The Button (Patreon)

F/F, 18+, Belly-Focused

The device was no larger than a dried almond where it mattered, yet the control it had over the forgotten prisoner became more potent on the human constitution than time or money. The initial piercing came swiftly after the approval to enact such experimental measures on maintaining control and subservience over those selected to participate in Dr. O'Donovan's program. Selection usually fell upon certain prisoners as a means of supplementing and even lessening sentences, but occasionally she would happen upon youthful volunteers looking to broaden experiences and satisfy the naive itch for an adventurous story.

Doctor Svetlana O'Donovan was a stern woman, one who withheld a natural beauty behind an alluring veil of strict stoicism. The doctor portrayed a demeanor that was as inviting as it was intimidating, glowing with an inhuman charisma that made all those around her take heed to every sound and syllable. She was young in her field, yet beheld a maturity surpassing those of her age. She walked strong and tall everywhere she went, her gait clicking heels against hard floors becoming a familiarity accompanying her presence. Many in her closer circles would often refer to her as Dr. Click. Never to her face, however, though she did take passive pleasure in knowing of this discussion in secret.

Dr. O'Donovan pioneered the development of the device most commonly called the ‘Button’ within its applicable departments. The initial invention was simple, yet after administrative funding, weeks of diligent R&D involvement, and many testing phases, the Button became an approved asset in the utility of applicant breaking and discipline.

Betsy Arnoldson stood in the center of cell #01785. It was bland and lifeless as the others that lined the underground corridors to the facility. Grey padded walls, an aggressively cold floor, and faded, recessed lighting fixtures where florescents buzzed behind protective plastic. Betsy herself was a young girl whose life had painted with a much more colorful and lively brush than that of her captivity. Five arrests involving public disturbances and property damage during active protest events had landed her eight years at St. Andrews Correctional Facility For Women. From there, the alternate means of carrying out her sentence presented itself with Dr. O’Donovan.

A strange rig that fed into the ceiling of the room hoisted Betsy’s arms up with cuffs attached to cords. The simple, yet elegant, device kept Betsy standing with relative comfort for long periods of time, until the moment came when her knees would start to buckle. The cords would feel the tension and retract ever so more slightly than before. Instance after instance of this would eventually force the captive up on their toes, their arms held straight above their head, where they would be forced to stand upwards of hours at a time until a doctor or an authorized attendant would come by to free them.

Betsy sniffled as she shook where she stood. A trickle of drool fell from the corner of her mouth, a rubber ball tucked snuggly between her jaws. She saw nothing but gray walls brutally lit when the gray around her was not morphed by welling tears. She had no means of knowing the time or how much of it passed between visits. Visits became the events in which she measured time’s passage, even when they were just for meal time of stew and bread. The room remained always just slightly more chilly than comfortable. Betsy, like all the other participants in Dr. O’Donovan’s experiments, was given a bland sleeveless button-down top and matching sweatpants to wear. Betsy could only imagine how unflattering it was, though without a mirror, or seeing another of the other participants, she had no way of truly knowing.

The door gave its jarring roar as it began to open. Betsy looked up to see the doctor enter the room. She felt as if she had seen the doctor before, but struggled to recall much memory of anything beyond the last day or so. Betsy grunted and whined, her arms shaking with tension, as Dr. O’Donovan closed the door behind her.

“Mmmmppphhh!” Betsy groaned, her cheeks beaming with splotches of red. Dr. O’Donovan merely smiled.

“And good morning to you too, Miss… Anderson,” Dr. O’Donovan said, looking down at a tablet in her hands. It was the pad all the doctors used to control the various gadgets they used in and out of the training rooms. Dr. O’Donovan swiped her finger across the glossy front. The cords holding Betsy’s arms released slightly. The girl nearly collapsed, but the cuffs held on tightly to keep her from completely hitting the floor. They retracted again just enough to give Betsy enough support to stand. “Oh, I’m sorry, Arnoldson. Sorry, I have trouble reading sometimes early in the morning. Coffee hasn’t kicked it yet, I imagine.”

Dr. O’Donovan laughed a bit at her office humor, though Betsy only trembled where she stood. She looked down, her dark hair matted to the sweat across her face. It draped with her tiredly hung head as more drool fell from her gagged mouth. Dr. O’Donovan came closer.

“Are we going to be good today?” Dr. O’Donovan asked carefully. “No more screaming and cussing and all that other ‘bad girl’ behavior that I remember?” Betsy, slumped with fatigue, slowly shaking her head. “Okay then.” She reached up around the back of Betsy’s head and unbuckled the ballgag. The thick bit fell from between Betsy’s teeth in a relief that came with the same rush of cool that washed through her arms when the cords released. Betsy panted. She breathed openly the crisp, conditioned air around her. Her eyes fluttered as she looked back at Dr. O’Donovan, sweat leaving a heavy sheen across her face. “Good. Now what do we say?” Dr. O’Donovan spoke as if talking to a child still learning vocal etiquette.

“Th… ank….-ou…” Betsy muttered.

“See?” Dr. O’Donovan said with a bright smile. “That wasn’t so hard. I do like being nice, but you have to learn that niceness isn’t something you’re owed, Betsy. Not here it isn’t. It’s something you have to earn. And I’d say that you have after the week you’ve been through, you’ve certainly shown you’ve put in the effort. But now I’m here to help you move into the second phase of the program.” Dr. O’Donovan approached the girl closely, inspecting her body. A rich, natural aroma blossomed off of her body as Betsy stood shivering in place. Her hands trembled as her eyes appeared dark and sunken. The once fiery temper of the girl known for inciting riots and chanting about justice had lessened into fading embers, the last sparkles of light being buried by disheveled cinder.

Dr. O’Donovan produced the device from the pocket of her pristine, white coat. It was small, pinched firmly between index finger and thumb as she held it up for Betsy to see. The design of the Button was that of a small, curved bar with a bulbed tip at one end and a much larger bulb hanging from the other. The smaller tip was a simple black ball while the larger of the two was metallic and appeared to have many strange ridgings on one side. Dr. O’Donovan smiled as she showed it off.

“We call it the Button, and it should help guide you through the rest of your program, Miss Arnoldson,” Dr. O’Donovan said. She reached down to begin unbuttoning the front of Betsy’s top. She started at the bottom and rose until every button had popped out of its place. The top fluttered open, revealing not just Betsy’s bare chest, but her smooth, slender belly along with it. With Betsy’s arms raised just enough to keep her from reaching for it, Dr. O’Donovan parted Betsy’s top like a set of curtains greeting the morning sun. Her eyes beheld Betsy’s figure in its entirety, a sight she had seen many times from the other participants but one of which she never seemed to tire.

“Very nice,” Dr. O’Donovan said. “Now, you may remember the piercing that we had you get when you arrived.” The doctor’s eyes fell to Betsy’s belly button. There, two shimmering studs gleamed back at her, one small at the top and one large at the bottom. Dr. O’Donovan unscrewed the top stud and slid the bar from its fleshy sleeve. Betsy shuddered a bit as she recalled the procedure happening so quickly and so apathetic to her objections.

“Pl… plea…se do-don’t…” Betsy muttered through trembling lips. Dr. O’Donovan looked up.

“Do what?” she asked. “This again? Oh no, dear, that was a one time thing. Well, for now. But you don’t have to worry about that.” Pocketing the removed stud, Dr. O’Donovan began to lace the Button into place as Betsy’s new piercing. It looked functionally like the stud, though the larger bulb did seem to press harder and deeper into Betsy’s own navel. The smooth metal casing pushed against the delicate inner walls of the minute spot. Betsy hardly felt the initial insert. She panted, her nerves eased by the lack of pain influenced by the doctor’s application.

“There, looks like we’re all in,” Dr. O’Donovan said. “You and your Button are going to become quite intimate. Feels nice, right?” Betsy swallowed and reluctantly nodded.

“Wha… what does… it do?” Betsy began to ask. Dr. O’Donovan glanced down at the tablet in her hands.

“You will recall another series of tests we had you participate in upon arrival, yes?” Dr. O’Donovan asked. “I know it’s been a few days, but surely you remember the tickle assessment.”

Betsy shivered at the word. A cascade of memories came rushing back of the first hours of her program initiation. Betsy was handled down onto a table by the prisoner guards where her arms and legs were bound by several thick straps to keep her locked in place. It was the last time she saw the guard staff, several walking away from her laughing about what was to come. Before long, facility staff appeared and began to cut away her clothing. She was given a mask through which to breathe in a calming agent, one that acted as well to ignite more potent nerve reception to physical stimuli. The memories from there faded into haze, but in that haze was nothing but laughter. Mad, ceaseless, screaming laughter for what felt like days in the echoes of her mind. The next thing she remembered was being suspended by her arms within the very room in which she stood.

“You’re quite the ticklish one, Miss. Arnoldson,” Dr. O’Donovan said. “One of the most we’ve had to participate in the program, even without the sensitizing agent. It’s… kinda funny, actually. I never thought someone as tough and rowdy as you would respond so favorably to the assessment.”

“Pl… please… please don’t tickle me…” Betsy begged, her breathing starting to grow more rapid and frantic.

“Heh, not so tough are you now,” Dr. O’Donovan commented. “I wonder what the other prisoners, or even the guards you attacked, would do if they found out about this ticklish on a scale that even I’ve rarely seen. I bet they’d have some fun with you, huh?” Betsy shook her head, her eyes growing wide.

“No, please… please, don’t tell anyone, please…”

“Aww, honey, everyone here already knows,” Dr. O’Donovan said. She held up the tablet for Betsy to see. What her eyes beheld was a diagram of her body, with regions shaded all over in various colors. Numerical correspondents were listed on the side, scaled to the measure of a hundred, with many regions scoring upwards in the 80s and 90s. At first glance, Betsy had little idea as to what it meant, but the longer she looked, the clearer the picture became and the more dread bore an icy pit in her gut.

“Don’t worry though, you’re fully in my care until the end of your program,” Dr. O’Donovan said. She too looked down at the tablet as she continued to show Betsy. “Look at all these fun colors. I bet you can guess what it all means though, huh? Overall ticklishness. So cute. Nice scores under the arms and in between the legs there. The feet aren’t as receptive as I’d like, but a 67 is still more than enough to work with. What I’m most excited for is this darker area right here in the midsection. All over your cute little tummy, particularly in your belly button. A 92. That’ll put some girls into a coma, given the right touch.” Betsy turned away and closed her eyes. She swallowed as the rage building up inside of her stirred with no functional outlet.

“Please don’t tickle me, please!” Betsy begged more. “I can’t stand it, really! I’m so ticklish!”

“Oh, I know, honey,” Dr. O’Donovan said. “But that’s going to be the best tool to use to further your program with us. Classic rehabilitation didn’t work and you don’t want to keep being a menace to the people around you. No, through this program, I assure you that you will become the calm, good, useful, upstanding, and obedient girl that we know you can be.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t tickle me again,” Betsy pleaded, a vastly different tone than her initial screams of threatening to ‘fucking kill them all’. Dr. O’Donovan smiled warmly. She flipped her hair back, amused by the shift that she had been present to spectate.

“The tickling will be an important and omnipresent and, quite frankly, gravely familiar aspect to your program, by the end of it,” Dr. O’Donovan said. She returned to looking at the tablet, tapping against the screen out of Betsy’s view. “It’s helpful that not only is your body so naturally receptive to the treatment but that you pose such an aversion to it. And you’ll soon come to realize that someone in your position is in no place, and withholds no authority, to make demands or to even speak to a superior in such a way. Don’t worry though, sweetie. All of this will be made quite clear in the end.”

Another few taps on the screen led into a faint whirring unease vibrating through the strange device lodged inside of Betsy’s belly button. Shortly thereafter, the bulb inside of her navel released a sturdy bloom of bristles in a dome formation. Betsy recoiled at the sudden impact, able to feel the swift change almost as soon as the fibers emerged. The acknowledgement came with a clenching dread, followed immediately by a seizure of unrest shooting through her body as her back craned and her mouth released a familiar fit of untamed laughter.

“Neeeaaaaahhhhhhahahahahahahaaaa!” Betsy’s squealing laughter began filling the room. The bristles from the inner half of the bulb shot into a manic spin, the fibers rotating as they all glided against the most delicate of nerves within the inner walls of the captive’s sensitive and shallow navel. Her expression, which had once been so stoic and fearful to those around her, had since morphed into one broken into compliance. What followed was a delightful shift into shrieking, squealing laughter as her body twisted in the binds that kept her dancing in the center of the room. Dr. O’Donovan took a step back to watch how Betsy adjusted to the effects of the Button.

“Neat little thing, isn’t it?” she asked, shooting Betsy a pleased grin. “With this attached to you for the rest of your stay, me and any of the other authorized staff will be able to administer treatments remotely.” The device hummed as its activation sprung into an abrasive assault against the most delicate and minute nerves across Betsy’s body. From within her navel, it spun rapidly around like the head of a particularly violent electric toothbrush. It kept up with her swaying, jerking motions, locking in firmly against her skin. Betsy’s arms jolted downward, only for the cords to retract into the ceiling, pulling her wrists back up with every pound of active tension.

“Oooohhh gahahahahahahahahadd!!! Pleeehahahahse!!!” Betsy cried out. The tickling ravaged the highly concentrated area. Minuscule in scale, the Button continued to spin its many small and firm bristles inside of Betsy’s navel. They scraped against the tender walls, boring downward into the delicate regions of the plush recess, and continued feverishly as Dr. O’Donovan stood back and watched Betsy’s flailing display of manic laughter. The vibrations cast a blooming effect that spread tickles radiating across the lower half of Betsy’s belly. The girl squealed with laughter, the tickles maddeningly compounding against the same hyper-sensitive spot again and again with each passing second. She twisted in place, dancing and squirming about until the cords lifted Betsy’s by her wrists, forcing her up onto her toes once again. She wailed, unable to move much around her spot in the center of the room, as the tickles continued to tear through her senses and explode from her mouth in waves of laughter.

“Such a pretty laugh, Miss Arnoldson,” Dr. O’Donovan said, smirking and closing in on the hanging girl. Her eyes fell down to Betsy’s bare, quivering stomach, writing as the Button hummed loudly as it pressed deeply into her navel. “And such an amazing figure. You’re going to make a lot of people quite happy when this is all done with.” Dr. O’Donovan leaned in closer to Betsy. The doctor’s eyes inspected the girl’s reactions closely. She watched her face melt with horror and ticklish hysteria as her body twitched fruitlessly in place. Her ears drank in the constant, pulsing laughter booming from Betsy’s throat, a song of which she could never tire. She breathed in the warm, natural aroma of Betsy’s sweat, knowing well it was but a start of the turmoil the girl would have to go through to finish the breaking portion of her program.

“Faaaaahahhahahahahahahaaaa!! Turn it aahahahahahahaaaaaff!! Pleehehahahhaaaase!!!” Betsy’s voice broke through her shrill laughter. The brush lodged inside of her continued to whirr and ravish her ticklish belly button. No matter how she wriggled in place like a fish on a hook, The full effect of the Button continued to reach its full target with maximum efficiency. From where Betsy hung, there was no escaping the device’s vicious purpose. Dr. O’Donovan stayed close by, monitoring Betsy’s ticklish descent, worsening with compounded intensity by every second that her helplessness became more grudgingly apparent.

“As long as you are under my care, care that your warden has signed off on in full, you are mine to do with what I want,” Dr. O’Donovan said, her tone lowering into something more personal than professional. Her eyes glimmered, the sight of the doctor blinded by teary distortion of Betsy’s perpetual unrest. The tickles continued to radiate out from the central spot of her navel, the vibrations of the Button reaching all of the devilishly sensitive regions around her tanned, supple stomach. The less Betsy could move to even squirm, let alone try to fight back, the more the doctor’s words resonated as true. The message began to sink in minute by minute, and it appeared as if the doctor had all the time in the world to watch and allow the Button’s influence to encourage that dismal point. “Are you beginning to understand, Miss. Arnoldson?”

“Yeeeeessssssahahahahahahahahaaa!! Yeeeehhahshahshhshshahahahaaa!!” Betsy cried, tears spilling down her face. The Button feasted on the delicate and highly ticklish nerves within her navel again and again. The prolonged tickling had already lasted, within the first minutes, longer than Betsy had ever remembered being tickled before being placed in Dr. O’Donovan’s care, or at least knew she could tolerate such an insidious treatment. The initial assessment had been thorough, rigorous, and a grim indicator as to her care at the odd, new facility, but the looming presence of Dr. O’Donovan’s smile at her ticklish display signaled far worse to come.

“Good,” Dr. O’Donovan said dryly. She came around Betsy’s squirming body, her open top fluttering briskly with her instinctual sways side to side. The doctor walked up behind Betsy, bringing herself intimately close. Her arms reached around the dangling girl, her fingers long and tipped with frighteningly sturdy red nails. Betsy managed to look down briefly, only able to wonder what next the doctor could do to her. Her curiosities would quickly be answered. “Now, keep laughing for me, my pet. Coochie, coochie, coo…”

With the tablet set down by her feet, Dr. O’Donovan’s nails began lightly skittering across the outer rim of Betsy’s bare stomach. A new surging rush of tickles began to pour through her senses. The ticklish waves quickly reached a new peak, one cresting toward a zenith of conscious comprehension. Dr. O’Donovan smiled as she scratched and teased her nails against Betsy’s belly from behind, teaching across the area deemed one of the most ticklish bellies with which she had ever had the pleasure of working.

“NEEEOOOOAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!” Betsy’s laughter peaked. She looked down through a veil of shimmering tears as Dr. O’Donovan’s nails danced and scribbled across her belly, slick with sweat. The assault of scurrying tickles tore through the fragile nerves of Betsy’s tender belly. She twisted and screamed with laughter as she could only endure the flurry of tickles pouring through her senses again and again with each torturous second. Tears streaked her blushing cheeks. Hopelessness weighed on her heaving chest. She pulled at her arms which only made the cords retract more, further pulling Betsy up onto her toes in the dead center of the room.

“Naughty girl trying to get away from the tickles,” Dr. O’Donovan whispered into Betsy’s ear. Her tone had taken a sinister ring, one that echoed a personal pleasure in the girl’s torment. Such gestures came in low groans and heavy breathing right into Betsy’s ear. Dr. O’Donovan continued to tease her verbally as her fingers explored her bare belly with an unyielding front of scribbling tickles. “Tickle, tickle, tickle… this is your life now…”

“STAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAP!!!” Betsy’s demands had diminished from brazen threats into pitiful cries of active sobbing. Still, she continued to belt laughter as hard as Dr. O’Donovan had expected. The doctor smiled as she taunted the girl’s defenseless disposition and the overbearing implication that she was but a mere toy, a thing to do with whatever she wanted. With every passing second of ticklish agony, Betsy’s composure faded, and what began to replace it was a fundamental understanding of the doctor’s vicious threats.

“It stops when I say it stops,” Dr. O’Donovan said, her nails scurrying around Betsy’s quivering belly. Her touch sent bursting strokes of tickles storming through the girl’s delicate senses. The Button continued to hum and spin a vicious assault of unending tickles directly into the girl’s navel. Sweat and tears flung from Betsy’s head with each desperate shake. She had been left with little means of moving at all, just barely dangling where she hung by her arms, her ticklish body on complete display and reach for anyone within the room. She wept as she screamed with deep, brutal fits of laughter.

“PLEEEAAHAHAHHAHAAAASEE!!!” Betsy continued to beg. Long since broken from her stance of violent non-compliance, the girl twisted minimally in place as the tickles scurried ravenously across her tender stomach. Dr. O’Donovan’s nails tickled as ruthlessly as they could, the doctor’s technique only encouraged by Betsy’s frantic pleas for mercy. The Button raged on, the bristles within Betsy’s navel spinning with no indication of ever stopping. The tickles devoured the delicate nerves around the region. They gushed across the frail surface and spread about in a burning onslaught of stimulation. No matter how Betsy’s body impulsively moved to the sadistic effects of the doctor’s treatment, what became frightfully apparent, and remained so, was there being no escape from the tickles.

“Within these walls, submission is salvation, my pet,” Dr. O’Donovan whispered into her ear as her nails scratched and scurried all over the girl’s slick, squirming belly. “You’ll fare much better accepting that.” The tickling continued reaching extents of chipping away at Betsy’s mind. Just when she would begin to believe it over, or that she could no longer possibly withstand anymore, it persisted. Betsy groaned through her laughter. She wailed and pulled and screamed as her chest and jaw began to ache. Sweat dripped down the side of her face and soaked into her clothes. Tears poured down rolling eyes. The tickling at Dr. O’Donovan’s hands alone began primal, even slightly angry at times, while the Button merely continued working as designed. Her belly became a war zone of ticklish stimulation, a land scorched with a tirelessly display of absolute torment.

Betsy hardly noticed when Dr. O’Donovan finally pulled away. The doctor was quick to reach for the tablet and turn off The Button. Even after the device slowed to a full stop, the tickles radiated and echoed through her body. Her exhaustion left her head bobbing and her eyes fluttering, stinging with a rain of her own sweat. Her mouth hung agape as she sucked down massive gulps of air. Betsy groaned, wanting nothing more than to simply collapse on the floor and rest until the tickles inevitably returned. Believing the doctor’s words, Betsy began to realize and accept that being tickled would become a more regular occurrence than she initially imagined.

“Still such a pretty girl, too,” Dr. O’Donovan muttered, walking casually around Betsy’s hanging body with the tablet in hand. She had pushed her loose hair back behind her ear upon walking back out in front of the girl. “Normally, the women that come out of that place are more scarred and gristled, but you remained cute, actually pretty in a lot of ways. I imagine you must have done some pretty messed up shit to keep the others off your back. But of course you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up here. I suppose it’s for the best, right Miss. Arnoldson. You’d much rather be here than there, wouldn’t you? You’d rather be here than anywhere, right?” A pause fell over the room. Betsy trembled as she fought to catch her breath. Sweat dripped off of the tips of her hair, clumped together in little spikes, as she sniffled. She steadied her breathing, knowing all too well what to do.

“Y… y-yes…” Betsy muttered quietly.

“What was that?” Dr. O’Donovan asked swiftly before turning the Button back on again. Suddenly, the brush inside of Betsy’s navel switched into a rapid, spinning feast of her most delicate nerves once more. Betsy’s body reacted with a heart jolt. Her hands clenched into fists. Her toes curled. Her back arched as a surge of laughter burst from her lips again.

“GAAAHHHHHHHHHAHHAHAHAHAA!!! YES DAHAHAHAHCTOR!!” Betsy screamed. As quickly as the tickles started up again, they faded with the swipe of Dr. O’Donovan’s finger across the faux glass surface of the tablet. Betsy huffed, her composure far more alert and attentive than after her previous ticklish endeavor.

“Good,” Dr. O’Donovan said. “You want to be here, to continue your program of rigorous ticklish stimulation, because you know that that’s the only way you will ever become a model enough citizen to enter society again.” Dr. O’Donovan spoke as if leading Betsy to the answers that were expected of her. Betsy, as she hung and continued to shiver from the idea of being tickled remotely at any time, nodded as if it were her job. “As such, you want to be tickled. You want to be tickled for as long as it’ll take to mold you and shape you and change you into the type of complacent, obedient, good young girl you want to be. Right?”

“Y-yes… yes, doctor…” Betsy panted, still nodding sweatily. Dr. O’Donovan smiled. She reached up to brush Betsy’s damp hair out of her face, feeling the warmth of her complexion against her fingers. Betsy looked up, her eyes still fighting to stay open. Her arms quivered while they ached in holding the girl up. Dr. O’Donovan looked the girl in the eye, making sure she saw the pleasure on her own expression.

“That’s a good girl,” Dr. O’Donovan said. She chuckled a bit before raising the tablet once more. Betsy shook her head. Her eyes widened as Dr. O’Donovan turned her attention back to the screen.

“Wh… wha- no… no, ple…” Betsy began to stir. Dr. O’Donovan wore a look of content routine, of slightly amused boredom, as she tapped again on the screen of the tablet. In a moment of blind denial, The Button instantly resumed its programmed utility. The bristles pressing against the walls of Betsy’s navel shot back into a powerful spin, sending a screaming deliverance of tickles back through the girl’s exhausted nerves. Betsy shrieked as much as her tired lungs and throat would allow. Her body contracted with a swift jolt. Her head fell back into mad, moaning laughter, the dismal impression of unending torment rising again to poison her fractured mind. “Naaaaaaahhhhhahahaoaoooooooahahahahahahaaa!!”

“You only have yourself to blame for this, Miss Arnoldson,” Dr. O’Donovan said. She stood up straight, smiling back at Betsy’s figure responding so favorably to her little invention. “Don’t you worry, though. A few more weeks of rigorous application should help fix you for the better. And your Button will see you through it all.” Dr. O’Donovan watched Betsy’s expression melt into horror masked with hysteria as the tickles perpetuated their sinister touch within her belly button. The girl writhed uselessly in place, enduring the tickles that had worked so effortlessly to break down her character. Tears sprung from her eyes. Her head pounded, her arms grew tense and sore in their fixed position.

“Pleeehahahahahahaaaaaase!!” Betsy laughed tiredly. The concentration of tickles left her begging to at least be tickled anywhere else. The steady rush of tickles against the same spot compounded the effects again and again, leaving her no quarter with which to get used to the pouring sensations. Dr. O’Donovan grinned. She looked down upon the screen of the tablet once more, tapping and sliding her fingers for means unseen by Betsy.

“You’ll be thanking me when this is all done, maybe even begging to stay,” Dr. O’Donovan said with a slight chuckle. “We’ll see.” With a single tap, the bristles within Betsy’s navel whirred louder as they began to spin more. Out of her vision, several small prods extended from the center of the bulb inside her belly button. They reached deeper, poking and tapping against the unreached regions of the minute, supple area. Betsy screamed until her voice broke, the Button’s effects proving capable of rendering her senses even more devastated by its ticklish functions.

“WHAAAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! NHAHAHAHAAAOOOO PLEEAAAHAHAHAHASE!!! MAAHAHAHAHAAAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAP!!!!” Betsy cried out. Her thrashing became more violent, her laughter rejuvenated with a volume through a cracking, scratching throat. The maliciously crafted utility of the Button devoured the most frail and fragile nerves of Betsy's entire body with the spin of its brush and the internal scribbling of its prongs. It tickled with the attention of a dozen tools and fingers, all swiftly able to reach the smallest and most tender of regions. Betsy’s body erupted with ticklish stimulation unlike any she had ever felt before. She screamed with laughter until her voice began to grow hoarse, then numb all together. Her eyes rolled as she twisted violently in place, swinging side to side with all the room she still had. Dr. O’Donovan smiled as she observed the effects of the Button’s many tools.

“It can do much more than just that,” Dr. O’Donovan said. “So be a good girl for me and we’ll have you fixed up and loving this in no time.” She drew in a heavy breath through her nose, drinking in the musk that thickened the air of the room. She turned the screen of the tablet off, the Button continuing to torment the hanging girl in front of her with just a few of its many designed ticklish tactics. Even then, and with only a little over a minute to observe their effects, the doctor could see Betsy’s composure shatter before her. The ticklish girl howled with laughter through breath that escaped her constantly. Sweat bounced from her dripping body as she endured the constant scribbling and brushing within her navel, the Button’s motor loud and vibrating more tickles around the immediate spot.

“FAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!! TURN IT AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAFFFF!!!!” Betsy cried out. Her feet remained lifted up onto her toes to keep her standing. Her arms trembled as the cords pulled to keep her upright in the center of the room, where anyone who entered could toy with the ticklish prisoner. Dr. O’Donovan sighed and shook her head, still smiling.

“That’s bad girl speak,” she said. Her tone perked with a bright, pleased expression. “When I come back, I want to hear something much more positive about your experience. Maybe a ‘please keep tickling me, doctor, I love it so much’.” The doctor showed Betsy, writhing in her ticklish hysteria, another smirk. She turned toward the door. The tablet, resting in her hands, showed a black, idle screen as the Button whirred endlessly within the highly sensitive shallow dip. Dr. O'Donovan, satisfied with her initial evaluation of her newest subject, made her way to the door. She pulled on the handle and cracked it slightly. “I'll just give you a few hours alone for you to decide how we should proceed.”

Dr. O’Donovan relished the final, unmuffled screams of laughter before finally closing the cell door behind her. Beyond it, Betsy’s cries seemed distant, yet no less desperate or emblematic of the Button’s devastating effects upon her highly ticklish belly button. Calmed and assured by the fruits of her hard work, Dr. O’Donovan turned back to the tablet. She scrolled through her list of active subjects until she came upon another, a girl admitted earlier the previous day and another recipient of her own Button. The doctor made her way toward that subject's own private cell. She studied the numbers and times listed on the touch pads outside of every door, admiring the efficiency of the facility's rehabilitation mission. A faint chorus of screaming laughter seeped into the corridor through the heavily padded cells doors. Dr. O’Donovan passed by a few colleagues on their way to attend to their own subjects with a slight nod as she made her way toward her destination.

“Miss Shaw,” Dr. O’Donovan muttered, approaching cell #01306. She glanced down at the touchscreen by the door. The clock ticked down from its final seconds. Dr. O’Donovan tapped on the tablet to stop the timer prematurely before scanning her badge against the touch pad. The door unlocked with a heavy chunk. She pulled it open and entered the cell.

The room was thick with musky heat. An odorous sting graced her nose upon entering, one the doctor would otherwise find unappealing outside of her work. She entered to see the other subject dangling from the same cords she had left Betsy. The subject, Miss Penelope Shaw, heaved heavily as she hung limp by her wrists. Her body, nearly completely naked, trembled and dripped with sweat. She groaned weakly as she fought to catch her breath, her eyes wafting and stinging. Her demeanor was that of a rag doll exhausted by play, a husk with but the sole function of existing and enduring. Dr. O’Donovan closed the door behind her and approached the dangling girl with a smile.

“Your second session done for the day, Miss Shaw,” she said aloud, reading from the tablet. She eyed the silver sheen of Miss Shaw’s own Button attached within her navel as it had been for Betsy. Dr. O’Donovan grinned. “You seem to be making quite stellar progress since your admission last week. Don’t worry, we’ll have you down, cleaned, and fed all before the next session as scheduled. Is there anything you’d like to say before we begin?” She paused and listened closely to the girl’s stunted breathing. Sweat and drool fell from her open mouth, her lips quivering as she tried to speak.

“Pl… p….” Miss Shaw stuttered.

“What’s that, dear?” Dr. O’Donovan asked, leaning in closer. Another pause followed as the hanging girl collected herself, still healing from apparent hours of ticklish treatment.

“Please… k-keep tickling me…” Miss Shaw whispered mindlessly through a quivering lip. “I… love it… so much…” Dr. O’Donovan chuckled to herself, seeing in action the impact of her creation.

“That’s a good girl,” the doctor said. She smiled back at the girl before glancing back down at the tablet in her hands. “I suppose I could come back in another hour or two, since you asked so nicely.”