!!!DISCLAIMER!!!!!!18+ Only!!!
This story depicts scenes of sexual tickling, and BDSM.
All characters depicted are intended to be 18+!
Some flashbacks in this story include descriptions from the main character's teenage years but no scenes depict sexual acts with minors.
This story depicts Consensual Non-Consent.
Enjoy!
KINK DISCLAIMERS: Tickle Torture, Anal, Tease & Denial, CNC, Tentacle, Futa, Bondage
There is no Hope
*Futa/tf*
By,
The Puppet Master & Friends
~A dim light of memory flickered like a candle flame through the darkness of the mundane...~
Samantha walked home from work. A steady curtain of droplets fell from her umbrella. Cloudy weather matched her gloomy demeanor; a foreboding feeling of dread.
Nightmares or insomnia. Those had been her only two choices lately, and she was certain her sleeplessness was now affecting her cognition as well as her mood, but still, her haunting dreams made her think there might be something to these feelings of unease after all.
You see, Samantha was not always herself, so to speak. Instead, she used to be himself. Sam in fact. And Sam also had an imaginary friend. If you can call an Abhorrent Manifestation of the Eldritch a 'friend,' and he absolutely did not! His incorporeal companion was instead a source of Terror and Torment for young Sam, keeping him up night after night by forcing loud bouts of laughter from him while buried under a landslide of Terrible Tickles.
That's right. Sam's friend was a Tickle Monster. And not just any Tickle Monster: she was the Futa Queen of an Otherworldly Dimension; a Dimension whose denizens included every mythical beast or creature ever devised by tribes, cults, religions, or any culture known to tickle torture its victims.
Held down and writhing under the many tickling fingers of the Hellion night after night, Sam always wondered why his parents did not wake to his screams for help and for mercy. He would wake in the morning afraid and exhausted - shouting to them what had happened in many evenings past; but they only looked upon him with vapid confusion, unable to recall any noise of any kind, telling him that he was quiet all night like always! 'It must have been a bad dream. "It was Hope again you guys!!! She was there!!! I swear!!!" Sam hated this double entendre. The Tickle Queen's name was, in fact, Hope. At least it was pronounced that way, it was probably written much differently in whatever infernal language was common tongue in her dimension.
"How many times do we have to tell you? She. Does. Not. Exist. There is no Hope!" they grumbled irritably. He gulped and walked, chin in chest, up the creaky stairs to his room. 'I know there isn't, that's what I'm scared of," he thought.
She was ripped back to reality as a bus tire sped through a puddle in a pot hole. She shook a soaked pant leg, "Great..." Her eyes rolled as she made her way through the people in the crosswalk. Her apartment wasn't far now, but she couldn't help daydreaming. The couple hours of nightmares, that were the sad excuse for sleep lately, had been punctuated only by more hours of lying awake, fearful of reliving Tickle Hell again in dream.
Samantha arrived at her threshold, closed her umbrella, and let herself in her front door. She was still upset with her new therapist; no matter how hard she tried she couldn't get her to believe the stories about Hope the Tormentor.
She poured herself a glass of wine then headed to the bathroom for a shower, stripping as she walked down the hallway.