Introduction:
Cindy and Mozart characters are based on the true couple of young people who hitchhiked the whole globe. “Cindy” wrote an on-line diary of their travel. Below is one fictional entry.
June 22.
The worst week of my life. On the other hand, it taught me a lot about my body, the strength of my will, resistance, ability to accept humiliation and helplessness. We entered the forest on June, 15. We got a ride almost immediately. A truck with three young, nice looking guys in it. Lumberjacks, returning home from a contract. On the first stop came the big shock. We see guns pointed at us. Mozart is tied and gagged. I am led outside, into the forest. Of course I am thinking about the rape. We are not going far. They stop by the big tree, unfold the foam mattress under it’s low branch and order me to strip. I obey. When I am only in my panties they order me to sit on the mattress with my back against the trunk, my legs stretched and my hands holding the branch above my head. After a while My hands and torso is bound to the tree and by legs to some roots sticking from the ground. Then the first one approaches and starts to tickle my outstretched armpits. I am very ticklish – couldn’t help but laugh and beg him to stop. He pays no mind to my begging and carries on. After a while he leaves my armpits and goes down, through my ribs and breasts, hips, thighs, knees, to my soles. When he finally stops tickling my feet my face is red from laughing so much. I am grateful for the end. But I forgot something – there are three of them. The second pair of hands is just heading for my underarms. I have to laugh again. The third one is just as ruthless as the previous two, the only difference is he starts from the feet. After that I am totally exhausted. But that’s not all. Now all three start to tickle me at once. I howl, screech and trash. Next they apply stiff brushes to the soles of my feet. Somehow I am able to laugh again. Then there are paintbrushes under my arms, then feathers between my toes. My mad laughter probably scared animals from miles around. When they finish, they have to carry me back to the truck.
The rest of the trip we spent tied. On every stop I am carried into the forest and tickled insane. I became familiar with bizarre bondage positions and strange tickling tools. I had no idea, that scratching the sole with a metal fork could be so unbearable. Every ticklish spot of my body is explored – I didn’t know I had sensitive buttocks or kneecaps. I doubted if we came out of this alive. On June 21. when we were close to the forest edge they stop and subject me to my worst session ever. It lasts at least a few hours. Finally I pass out from sheer exhaustion. Mozart wakes me up – they walked him here and dumped beside me, along with our luggage. We embrace each other and weep. After a while I dress myself and we stagger to the road. We stop somebody, but I am afraid to get into the car so we ask the driver to call the police. At the police station we tell about everything for some hours and then we are put into the motel. Under the shower I try to wash their touch away. In the night I wake up screaming, because I dream about them returning to tickle me more. I don’t know, if I can continue our journey.
Cindy and Mozart characters are based on the true couple of young people who hitchhiked the whole globe. “Cindy” wrote an on-line diary of their travel. Below is one fictional entry.
June 22.
The worst week of my life. On the other hand, it taught me a lot about my body, the strength of my will, resistance, ability to accept humiliation and helplessness. We entered the forest on June, 15. We got a ride almost immediately. A truck with three young, nice looking guys in it. Lumberjacks, returning home from a contract. On the first stop came the big shock. We see guns pointed at us. Mozart is tied and gagged. I am led outside, into the forest. Of course I am thinking about the rape. We are not going far. They stop by the big tree, unfold the foam mattress under it’s low branch and order me to strip. I obey. When I am only in my panties they order me to sit on the mattress with my back against the trunk, my legs stretched and my hands holding the branch above my head. After a while My hands and torso is bound to the tree and by legs to some roots sticking from the ground. Then the first one approaches and starts to tickle my outstretched armpits. I am very ticklish – couldn’t help but laugh and beg him to stop. He pays no mind to my begging and carries on. After a while he leaves my armpits and goes down, through my ribs and breasts, hips, thighs, knees, to my soles. When he finally stops tickling my feet my face is red from laughing so much. I am grateful for the end. But I forgot something – there are three of them. The second pair of hands is just heading for my underarms. I have to laugh again. The third one is just as ruthless as the previous two, the only difference is he starts from the feet. After that I am totally exhausted. But that’s not all. Now all three start to tickle me at once. I howl, screech and trash. Next they apply stiff brushes to the soles of my feet. Somehow I am able to laugh again. Then there are paintbrushes under my arms, then feathers between my toes. My mad laughter probably scared animals from miles around. When they finish, they have to carry me back to the truck.
The rest of the trip we spent tied. On every stop I am carried into the forest and tickled insane. I became familiar with bizarre bondage positions and strange tickling tools. I had no idea, that scratching the sole with a metal fork could be so unbearable. Every ticklish spot of my body is explored – I didn’t know I had sensitive buttocks or kneecaps. I doubted if we came out of this alive. On June 21. when we were close to the forest edge they stop and subject me to my worst session ever. It lasts at least a few hours. Finally I pass out from sheer exhaustion. Mozart wakes me up – they walked him here and dumped beside me, along with our luggage. We embrace each other and weep. After a while I dress myself and we stagger to the road. We stop somebody, but I am afraid to get into the car so we ask the driver to call the police. At the police station we tell about everything for some hours and then we are put into the motel. Under the shower I try to wash their touch away. In the night I wake up screaming, because I dream about them returning to tickle me more. I don’t know, if I can continue our journey.
