath AND in-between them....then he rubbed them. Firmly. I relate to Chase's reaction....mine would be the same. For a lot of people, their feet can be a place of unimaginable relaxation and weakness, which is why Chase came to be purring and gasping and smiling with unadulterated happiness. The doctor's firm touch felt so good and even though Chase tried to chastise himself....it was impossible not to succumb. As you can imagine, Dr Schneeplestein revelled in this.

'Well, well, well, look at that. It seems a certain subject likes having their feet touched....heh, no wonder they're so pampered. I bet you like to flaunt them about don't you?'

Chase tried to protest and disagree, but found that his voice had abandoned him. That left the doctor to tease and taunt as he kept up the rubbing, his grin filled with mad glee as he purred.

'You're loving this....it feels so good for you doesn't it? To have your vulnerable feet played with and given attention....I bet you're starting to like this whole thing. I bet you'd BEG for tickle torment if it meant you got this sort of treatment for your precious feet.....'

Chase sniffled, Schneeple was doing a damn good job of humiliating him right now. He couldn't help that it felt so lovely! Chase's face was dark red and his vocals were reduced to soft whimpers and sniffles of embarrassment....as tears rolled down his face. The doctor smirked, now growling menacingly.

'To note: Talking about the subject's liking for affection at his feet reduces him to tears.....now I shall test if unorthodox stimulation will coax out the same emotional response.'

Chase didn't have time to wonder what the doctor meant by unorthodox...before it happened. Chase felt something soft, warm and....wet, slide up his sole. He let out a squeal of ticklishness and shock when he realised....it was the doctor's tongue.

'E-EHEHEW EHEWNONONO GEHET AWAHAY!!'

Schneeple chuckled amusedly at Chase's reaction as he wiggled the tip of his tongue up and down Chase's foot at a rapid speed; he was enamoured by Chase's haphazard squeals and hysterical giggle fits....and glistening tears.

'I....am so happy that these ticklish feet are aaaaall mine.'

Chase wailed when he felt his other sole being assaulted by Schneeple's tongue....it was a sensation that was so strange....and yet, despite its tickliness, it wasn't making Chase uncomfortable. It was just a new type of evil.

'THEHEHEY AHAHARE NAHAHAT!!'

Schneeple paused....then flicked his tongue over all the pads of Chase's toes as he snarled.

'What was that?'

Chase screamed, eyes bugging out of his sockets....it was so intense....his tongue was just flicking about and yet....it was indescribable.

'AHAAHAHAHASHIHIHITFUCKFUCKFUCK!!'

Chase's face was scrunched up in mirth as the doctor sighed, then decided to truly go in for the kill. His patient clearly had no mind for manners or respect, I mean, this was an honour! To be a subject for such important research for humanity! If Chase couldn't see that....then Schneeple resolved that he would need to be broken....completely, and without mercy. His teeth nibbled and nipped at Chase's toes now.

'I asked you a fucking question!'

Schneeple spat....but Chase was losing his ability to comprehend anything. It just tickled. All of it. All of it tickled. It tickled. Tickle torture tickle torture tickle torture....

'AHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA IHIHIHIHI AHAHAHAHAHA!!!'

Schneeple sighed...a long, drawn out, sigh.

'So fucking weak-'

'AAAAAHHAHHHAHAHAHA BUHUHUHHUUUFFFFFFF!!!'

The doctor stopped, jumped to his feet, and removed every single restraint binding Chase to his medical table......I mean come on.....do you really think that none of this had been meticulously planned, right up to the safe word? Role plays can get pretty damn convincing I can tell you that. After their past playful altercation, both men realised that they trusted each other....and had cravings related to tickling. It was simple, consenting, and so much damn fun to talk about and put together. As soon as he was free, Chase's first instinct was to reach for the doctor as he wept and let out soft coughs, and the doctor was swift to pick him up and carry him to a nearby couch. Said couch was laden with soft towels and pillows.

'There, there I have you....I have you, you did so good you're so strong Chase....you're so strong that was just....remarkable....'

Schneeple was whispering delicately into Chase's ear constantly, providing him with much needed praise and reassurance as he carefully laid the man's body down onto the aforementioned soft haven. Chase couldn't speak quite yet, but he just needed a little time. The doctor set about taking up a previously set aside wash cloth and bowl of cool water, and he delicately wiped down Chase's moist brow and the parts of his body that had been victims of the oil. Not only did this clean Chase, but it soothed him into a calm state of mind where Chase knew he had no more tickling to anticipate.

'I've got you, lets clean off this pesky oil hmm? I'm amazed you managed to handle it....I know I'd have started offering up all my worldly goods if I'd been in your position....'

As Schneeple looked to Chase with a wide smile, Chase giggled happily. He was so happy. He was so happy that this had happened. Even though it was weak, Chase flashed the doctor a cheeky grin as he mumbled.

'G-Guehess that makes me s-stronger than yooou....'

Schneeple smiled down at Chase affectionately, the doctor was happy too. He was so happy that Chase had wanted this, and had given him permission to be so intense....however, he was filled with an unpleasant amount of anxiety. I think you can guess why.

'Yes....b-but.....a-are you sure that I didn't go too far? I-I g-got into the cruel teasing quite a bit a-and you were crying quite a lot s-so are you quite certain that I didn't go overboar-'

'Shhh.....doc....doc listen....'

Schneeple was cut off in his nervous speech as concern inhabited his being; Chase was going to change that. His eyes shone as he gazed up at Schneeple, before gently pulling him down by his shirt so he could plant a kiss on his cheek.

'It was perfect.....if I hadn't liked what you were doing, then I would have safe-worded. Besides, I told you the things that were too much for me in our chat beforehand....you did so good doc.....'

Schneeple softly blushed, feeling more bashful than nervous now as Chase hugged him and basically forced him to snuggle. The doctor was happy with that though. He nestled into Chase's chest, the feel of the man's breathing soothing him as he whispered.

'Really?'

Chase smiled, and nuzzled the doctor's temple playfully. Chase didn't care how unorthodox it was, but he'd LOVED the intensity and cruelty....because he always ultimately knew that he was safe with his doctor.

'Really.'

He murmured, before dropping off into a much needed slumber. The doctor ended up snoozing with him....but not before he put his hand to his cheek....his thumb tracing where Chase's lips had touched. Schneeple's cheeks turned one shade darker, before slumber enveloped him. You all may....interpret that how you will.

WOOOOPPPPP DONE HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS SEQUEL WOOOOP LUV YOUS XX