C.K. Storyteller
3rd Level Blue Feather
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2007
- Messages
- 5,729
- Points
- 0
Greetings. I am a storyteller.
It has been quite a while since I've written a story here in the TMF.
Truth be told, it's been a while since I've even thought of an idea for a story.
Instead, I've wandered the forums, trying to get a handle on how things work here.
It hasn't been easy.
In my travels, I've discovered that the TMF is as varied as the rest of the world.
Each person has their own interests, their own likes and dislikes.
I like that.
To that end (and also because its the wee hours of the morning), I realized that I
should stick to the stories I like the best. With that realization, the muse paid me a visit.
With that being said, here is the latest in what will hopefully be a long line of stories.
I hope you enjoy it.
Alas, if you don't. . .
Well, as the Great Dane Victor Borge said,
"If you don't, there's not a damn thing I can do about it."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was an average Saturday morning.
Well, as average as can be when you work for the government.
Taylor sat on the couch in her apartment, watching the Food Network. It was the only channel
she watched with any regularity. The satellite dish only picked up a handful, and most of the others
were either too boring for words or were blocked by the chipheads who worked in IT.
She didn't mind. She enjoyed the Food Network enough.
Her work didn't allow for much TV time, and that was just fine with her.
---
She had been selected right out of college, the perfect candidate for the government. A young woman with no family to speak of,
(her father had disappeared when she was an infant, and her mother thought that college tuition was the end of their relationship.)
and no real ties to a specific area of the country.
When they approached her regardng the position, she had accepted before they even had a chance to explain the perks.
Over the next year and half, she was trained in all the usual fields. She proved to be a quick study.
She was a natural at international relations, and soon had learned 3 languages.
She thrived in self-defense and combat strategies, often taking on men twice her size and winning.
Her best subject, however, was psychology and information retrieval.
Her beauty and innocent looks were a complete change from the normal interrogators, and she was easily able to win
the trust of any prisoner she happened to question. More often than not, she got the information she needed simply by being friendly.
On the off chance that she was unsuccessful, however, she had other methods of persuasion.
Noone had ever scored as high as she did on the final exams for the program, nor did they crack as many prisoners as she did.
Upon completed, she was coveted by a number of high-level organizations in Washington. She chose to work for the NSA.
More specifically, she chose Sector Three.
---
Sector Three is a secret organization that works above the heads of just about every other "top" security organization in the country.
In fact, Sector Three was more than just an American organization; it had ties around the world.
The base of Sector Three was a small string of islands off the Atlantic Coast. From aerial or nautical view, these islands
looked more like a paradise than a government base, and that's how they liked it.
Sector Three was the home to the latest technology in the world, and was mostly based underground.
What wasn't subterranean was shielded by a series of highly advanced stealth screens, cleverly named "Cloaks and Mirrors."
This is why it looked so harmless.
Anyone who happened to attempt to approach the island was met by a large security force that was also shielded.
This island was where she was sent, given the codename "Agent T." Since that seemed a bit stuffy, she called herself Taylor.
She had been there for years, buried in her work, loving every minute of it.
---
As she was sitting on the couch, watching the Food Network, the laptop by her side chirped. She sighed, turning the TV off and
pulling the computer onto her lap.
"You've Got Mail!"
(No, they don't have AOL. Just another joke by those IT guys.)
---
To: Agent T
From: The Director
Subject: New Client
There is someone I would like you to meet. A particularly tough nut to crack. Building A5. Apartment 6. No need to be nice. Or ask questions.
---
She smiled as she read over the message. The Director could be such a prick sometimes.
They were all tough nuts to crack, that was why they were here.
She had never failed to crack one yet, why would this be any different?
Also, that whole Apartment thing. Even for something as secret as Sector Three, there was this need for people to make it seem pleasant.
The "Apartment" was little more than a metal table in a barren room.
However, not needing to ask questions was a bit strange.
"I must be a Welcome Wagon," she thought.
She looked forward to the assignment. She got up to make herself presentable.
(If I may, I'd like to take the time to share with you Agent T's dossier. It might give you an idea of who we are dealing with.
File: Agent T
Name: Unknown
Alias: Answers to Taylor
Age: 30
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 130
Hair: Dk. Brown
Eyes: Brown
Occupation: Information Specialist
Description: Agent T has been working for S3 for the past 7 years. Lead Inf. Spec.
Specializes in gentle persuasion and tactile interrogation.
Considered to be one of S3's most valuable assets.
There, now you have a picture. )
She dressed in her typical work outfit. Black dress pants and T-shirt, with a white blouse over it. She grabbed her bag and was out the door.
---
It took a few minutes to cross the courtyard from the residential block to the "Apartments." She swiped her pass outside the main entrance to Building A6, and the door slid open.
She headed inside, feeling the refreshing blast of AC hit her face as she did so. (One of the other ways Sector Three keeps their "clients" comfortable.)
As she walked through the security office, she noticed the cameras were shut down. This made things more interesting. Generally, all parts of the Apartments were under constant surveillance. If the cameras were off, then whoever she was visiting was someone that The Director was trying to keep a secret. This should be fun.
She strolled down the corridor, glancing into the cells as she did so. Most were empty; Sector Three didn't keep anyone longer than necessary.
There were a couple of prisoners who belonged to other interrogators on the island. Most sat huddled in the corner of their cell, gazing her way.
She knew they couldn't see her, thanks to the "Fourth Wall" technology.
(One of the other technical wonders of Sector Three was the "Fourth Wall". This was another shield that kept the prisoners inside their Apartment. Once locked, the shield took on the look of a fourth wall, increasing the claustrophobia of the clients. Anyone who tried to break the Fourth Wall found themselves thrown back into the cell. Think force field, but not as Trekkie.)
Taylor stopped and glanced into Apartment 6. The glance turned into a quizzical stare.
Inside the cell was a woman who looked to be in her late thirties - early forties. She had dark red hair that barely touched her shoulders and piercing blue eyes. She was obviously in shape, as made readily apparent by the "Sector Three client apparel". (Generally prisoners are clad in hospital green pants, being mostly males. Since this prisoner was most certainly not a male, there was a very small tank top added, revealing a toned stomach. She was also barefoot, which was a sign that she was a prisoner for Agent T.)
She also had magnetic shackles on her wrists and ankles. These were a present Taylor receieved from the IT guys last year. Since most of the cell was metal, they made for very convenient tools. They were currently deactivated, but she carried the cure for that in her bag.
Taylor was puzzled. This was not what she had expected. Sure, she had to interrogate women before, but the message from The Director had said this was a tough nut to crack. The woman in the cell did not seem to fit that description.
"Well," Taylor thought to herself, "I suppose I wouldn't strike most people as a cruel and unusual person either. Perhaps her looks are deceiving as well."
Taking a moment to focus her energies, Taylor stepped forward and put the code into the keypad next to the "Fourth Wall." With a soft hiss, the wall dissolved, and Taylor stepped into the cell.
---
"Good morning," she said, smiling at her prisoner. With a hiss, the fourth wall appeared once again. "Been waiting long?"
The prisoner took a cautious step back, assuming what looked to be like a defensive stance. She was silent.
"I'm sure you haven't," Agent Taylor went on, continuing to smile. "I just got word you were here. Usually I'm the first to know. I'm Agent Taylor. And you are?"
The prisoner remained silent, eyes wandering around the room, looking for an escape.
"Come on, now," Taylor said, placing her bag on the table. "How can we chat if we don't know each others names?"
"Don't need to chat," said the prisoner.
"Sure we do. I need to find out why you're here, so I can help you get out." Taylor rummaged in her bag, fingers clasping the device that would trigger the magnetic shackles.
"I can get out on my own. Don't need your help."
"Now this has started out all wrong. If I'm going to be nice to you, you need to be nice back. Those are the rules. So, I'll ask again. What's your name?"
The prisoner shook her head, rearing back as if to strike.
Taylor shook her head as well.
"Pity," she said, pressing a button on the device. Within seconds, the prisoner's shackles beeped, began glowing, and the prisoner was pulled back against the wall."
---
Taylor continued smiling, placing the shackle control on the table. The prisoner had been magnetically locked to four metal plates in the walls. Two were right along the floor, spread shoulder width apart. The other two were in line with her chest, but those were spread out further across the back wall, stretching her arms out wide, as if wanting a big hug. The prisoner lunged forward, but found herself quite unable to escape.
"I had really hoped you would play along, my dear. It is so much easier when you play along." She took off the white blouse, leaving her in the T-shirt and pants. She then approached slowly, still smiling, eyes locked on her prisoners.
The prisoner continued struggling, but Taylor recognized the first hint of fear in her eyes. No prisoner ever knew exactly what Taylor was going to do when she first entered the cell. She looked so harmless and innocent to begin with, but then she locked eyes with them. Taylor had broken quite a number of prisoners simply by her stare. It penetrated deep within them, almost giving them a preview of what was to come. While this prisoner did not quiver with fear the way some others had, Taylor knew she had asserted herself and her power. The prisoner knew that even though she was taller by a few inches, Taylor was in charge.
Taylor stopped a few inches away from the prisoner, placing her fingertips on the prisoner's inner arm.
"Last chance," she said. "One little name, and we can continue our conversation."
The prisoner's mouth opened slightly, giving Taylor that rush of adrenaline that always came whenever she had made a step towards success.
"You know I won't tell you," the prisoner whispered, giving the slightest hint of a smile.
Taylor froze for a second, stunned. She hadn't expected this kind of resistance. Her eyes hardened, and a sadistic smile spread across her face.
"Suit yourself."
Taylor's fingertips began tracing their way slowly down the prisoner's arms.
---
To the casual observer, it might seem like the idea of tickling as a form of interrogation is a bit silly. After all, it is just tickling, right? That's not so bad, is it?
Ask someone who's been tickle tortured.
While there are plenty of people who enjoy being tickled to the point of sheer insanity, for most, it is most definitely a torture.
I mean, think about it. You're laughing fit to burst, you can't get oxygen, and if the person tickling you is skilled at it, forget it!
Taylor encountered many people like that at Sector Three. They did not think her particular brand of interrogation was useful or fitting. They scoffed at her. Until she challenged them to endure it.
Soon after, everyone at Sector Three agreed Agent T was the interrogator they feared most. Noone there ever question tickling's effectiveness again.
As for Taylor, she'd been tickling people for as long as she could remember. It was always fun, but she had never thought of it as anything more than that until high school. That was when she had discovered tickling as a form of torture.
She'd seen it on the Internet. The combination of bondage and tickling made for some intense scenes, it seemed, and she was dying to try it. Many of her high school friends, of both genders, found themselves tricked into being tied up and tickled by Taylor many times. She lost a couple friends that way, but never seemed to mind much. She even found a couple people that seemed to like it, although she always found ways to push their limits.
This continued into college, and when she found a way to carry it over into a career, she jumped at the chance.
---
The prisoner's face contorted into a grimace as Taylor's fingertips slowly slid down her arms. Taylor watched her face intently, studying every reaction, making mental notes on anything she could use to her advantage later. The prisoner's eyes scrunched up when Taylor traced her inner biceps, and she jerked her hips back and forth when Taylor circled her elbow.
"Well, look at this," Taylor whispered. "You're ticklish, aren't you?"
The prisoner continued struggling to keep her composure, but Taylor's expert fingers continued working their way down.
"Now, you're not going to keep up this silent treatment all day, are you? Don't you want to laugh?"
The prisoner pounded her body against the wall, obviously in extreme duress. Taylor giggled to herself, now inches away from the prisoner's exposed underarms.
"If I might make a suggestion, I'd stop fighting it. I'm going to win anyway, and you're just wasting energy struggling."
The prisoner's eyes opened, glancing at her. That's when Taylor struck.
Her fingernails (kept at a medium length and moderately sharp) danced up and down across the prisoner's underarms, sliding one way, then the other.
The prisoner, taken by surprise at this attack, began laughing openly. She lunged forward, held fast by the shackles, laughing louder and louder with each sweep of Taylor's nails. She strained at the bonds, then collapsed back against the wall, now trying to bring her hands to her sides.
"No point in trying to escape. These shackles have held much stronger prisoners than you. Besides, if you move too much, I'll have to punish you."
Taylor's eyes blazed as she continued tickling her helpless prisoner. After another few minutes of underarm tickling, she slid her hands down slightly, now tickling the upper ribcage. This caused a new peal of laughter from the prisoner, and increased struggling.
"Must be a good spot," thought Taylor, making a mental note.
The prisoner howled with laughter, bucking and jerking ferociously. She was beginning to sweat, and her muscles were straining from the struggling.
Taylor stopped quickly, watching the prisoner fall back against the wall.
"What did I say? Did I not say you'd be punished for moving too much?"
The prisoner nodded weakly, opening her mouth to protest.
"It's too late for that," Taylor said, glaring in mock anger. She grabbed the control for the shackles, freeing the prisoners hands. Before she could react, Taylor had grasped the prisoner's wrists and pushed them over her head. With a second push of a button, the shackles locked themselves against two other metal plates on the ceiling.
The prisoner now hung from the ceiling, stretched out and totally helpless. She realized this, and began to speak.
"No, please. I'll tell you my name, I swear."
"Sorry, but you had your chance," said Taylor. "I'd love to know your name, but it's not getting you any reprieve just yet. You have to take me seriously, or this will never work between us.
Taylor returned her hands to the upper ribcage, and began tweaking and prodding. The prisoner screamed with anguish, unable to move an inch away from Taylor's fingertips. She laughed and laughed, increasing in volume every time Taylor's hands moved down her ribcage.
Taylor was impressed. Not only was her prisoner very sensitive, but she was as tough a nut to crack as The Director had said. In Taylor's vast experience, she was rarely surprised anymore, but the events of the morning had been a bit shocking. Not that she was complaining in the least.
After another five or ten minutes, the torture stopped. The prisoner, teary eyed and gasping for air, hung limply from the shackles. Taylor cupped her face in her hands and made eye contact.
"Name?"
"Sara," the prisoner whispered.
"Thank you." Taylor released the shackles, catching Sara as she collapsed into her arms. She carried her to the table, laying her down gently. Sara did not struggle, but kept her eyes locked on Taylor's every movement.
"What happens now?" asked Sara, eyeing Taylor carefully.
"Now I go get you a drink," said Taylor, smiling. "Then I'll come back and you can tell me what you're doing here."
Sara sat up slowly, but Taylor could tell she had recovered quickly. She looked ready to strike again.
"We'll see."
Taylor was shocked, but quickly recovered and grinned.
"If you want to play some more, that's just fine with me."
She pressed the button on the shackles, leaving Sara locked to the bed, then used the code to dissolve the Fourth Wall.
---
Thus concludes part 1 of Agent T and Sector 3.
Will there be a part 2? Obviously!
When will it come out? That's a better question.
As usual, feedback is always appreciated.
It has been quite a while since I've written a story here in the TMF.
Truth be told, it's been a while since I've even thought of an idea for a story.
Instead, I've wandered the forums, trying to get a handle on how things work here.
It hasn't been easy.
In my travels, I've discovered that the TMF is as varied as the rest of the world.
Each person has their own interests, their own likes and dislikes.
I like that.
To that end (and also because its the wee hours of the morning), I realized that I
should stick to the stories I like the best. With that realization, the muse paid me a visit.
With that being said, here is the latest in what will hopefully be a long line of stories.
I hope you enjoy it.
Alas, if you don't. . .
Well, as the Great Dane Victor Borge said,
"If you don't, there's not a damn thing I can do about it."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was an average Saturday morning.
Well, as average as can be when you work for the government.
Taylor sat on the couch in her apartment, watching the Food Network. It was the only channel
she watched with any regularity. The satellite dish only picked up a handful, and most of the others
were either too boring for words or were blocked by the chipheads who worked in IT.
She didn't mind. She enjoyed the Food Network enough.
Her work didn't allow for much TV time, and that was just fine with her.
---
She had been selected right out of college, the perfect candidate for the government. A young woman with no family to speak of,
(her father had disappeared when she was an infant, and her mother thought that college tuition was the end of their relationship.)
and no real ties to a specific area of the country.
When they approached her regardng the position, she had accepted before they even had a chance to explain the perks.
Over the next year and half, she was trained in all the usual fields. She proved to be a quick study.
She was a natural at international relations, and soon had learned 3 languages.
She thrived in self-defense and combat strategies, often taking on men twice her size and winning.
Her best subject, however, was psychology and information retrieval.
Her beauty and innocent looks were a complete change from the normal interrogators, and she was easily able to win
the trust of any prisoner she happened to question. More often than not, she got the information she needed simply by being friendly.
On the off chance that she was unsuccessful, however, she had other methods of persuasion.
Noone had ever scored as high as she did on the final exams for the program, nor did they crack as many prisoners as she did.
Upon completed, she was coveted by a number of high-level organizations in Washington. She chose to work for the NSA.
More specifically, she chose Sector Three.
---
Sector Three is a secret organization that works above the heads of just about every other "top" security organization in the country.
In fact, Sector Three was more than just an American organization; it had ties around the world.
The base of Sector Three was a small string of islands off the Atlantic Coast. From aerial or nautical view, these islands
looked more like a paradise than a government base, and that's how they liked it.
Sector Three was the home to the latest technology in the world, and was mostly based underground.
What wasn't subterranean was shielded by a series of highly advanced stealth screens, cleverly named "Cloaks and Mirrors."
This is why it looked so harmless.
Anyone who happened to attempt to approach the island was met by a large security force that was also shielded.
This island was where she was sent, given the codename "Agent T." Since that seemed a bit stuffy, she called herself Taylor.
She had been there for years, buried in her work, loving every minute of it.
---
As she was sitting on the couch, watching the Food Network, the laptop by her side chirped. She sighed, turning the TV off and
pulling the computer onto her lap.
"You've Got Mail!"
(No, they don't have AOL. Just another joke by those IT guys.)
---
To: Agent T
From: The Director
Subject: New Client
There is someone I would like you to meet. A particularly tough nut to crack. Building A5. Apartment 6. No need to be nice. Or ask questions.
---
She smiled as she read over the message. The Director could be such a prick sometimes.
They were all tough nuts to crack, that was why they were here.
She had never failed to crack one yet, why would this be any different?
Also, that whole Apartment thing. Even for something as secret as Sector Three, there was this need for people to make it seem pleasant.
The "Apartment" was little more than a metal table in a barren room.
However, not needing to ask questions was a bit strange.
"I must be a Welcome Wagon," she thought.
She looked forward to the assignment. She got up to make herself presentable.
(If I may, I'd like to take the time to share with you Agent T's dossier. It might give you an idea of who we are dealing with.
File: Agent T
Name: Unknown
Alias: Answers to Taylor
Age: 30
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 130
Hair: Dk. Brown
Eyes: Brown
Occupation: Information Specialist
Description: Agent T has been working for S3 for the past 7 years. Lead Inf. Spec.
Specializes in gentle persuasion and tactile interrogation.
Considered to be one of S3's most valuable assets.
There, now you have a picture. )
She dressed in her typical work outfit. Black dress pants and T-shirt, with a white blouse over it. She grabbed her bag and was out the door.
---
It took a few minutes to cross the courtyard from the residential block to the "Apartments." She swiped her pass outside the main entrance to Building A6, and the door slid open.
She headed inside, feeling the refreshing blast of AC hit her face as she did so. (One of the other ways Sector Three keeps their "clients" comfortable.)
As she walked through the security office, she noticed the cameras were shut down. This made things more interesting. Generally, all parts of the Apartments were under constant surveillance. If the cameras were off, then whoever she was visiting was someone that The Director was trying to keep a secret. This should be fun.
She strolled down the corridor, glancing into the cells as she did so. Most were empty; Sector Three didn't keep anyone longer than necessary.
There were a couple of prisoners who belonged to other interrogators on the island. Most sat huddled in the corner of their cell, gazing her way.
She knew they couldn't see her, thanks to the "Fourth Wall" technology.
(One of the other technical wonders of Sector Three was the "Fourth Wall". This was another shield that kept the prisoners inside their Apartment. Once locked, the shield took on the look of a fourth wall, increasing the claustrophobia of the clients. Anyone who tried to break the Fourth Wall found themselves thrown back into the cell. Think force field, but not as Trekkie.)
Taylor stopped and glanced into Apartment 6. The glance turned into a quizzical stare.
Inside the cell was a woman who looked to be in her late thirties - early forties. She had dark red hair that barely touched her shoulders and piercing blue eyes. She was obviously in shape, as made readily apparent by the "Sector Three client apparel". (Generally prisoners are clad in hospital green pants, being mostly males. Since this prisoner was most certainly not a male, there was a very small tank top added, revealing a toned stomach. She was also barefoot, which was a sign that she was a prisoner for Agent T.)
She also had magnetic shackles on her wrists and ankles. These were a present Taylor receieved from the IT guys last year. Since most of the cell was metal, they made for very convenient tools. They were currently deactivated, but she carried the cure for that in her bag.
Taylor was puzzled. This was not what she had expected. Sure, she had to interrogate women before, but the message from The Director had said this was a tough nut to crack. The woman in the cell did not seem to fit that description.
"Well," Taylor thought to herself, "I suppose I wouldn't strike most people as a cruel and unusual person either. Perhaps her looks are deceiving as well."
Taking a moment to focus her energies, Taylor stepped forward and put the code into the keypad next to the "Fourth Wall." With a soft hiss, the wall dissolved, and Taylor stepped into the cell.
---
"Good morning," she said, smiling at her prisoner. With a hiss, the fourth wall appeared once again. "Been waiting long?"
The prisoner took a cautious step back, assuming what looked to be like a defensive stance. She was silent.
"I'm sure you haven't," Agent Taylor went on, continuing to smile. "I just got word you were here. Usually I'm the first to know. I'm Agent Taylor. And you are?"
The prisoner remained silent, eyes wandering around the room, looking for an escape.
"Come on, now," Taylor said, placing her bag on the table. "How can we chat if we don't know each others names?"
"Don't need to chat," said the prisoner.
"Sure we do. I need to find out why you're here, so I can help you get out." Taylor rummaged in her bag, fingers clasping the device that would trigger the magnetic shackles.
"I can get out on my own. Don't need your help."
"Now this has started out all wrong. If I'm going to be nice to you, you need to be nice back. Those are the rules. So, I'll ask again. What's your name?"
The prisoner shook her head, rearing back as if to strike.
Taylor shook her head as well.
"Pity," she said, pressing a button on the device. Within seconds, the prisoner's shackles beeped, began glowing, and the prisoner was pulled back against the wall."
---
Taylor continued smiling, placing the shackle control on the table. The prisoner had been magnetically locked to four metal plates in the walls. Two were right along the floor, spread shoulder width apart. The other two were in line with her chest, but those were spread out further across the back wall, stretching her arms out wide, as if wanting a big hug. The prisoner lunged forward, but found herself quite unable to escape.
"I had really hoped you would play along, my dear. It is so much easier when you play along." She took off the white blouse, leaving her in the T-shirt and pants. She then approached slowly, still smiling, eyes locked on her prisoners.
The prisoner continued struggling, but Taylor recognized the first hint of fear in her eyes. No prisoner ever knew exactly what Taylor was going to do when she first entered the cell. She looked so harmless and innocent to begin with, but then she locked eyes with them. Taylor had broken quite a number of prisoners simply by her stare. It penetrated deep within them, almost giving them a preview of what was to come. While this prisoner did not quiver with fear the way some others had, Taylor knew she had asserted herself and her power. The prisoner knew that even though she was taller by a few inches, Taylor was in charge.
Taylor stopped a few inches away from the prisoner, placing her fingertips on the prisoner's inner arm.
"Last chance," she said. "One little name, and we can continue our conversation."
The prisoner's mouth opened slightly, giving Taylor that rush of adrenaline that always came whenever she had made a step towards success.
"You know I won't tell you," the prisoner whispered, giving the slightest hint of a smile.
Taylor froze for a second, stunned. She hadn't expected this kind of resistance. Her eyes hardened, and a sadistic smile spread across her face.
"Suit yourself."
Taylor's fingertips began tracing their way slowly down the prisoner's arms.
---
To the casual observer, it might seem like the idea of tickling as a form of interrogation is a bit silly. After all, it is just tickling, right? That's not so bad, is it?
Ask someone who's been tickle tortured.
While there are plenty of people who enjoy being tickled to the point of sheer insanity, for most, it is most definitely a torture.
I mean, think about it. You're laughing fit to burst, you can't get oxygen, and if the person tickling you is skilled at it, forget it!
Taylor encountered many people like that at Sector Three. They did not think her particular brand of interrogation was useful or fitting. They scoffed at her. Until she challenged them to endure it.
Soon after, everyone at Sector Three agreed Agent T was the interrogator they feared most. Noone there ever question tickling's effectiveness again.
As for Taylor, she'd been tickling people for as long as she could remember. It was always fun, but she had never thought of it as anything more than that until high school. That was when she had discovered tickling as a form of torture.
She'd seen it on the Internet. The combination of bondage and tickling made for some intense scenes, it seemed, and she was dying to try it. Many of her high school friends, of both genders, found themselves tricked into being tied up and tickled by Taylor many times. She lost a couple friends that way, but never seemed to mind much. She even found a couple people that seemed to like it, although she always found ways to push their limits.
This continued into college, and when she found a way to carry it over into a career, she jumped at the chance.
---
The prisoner's face contorted into a grimace as Taylor's fingertips slowly slid down her arms. Taylor watched her face intently, studying every reaction, making mental notes on anything she could use to her advantage later. The prisoner's eyes scrunched up when Taylor traced her inner biceps, and she jerked her hips back and forth when Taylor circled her elbow.
"Well, look at this," Taylor whispered. "You're ticklish, aren't you?"
The prisoner continued struggling to keep her composure, but Taylor's expert fingers continued working their way down.
"Now, you're not going to keep up this silent treatment all day, are you? Don't you want to laugh?"
The prisoner pounded her body against the wall, obviously in extreme duress. Taylor giggled to herself, now inches away from the prisoner's exposed underarms.
"If I might make a suggestion, I'd stop fighting it. I'm going to win anyway, and you're just wasting energy struggling."
The prisoner's eyes opened, glancing at her. That's when Taylor struck.
Her fingernails (kept at a medium length and moderately sharp) danced up and down across the prisoner's underarms, sliding one way, then the other.
The prisoner, taken by surprise at this attack, began laughing openly. She lunged forward, held fast by the shackles, laughing louder and louder with each sweep of Taylor's nails. She strained at the bonds, then collapsed back against the wall, now trying to bring her hands to her sides.
"No point in trying to escape. These shackles have held much stronger prisoners than you. Besides, if you move too much, I'll have to punish you."
Taylor's eyes blazed as she continued tickling her helpless prisoner. After another few minutes of underarm tickling, she slid her hands down slightly, now tickling the upper ribcage. This caused a new peal of laughter from the prisoner, and increased struggling.
"Must be a good spot," thought Taylor, making a mental note.
The prisoner howled with laughter, bucking and jerking ferociously. She was beginning to sweat, and her muscles were straining from the struggling.
Taylor stopped quickly, watching the prisoner fall back against the wall.
"What did I say? Did I not say you'd be punished for moving too much?"
The prisoner nodded weakly, opening her mouth to protest.
"It's too late for that," Taylor said, glaring in mock anger. She grabbed the control for the shackles, freeing the prisoners hands. Before she could react, Taylor had grasped the prisoner's wrists and pushed them over her head. With a second push of a button, the shackles locked themselves against two other metal plates on the ceiling.
The prisoner now hung from the ceiling, stretched out and totally helpless. She realized this, and began to speak.
"No, please. I'll tell you my name, I swear."
"Sorry, but you had your chance," said Taylor. "I'd love to know your name, but it's not getting you any reprieve just yet. You have to take me seriously, or this will never work between us.
Taylor returned her hands to the upper ribcage, and began tweaking and prodding. The prisoner screamed with anguish, unable to move an inch away from Taylor's fingertips. She laughed and laughed, increasing in volume every time Taylor's hands moved down her ribcage.
Taylor was impressed. Not only was her prisoner very sensitive, but she was as tough a nut to crack as The Director had said. In Taylor's vast experience, she was rarely surprised anymore, but the events of the morning had been a bit shocking. Not that she was complaining in the least.
After another five or ten minutes, the torture stopped. The prisoner, teary eyed and gasping for air, hung limply from the shackles. Taylor cupped her face in her hands and made eye contact.
"Name?"
"Sara," the prisoner whispered.
"Thank you." Taylor released the shackles, catching Sara as she collapsed into her arms. She carried her to the table, laying her down gently. Sara did not struggle, but kept her eyes locked on Taylor's every movement.
"What happens now?" asked Sara, eyeing Taylor carefully.
"Now I go get you a drink," said Taylor, smiling. "Then I'll come back and you can tell me what you're doing here."
Sara sat up slowly, but Taylor could tell she had recovered quickly. She looked ready to strike again.
"We'll see."
Taylor was shocked, but quickly recovered and grinned.
"If you want to play some more, that's just fine with me."
She pressed the button on the shackles, leaving Sara locked to the bed, then used the code to dissolve the Fourth Wall.
---
Thus concludes part 1 of Agent T and Sector 3.
Will there be a part 2? Obviously!
When will it come out? That's a better question.
As usual, feedback is always appreciated.
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