Valerie heard the other party enter the room. This person did not wear the heavy jackboots the first person -- the one who knew her identity and had discovered her extreme ticklishness -- was wearing. Her interrogator spoke. The new entrant in the room spoke back. A woman.
Valerie couldn't see, of course. But from the sound of the ponderous boots hitting the cement floor she assumed the man must be a soldier, or a police officer...an authority figure of some kind. The woman was more of a mistery. Her footwear did not give her away. It made only a gentle brushing noise on the stone floor. Soft-soled shoes, maybe athletic shoes, maybe bare feet. It wouldn't be so odd. The room was cool, and the floor cooler, but everything else in this Third World backwater was hellishly hot.
They talked. The woman was informed of Valerie's insane ticklishness, and a two-person tickle would be just the torture to wring the information from her. The woman was skeptical. She suggested a more traditional torture. The man reminded her that Valerie was a foreigner and that it would be better to leave her body with no evidence of abuse. Save the flogging and the beating of the soles of the feet to their own people. There was no way, the man insisted, a woman as ticklish as Valerie could withstand such an interrogation technique.
"Aren't you ticklish?" the man asked the woman.
"Yes, of course I am, but I..."
"How would you feel to be where she is now?"
The woman paused, then said something that Valerie didn't fully understand, but sounded vaguely like "let's do it."
The two stepped closer, on either side of Valerie's naked, helpless body. She couldn't see them. She could feel them. And smell them. The man reeked of cigarettes. The woman of the kind of soap people used in this country. She waited, her body tensing up in anticipation of the torture she was about to endure.
Valerie quivered violently as 10 fingers began wiggling down her sides, from her elbows to that spot just below her waist that her husband discovered on their first anniversary. The horrible feeling shot through her body as she tried to twist herself to avoid the torment.
"Naaaaa-oooooo, naaaaaaa-oooooooo, please naaaaaaaa..." Valerie screamed
"No no no no ahahahahahahahaha no pleeeeeeeeeeeze naaaaaaaaaa-oooooo."
For 10 minutes the two of them, one on each side, worked over the American woman's ticklish flesh.
"Ahhhhhhhh no no no no staaaaaaaaaaap ahahahahahahahahahaha. Nooooo."
Valerie felt her breasts slapping against each other as her torturers moved their horrible fingertips across her bare belly, and up and down her armpits and ribcage. She clenched her fists, although by now she had no feeling in her fingers and hands from having them tied above her head for so long. The pain in her elbows and shoulders, however, were excrutiating.
On they went, and on Valerie screamed and bellowed. Were they really after information, or was this the kind of torture countries used to send a message to others not to make waves?
At last, they stopped. Valerie heard the man's boots take a step back. She hung her head and gasped for air, her face stained with tears that even her blindfold couldn't absorb, and her long blonde hair falling across her face in a tangled mess.
"So, will you tell us why you're here?"
Valerie could not speak, but she shook her head.
"No?"
A few seconds passed before Valerie again felt their fingers stroking her bare belly. She let out a throaty screech. She laughed hysterically, contorted her body in a vain attempt to avoid her tormentors' hands, begged for mercy. Valerie's face turned red. Sweat poured from her brow despite the chilly atmosphere in the room. She tried kicking her legs but her ankles were securely fastened to the table, preventing all but the smallest motion.
"Pleeeeeze, pleeeeeeeeeze nooooooooo," Valerie hollered as the tickling went unabated. They tickled her hips, her navel, her chin, anywhere they could to draw a reaction. That seemed to be everywhere. Valerie was ticklish beyond what even she thought were her limits.
Again, they stopped. It was less tickling than before, but Valerie gasped for air even harder this time. How much more could she stand? She knew she was never to reveal herself or agency business. She had to endure. There was no alternative.
"Now, for the last time, why did your agency send you here?"
Valerie said nothing. She wouldn't even shake her head. She was too weak for even that. She heard the woman giggle, as if she were enjoying herself immensely.
"We are going to untie your hands, Valerie," the man said. "Don't think we're letting you go. We will just tie your hands together and connect it to this ring between your legs. Unless you want to tell us what we need to know. If not, your torture will continue. Death is your only escape."
The ring. Valerie had barely noticed it as her arms were being secured to the wall and her legs were being strapped down to the table. It lay somewhere between her knees and ankles.
The interrogators freed Valerie's arms. Slowly, the feeling returned to her hands and fingers. The freedom was short-lived, as Valerie's wrists were quickly bound in front of her, with her hands in a praying positions, and a scond rope was tied around the one that held her hands in place. Her upper body was pulled slightly forward so that her bare nipples were pointing to the place where she'd like to send this bastard and his toady assistant.
The man adjusted Valerie's blindfold, pulling out a few more hairs so that now almost all of her thick blonde hair was hanging along the side of her face. Her face was now obscured to anyone not standing directly in front of her. Then, Valerie heard the boots take two steps down. Not away from her. Down. To the other end of the table. To her feet.
Oh God, please, no! Not that, please. Please don't let them tickle my feet!!
Chapter IV: Stay tuned for the conclusion of Valerie's ordeal
Valerie couldn't see, of course. But from the sound of the ponderous boots hitting the cement floor she assumed the man must be a soldier, or a police officer...an authority figure of some kind. The woman was more of a mistery. Her footwear did not give her away. It made only a gentle brushing noise on the stone floor. Soft-soled shoes, maybe athletic shoes, maybe bare feet. It wouldn't be so odd. The room was cool, and the floor cooler, but everything else in this Third World backwater was hellishly hot.
They talked. The woman was informed of Valerie's insane ticklishness, and a two-person tickle would be just the torture to wring the information from her. The woman was skeptical. She suggested a more traditional torture. The man reminded her that Valerie was a foreigner and that it would be better to leave her body with no evidence of abuse. Save the flogging and the beating of the soles of the feet to their own people. There was no way, the man insisted, a woman as ticklish as Valerie could withstand such an interrogation technique.
"Aren't you ticklish?" the man asked the woman.
"Yes, of course I am, but I..."
"How would you feel to be where she is now?"
The woman paused, then said something that Valerie didn't fully understand, but sounded vaguely like "let's do it."
The two stepped closer, on either side of Valerie's naked, helpless body. She couldn't see them. She could feel them. And smell them. The man reeked of cigarettes. The woman of the kind of soap people used in this country. She waited, her body tensing up in anticipation of the torture she was about to endure.
Valerie quivered violently as 10 fingers began wiggling down her sides, from her elbows to that spot just below her waist that her husband discovered on their first anniversary. The horrible feeling shot through her body as she tried to twist herself to avoid the torment.
"Naaaaa-oooooo, naaaaaaa-oooooooo, please naaaaaaaa..." Valerie screamed
"No no no no ahahahahahahahaha no pleeeeeeeeeeeze naaaaaaaaaa-oooooo."
For 10 minutes the two of them, one on each side, worked over the American woman's ticklish flesh.
"Ahhhhhhhh no no no no staaaaaaaaaaap ahahahahahahahahahaha. Nooooo."
Valerie felt her breasts slapping against each other as her torturers moved their horrible fingertips across her bare belly, and up and down her armpits and ribcage. She clenched her fists, although by now she had no feeling in her fingers and hands from having them tied above her head for so long. The pain in her elbows and shoulders, however, were excrutiating.
On they went, and on Valerie screamed and bellowed. Were they really after information, or was this the kind of torture countries used to send a message to others not to make waves?
At last, they stopped. Valerie heard the man's boots take a step back. She hung her head and gasped for air, her face stained with tears that even her blindfold couldn't absorb, and her long blonde hair falling across her face in a tangled mess.
"So, will you tell us why you're here?"
Valerie could not speak, but she shook her head.
"No?"
A few seconds passed before Valerie again felt their fingers stroking her bare belly. She let out a throaty screech. She laughed hysterically, contorted her body in a vain attempt to avoid her tormentors' hands, begged for mercy. Valerie's face turned red. Sweat poured from her brow despite the chilly atmosphere in the room. She tried kicking her legs but her ankles were securely fastened to the table, preventing all but the smallest motion.
"Pleeeeeze, pleeeeeeeeeze nooooooooo," Valerie hollered as the tickling went unabated. They tickled her hips, her navel, her chin, anywhere they could to draw a reaction. That seemed to be everywhere. Valerie was ticklish beyond what even she thought were her limits.
Again, they stopped. It was less tickling than before, but Valerie gasped for air even harder this time. How much more could she stand? She knew she was never to reveal herself or agency business. She had to endure. There was no alternative.
"Now, for the last time, why did your agency send you here?"
Valerie said nothing. She wouldn't even shake her head. She was too weak for even that. She heard the woman giggle, as if she were enjoying herself immensely.
"We are going to untie your hands, Valerie," the man said. "Don't think we're letting you go. We will just tie your hands together and connect it to this ring between your legs. Unless you want to tell us what we need to know. If not, your torture will continue. Death is your only escape."
The ring. Valerie had barely noticed it as her arms were being secured to the wall and her legs were being strapped down to the table. It lay somewhere between her knees and ankles.
The interrogators freed Valerie's arms. Slowly, the feeling returned to her hands and fingers. The freedom was short-lived, as Valerie's wrists were quickly bound in front of her, with her hands in a praying positions, and a scond rope was tied around the one that held her hands in place. Her upper body was pulled slightly forward so that her bare nipples were pointing to the place where she'd like to send this bastard and his toady assistant.
The man adjusted Valerie's blindfold, pulling out a few more hairs so that now almost all of her thick blonde hair was hanging along the side of her face. Her face was now obscured to anyone not standing directly in front of her. Then, Valerie heard the boots take two steps down. Not away from her. Down. To the other end of the table. To her feet.
Oh God, please, no! Not that, please. Please don't let them tickle my feet!!
Chapter IV: Stay tuned for the conclusion of Valerie's ordeal
