Persuasive_Ben
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- Dec 28, 2007
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Monday: 9 Am: Calle de Santiago:
It was May in Madrid as Marco ambled down the plaza de Santiago towards the Banco de Espana. Nothing marked him as an assassin. His dark Italian suit hinted at his lean, muscular frame but his white teeth and good looks set him apart from the over-weight business men marching up and down the busy street. Marco reached into his pocket and produced a packet of Marlborough. His hands appeared soft and delicate. Not the hands of a killer, but his hands had taken many lives and possessed many skills.
The morning papers were dedicated to the Le Baiser, a priceless piece of 17th century artwork which had been stolen the night before. It was time for Marco to leave the fold, it wasn’t the first time he’d used his skills to line his pockets. But fist he needed information.
Marco pushed through the heavy glass doors and entered the vast marble belly of the bank. His eyes danced casually over its inhabitants settling on a security guard walking across the lobby. Marco matched the guards pace as he followed him to a metal security door. Before the door had chance to close Marco slid a credit card inside the frame, catching the bolt before it locked. The guard was greeted by a balled fist sending him sending him to the floor. He was in.
Marco pushed the heavy door back into place and glanced up the long marble corridor. His eyes fixed on a woman at the opposite end of the passage. Before the door closed he was running, nimbly unhooking the cuffs from the fallen guard without breaking stride. The girl flew into panic, jabbing the elevator button but it was too late. She swung round and hit out but the blow was caught and one of the cuffs clicked over her wrist. Furious, she struck out with her left hand only to be caught again. Click! Marco swivelled her around and hooked the cuffs over a nearby light fitting, raising her onto her toes. His hands scoured her uniform until he came across a set of ID tags.
“Marisa, I do not wish to harm you but I need your cooperation, is that understood?”
“Por favour Senior…”
“I need you to tell me who is responsible for all inter-federation transactions.”
“No entiendes, no entiendes…”
Marco approached the young woman from behind and took her in a lovers embrace, gently wrapping his left arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. He felt her buttocks clench as his hand slipped beneath her blouse. Shrill laughter soon reverberated down the marble hallway. The girl’s body thrashed and trembled as the hand roamed over her torso. Slowly he moved upwards, exploring the different curves of the girl’s body.
“Senora Adora Lopez!!! No ,Noooo!!! Porvaaahaha!!!Senora Lopez!!! Senoraaaahahaha!!!
Monday: 12:30pm: Eparador Newspaper HQ:
Martina slung the files down in front of her computer and took a mouthful of cold coffee. The office hummed to the sound of keyboards and mobile phones. She was a researcher for La Eperador, one of Spain’s largest newspapers. She had been following a criminal named The Red Feather for six months now. Only three facts were known about The Red Feather, she was female, in her late 30’s to early 40’s and spoke with a strong German accent.
Martina picked up one of the files and began leafing through the report. The Red Feather always operated alone and harboured no links with any other members of the crime world. She was considered one of the most dangerous and unpleasant criminals known to the authorities, not because she was violent, but the methods she used to get what she wanted. At that moment the door flew open and Bianca bounded into the room. Bianca was the new work experience student she had been ‘lucky’ enough to be appointed with.
“We have to go to the Banco de Espaina! There was a breach of security this morning”
“Sorry Bianca, we don’t get to run around chasing reports we’re not assigned to.”
“You don’t understand! Two employees have been taken in by the police. A security guard and a clerical assistant”
“so…”
“The security guard was knocked unconscious and the girl… well… there are reports of employees hearing hysterical laughter.”
“Call a taxi we’re going strait over”
Monday: 930pm: Casa de Senora Martinez Leon:
Marco had no problem finding the apartment. It was located in one of the wealthiest districts of the city. The flat was completely silent. The only light came from the busy street below but no noise intruded. Marco admired the lavish décor as he shifted soundlessly through the empty rooms.
He had guessed right, the heist had been a local operation. Marco knew that moving the painting would involve vast transfers of money, which were always conducted discreetly and legitimately by an international Federation Bank. His objective now was to uncover the parties behind the transaction.
He pushed open the study door and peered into she shadows. He was confronted by a woman sitting behind an impressive wooden bureau. He studied the silk scarf folded around her moth. Her ankles were bound to the desk in front of her, the soles of her feet shone with perspiration.
“Senora Adora Loez I presume”
Slowly Marco shut the door and entered the room. The woman shifted uneasily as he approached the desk. He surveyed the room until his eyes rested on a long red feather resting next to the woman’s feet. He reached down and picked up the floppy plume. Instantly the woman began wriggling against her bonds. Marco raised the feather and twizzled it menacingly between his fingers. He noted the smell the perspiration rising from the woman’s feet and the way her frantic toes slipped easily over one another. She’d already been through quite an ordeal Marco wasn’t the first person to pay a visit this evening. It looked like he’d guessed right a second time.
Monday: 11:30pm: Calle de Sol:
Martina set the pasta on the table next to the files. She brought the files home after racing to bank with Bianca. She was hungry and must have made enough pasta for five people. She picked up one of the folders and began studying the reports.
The last person targeted by The Red Feather was Lucas Ramos. A wealthy gangster involved in money laundering and harassment. His encounter lasted four and half hours, the poor man required six moths of counselling following his ordeal. Before that came Senora Camila Leon, a prosecution lawyer investigating a high profile fraud ring. The police found her in the back seat of her Mercedes, her bare feet trapped beneath the headrests. The case never came to court but Leon now takes prescription drugs to control her anxiety attacks. After each encounter most of her victims required counselling or medication. At every scene the police found a single red feather.
Martina took a swig of Coke and moved onto the next report. It turned out The Red Feather employed a remarkable technique when tickling her victims. Although the ordeals lasted an average one and a half hours she derived great pleasure from talking to them, using detailed commands and physical stimulus to coax responses out of her captives.
The Red Feather loved whispered cruel suggestions into her victim’s ears. She had them to remember times they’d been afraid, eventually taking them back to their childhood when they’d been terribly ticklish. She asked them to remember children’s cartoons where characters had been tickled for information. For up to an hour she whispered seductively into their ears. Only then did she advance with the feather, moving nearer and nearer until the tip was only millimetres away from her skin. Without touching she manoeuvred the tip slowly over her victim’s bare feet… a long stroke up the centre, tiny circles just beneath the toes.
Hovering precariously close to the skin she delighted in the smallest movements, the most subtle of twitches. Analysing the tiniest of movements, she knew her victims weaknesses long before applying the feathers wicked touch. Still whispering, she had them recall a time they’d been tickled.
The Red Feather always spoke slowly, accentuating her strong German accent.
“Cast your mind back to a time you were tickled. Take a second to do this now my dear. Who was tickling you? Had you provoked this person and were you secretly excited about being tickled?
Now, remember a time it ‘really’ tickled my dear. Make a picture in your mind, those helpless bare tootsies. Maybe you were young? Maybe you couldn’t move? It was unexpected; maybe you didn’t want that particular person to tickle you at all? But it really, really tickled…
What did you feel as this nasty person tickled you?
Where did the panic build up in your body?
Remember that spot you were praying would never be discovered!
And as I continue, the more excited you’re feeling and you can’t help yourself. You’re remembering just how it feels to be tickled.”
Slowly the feather moved over the dancing feet, patiently seeking out susceptible curves and unprotected grooves. Finally, she moved onto the toes, tormenting each digit systematically. One by one they submitted their sensitive little secrets.
Martina’s noticed how sweaty and slippery her hands had become. The whole evil process reminded her of a subject she’d back in collage called Nero Linguistic Programming. Suddenly, a terrible thought took hold and she her blood ran cold. Martina threw down her fork and swivelled over to her laptop. She punched NLP into a search engine and scanned the information.
For a brief moment Martina felt that same mixture of panic and fear she had as a child. Whoever this person was she was programming her victims, fiendishly tapping into their deepest fears and memories. She’d succeeded in reducing grown men to tears; the mere sight of a feather was enough to make them beg. At that moment Martina’s mobile began vibrating across the table.
Senora Lopez’s Apartment:
Marco selected an exquisite wooden stool and placed it at the foot of the desk. His captive came to life as he made himself at home, maybe she suspected what was about to happen. They were alone; the only sound came from the busy traffic below illuminating the delicate wrinkles etched across his victim’s shiny feet. The aroma of perspiration hung in the air mingled with the scent of heavily varnished wood. Marco studied her soles for a long second admiring the rope work keeping the anxious duo in place.
“Miss Lopez, in a second I am going to ask you a question. You may want to answer it immediately but that’s irrelevant… you will have your chance to speak later in the evening.”
Marco picked up the floppy plume and dangled the feather above Senora Lopez’s red toes. Instantly she began writhing in her seat. Marco brought the feather in front of her soles and waved it gently from side to side. There was something more to this than met the eye. The woman’s eyes grew wide with fear, pleading with her new captor. The feather snaked forward, the exposed soles arched backward trying to avoid the feathers searching tip. Marco followed the left foot, halting millimetres away from the taught skin.
The woman froze and tensed her entire body, her eyes screwed shut. Silence… she held her breath but felt nothing. Maybe it had gone away? She pictured the dark rouge feather in her mind, like the ones used by villains in the cartoons she’d seen as a child, the ones usually administered to nosey children whose single mortal fear was having their bare feet tickled.
The silky plume wisped over the woman’s soft skin whilst her feet played with the air, trying to detect the feathers wicked touch. Could she feel something? Had it finally happened? The tantalising tip slipped stealthily around her toes, carefully exploring the naked skin.
Her mind swam with colourful cartoon feathers. She pictured them weaving up and down, only the very tip stroking the skin… up and down, up and down, unable to get away. And most of all she remembered the laughter. The way the children giggled and pleaded. It was the worst punishment in the world… so very evil, so very, naughty.
At that moment the woman’s feet stood to attention, a bolt of cold fear surged through her body. It was her left foot, something soft and bristly curling around her middle toe… instant panic! She opened her eyes and searching for her attacker in the darkness. She saw the floppy rouge feather waving slowly over her left sole, up and down, up and down, up and down...
Her entire body flew into a tormented frenzy punctuated by various whimpers and squeals. The noises soon gave way to flurries of giggles as the feathers continued up and down, up and down…
Marco studded his victim; he knew feathers were used as visual tools. He sent the plume down the outside of the right foot. Every stroke was agony; the slightest of touches seemed unbearable. Senora Lopez was a woman in her early forties yet she laughed like a young child at the mercy of her mothers fingers.
Marco moved onto the right foot, feeding the feather along a crease which formed as she scrunched up her toes. Once again he admired the rope work. The tormented feet were unable to move away, forced stand still as the tickly, tickly tip barley grazed the skin, up and down, up and down...
Giggles continued to spill from her lips. Marco caught sight of the massive grin spread across Senora Lopez’s face Marco and smiled beside himself. Anybody walking past could have mistaken the noise for two hysterical lovers having too much fun, but this was a ruthless ordeal. He sent the feather down the arch of her foot, splaying the tip viciously over the skin.
She was ready to talk… she’d been ready the moment she’d seen the feather. But the night was young and Marco was intrigued. He moved onto the toes, tracing around their bases then slowly over their squeamish tops. The woman begged and pleaded as best she could. One half of Marco’s mind knew it was time to stop. The poor woman had suffered enough for one night, well; maybe she could hang in there just a little bit longer…
Later That Evening… Martina’s Flat:
Martina span round and swiped the mobile off the table. The phone nearly flew across the room her hands were so slippery. She punched the green button. It was Bianca.
“I think you better come down to the office.”
“It’s 11pm, what do you mean come down to the office?”
“There’s been another break in.”
“Where…?”
“A Banker Named Lopez, police have her in custody. She’s exhausted but she’ll live. We need to be more careful Martina; you’re involved in this now.”
“Involved… what are you talking about ‘INVOLVED’?”
“It looks like we’re dealing with two ticklers Martina and at least one of them is looking for YOU!!!”
To Be Continued…
It was May in Madrid as Marco ambled down the plaza de Santiago towards the Banco de Espana. Nothing marked him as an assassin. His dark Italian suit hinted at his lean, muscular frame but his white teeth and good looks set him apart from the over-weight business men marching up and down the busy street. Marco reached into his pocket and produced a packet of Marlborough. His hands appeared soft and delicate. Not the hands of a killer, but his hands had taken many lives and possessed many skills.
The morning papers were dedicated to the Le Baiser, a priceless piece of 17th century artwork which had been stolen the night before. It was time for Marco to leave the fold, it wasn’t the first time he’d used his skills to line his pockets. But fist he needed information.
Marco pushed through the heavy glass doors and entered the vast marble belly of the bank. His eyes danced casually over its inhabitants settling on a security guard walking across the lobby. Marco matched the guards pace as he followed him to a metal security door. Before the door had chance to close Marco slid a credit card inside the frame, catching the bolt before it locked. The guard was greeted by a balled fist sending him sending him to the floor. He was in.
Marco pushed the heavy door back into place and glanced up the long marble corridor. His eyes fixed on a woman at the opposite end of the passage. Before the door closed he was running, nimbly unhooking the cuffs from the fallen guard without breaking stride. The girl flew into panic, jabbing the elevator button but it was too late. She swung round and hit out but the blow was caught and one of the cuffs clicked over her wrist. Furious, she struck out with her left hand only to be caught again. Click! Marco swivelled her around and hooked the cuffs over a nearby light fitting, raising her onto her toes. His hands scoured her uniform until he came across a set of ID tags.
“Marisa, I do not wish to harm you but I need your cooperation, is that understood?”
“Por favour Senior…”
“I need you to tell me who is responsible for all inter-federation transactions.”
“No entiendes, no entiendes…”
Marco approached the young woman from behind and took her in a lovers embrace, gently wrapping his left arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. He felt her buttocks clench as his hand slipped beneath her blouse. Shrill laughter soon reverberated down the marble hallway. The girl’s body thrashed and trembled as the hand roamed over her torso. Slowly he moved upwards, exploring the different curves of the girl’s body.
“Senora Adora Lopez!!! No ,Noooo!!! Porvaaahaha!!!Senora Lopez!!! Senoraaaahahaha!!!
Monday: 12:30pm: Eparador Newspaper HQ:
Martina slung the files down in front of her computer and took a mouthful of cold coffee. The office hummed to the sound of keyboards and mobile phones. She was a researcher for La Eperador, one of Spain’s largest newspapers. She had been following a criminal named The Red Feather for six months now. Only three facts were known about The Red Feather, she was female, in her late 30’s to early 40’s and spoke with a strong German accent.
Martina picked up one of the files and began leafing through the report. The Red Feather always operated alone and harboured no links with any other members of the crime world. She was considered one of the most dangerous and unpleasant criminals known to the authorities, not because she was violent, but the methods she used to get what she wanted. At that moment the door flew open and Bianca bounded into the room. Bianca was the new work experience student she had been ‘lucky’ enough to be appointed with.
“We have to go to the Banco de Espaina! There was a breach of security this morning”
“Sorry Bianca, we don’t get to run around chasing reports we’re not assigned to.”
“You don’t understand! Two employees have been taken in by the police. A security guard and a clerical assistant”
“so…”
“The security guard was knocked unconscious and the girl… well… there are reports of employees hearing hysterical laughter.”
“Call a taxi we’re going strait over”
Monday: 930pm: Casa de Senora Martinez Leon:
Marco had no problem finding the apartment. It was located in one of the wealthiest districts of the city. The flat was completely silent. The only light came from the busy street below but no noise intruded. Marco admired the lavish décor as he shifted soundlessly through the empty rooms.
He had guessed right, the heist had been a local operation. Marco knew that moving the painting would involve vast transfers of money, which were always conducted discreetly and legitimately by an international Federation Bank. His objective now was to uncover the parties behind the transaction.
He pushed open the study door and peered into she shadows. He was confronted by a woman sitting behind an impressive wooden bureau. He studied the silk scarf folded around her moth. Her ankles were bound to the desk in front of her, the soles of her feet shone with perspiration.
“Senora Adora Loez I presume”
Slowly Marco shut the door and entered the room. The woman shifted uneasily as he approached the desk. He surveyed the room until his eyes rested on a long red feather resting next to the woman’s feet. He reached down and picked up the floppy plume. Instantly the woman began wriggling against her bonds. Marco raised the feather and twizzled it menacingly between his fingers. He noted the smell the perspiration rising from the woman’s feet and the way her frantic toes slipped easily over one another. She’d already been through quite an ordeal Marco wasn’t the first person to pay a visit this evening. It looked like he’d guessed right a second time.
Monday: 11:30pm: Calle de Sol:
Martina set the pasta on the table next to the files. She brought the files home after racing to bank with Bianca. She was hungry and must have made enough pasta for five people. She picked up one of the folders and began studying the reports.
The last person targeted by The Red Feather was Lucas Ramos. A wealthy gangster involved in money laundering and harassment. His encounter lasted four and half hours, the poor man required six moths of counselling following his ordeal. Before that came Senora Camila Leon, a prosecution lawyer investigating a high profile fraud ring. The police found her in the back seat of her Mercedes, her bare feet trapped beneath the headrests. The case never came to court but Leon now takes prescription drugs to control her anxiety attacks. After each encounter most of her victims required counselling or medication. At every scene the police found a single red feather.
Martina took a swig of Coke and moved onto the next report. It turned out The Red Feather employed a remarkable technique when tickling her victims. Although the ordeals lasted an average one and a half hours she derived great pleasure from talking to them, using detailed commands and physical stimulus to coax responses out of her captives.
The Red Feather loved whispered cruel suggestions into her victim’s ears. She had them to remember times they’d been afraid, eventually taking them back to their childhood when they’d been terribly ticklish. She asked them to remember children’s cartoons where characters had been tickled for information. For up to an hour she whispered seductively into their ears. Only then did she advance with the feather, moving nearer and nearer until the tip was only millimetres away from her skin. Without touching she manoeuvred the tip slowly over her victim’s bare feet… a long stroke up the centre, tiny circles just beneath the toes.
Hovering precariously close to the skin she delighted in the smallest movements, the most subtle of twitches. Analysing the tiniest of movements, she knew her victims weaknesses long before applying the feathers wicked touch. Still whispering, she had them recall a time they’d been tickled.
The Red Feather always spoke slowly, accentuating her strong German accent.
“Cast your mind back to a time you were tickled. Take a second to do this now my dear. Who was tickling you? Had you provoked this person and were you secretly excited about being tickled?
Now, remember a time it ‘really’ tickled my dear. Make a picture in your mind, those helpless bare tootsies. Maybe you were young? Maybe you couldn’t move? It was unexpected; maybe you didn’t want that particular person to tickle you at all? But it really, really tickled…
What did you feel as this nasty person tickled you?
Where did the panic build up in your body?
Remember that spot you were praying would never be discovered!
And as I continue, the more excited you’re feeling and you can’t help yourself. You’re remembering just how it feels to be tickled.”
Slowly the feather moved over the dancing feet, patiently seeking out susceptible curves and unprotected grooves. Finally, she moved onto the toes, tormenting each digit systematically. One by one they submitted their sensitive little secrets.
Martina’s noticed how sweaty and slippery her hands had become. The whole evil process reminded her of a subject she’d back in collage called Nero Linguistic Programming. Suddenly, a terrible thought took hold and she her blood ran cold. Martina threw down her fork and swivelled over to her laptop. She punched NLP into a search engine and scanned the information.
For a brief moment Martina felt that same mixture of panic and fear she had as a child. Whoever this person was she was programming her victims, fiendishly tapping into their deepest fears and memories. She’d succeeded in reducing grown men to tears; the mere sight of a feather was enough to make them beg. At that moment Martina’s mobile began vibrating across the table.
Senora Lopez’s Apartment:
Marco selected an exquisite wooden stool and placed it at the foot of the desk. His captive came to life as he made himself at home, maybe she suspected what was about to happen. They were alone; the only sound came from the busy traffic below illuminating the delicate wrinkles etched across his victim’s shiny feet. The aroma of perspiration hung in the air mingled with the scent of heavily varnished wood. Marco studied her soles for a long second admiring the rope work keeping the anxious duo in place.
“Miss Lopez, in a second I am going to ask you a question. You may want to answer it immediately but that’s irrelevant… you will have your chance to speak later in the evening.”
Marco picked up the floppy plume and dangled the feather above Senora Lopez’s red toes. Instantly she began writhing in her seat. Marco brought the feather in front of her soles and waved it gently from side to side. There was something more to this than met the eye. The woman’s eyes grew wide with fear, pleading with her new captor. The feather snaked forward, the exposed soles arched backward trying to avoid the feathers searching tip. Marco followed the left foot, halting millimetres away from the taught skin.
The woman froze and tensed her entire body, her eyes screwed shut. Silence… she held her breath but felt nothing. Maybe it had gone away? She pictured the dark rouge feather in her mind, like the ones used by villains in the cartoons she’d seen as a child, the ones usually administered to nosey children whose single mortal fear was having their bare feet tickled.
The silky plume wisped over the woman’s soft skin whilst her feet played with the air, trying to detect the feathers wicked touch. Could she feel something? Had it finally happened? The tantalising tip slipped stealthily around her toes, carefully exploring the naked skin.
Her mind swam with colourful cartoon feathers. She pictured them weaving up and down, only the very tip stroking the skin… up and down, up and down, unable to get away. And most of all she remembered the laughter. The way the children giggled and pleaded. It was the worst punishment in the world… so very evil, so very, naughty.
At that moment the woman’s feet stood to attention, a bolt of cold fear surged through her body. It was her left foot, something soft and bristly curling around her middle toe… instant panic! She opened her eyes and searching for her attacker in the darkness. She saw the floppy rouge feather waving slowly over her left sole, up and down, up and down, up and down...
Her entire body flew into a tormented frenzy punctuated by various whimpers and squeals. The noises soon gave way to flurries of giggles as the feathers continued up and down, up and down…
Marco studded his victim; he knew feathers were used as visual tools. He sent the plume down the outside of the right foot. Every stroke was agony; the slightest of touches seemed unbearable. Senora Lopez was a woman in her early forties yet she laughed like a young child at the mercy of her mothers fingers.
Marco moved onto the right foot, feeding the feather along a crease which formed as she scrunched up her toes. Once again he admired the rope work. The tormented feet were unable to move away, forced stand still as the tickly, tickly tip barley grazed the skin, up and down, up and down...
Giggles continued to spill from her lips. Marco caught sight of the massive grin spread across Senora Lopez’s face Marco and smiled beside himself. Anybody walking past could have mistaken the noise for two hysterical lovers having too much fun, but this was a ruthless ordeal. He sent the feather down the arch of her foot, splaying the tip viciously over the skin.
She was ready to talk… she’d been ready the moment she’d seen the feather. But the night was young and Marco was intrigued. He moved onto the toes, tracing around their bases then slowly over their squeamish tops. The woman begged and pleaded as best she could. One half of Marco’s mind knew it was time to stop. The poor woman had suffered enough for one night, well; maybe she could hang in there just a little bit longer…
Later That Evening… Martina’s Flat:
Martina span round and swiped the mobile off the table. The phone nearly flew across the room her hands were so slippery. She punched the green button. It was Bianca.
“I think you better come down to the office.”
“It’s 11pm, what do you mean come down to the office?”
“There’s been another break in.”
“Where…?”
“A Banker Named Lopez, police have her in custody. She’s exhausted but she’ll live. We need to be more careful Martina; you’re involved in this now.”
“Involved… what are you talking about ‘INVOLVED’?”
“It looks like we’re dealing with two ticklers Martina and at least one of them is looking for YOU!!!”
To Be Continued…
