Gitchy possesses Jasmine’s mother

It’s midnight and Jasmine's eyes widen in terror as she feels the bindings tighten around her wrists. Her breaths come in short, panicked gasps as she struggles against the restraints, her movements only serving to make the knots dig deeper into her skin. The room is dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Her cries for help echo through the silent house, each plea more **** than the last.

The door creaks open, and her mother steps into the room, but something is off. Her eyes are hollow, devoid of the warmth Jasmine is accustomed to. A sinister grin stretches across her face, revealing rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. The air grows colder, and a low, guttural chuckle escapes her lips.

"Mom? Please, help me!" Jasmine's voice trembles, but the woman before her is no longer her mother. Gitchy, the sinister tickling clown, has taken control. His laughter infused with Eliza’s voice grows louder, more maniacal, as her mother approaches the bed.

Eliza's body, moved by Gitchy, shifts with a predatory grace as she plants herself firmly on Jasmine's lap, her weight pinning her daughter down. Fingers, once gentle and nurturing, now turn into ruthless instruments of torment, scribbling wildly across Jasmine's stomach and sides. Jasmine's body jerks at the sudden onslaught, her laughter erupting in frantic bursts as she tries to squirm away from the relentless tickling.

“Mohohohohom! Please sthahahahap! Let me gohohohohohoho!” Jasmine pleaded as she tried to reach her mother who was determined to attack every inch of her ticklish body while completely oblivious to her daughter’s wishes. As Jasmine's body writhes and twists under the relentless tickling, her tank top rides up further, exposing her midriff and the soft, sensitive skin beneath. The fabric clings to her heaving chest, revealing the contours of her young body as she gasps for breath between fits of laughter.

Gitchy, through Eliza, takes full advantage of the situation, his fingers dancing over the newly exposed flesh with even more fervor. He traces intricate patterns on her sides, his nails lightly scraping against her skin, sending electric jolts of ticklish agony through her body. Jasmine's laughter becomes a ****, high-pitched wail, her voice hoarse from the constant barrage of sensations.

Eliza’s laughter only grows louder, a cacophony of twisted delight. She leans in closer, her breath hot against her daughter’s ear, whispering taunts that send shivers down her spine. "You're mine now, Jasmine. All mine to tickle."

Jasmine’s body arches involuntarily, her laughter a mix of fear and uncontrollable joy. The room is filled with the sound of her **** cries and the sinister, mocking laughter of the clown who has taken control of her mother. The bindings on her wrists dig deeper, leaving red marks on her pale skin, a testament to her helplessness.