BellybTickler
4th Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- May 2, 2002
- Messages
- 2,962
- Points
- 36
*Note, isn't the best I've done, sick and tired while composing it, but what the hell, couldn't hurt haha, any feedback would be much appreciated thanks 
*
John opened his eyes slowly, groggy still from the shock wave of 88 shell. Rolling his head from side to side, he scanned to room. Dark, moist, and cold it was very uninviting and rather intimidating. Now having regained most of his senses he realized that he was unable to move. Not that he was paralyzed but in fact, was restrained at his ankles and wrists to the chair he was occupying. Suddenly, a light above him flashed on, sending a wave of blinding brightness into John’s eyes. Once his eyes had adjusted he was finally able to take in his surroundings. The sight sent fear throughout his body; he was in a dungeon, complete with works. Racks, stocks, x-frames, cages, and chains littered the stone room. The wooden door across the way opened and in stepped three shadows. Stepping into the light they were revealed a beautiful 5’ 4” blonde woman and two heavily armed guards. The Swastika armbands caused John’s heart to sink, he had been captured.
The woman spoke up first, “John O’Bryan?”
His face remained stoic, but gave a slight nod.
She smiled, “Well, Mr. O’Bryan, you have got yourself in quite a predicament”.
“Private First Class O’Bryan, John, serial number 01438590,” John recited.
She laughed, “Hahaha, yes I know, I know a lot about you”.
“What?”
She sighed, “You Americans, always getting caught with your hand in the jar”, she replied, waving John’s ID papers and wallet. He slumped down in embarrassment.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked meekly
“Hahahaaa, have you not heard the stories?” she laughed.
In fact John had; awful stories of abuse and torture at the hands of Nazi’s had filled the campfires back at the front. His face began to turn pale.
“Hahaa, no worries though, I’ve something different in store for you” she smiled.
“What do you mean?”
“Private O’Bryan, insolence is not found as a quality of a gentleman”, she said coldly, “I ask the questions, not you”.
He nodded in compliance.
Turning to the two guards, “I want him ready when I return, do not hurt him, but if resists in any way, you know what to do” she said. The guards snapped a salute and descended upon John.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER . . .
John didn’t know what to make of his situation now; he was naked and tied to the x-frame next to his chair. The guards had untied him and forced him to strip, then they restrained him to the wooden structure and left. The door soon opened and in stepped the Gestapo interrogatress. She had changed her clothes from the 3 piece dress uniform to a black leather lingerie outfit.
“As you can plainly see, Private O’Bryan, I have a fascination with torture. She picked up a feather on the table as she passed by it, “but not just any kind of torture, tell me, Private O’Bryan, are you . . . ticklish?”
He snapped to her, eyes widened in fear.
“Hahahaaa, I’ll take that as a yes,” she smiled. With that she lowered the feather to bare armpit, “you see, this is how it’s going work, I’m going to ask you a question, and you’ll answer it, otherwise . . .” she brushed the tip against his skin.
John tensed up immediately, shutting his eyes, straining to keep his mouth closed.
“Haha, you get tickled”. She took the feather away and John sank back against his bonds.
“Now, where shall we start?” she asked, “something simple, how about your age?”
“Wha-wha-what does that matter?” John replied.
“Not going to answer?”
“No wait I didn’t me-AHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!” John bellowed. She had caught him off guard with a swift rib attack. He bucked and strained against the cuffs.
“HAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAAAHAHAAPLEEAHAHAHAHAHASSESTOOHHAHAHAHAP!” he screamed.
“Your age!” she demanded as she danced her long nails up and down his sensitive sides.
“HAHAHEHEHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHHEEEEIGGHTEEHEHEHEHEEEN!”
“That’s better,” she said, stopping the torture. John, breathing heavily, choked out a plea.
“Please, please don’t do that anymore”.
“Awww does he not like it?” she cooed, “The little soldier doesn’t like the tickles?”
“Noooo,” he yelled.
“Well that’s too bad, because that was just a trial, now I get to ask you the relevant ones” she said with a grin.
He whimpered, sinking back against his bonds.
“So, what’s your unit, where is your unit, and what are your unit’s operation orders?”
“I can’t,” he replied.
She sighed, “Listen, you don’t like this, so why the charade?”
“I just can’t!” he screamed.
“Fine,” she replied, lowering her hands to his armpits. Slowly she scrapped his hollows, he began to giggle crazily. Quickening her pace she traveled up and down his arms, going from one to all fingers randomly. He started bucking as the deep belly laughs flowed from his stretched mouth.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“hmmm I think you like this,” she taunted. John was, at the moment, laughing too hard to speak. She dropped her focus now to his stomach. She leaned in and started to lick his belly button, while tickling his back at the same time.
“HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHANNOOOOHHAOOAOAHAMMOORREHAHAHAHAHAH!”
“Just tell me what I want to know”.
“HAHAHANNOOOAHAHAIANCCCAHAHAHAHAAN’T!”
“Yes you can”.
“NOOOOHOHOHOOHOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Hmmmm,” she sighed as she ceased. John had a glazed look across his face, his body soaked in sweat, his chest heaved in and out, “your will is stronger than you let on”.
“I won’t tell you,” he said weakly.
“We’ll soon find out, Weber, Johansson?” The two guards reentered, “take him down and put him in the stocks!”
*John opened his eyes slowly, groggy still from the shock wave of 88 shell. Rolling his head from side to side, he scanned to room. Dark, moist, and cold it was very uninviting and rather intimidating. Now having regained most of his senses he realized that he was unable to move. Not that he was paralyzed but in fact, was restrained at his ankles and wrists to the chair he was occupying. Suddenly, a light above him flashed on, sending a wave of blinding brightness into John’s eyes. Once his eyes had adjusted he was finally able to take in his surroundings. The sight sent fear throughout his body; he was in a dungeon, complete with works. Racks, stocks, x-frames, cages, and chains littered the stone room. The wooden door across the way opened and in stepped three shadows. Stepping into the light they were revealed a beautiful 5’ 4” blonde woman and two heavily armed guards. The Swastika armbands caused John’s heart to sink, he had been captured.
The woman spoke up first, “John O’Bryan?”
His face remained stoic, but gave a slight nod.
She smiled, “Well, Mr. O’Bryan, you have got yourself in quite a predicament”.
“Private First Class O’Bryan, John, serial number 01438590,” John recited.
She laughed, “Hahaha, yes I know, I know a lot about you”.
“What?”
She sighed, “You Americans, always getting caught with your hand in the jar”, she replied, waving John’s ID papers and wallet. He slumped down in embarrassment.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked meekly
“Hahahaaa, have you not heard the stories?” she laughed.
In fact John had; awful stories of abuse and torture at the hands of Nazi’s had filled the campfires back at the front. His face began to turn pale.
“Hahaa, no worries though, I’ve something different in store for you” she smiled.
“What do you mean?”
“Private O’Bryan, insolence is not found as a quality of a gentleman”, she said coldly, “I ask the questions, not you”.
He nodded in compliance.
Turning to the two guards, “I want him ready when I return, do not hurt him, but if resists in any way, you know what to do” she said. The guards snapped a salute and descended upon John.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER . . .
John didn’t know what to make of his situation now; he was naked and tied to the x-frame next to his chair. The guards had untied him and forced him to strip, then they restrained him to the wooden structure and left. The door soon opened and in stepped the Gestapo interrogatress. She had changed her clothes from the 3 piece dress uniform to a black leather lingerie outfit.
“As you can plainly see, Private O’Bryan, I have a fascination with torture. She picked up a feather on the table as she passed by it, “but not just any kind of torture, tell me, Private O’Bryan, are you . . . ticklish?”
He snapped to her, eyes widened in fear.
“Hahahaaa, I’ll take that as a yes,” she smiled. With that she lowered the feather to bare armpit, “you see, this is how it’s going work, I’m going to ask you a question, and you’ll answer it, otherwise . . .” she brushed the tip against his skin.
John tensed up immediately, shutting his eyes, straining to keep his mouth closed.
“Haha, you get tickled”. She took the feather away and John sank back against his bonds.
“Now, where shall we start?” she asked, “something simple, how about your age?”
“Wha-wha-what does that matter?” John replied.
“Not going to answer?”
“No wait I didn’t me-AHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!” John bellowed. She had caught him off guard with a swift rib attack. He bucked and strained against the cuffs.
“HAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAAAHAHAAPLEEAHAHAHAHAHASSESTOOHHAHAHAHAP!” he screamed.
“Your age!” she demanded as she danced her long nails up and down his sensitive sides.
“HAHAHEHEHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHHEEEEIGGHTEEHEHEHEHEEEN!”
“That’s better,” she said, stopping the torture. John, breathing heavily, choked out a plea.
“Please, please don’t do that anymore”.
“Awww does he not like it?” she cooed, “The little soldier doesn’t like the tickles?”
“Noooo,” he yelled.
“Well that’s too bad, because that was just a trial, now I get to ask you the relevant ones” she said with a grin.
He whimpered, sinking back against his bonds.
“So, what’s your unit, where is your unit, and what are your unit’s operation orders?”
“I can’t,” he replied.
She sighed, “Listen, you don’t like this, so why the charade?”
“I just can’t!” he screamed.
“Fine,” she replied, lowering her hands to his armpits. Slowly she scrapped his hollows, he began to giggle crazily. Quickening her pace she traveled up and down his arms, going from one to all fingers randomly. He started bucking as the deep belly laughs flowed from his stretched mouth.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“hmmm I think you like this,” she taunted. John was, at the moment, laughing too hard to speak. She dropped her focus now to his stomach. She leaned in and started to lick his belly button, while tickling his back at the same time.
“HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHANNOOOOHHAOOAOAHAMMOORREHAHAHAHAHAH!”
“Just tell me what I want to know”.
“HAHAHANNOOOAHAHAIANCCCAHAHAHAHAAN’T!”
“Yes you can”.
“NOOOOHOHOHOOHOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Hmmmm,” she sighed as she ceased. John had a glazed look across his face, his body soaked in sweat, his chest heaved in and out, “your will is stronger than you let on”.
“I won’t tell you,” he said weakly.
“We’ll soon find out, Weber, Johansson?” The two guards reentered, “take him down and put him in the stocks!”
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