When I was a Little Miss Malice, I was rather fond of the primary-coloured personifications known as The Mr Men. One character in particular always stood out for me. With his undulating orange arms on permanent high-alert, Mr Tickle was a man on a mission. I loved his incredible ability to render even the hardest character a crying, quivering Mr Messy.

Fast forward into the future and (whilst I’m less enthusiastic about The Mr Men) it might come as no surprise that the sensual yet sinister art of tickle torture is something I love.

Tickle torture covers all manner of BDSM bases – it’s dominant, humiliating, painful, abusive and teasing too. If you’ve ever experienced this (and assuming you’re ticklish), I’m sure you’ll agree the experience is incredibly intense and intimate. It’s impossible to keep your dignity, or any sense of control when waves of laughter give way to hysteria, euphoria, panic, pleading, desperation and then exhaustion.

Personally I delight in first exploiting the psychological elements of TT. I take my time to carefully position and then restrain my victim so all of their most sensitive spots are exposed and accessible. Occasionally I might make subtle contact with the skin, eliciting a gentle shiver both physically and mentally, and hinting at what’s to follow.

My victim watches wide-eyed as I lay out my favourite implements one-by-one – a hair-brush, a tooth-pick, a pinwheel, an electric toothbrush and anything else which takes my fancy *. Contrary to tickling cliches, a feather doesn’t yield the most rewarding results but I sometimes throw one in for good measure. Of course my sharp nails are poised and ready too – my ultimate weapon of choice.

I love to work my way around the body in forensic fashion – teasing the nerve-endings until they stand to attention, primed with heightened sensitivity and ripe for preying upon. I make a note of each response – especially the areas which send my subject squealing and squirming into uncontrollable fits.

And once I’m armed with a mental map of how and what and where, of course I exploit this knowledge until my subject is well-and-truly broken. The laughter which follows is both extremely contagious and satisfying too. Deceptively it’s not related to humour (on the part of my victim) it’s purely a panic response.

Fascinatingly, theories concerning the evolution and function of this reflex range from a bonding mechanism within early relationships, the development of self-defence/combat moves when under attack, and early assertions of dominance too. Whatever the case, if it’s a weakness, and I’ve got some solid straps to hand, it’s something I will exuberantly exploit.

If this sadistic subject interests you too, you might wish to check out a new documentary exploring the dark side of TT on the web. A fascinating insight indeed.


*Whilst reading up on this subject I was amused to discover that in Ancient Rome the victim’s feet were dipped in a saline solution, which was then licked off by a goat. I don’t think I currently own a goat but I know there’s a Unicorn somewhere in the back of my dungeon closet. This could work…the horn is a bonus.