Marie's Tickling Wardrobe

Marie lived on her own in a detached house in a small village. She got the house in a divorce settlement from her ex husband, who seemed more than happy that she have it. She was 42 now, larger than she used to be, shoulder length red hair, and still liked to paint her fingernails and toenails her favorite deep red colour. Not that there was anyone to impress these days...

Marie liked to tickle men. In fact, she loved it. Nothing got her hotter than having tickle tortured her victim for hours. And she was brutal. Nothing would make her show mercy. She had long, sharp red nails, which she used to dig into her ex husbands ribs. She would rake his feet with hair brushes and metal forks. She would secure his head, and feather tickle his whole face until he cried, then do it some more. She spent hours on his poor cock, using nothing but light tickles with her fingers, and feathers across the tip of his cock. Then she would tickle his whole body some more. Often, sessions would last a couple of days. She had an extensive collection of tickle torture and bondage devices, feathers, many pairs of gloves, brushes, forks, electric wands, vibrating dildos, gags, ropes, cuffs...

To say she was a sadistic tickler was an understatement!

Her ex husband was willing to endure the torture, as he had a raging foot fetish, and was rewarded after every session with his favorite, a face full of very smelly nylon soles. He loved smelly nylon feet, and Marie would not wash her feet for days, just for him. She owned nearly two hundred pairs of stockings, all of which she had worn for days in her old converse shoes, just to build up the smell for him. She would often stuff a couple of pairs in his mouth before ball gagging him, and tie him spread-eagled to their large bed with some well worn stockings. Then, she would reward him for indulging her fetish, by indulging his. She would simply rub her ripe feet all over his face, and wiggle her fragrant nylon soles centimeters from his face, letting him take in the smell.

Marie, however, HATED being tickled. The slightest poke, or feather stroke made her SCREAM out loud. She was actually scared of being tickled, and way more secretive to tickling than any normal lady. Every part of her body was so unbearably ticklish, and she often had nightmares of being tickled by far too many hands to count. As long as she was doing the tickling though, she was quite happy, and even more horny.

They were divorced now, ever since the affair she had. Tickling one man was not enough for her, and when he found out, they had separated, and finally divorced.

He had moved from the house months ago, and all his things were gone. Marie was getting on with her life, working from home. She was happy to live alone these days. She could see whomever she wanted, and tickle as many men as she desired.

Things started to happen in the house though...

Gloves, which should have been in the glove drawer, were found in her bed. Forks in the kitchen drawer, appeared in her shower. Drawers full of clothes were found open. Skirts and dresses were mysteriously re-arranged in her large walk-in wardrobe. Lipsticks, nail polish, and make up would go missing from her bathroom cabinet for days, only to re-appear on her coffee table.

Her huge collection of stockings, which she hadn't bothered to wash, seemed to have tied themselves into impossible knots, then mysteriously untied themselves.

Marie simply put it down to the stress of the divorce, and figured she was imagining things, or simply being absent minded.

Then the noises started...

The rattling of cutlery in her kitchen drawer... The sound of drawers opening in other rooms... Bumps from the wardrobe... Knocks on the door, when no one was there. The swish of nylon on nylon. The snap of knicker elastic.

And laughter? She heard laughter more than once! Faint, and brief, but almost deranged! It was an insane laughter, half laugh half scream. A distance away, occasionally in another room in the house.

As if this wasn't spooky enough, she started seeing movement in the house, just in the very corner of her eye. A ruffle in the laundry basket. A corner of a duvet folding over. A shoe tapping. A glove walking on all fingers like a hand, crawling under the bed. A fork falling on the floor. Nail polish bottles unscrewing themselves. Lipstick twisting out of the tube on its own. A pair of ankle stockings, wiggling in the laundry basket, as if real invisible feet were inside them.

It was almost like she would see these things from the corner of her eye, and when she jumped with fright at the movement, and turned to look, there was of course, nothing. How could there be? Things moving on there own, indeed! She was simply tired. That's all.

But then, the sensations of feeling started... She actually thought she was feeling touch.

At first, it was very light, and quick, like a quick finger touch on her shoulder, or what felt like a fly on the back of her knee. Almost unnoticeable. She would look, and swat at whatever was bugging her, and not think about it at all. One evening, as she sat watching television, she had kicked off her slippers, quite involuntarily, as if her stockings had moved her legs for her.

Then, one morning, as she was dressing and had finished putting on her cream-coloured knickers, something grabbed her butt. She yelped, and spun around, but saw nothing. But she definitely felt something squeeze her bum! It was as if her knickers had done it themselves!

"Ok...that was weird," she said. She looked around the room and checked once more, but nothing was there. She continued to dress, putting on her cream colored bra, her sheer black stockings (I must get those washed, she thought), black t-shirts and old jeans. She put on her old converse, which made her feet smell so delightful, put on her lipstick, put her hair in pigtails with a couple of hairbands and set about her day.

The next sensation happened an hour later. In her garden, something pinched her nipples. Marie gasped, and looked down at her chest. Her nipples were going hard, and the tingle of pleasure gave way to a mild fear. There was nobody there to have touched her! But she felt a definite pinch! What was going on?

Without her knowledge, her hairbands tightened on their own on her pigtails...

"OW!!!!" She yelped. She had felt her hair being pulled! Just for a couple of seconds, but it damn near pulled her head back!

Panic set in, and Marie bolted for the house.

She got inside and shut the door without locking it. She just stood there, by the door, quite aware of what had just happened. There was something going on in this house, and she was starting to believe all she had thought she had witnessed over the last few weeks...

Then, she felt her stockings re-arranging themselves on her legs. It was only slight movement, but it was certain. Her shoelaces tightened on her feet, her bra seemed to shrink, and her knickers seemed as if they were pulsating over her skin. Her t-shirt started to ruffle itself, and she felt something goose her sides. This made her scream and laugh out loud. She was being tickled! It was quick, but a tickle nonetheless! Then another! On her armpits this time. Then on her tummy!!

"AaaahhHHH!! NO!! HAHA!" Marie screamed at every strange tickle sensation. Panic set in. She made a run for the door, which gave the telltale click of the lock going. She went for the keys, which flew off the hook before she could reach. They slid under the heavy cooker, where she had no chance of getting them.

Another tickle from her t-shirt. Another grope from her knickers. Another pinch from her bra...

"Nooo!! Oh, oh! What's going on?" she screamed and yelped.

One of many laundry baskets sat near the washing machine, full of dirty stockings which had never been washed, and worn underwear. Marie looked in terror, as eight stockings reared from the basket, slid from the basket like tentacles, and moved across the floor towards her...

She ran across the room, but then her shoes seemed to take over, tightening on her feet and slowing her down. Then her jeans seemed to wrap tight around her legs, and hold her in place, her whole lower-body standing stock still. Marie screamed in fright, attempting to undo her jeans and get them off. Every time she undid the button, it would do itself back up, as would the zip. She tore at her belt, which re-did itself back up as quickly as she undid it...

The stockings were sliding closer, being followed by even more pairs from the dirty laundry basket. She screamed for help as they wound their way up her legs, around her waist, stretching out and wrapping round her arms, pinning them securely to her side. She struggled, but the stockings were too many and strong. More stockings snaked up her body, and a particularly nasty smelling pair circled her face, and stopped at her mouth.

Oh, god no...NO! Don't do it, she thought to herself hopelessly. She shut her mouth tight so the stockings could not enter. Just as she did, her t-shirt goosed her sides and armpits continously, and she felt her jeans dig in hard on her knees.


The dirty nylons slid in her mouth, and balled up, as another stocking gagged her.

She thrashed her head around for a second, but the living clothes held her in place, and she could not move. Petrified, she cried with fear. Her shoes and jeans walked her over to her kitchen table. A chair pulled itself out, and her jeans made her sit down on it, and calmly raised her legs onto the table, feet together. Her screams were muffled by her nylon gag, and the taste of her own feet filled her mouth.

Her shoes untied themselves, took themselves off and walked across the table, stopping at the opposite end. Marie was still wearing the sheer black stockings, which held her feet tightly in place and her jeans held her legs firmly on the table. The rattling sound came from the cutlery drawer again.

Oh god--no... It dawned on her what was about to happen.

The drawer opened, and ten metal eating forks flew from their place, floating a few inches from Marie's exposed soles. Her eyes widened with fear as her muffled cries went unheard. The forks attacked immediately, scratching up and down her nylon soles, poking and jabbing, not hurting, just sending jolts of ticklish sensation all over the bottoms of her feet.


Marie was utterly helpless and securely bound. She couldn't even move her feet against the powerful grip of her own clothes...

The fork tickling would not stop. Five minutes. Then ten. Soon a half an hour passed with nothing but the constant tickling of Marie's soles. Finally after forty five minutes, the forks backed off.

Marie stopped screaming, struggling against her stocking ropes which still would not budge. Then the strangest sensation started to happen on her soles; her own stockings were scratching her feet! She soon saw them rip themselves away from her feet, splitting with the ripping sound that only nylon can make, exposing her bare feet. She could finally move her feet!

Unfortunately, it was the only part of her body she could move. She saw that her nails were bare, and even among all the terror and tickle torture, she wished she had painted them this morning. No sooner had she thought it, than she heard the bathroom cabinet open upstairs, along with some other clatter...

It almost made her forget about the forks, which suddenly attacked again.


Somehow, being able to move her feet made the tickling worse. Whichever way she moved her feet, the forks would follow, and torment her bare soles. She covered one sole with the other, which would then be relentlessly tickled by the forks. When she had to swap and cover the other foot, it would be tickled until she swapped again.

After another 45 minutes, the forks suddenly stopped, dropping with a clang to the table. Marie gasped and moaned with relief.

Her shoes came back to life and walked across the table towards her, placing themselves back on her feet and tying on their own. Still gagged, and her arms pinned to her sides by the stocking ropes, her jeans and shoes lifted her legs off the table. She was pulled up to a standing position.

Poor Marie was helpless as she was walked out of the kitchen and into her laundry room, which was full of dirty clothes, stockings, gloves, dresses, underwear, leggings, and all manners of dirty laundry. The clothes began to twitch and move as she was forcibly walked into the room against her will...


Held stock still by her jeans, shoes, and the stocking ropes that pinned her arms to her sides, Marie could only watch and scream muffled screams as she watched items of clothing from the huge pile of laundry start moving in front of her. Gloves filled themselves with invisible hands and picked up more dirty stockings, which pulled themselves onto invisible legs. Leggings and trousers filled themselves out, and shirt buttons did themselves up.

A pair of pink lace gloves floated towards Marie, making tickle movements. Marie's eyes opened wide with fear...

"Mmmmmmmmggggnn! Mmmm nn phhhgnn!"

But rather than start tickling her, the gloves pointed to the open door behind her. Were they letting her go?

Her nylon ropes loosened and slid off her, escaping into the pile of moving laundry. Her stocking gag slipped easily from her head, and out came the cheesy tasting nylons that had balled up in her mouth. Her t-shirt rolled up, slid over her head and off her arms, revealing her bra. Her bra unclipped itself and followed her t-shirt into the pile of dirty clothes. Before she could grab at the jeans, stockings and shoes that held her legs in place, her belt, button and zip undid themselves. Her jeans sat her sharply on the floor. Her smelly old converse shoes untied themselves, and left her feet, revealing the ripped stockings. They walked calmly over to the corner of the room and waited. Still sat, her jeans and stockings pulled themselves off her legs and came to rest on the laundry pile.

She could almost get away!

Only her knickers remained. The cream lace knickers that were so comfy were now being mischievous, goosing her bum. She squealed with each grab and went to rip them off. Instead, the knickers slowly took themselves off, but not before tickling at her between her thighs and all down her legs as they removed themselves.

She was free...the realisation hit quicker than the fear, and she bolted out of the laundry room, slamming the door shut behind her and running--crying and terrified--into her hallway, completely naked.

Too exhausted to speak, she knew she had to get out of the house, and quickly. But she was naked. She couldn't go running out of the house like this...hysterical, naked, and telling tales of living clothes and tickling forks? She would be locked up in an instant! As much as it made her skin crawl, she had to find some clothes that wouldn't imprison her again, and quickly.

Marie ran up her narrow staircase, stopping outside her bedroom. She was breathing quickly, but managed to calm down enough to listen for noise. There was none. Maybe what was going on with the house hadn't affected her bedroom yet, which was a relief. Her large wardrobe was in there, along with a long overdue pile of laundry and all her old tickle toys. She was taking a risk going in there, but she had to do it.

She peered inside. Everything looked as she had left it. Nothing moved on its own, no stockings wriggled, no clothes put themselves on.

She thought quickly. Flip flops, short skirt, strappy top. That cant possibly bind me, or attack me. I can get them off quickly if they come to life...

Nothing jumped out at her as she opened the drawer and grabbed her denim skirt. No movement from anything as she pulled on her pink strappy top. She slid her feet tentatively into her blue flip flops, and was relieved to find she wasn't being walked around by them. She tried kicking one off. It flew away easily. She breathed easier as she put it back on and made a run for the front door right in front of her staircase, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

As she left the room, she hadn't noticed the drawer full of lace gloves opening on its own, or the unwashed stockings wriggling out of her overflowing laundry bag.

The front door was locked. "Dammit, dammit dammit, let me out!" Marie said to herself. The key hung from a hook above the door. She reached for it, and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't fly out of her reach. Marie tried the handle again, but it jammed and would not push down. "No...move!! Open!! Dammit!!" She growled.

She put the key to the lock, but it wouldn't go in. It stopped one inch from the hole, like a magnet repelling another magnet.

"Oh no...please, no, not now--just let me out!!" She could feel panic rising again...

She tried the key again, but this time, it shot right out of her hand and landed on the step behind her. She went to grab for it, but was pushed back against the door...

Her flip flops, which she had thought would be safe, started to itch her toes. She tried to kick them off, but they seemed glued to her feet. The strap that felt so loose earlier now tightened around her toes, and the foam seemed to glue itself to her soles.

"What? Nooooooo!! GET OFF MY FEEEEET!!" She screamed.

The flip flops seemed to become heavier and heavier, and she could not raise her feet from the ground. Her small denim skirt unbuttoned itself, and slid down, stopping at her knees. Once there, it pulled itself tight around her knees, pinning her legs together. Her strappy top did the same thing and pulled itself over her head and arms, stopping at her wrists and wrapping tightly around her. It lifted her arms above her head, and once again Marie was trapped and tied by her own clothes, her skin helplessly exposed.

She looked back down at the key, only to see it in the hand on one of a pair of black lace gloves, being held between thumb and forefinger. The other glove waved a finger in a 'no no...' way, and they floated back up the stairs with the front door key.

Marie screamed out loud at what she saw next.

From the corner of the walls, dozens of pairs of thin lacy gloves walked on all fingertips down the stairs towards her. She saw stockings, seemingly being worn by invisible legs walking from all the rooms, and down the stairs towards her. Gloves were now floating slowly down the stairs, and the stockings stepped slowly, seductively, and purposely towards her.

"Nonononono...aaahhhh!! GET AWAY!! Nooooooo!!"

Before she could say another word, one of the thirty or forty pairs of gloves floated up to her face and clamped over her mouth, muffling her screams. More gloves crawled up her body. A pair held her firmly at the ankles, and her flip flops left her feet, walking away. A pair of gloves removed the skirt that had bound her, which floated away. The skirt filled itself out with an ample bottom and slipped itself over a pair of stockings, making an invisible lower body that walked menacingly towards her.

More gloves crept up her thighs, each touch seemingly more deliberate. The gloves were silky smooth and incredibly thin, but they felt like real hands.

Further up her body, up her sides and to her armpits. Two pairs on each breast. Up her arms, holding her wrists in place while her top flew off and joined the dress, and stockings, making an almost human figure.

The gloves waited for a minute, heightening the anticipation. Then slowly, movement...Marie jumped at the slow light wriggle of the fingers all over her.

The movement became more deliberate, slowly building up into a full tickle. Then BANG--every glove on her body tickled her at full velocity. What seemed like hundreds of fingers were probing, poking, wriggling and tickling at every exposed inch of Marie's body. Marie screamed with horror under the gloves which held her mouth shut. She couldn't move a single muscle, and even her head which was being held in place by gloves.

And they kept coming. Soon, she was completely covered in delicate lace gloves of all colours. Only her eyes and nose were exposed. All she could do was breath and look in terror at the living stockings which filled her staircase.

Only her sensitive soles were not being tickled, as she was stood firmly on the ground...but not for long. She felt herself being hoisted easily into the air, a foot from the ground. Many pairs of gloves seemed to crawl from the seething tickling mass she was covered with, moving to her feet. They tickled and played with her soles, pinching her toes, and moving fingers in between each toe.

It was too much for Marie to handle; she felt insanity about to take over. She peed herself again and again, crying out hysterically, but she couldn't do a thing. All she could do was feel the intense tickling and endure it.

The gloves wouldn't stop. What seemed like hours passed, and the tickling continued, over and over and over. Marie was covered in a wriggling mass of tickling gloves, which kept her prisoner for hours while they probed and stimulated her entire body with unbearable and professional tickling.

After what seemed like most of the day, the sensations began to slow a little, becoming lighter and lighter. Soon, the tickling stopped, but the gloves still kept a tight hold of Marie. She was gasping and whimpering under her silky gag, and her legs were shaking uncontrollably.

The gloves left her body, and floated away to some other room. Only two pairs remained. One pair slipped themselves onto her wrists, and forced her arms down. The other pair held tight to her ankles. A remaining glove kept her mouth closed.

She was held firmly by the gloves viewing the living stockings, which seemed to become excited. The toes of each stocking began to wiggle, and the nylon legs swished against them selves. One pair walked over to Marie, and rubbed up and down her leg, the foot wiggling around her calf. The gloves then picked her up, hoisted her into mid air onto her back, while the living stockings slipped themselves easily onto her legs. The gloves slipped out of the top, and the stockings held her in place.

She began to float up the staircase, over the dozens and dozens of pairs of living stockings, all which were very dirty, smelly, and seemed to be worn by shapely invisible legs. She was floated into her bedroom, and placed on the floor. The gloves slipped onto her hands, and held her arms out by her side, making her fingers do tickle movements on their own.

Her stocking captors made her walk over to her bed and lie down on it, spread-eagled out.

The other pairs of well-worn stockings walked in behind her, and at least 15 pairs climbed onto the bed. They placed themselves at strategic points around her body, the dirty, smelly soles of each stocking resting lightly all up her legs, across her pelvis, over her tummy, on her sides, and at least 4 pairs wiggled their incredibly stinky feet parts inches from her face...

Another pair encircled her wrists like tentacles and tied themselves tight before tying their other ends to the bedposts. The stockings on her legs slipped easily off, wrapping around her ankles, and stretched to tie themselves onto the posts at the foot of the bed. Marie was free to move, and she struggled against her bonds while the stocking feet that rested on her pushed her down every time she tried to sit up. The knots were too tight anyway...

Marie was gagged again by more unwashed nylons, this time a particularly sharp tasting pair from the bottom of the basket. Who knows how long they had been there...

Then, with the taste of her own feet filling her mouth and the scent of her worn nylons filling her nose, the stockings reared themselves inches from her exposed body, and the toes began to excitedly wriggle...

The wiggling toes of her seemingly empty, unwashed nylons moved closer and closer to her body. Toe tips were maddeningly close to Marie's most ticklish spots. Her mouth was full of her own nylons, which seemed to grow and move in her mouth. The nylons that held her tight at the wrists and ankles pulled her arms and legs even tighter. What made the anticipation worse was she had never been tickled by toes before, even though these 'toes' were the millimeter thick fabric of her own stockings, with no actual toes to be seen. Filled with what seemed like invisible detached legs, they moved like real feet, flexing, spreading and wiggling excitedly, as they got closer and closer to her bound, defenseless body, waiting to tickle the living hell out of her.

Why is this happening? How? Thought Marie.

The first tickling sensation was on the soles of her feet. Marie jerked and tried to move her feet away from the black sheer fully fashioned stockings, which were rubbing the tops of their toes up and down her bare soles. She had no idea how this was happening, but she could feel actual nails, scratching her bare undefended soles. One foot on her right sole, up and down; another foot on the same sole, round and round...

"Mmmmmgggppphhh! No no noooo!"

The screaming only seemed to encourage the other living nylons, as her other foot was attacked by two more pairs of invisible nylon feet. Marie thrashed and contorted as more toes dug into her ribs, wiggling and probing her most ticklish spots as if they knew exactly where to touch her for the most reaction. The feet of more of her own living nylons rested on her tummy and wiggled their toes on every tickle spot available. The nylons holding her wrists and ankles in place pulled tighter, holding her even firmer into position.

She lifted her face to look at what was happening, but the soles of the stockings wiggling at her face gently pushed her head down into the pillow, which seemed to hold her head in position, as the smelly unwashed nylons massaged her face, and wiggled their reinforced toes around her nose. The more she laughed and screamed with insane ticklishness and fear of the unknown force that was transpiring so easily around her, the more the nylons found their mark on her insanely ticklish body.

After three maddening hours of tickle torture, her bounds loosened a little. She still could not get free, but the tickling subsided a little. She noticed how much she had sweated, and she had peed herself many times. She was hungry and completely exhausted.

As the bonds became looser, the living nylons stopped tickling her, and gently stroked her body. She was too exhausted from many hours of being tickled by her own clothes to fight back. It made a change from being poked, tickled and tortured, so she simply let it happen.

The nylons left the bed, walked away, and collapsed into a heap of inanimate clothing in the corner of her room. She was exhausted, too tired to move. She fell asleep, too tired to even leave the bed...

* * *

The next day...

Marie awoke, in her favorite pajamas. Her duvet was warm, cosy, and thick. Her sheets smelt fresh. She felt well rested. She had the strange feeling of having a night full of dreams. Hands? Feet? Clothing having its way with her? Surely not. She shot upright in her comfy, clean bed. She looked at the corner of the room where she remembered her own stockings collapsing in a heap after tickle torturing the hell out of her...

Nothing. But maybe the gloves...

"Oh shit; they're probably waiting for me." The more she considered it, though, the more it felt like a half forgotten dream. There were no gloves in her room. It seemed immaculate, everything was tidy and neat. "But...I felt it...didn't I?"

She got out of bed, feeling like she had slept for a whole day. Heading down the stairs, she saw the key in the door. Not thinking twice about it, she headed into the kitchen. A wave of fear and anticipation entered her as she looked at the cutlery drawer. But it was closed, and in perfect order. She opened the door to the laundry room, her eyes shut tight, holding her breath. Nothing moved. Just a big pile of unwashed laundry and the smell of well-worn nylons.

Marie calmed a little. She went to her computer, which had been switched on.

"I don't remember turning this on." Her explorer page seemed to have frozen on her online banking page. She couldn't navigate anywhere else. She felt the anticipation creeping in again. Her bank balance seemed to have gone up. Considerably! How? She thought. I haven't done anything?

The screen went blank, as if it had switched itself off.

Marie jumped, expecting to be set upon again. She tried to get herself together, convincing herself again that she'd been dreaming. The fear was still in the back of her mind.

She went to her front room and sat on the couch, putting her feet up on her coffee table. Next to her feet, she noticed something odd. A pencil, and a notebook rested on the table. There was writing on the paper.

Ask anything, it said, in neat handwriting. She looked at it, and picked it up.

"Ask anything?" She said aloud. No sooner had she spoken the words, the pencil and paper flew from her hands, and the pencil scribbled on the paper, floating a few feet out of reach in front of her.

Instant fear.

Shit... It's real, she thought. She tried to get up from the couch,and realized that though she could move, she could not leave the couch. Her legs would not leave the table. Her hands rested on her lap, and would not leave. Something was controlling her body, and keeping her where she was.

The notepad returned to her, and she read the words: Please, ask anything.

"Ok," she said. "Is this really happening?"

Yes, scribbled the pencil.

"Why cant I get off the couch?" Said Marie.

Because we want you to stay there and not run away, came the written reply.

"Who is 'we'?" Said Marie, wriggling on the couch, but unable to get up.


"What do you mean EVERYTHING?" Shouted Marie, getting angry and scared..

EVERYTHING, wrote the pencil again, underlining the word. And with that word, she noticed every item in the room shift slightly. Curtains, rugs, even the cushions beneath her seemed to shift and move.

"Shit...why? Why are you here, and why are you tickling me?"

Tickling you gives us life. The more energy you radiate from being so ticklish, the more we live, the pencil scribbled furiously. Tickling you is just one way of keeping us alive.

"Just one way?" Screamed Marie. "You mean there are more ways? Why not do something else instead of torturing me?"

The pencil swiped again. Because tickling you is so easy. You give off so much energy because you are so ticklish. There are other ways, but tickling you constantly is by far the kindest.

"Please tell me, what OTHER ways are there? I hate being tickled, you know I do!"

You will find out. We cannot let you go. Marie went cold after she read that.

"What, never?"

The pencil dropped, and the page turned, revealing an already written pull notepad page of text. The heading read RULES.



    1. Every aspect of your life has been taken care of. All your bills will be paid. All meals will be prepared. The house will take care of itself. Your business is running itself, and is making  you very rich.


    1. You will give us our life energy whenever we wish to take it. We can do this in many ways, which are up to us. These sessions will last as long as we wish.


    1. You will be free to do as you wish when we are not taking from you. You may leave the house. You will always return. If you do not, we will bring you home.


    1. If you attempt to flee during a session, we will capture you.


    1. If you attempt to tell anyone about what is happening, you will be brought home.


    1. We may change the rules at any time.


Marie was as confused as she was scared. The notepad and pencil returned to life.

Please do not worry. We are satisfied for the moment. You will know when you are required. You are free to do as you wish until we need you.

Marie's body returned to her control, and she bolted up from the couch. She ran upstairs to her room. An outfit was laid out on the bed. She looked at it, and went to open the door to her large walk in wardrobe. It would not budge. Neither would the drawers on her cabinets. She could only wear what was put out for her. Reluctantly, she picked up the outfit on the bed. To her surprise, it was exactly what she would have picked. A white long sleeved blouse, her favorite skinny blue jeans, some tan stockings, black bra, black knickers, and her favorite converse sneakers.

They were the same sneakers that she had on when the forks attacked her feet...and a sudden wave of panic came over her again. Hands met her shoulders. She screamed and turned round, catching herself in the mirror. She was completely naked, and could see a pair of black silk gloves on her shoulders.

But they weren't tickling; they were massaging her...and very well indeed! She began to calm down.

One glove flew in front of her face and stroked it gently. The notepad had followed her into her room, and she read on a fresh page: You are safe. Please dress and do as you will. We will not stop you. You are free to go.

"But, you will want me again soon...right?" Marie asked.

Of course. But now, please dress. We will call for you when we need you. Please remember the rules. But for now, a treat.

"A treat? What kind of...ooh. Oh my..."

The gloves were giving her an expert massage. Another pair of black silk gloves rubbed her lower back. A fifth and sixth glove were touching her breasts, squeezing and pinching in all the right places. Marie gasped in surprise, then moaned in pleasure, as a final silk glove made its way in-between her legs, massaging her clit. Her make up drawer opened, and a bottle of deep red nail polish opened itself. Marie allowed herself to lie down on the bed. The polish simply floated from the bottle, and came to rest perfectly on her toes and fingernails.

Her toy box pulled itself out from under the bed, and one of her many vibrators floated out, turning itself on and resting gently on her vagina.  More make up floated out from her drawer, depositing itself neatly on her face. She couldn't have done a better job herself. The vibrator gently moved in and out of her, while the glove expertly massaged her clit, sending waves of intense pleasure through her. A tube of deep red lipstick opened itself, and smears of lipstick simply floated away from the stick, making the shape of Marie's lips. It floated neatly on to her own lips and settled there. Marie was enjoying herself too much to notice herself giving an involuntary kiss, or to notice her fingers and toes seemingly wiggling on their own.

She felt herself being lifted in the air by some kind of invisible force, but didn't fight it. She let the gloves and toys do their work.

The door opened, and in floated cloths, towels, a bowl of warm water and soap. The water spread itself all over her body, followed by the bar of soap, which seemed to lather itself and cover her whole body. It was the most intense feeling of pleasure, being seemingly soaped down by...nothing at all! Marie wriggled with pleasure in mid-air as warm, wet towels moved over every inch of her soapy body, cleaning her and rinsing any soap away. Her whole body buzzed with pleasure.

She climaxed, a long and pleasurable orgasm. She didn't even question why her mouth stayed shut, simply making an "Mmmmm" sound...

The gloves disappeared back into the wardrobe, as did her toys and make up. She lied there for a while, feeling very happy. She went to look at herself in the mirror, shocked to see what a perfect job her own make up had done on her face and nails. Her hair began to move, straightening itself.

"Oh, yes please!" She said to no one.

A brush raised itself from her table and ran itself through her long crimson hair. Once untangled, her hair simply curled itself into shape, looking fabulous, and stayed that way.

The pencil wrote on the notepad-- Just one more way of taking from you...this was to make up for the tickling. Please enjoy yourself, but remember the rules.

Marie put on the clothes that had been laid out for her. She picked up her large brown leather handbag, not even looking to see what was in it. Heading out the door, she felt her own jeans grab her bum. This time she simply giggled. She was strangely calm, considering all that had happened.

She wouldn't have been, had she known what was coming next...