This story came about as a request featuring some characters from the CBS TV show Criminal Minds
Here’s the prologue: JJ’s capture
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=123665
Here’s part one: JJ’s interrogation
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=123730
Now here's the conclusion. I hope you enjoy it.
..........
Special Agent Jennifer “JJ” Jareau was having a pretty traumatic day. Firstly, she had been kidnapped from her car and awoken in the clutches of a man calling himself Mott, who confessed to abducting and tickling a series of women. Secondly, he had told her fantastic stories of tickle torture training and secret agents. Thirdly, he had visited a most excruciating tickle torture session on her to elicit all the details of the investigation to capture him. And finally he had let her think he was going to release only to take her into another room, throw her on the bed and tell he was far from finished with tickling her.
………..
JJ was sprawled in the middle of the bed. Her black turtleneck was damp with exertion from attempting to resist Mott’s interrogatory tickling. The legs of her jeans, which he had lifted up to remove her boots and get at her feet, had fallen back down. She had one bare foot and one still sheathed in black nylon and her long lustrous blonde hair was mussed and wild. She figured she had probably looked better.
The pretty young FBI agent saw the black-masked Mott grin as he walked toward her, rubbing his hands. She rolled backwards off the bed to get away from him. She was still weak and shaky but she was not going to make this easy for him.
“Back off you sonofabitch.” She hissed. She had put the bed between their bodies but he was still blocking the door, which was the only means of escape.
Mott laughed and shrugged, palms upraised. “Oh sweet thing, where you gonna go, huh?”
He patted the bed between them, “Just lie down here, it’ll be easier for you if you do. Not much, but a little.” The thought of tickling the beautiful blonde woman before him made him hard as a rock.
The thought of submitting voluntarily to Mott’s desires was not in JJ’s playbook. She wasn’t about to let him know that though.
“W…will you let me go quickly if I…if I,” she indicated the bed, “let you tickle me now?” She winced as she said the word tickle and kept her posture submissive, her voice small.
Mott beamed at her, “sweetheart, I’ll take excellent care of you. Old Mott knows just what he’s doing.”
JJ wiped tears from her eyes with the cuff of her sweater. She shuffled nervously towards him, the cuffs of her jeans scuffing softly on the dark, lacquered floorboards.
“What do you want me to do?” She asked softly.
Mott turned toward the bed again and smoothed the sheets down. “Just let me put that sweet little ass of yours down here and…”
JJ’s blue eyes, narrowed and grew steely with determination. She launched herself towards Mott with a blood-curdling yell, her left fist lashed out towards his face.
Mott turned, sensing movement. Beneath the mask, his eyebrows arched in momentary surprise and then he was moving. Instinctively he turned his head and leaned back, JJ’s knuckles grazed his jaw but he avoided the full impact of her strike.
JJ was well-trained and before her punch landed she shot out a punishing knee strike. Mott swivelled protecting his groin and took the blow on his hip. It hurt but not as much as it could have.
The furious FBI agent was in close now and all her pent-up frustration was unleashed in a volley of whipping elbows. Mott’s hands came up around his head in a boxer’s guard and he took the onslaught on his forearms and shoulders. He dropped his weight and stepped forward, locking his arms around JJ’s waist. He straightened up lifting her clear off her feet. She continued to pummel him as he threw her on the bed again and pinned her there with his own body.
He was breathing hard but he managed to pin JJ’s wrists out to her sides. He was straddling her thighs, his knees clenched tight against her wriggling hips. She continued to growl and struggle even though her valiant attack had been neutralised.
“Wow,” Mott said, “that was cool! What was that? Krav Maga? I hear that’s what they teach at the Eff Bee Eye. That’s what it says on their website.”
“Go to hell!” JJ snapped in a mixture of anger and frustration.
Mott held her there as her struggles subsided. There was nothing he loved more than a challenge. He was grinning like a demon. “Damn girl, you got spirit. You know if I was the marrying kind, there’d be a ring on your finger and a bun in your oven.”
“You even try that and I will kill you!” JJ spat back.
Mott looked into her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I reckon you would too. But like I said, I didn’t bring you here for that.”
He slowly started to move JJ’s arms upwards towards her head. She looked left and right in panic as she realised what he was doing and then she started trying to buck him off and free her hands.
“Uh-uh, just accept it, JJ. Just accept this is inevitable and you never really had a choice.” Mott taunted. She was stronger than he gave her credit for, especially after the draining session of tickle torture he had inflicted on her earlier. He was impressed.
JJ still squirmed as she felt her upper arms press against her ears. She was horrified that Mott had her at such a disadvantage. Her stomach flipped as Mott moved both of her slender wrists together and held them in place with one large hand.
He wriggled the fingers of his free hand above her, circling like a bird of prey over a particularly juicy meal.
“Ooh, where to start, I feel like a kid in a candy store.”
JJ spluttered and whimpered. She watched helplessly as the fingers glide above her body. The poor girl didn’t think she could take much more. Her toes clenched and unclenched reflexively.
“Please…” She began.
“Shhh,” Mott chided softly. He leaned his weight over her wrists. The bed creaked slightly. He directed a single beckoning digit toward her unprotected right armpit.
JJ squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the finger press against the fine wool of her turtleneck and rub softly against her underarm.
Mott’s whisper caressed her ear. “It’s torture isn’t it? Knowing I can tickle you whenever I want. I’m just playing with you now. Not a damn thing you can do about it.”
The young agent felt every single nerve ending on the right side of her body start to tingle, even her neck and her face got in on the act.
Mott chuckled softly and began to slowly, rhythmically bicycle his finger in JJ’s armpit.
The helpless girl squeezed her eyes shut and tried to control her panicked breathing. She desperately attempted to focus her mind on other things to block out what was happening to her. What were the names of the girls on her varsity soccer team in college? Who had been her training officers at Quantico?
She was grimly trying to remember the name of a tall redhead from Pasadena who had played in goal when Mott introduced a second invading digit, broke his rhythm and scrabbled his fingers quickly with a chant of “Tickle!”
The redhead from Pasadena evaporated and JJ’s mind was flooded with the reality of her predicament. She gasped and her eyes flew open. Caught a momentary glimpse of Mott’s face leering and taunting. She tried to resist but his ploy had beaten her.
“Nooo.” She hissed through gritted teeth.
Her breathing began to judder. Mott recognised the beginnings of laughter. He gleefully switched his fingers to her other armpit and began to tickle that one.
JJ squirmed, arched under his body weight and then shrieked with anguished frustration. That just incited her tormentor’s technique to new heights and the shriek broke up into pained laughter.
She cringed as he switched randomly from one armpit to the other. His fingers caught slightly in her sweater and worked the prickly wool effectively against her skin to sensitise and tantalise her.
She did not make it easy for him, she snapped at his fingers with her teeth anytime they passed remotely within range and struggled furiously. Both tickler and ticklee were soon hot and sweaty.
Mott did not let up for an instant. He slipped his fingers under the collar of JJ’s turtleneck and teased her throat, his fingers danced upwards and fluttered against her earlobes before returning to her wondrously sensitive underarms.
He knew she couldn’t resist like this forever, he had to wear her down so he kept his fingers dancing while she bucked and kicked against his immovable weight. Whether it took seconds, minutes or even hours, they all cracked eventually.
Finally he got what he wanted. JJ’s body went as taut as a wire under tension for a few seconds and then she threw her head back and emitted a helpless wail of capitulation. Inside, Mott’s was howling with delight. He let go of her wrists and jammed both sets of fingers into her armpits and began tickling her furiously.
JJ gulped and shuddered with laughter and cries of frustration. Tears stained her, now-rosy, cheeks and her long blonde hair was a tangled mane.
Instinctively her arms clamped to her sides, effectively squeezing Mott’s hands exactly where they wanted to be. She flapped ineffectively at him as he tickled her.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Mott growled with animalistic fervour. His hands were squashed up against her and he could feel the pleasing swells of her breasts brushing against the insides of his wrists. Having a woman this attractive and ticklish at his mercy was his ultimate fantasy.
“Get off me!” JJ screeched, her head whipped from side to side.
“Nope.” he replied cheerfully. “I am going to tickle you for a loooong time yet.”
The poor girl let out another garbled sob of frustration that morphed into another fit of unwitting giggles.
Mott’s large hands inched their way down from her armpits and began to squeeze JJ’s ribs, kneading and probing enthusiastically. “Ooh, what’ve got here? This looks like fun!”
JJ finally released her arms from her sides and tried to sit up. She plucked and slapped and pulled at Mott’s hands but her strength was sapped and his was supercharged with adrenaline and excitement. She gave up trying to stop him and instead tried to protect herself, covering her ribs.
The masked tickler was unfazed. He switched his attention to his prisoner’s slender waist and used his forefingers and thumbs to lobster claw her slender torso, probing away through smooth flesh to the toned and trembling muscle below. JJ’s head fell back to the bed as, unable to control her laughter, she fought to prevent him from tickling her.
Mott plunged his hungry fingers under the front of JJ’s sweater and allowed his digits to feast on her trembling tummy. The poor girl’s eyes bulged open and her mouth formed a perfect “O” as his cool fingertips skipped and scribbled their way across her belly. Long practised skills of self control allowed Mott to keep his fingers cooler than his victim’s skin. The reactions were so much sweeter that way. (Such self-control was sometimes beyond him but he reasoned that’s what ice cubes were for.)
With his hands now exploring beneath her clothing, JJ thrashed furiously from side to side and pulled at Mott’s wrists. This new indignity spurred her efforts on and with an heroic effort she managed to scoot backwards, pull her knees up to her chest and plant both her feet in Mott’s torso. Her strong thighs pistoned forward and Mott found himself falling backwards, rolling off the bed.
This was fantastic! Mott couldn’t believe this girl was still fighting! He rolled smoothly to the floor and was back on his feet in a flash.
JJ had half stumbled, half tumbled off the bed and flew towards the door. She got both hands around the handle, desperate to flee from this tickling maniac. She yanked hard. Locked! The FBI agent let out a cry of frustration as Mott grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her away from the door.
He twisted her around and grabbed the back of her sweater. He jerked it up and over her head and pulled it down swiftly, effectively muffling her obstructing her head and arms. JJ was not wearing an undershirt beneath her sweater, just a black satin bra, which lifted her breasts high. Her skin was smooth, soft and glowed with vitality.
Mott raised an eyebrow of appreciation and pushed JJ toward the bed. So blinded, she stumbled and was easily pinned down on her tummy. She struggled to extricate her arms but felt Mott hold her in place with his bodyweight. One hand clamped over her nose and mouth through fine wool. The other dipped downwards and playfully tickled her waist and sides. He was rewarded with the sound of muffled laughter. He carried on tickling. He figured that would take the wind out of her sails.
JJ fought to breathe and slowed her struggles as she knew he was trying to get her exhaust her oxygen. He kept her nose and mouth clamped though and continued tickling regardless. She started to panic as her head started to spin and her lungs craved air. A blast of cool air hit her upper back and shoulders and JJ could see and breathe again. Unfortunately for her, Mott was pulling her turtleneck down her arms and then it was gone altogether.
The excited tickle fiend liked a challenge and his blonde prisoner was certainly providing one. He also liked to make sure the odds were always well stacked in his favour. He tossed JJ’s sweater to the floor and pulled her left wrist behind her back. A wide leather cuff was secured to it in short order. Her right wrist joined it with a little more difficulty and that too was cuffed.
He sat astride her buttocks and stroked her slender waist. “You got a lotta heart, girl. I’ll give you that.” JJ pulled at her wrists but there was no give in the leather cuffs. Mott pulled a matching set of elbow cuffs from where they were draped over the wrought iron bedframe and slipped these easily around JJ’s upper arms, cinching them tight.
He paused for a second to admire his handiwork. There was something about the juxtaposition of leather bondage equipment and supple female flesh that struck a chord deep within his soul. He lifted his mask to wipe sweat from his brow, repositioned it and then flipped his blonde captive onto her back.
He stared down at her, fixing every detail of her in his mind. She looked magnificent. Her long blonde hair was haloed out over the black satin bedsheets. Her slender body was a study in toned and healthy femininity. Her firm breasts were thrust forward by the elbow bondage. Her flat tummy rose and fell gently as she breathed. He traced a single digit down her throat, between her breasts and over her belly, grazing over the rim of her shallow navel before pausing just above her belt buckle.
Mott realised JJ was staring at him with trepidation. “I’d be willing to bet you a steak dinner that all this glorious flesh is ticklish as hell.”
JJ’s nostrils flared with defiance. “I don’t think they serve steak where you’re going. But you’ll probably have to toss a few salads, eat a tube steak or two.”
Mott laughed heartily and slapped his thigh. “That’s good JJ, that’s real good. Now quit yapping. The only things I wanna hear out of those sweet lips now are laughter and begging.” He clenched his knees tighter around her hips and raised his fingers above her like a concert pianist preparing to play his masterpiece.
“Oh God,” she whispered in a strangled voice, feeling more helpless than ever. She could no longer defend herself and she bound in such a way that her shoulders were pulled back and her body was thrust upwards, as if she were offering herself to him!
“Not quite,” Mott murmured. One corner of his mouth twisted up in a smile and then he began to skate his nails over JJ’s ribs.
The bondage ensured her skin was stretched tight across her ribs and Mott’s fingers weaved their way back and forth in random patterns across their shallow contours moving from just below her bra to just above the point where her ribs dipped away to her gently heaving stomach.
JJ was already open mouthed and shaking with silent laughter. She sniffed, gulped and uttered a single word in a hoarse voice. “Please.”
Her plea went unanswered. The fingers continued their dance.
Mott’s fingers met in the middle and then worked their way out to the sides of the skin that covered the pretty girl’s ribs. He noticed a light smattering of goose bumps raised on her upper arms, a sure sign of her anxiety and sensitivity. Glorious. Absolutely glorious.
He leaned forward slightly and whispered teasing and taunting words to his plaything.
“Are your ribs a lil ticklish, JJ? Mind if I take a little look see and give ‘em a rubbin?”
“What happens if I give you a little squeeze….just…HERE!” (What happened was she yelped and her eyes bugged out.)
“How about if I tickle you two places at once, huh?” One hand drifted upwards to dapple light touches around her neck and ears and trace the length of her collarbones. The other maintained a steady rhythm of squeezing and drumming over her ribs.
JJ was completely lost. She could the sheets beneath her dampened with perspiration and the soft leather rubbing over her captured upper arms and her wrists. The entire front of her body tingled with anticipation of being tickled and anywhere that the fingers fell, the tingling was multiplied.
Mott attacked JJ’s tummy and waist lustily now. Little pinches, strokes, pokes and squeezes all elicited delightful rumbles of melodic, gurgling laughter.
“That’s a sweet little belly button you got there, honey. I bet you’d look great on a bar doing body shots.” He held her in place, one hand gripping her side as he stroked the rim of her navel with the forefinger of the other. He dipped his fingertip into the shallow cup of flesh and wiggled it in slow, tight circles.
JJ arched her back and laughed even harder, high pitched screeches punctuated her distress. She squirmed delightfully between his strong thighs, inadvertently rubbing herself against him.
Mott was mesmerised. He could feel the smallest movements in the toned muscles of JJ’s pretty tummy when he tickled her like this. He had to taste it. He just had to. He gripped her hips with both hands, getting a good hold on her jeans and then bent down and slipped his wet tongue into her belly button, licking and swirling its tip. He could smell her womanly scent of her warm skin and her almost when light-headed with the multitude of sensations he was experiencing.
Up above him JJ was banging the back of her head against the soft bed, squealing hysterically and begging him to stop. Naturally this just made him lick, nibble and blow on her tight tummy even more. His thumbs worked their way into the tight pockets at the front of her jeans and probed the highly sensitive area just inside her hipbones. Oh how she screamed when he rubbed his thumb tips over the taut flesh he found there.
And that was how he broke her. Sometimes it tooks hours of relentless attention to a spot on the sole of the foot with the tines of a common dinner fork. Sometimes it was nibbling and exposed neck with the lightest of touches. Sometimes it was restrictive bondage and stiff feathers. With JJ, it was the sinuous, teasing tongue in her belly button and the implacable thumbs working her hips.
That was what did it. JJ’s struggles dropped off. She lay there, shaking with laughter but she no longer fought him. She had put up a hell of a fight but now she could do nothing but laugh as he exploited her heightened ticklishness.
Mott sat up and let his fingers run rampant over her glowing upper body. From her hips to her ears he teased, squeezed, pinched, rubbed and kneaded his way all over her slickly sensitive skin.
Poor JJ was lost in another world now. All she knew was the maddening firing of synapses that sent ticklish signals to her brain and exploding in the millions of nerve endings on her skin. All she heard were her own croaky and hoarse pleadings, her own tortured laughter and Mott’s self-satisfied chuckles and taunts.
Mott worked his captive over to the point where she almost passed out a couple of times. He would pause, sit her up, force her to swallow a few sips of water, allow her the briefest of respites to restore her breathing and then he would pin her down and begin all over again. He had developed a serious jones for the feel of her skin and the sound of her laughter and he did his damnedest to prolong it for as long as he could. If that meant pushing JJ to the limits of physical and mental tolerance then that was what he was quite prepared to do.
JJ no longer cared about fighting back and any hopes of an arrest or a rescue were ridiculously distant fantasies. Now she just wanted this to end. Mott’s fingers were once again snuggled in her underarms and wriggling away. He was hunkered down over her nibbling at her earlobe and her neck. He whispered in a wet, meaty voice, telling her she was his tickle slave and that after this night, she always would be.
He laughed gaily and flipped her onto her front. He sat down over her knees and began to rake his fingers lightly below the rounded curve of her buttocks and down the tops of her thighs, scratching through tight denim. She arched backwards in a move that would have impressed the average yoga student and her fingers searched desperately for his. Her laughter reached a new pitch and Mott guessed that like most women, JJ had never been tickled there before. He kept tickling her until she sank into the bedsheets, a quivering mess.
He gave her butt a playful swat and then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I think it’s time we had a look at the old nylons versus bare feet argument again, don’t you?”
JJ turned her face to the side, her cheek was wet with tears of laughter. “No more, no more.” She pleaded shakily. “I can’t take anymore.”
Mott chuckled happily. “Course you can.” He reached for another little implement he had been saving up.
JJ felt him spin around to face her feet and then another leather cuff was fastened over her jeans and around her left ankle. A similar cuff was secured over her right ankle. JJ felt her legs were parted and was momentarily confused. She had imagined he was trying to bind her ankles together. She moved her feet and then found her range of movement was severely inhibited.
“Spreader bar.” Mott said simply. “I got this one in Amsterdam a couple of years ago. I paid a lot for it to be custom-made but it was worth it. It’s done serious duty since then.”
JJ pressed her face into the bedsheets and let out a moan of despair. Was this bastard ever going to stop tickling her? She could sympathise now with all Mott’s previous victims and she felt she was experiencing some kind of karmic retribution for even daring to make light of their ordeals. Tickling, how bad could it really be?
Mott grabbed hold of the spreader bar, which was telescoped out to 24 inches, and used it to twist JJ over onto her back again. He saw the beaten look in her big blue eyes and decided to rub it in a little more.
“Aww, is the tough little FBI agent all worn out with a little tickling? Poor little JJ! Whatever shall we do with her?”
He lifted the bar in the middle and held it up so he could inspect JJ’s wriggling feet. One still covered in a black nylon sheath, the other pink and bare.
“I’ll let you into a secret, JJ,” he said conspiratorially, “I don’t actually care which tickles more, I’m gonna tickle you anyway.”
He ran a finger down one nyloned arch and then down one bare arch and got a nice squeal for each. He flipped his exhausted prisoner onto her front again and made sure her insteps were pressed into the bed, her soles exposed for his pleasure. He sat on the backs of her legs and ran his nails up and down her soles. JJ no longer even had the strength to look up from her bedsheets and all Mott heard was her muffled laughter and the odd curse.
The small, perfectly formed feet before him wriggled and shivered and he looked on in fascination as she curled her toes inward creating a myriad a small wrinkles across her arches that vanished once her toes flexed and splayed. It was a close thing to say whether she was more sensitive to his touch with nylon or without it. In the end he decided to call it a draw and tickle her anyway.
He was rewarded with louder peals of laughter and even some womanly moans (!) when he took the toes of her bare foot into his mouth and ran his tongue over them while raking his nails against the nylon covered surface of her other foot. His tongue slurped, his fingers danced, his tickle slave screamed and writhed. Throw in a large deep pan pizza with mushroom and pepperoni and a six pack of beer and his evening would have been just about perfect.
Mott wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was grinning insanely. He rolled off of JJ and propped himself up at her side. “You know JJ, a lot of women have great bodies but yours is off the charts ticklish too.”
JJ turned to face him, her cheek still resting on the bed. “Please, you’ve got what you wanted. Can you let me go now?”
“The thing is, most of the time, you can only tickle one part at a time. You know? You do the feet and maybe you can get the legs or you do the pits and get the tummy too. But what if you want it all? Well I’ve got a little idea for that. You’re gonna love it.
JJ was about to ask him what he meant but he was already fiddling around down by her feet. His spreader bar telescoped at 24 and an extreme 36 inches but now he collapsed it to 12 inches, less stressful to his prisoner but still an effective hobble.
He put a thick towel around his neck and then lifted JJ by her hips and turned her onto her back. She was getting royally fed up of being manhandled and tossed about in this fashion but there was precious little she could do about it.
He lifted up the spreader bar and pulled JJ up easily so only her head and shoulders were on the bed. He pulled the bar over his head and placed it against the towel on his neck. He was kneeling upright with his thighs spread. He grabbed her hips and pulled her into the V created by his thighs so the backs of her legs were against his chest, the backs of her knees against his shoulders. He was able to sit on her bound wrists but more importantly this odd position gave him access to all the places he had been tickling before at once. With the spreader bar in danger of knocking him on the back of the head it was a risky position to try so he always made sure his victim was drained of energy before indulging.
“Whaddya think? Pretty clever huh?” Mott said, genuinely pleased with himself. “Let’s give it a whirl.
Laughing from this intimate position was even more uncomfortable for JJ but she had little choice as he tickled her ribs and sides. One hand stayed there, the other flew up to one of the feet in orbit around his head. He alternated like this for while. One foot, then the other, one hand always on her ribs and belly.
Then both hands were working her ribs and straying onto the sides of her breasts. JJ squirmed and bit her lip. Her hips moved in that unmistakable fashion. This did not escape Mott.
“Oh, you like that one huh?” He grinned down at her embarrassed expression. “Can’t have you getting all hot and bothered can we?”
He reached down to her waist and began to undo her belt. JJ squealed in protest but he slid the thick black leather tongue through the brass buckle and then popped open the buttons on her jeans.
“Oh God, not that.” She implored.
Mott rolled his eyes. “How many times? I didn’t bring you here for that. I can get that anywhere. You know what this is about, right? It’s about THIS!” He plunged his fingers into her open jeans, caught a sight of her black panties and then began to stroke the ultra-sensitive skin just inside her hipbones.
JJ arched all the way and emitted a shriek of high-pitched laughter but there was nowhere for her to go and Mott’s fingers stroked their merry way across her lower belly and hips, straying briefly onto her panties. “Oh God, Oh God…” She gulped over and over again.
“Sorry, he ain’t here right now but ol’ Mott is and he is gonna take good care of you.”
He tickled her tight little belly into spasms of laughter, his tickled up and down her sides, all over her ribs, into her soft pits and over her neck and ears. He reached up and tickled her feet, raking his nails up and down her soft tortured soles. JJ gulped and spluttered under his relentless fingers. She laughed and she squealed and she trembled and she whimpered. At that moment she truly was his tickle slave, existing only to satisfy his raging tickle lust.
Mott could see she had taken just about all she could from him but he did not show her any mercy. If anything he became even more frenzied. He pulled her legs back over his head and draped her over his lap. His fingers flew over her body, delving into her unbuckled jeans, turning her onto her side so he could tickle those sweet spots just below her rounded buttocks over and over.
JJ looked up at the grinning face of her tormentor as she spasmed, jerked and shook with laughter under his onslaught. She was really tiring now, her muscles had no strength and the edges of her vision were starting to go a little fuzzy. His fingers were massaging her ribs, forcing more laughter from her lungs but now the laughter sounded distant and her face felt flushed and hot.
Mott knew exactly what he was doing to his dizzy prisoner. He dumped her on her back so her legs were dangling off the bed. Then, kneeling on the floor before her, he reached up to her pretty neck and pressed his mouth against her taut belly. He caressed her throat and ears and pressed his wriggling fingers into her underarms. He nibbled and nuzzled his way from hip to hip before snaking and fluttering his tongue in and out of her navel. JJ’s laughter became hoarse and croaky, she was almost wheezing with hysteria now. A soft squeal cracked in her throat and she arched up, pressing her tummy against his face. Then she emitted a small groan and dropped back to the bed.
Mott stood up, licking his lips and surveyed his tickle slave. JJ’s torso rose and fell with her gentle breaths. Her hair was a wild mane and tears stained her cheeks. The corners of her mouth were crinkled upwards and her eyebrows arched slightly as if she was frozen in tickle torment. One bra strap had slid down, hinting at the rich curve that lay below and her open jeans were rucked about her hips exposing the low waist of her panties. Sometimes less is more and it was a visual he wanted to remember forever.
Luckily he always kept a high-end digital camera with him on such occasions and so he took a picture. In fact, he took several.
He patted her cheeks with his fingers and gave her a gentle shake. “Oh JJ? Sleeping Beauty, wakey wakey!” There was no reaction from the befuddled girl.
Mott’s body felt electrified. He removed the spreader bar from her ankles and gently unbuckled the cuffs from her elbows and wrists. He stripped what tattered nylon still remained from her foot and then lifted both of her feet to his face. He inhaled deeply, kissed each toe individually, then the balls of her feet, then her heels.
He held them there easily with one hand. With the other he opened his belt and jeans and pulled his raging cock free. He began to stroke himself while he tasted her toes. At this stage, it didn’t take him long. It seldom did. He had already gorged himself in a feast of tickling and he thought of this as the after dinner mint.
With his tongue sucking hard at JJ’s big toes, he felt a sweet rumbling pulse in his loins. A bolt of lightning shot up his spine making him groan with pleasure as he came. He shot his load in shuddering, shallow arcs across the black satin bedsheets.
Finally spent, he propped himself up on all fours, breathing hard. He loved the danger and excitement of that moment. The moment of little death when, if his captive awoke, he would truly be vulnerable. The thrill of the risk just added to the potency of his climax.
Mott smoothed JJ’s hair from her face, tugged the wayward bra strap back onto her shoulder and wrestled her jeans up. There, that was much better. He lifted her up and delivered a gentle kiss to her slightly parted lips and then laid her gently back down again.
His first order of business was to clean himself up. The second order of business was to take care of JJ. Finally he would sanitise the rooms where he had kept her and then vanish like a wraith.
……….
Two months later:
Aaron “Hotch” Hotchner wandered onto the firing range at Quantico and nodded to the rangemaster. The grizzled former Marine gunnery sergeant looked up from a logbook and nodded back at the special agent from the BAU.
“Don’t normally see you BAU guys down here that much.”
Hotch shrugged. “It’s a bad world. Is Agent Jareau here?”
The rangemaster handed Hotch a pair of orange ear defenders. “Down at the end. She’s been here a while and I have to say, that girl’s got a hell of an eye. Getting some real tight groups.”
“Thanks.” Hotch said. He took the ear defenders and put them on.
JJ was the only one at the range at that time. He walked toward her, not entirely sure of what he was going to say. He stood back at a respectful distance and watched as JJ put double taps into a man-size silhouette at 15 yards.
When her clip was empty, she placed her weapon on the counter, tugged her ear defenders down around her neck and cycled the target back towards her to check her accuracy.
Hotch pulled his ear guards down and announced his presence by clearing his throat.
“Hey, Hotch. What’s up?” JJ said without turning around. She was busy inspecting her target.
“You OK, JJ?” He said.
She turned and smiled at him and for a second he believed her. Those blue eyes, that open smile. Hotch sighed inwardly. It had been two months since Mott had abducted JJ. Psychiatrists said she was doing fine. She was tough, she was a fighter. She was mentally strong enough to recover from her ordeal and she had insisted on coming back to work as soon as possible and pursuing the investigation.
They had discovered of course that Mott was simply a name he chose himself. He displayed his conceit in its choice as in a taunting message to the BAU he signed off as, “MOTT - Master of Tickle Torture.”
With JJ’s report they had gathered more information about what drove him and a profile was developed. The team had rarely been more motivated to apprehend an unsub. The BAU looked after its own.
And then, just as the investigation seemed poised on the brink of a breakthrough the order had come to cease and desist any and all activity into the search for Mott. There was no explanation and the order came down from on high, from the director himself. To placate the outrage there had been unconvincing arguments made about jurisdictions and more serious cases requiring the BAU’s attention but it was a bitter pill to swallow. JJ herself had remained strangely calm about the whole thing.
Only Hotch knew that the director had been pressured by powerful, faceless sources in Washington. He had done some digging himself and come up against a brick wall that said Department of Defense. Whoever wanted the BAU off the case had some serious clout.
“Some of the guys are going for a beer, JJ. You want to come along? Maybe have a game of darts?” Hotch asked hopefully.”
“Maybe in a while,” JJ replied as she loaded a fresh clip. “I’m just gonna finish up here first and then I have a refresher session with the defensive tactics instructor.”
Hotch knew that JJ didn’t have a physical evaluation scheduled for at least six months but it didn’t seem helpful to point it out.
“Hey, Hotch!”
He looked up at her, his thoughts momentarily interrupted. She was grinning at him.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me. OK?”
Hotch forced a smile. “I’ll see you later, JJ. You take care.” He placed the defenders back over his ears and walked back down the range as JJ began perforating another paper silhouette.
……….
Several thousand miles away:
Qatar. They were probably in Qatar. Elena Vorlov knew that was where the Americans put people when they wanted to interrogate them out of the way of prying eyes. She wasn’t unduly worried and had been in worse scrapes. Her cover story was that she was a Swedish news reporter and with her 6 foot frame, long blonde hair and blue eyes she certainly looked the part.
She had spent 7 years as a lieutenant in the Russian FSB before the lure of the private sector had taken hold. Mother Russia didn’t pay the bills in the brave new world and a woman like her had skillsets that could be turned to profitable advantage.
The room she was being held in was an airless makeshift office with two solid wooden chairs bolted into the floor. She was securely bound to one chair, the other was directly opposite, presumably so an interrogator could get right into her face. That might seem a little excessive but then again she had been caught in possession of a Dragunov sniper rifle and $25,000 in cash.
Her only company was a morose, buzz-cut sporting fellow in a white short-sleeved shirt, striped tie and cheap black suit pants. The outfit screamed CIA. Elena was wearing a light blue hiking shirt, khaki pants and walking boots, just like most other reporters in the Middle East. They were both sweltering in the oppressive heat.
Just as she figured they were playing a waiting game with her, the door to the office cracked open and someone a little higher up the food chain walked in. This fellow was clearly an Ivy Leaguer. Elena guessed he had probably been at Yale and a member of the Skull and Bones society.
“We’ve checked your back story and there’s no trace of a journalist named Elizabeth Lindstrom from Gothenberg.” He said in a matter of fact fashion. “Even if there had been, I doubt she’d have a Russian sniper rifle and a wad of dollars in her possession. Care to explain that?”
Elena ignored him and pretended to stifle a yawn.
“OK, be a hardassed bitch about it. Last chance. You gonna talk to me or does this go to the next level?”
This time the Russian gave him a bored shrug. She knew what the Americans were like. They would shout at her, they may even rough her up a little but it wasn’t as if she had been taken by Colombian cartel members or the Iranians.
Ivy League nodded at buzz-cut. “We’re wasting our time with this one. Let’s get out of here.”
The two men left leaving Elena alone. The blonde sighed. So it was the waiting game. Well she could wait. Not so long ago she had spent six days on a frozen hillside, waiting for a clear shot at a moving target 800 yards away. This was a walk in the park in comparison.
The door opened again. She looked up expecting to see the Ivy leaguer again but instead she saw one of the commandos who had been present at the take down. He was a tall, lean, hard looking character with short brown hair. He appeared unarmed and wore a pair of desert BDU pants, desert boots and a brown t-shirt.
“I suppose you are here to slap me around and make me cry?” Elena said with a pout. These Americans really had no idea.
“Not exactly,” the commando replied. He undid the bindings that attached Elena’s boots to her chair and pulled her legs out in front of her, re-binding them to the chair opposite.
“You and I are just going to have a nice little chat.” He looked her in the eye and gave her a wolf-like grin.
Elena felt the first pang of uncertainty. This wasn’t something she had expected.
“I am really looking forward to getting to know all about you, Miss Lindstrom, or whatever your name is. I’ll find out eventually. I always do.” He began to unlace her boots.
“In the meantime, you can call me Mott.”
Here’s the prologue: JJ’s capture
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=123665
Here’s part one: JJ’s interrogation
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=123730
Now here's the conclusion. I hope you enjoy it.
..........
Special Agent Jennifer “JJ” Jareau was having a pretty traumatic day. Firstly, she had been kidnapped from her car and awoken in the clutches of a man calling himself Mott, who confessed to abducting and tickling a series of women. Secondly, he had told her fantastic stories of tickle torture training and secret agents. Thirdly, he had visited a most excruciating tickle torture session on her to elicit all the details of the investigation to capture him. And finally he had let her think he was going to release only to take her into another room, throw her on the bed and tell he was far from finished with tickling her.
………..
JJ was sprawled in the middle of the bed. Her black turtleneck was damp with exertion from attempting to resist Mott’s interrogatory tickling. The legs of her jeans, which he had lifted up to remove her boots and get at her feet, had fallen back down. She had one bare foot and one still sheathed in black nylon and her long lustrous blonde hair was mussed and wild. She figured she had probably looked better.
The pretty young FBI agent saw the black-masked Mott grin as he walked toward her, rubbing his hands. She rolled backwards off the bed to get away from him. She was still weak and shaky but she was not going to make this easy for him.
“Back off you sonofabitch.” She hissed. She had put the bed between their bodies but he was still blocking the door, which was the only means of escape.
Mott laughed and shrugged, palms upraised. “Oh sweet thing, where you gonna go, huh?”
He patted the bed between them, “Just lie down here, it’ll be easier for you if you do. Not much, but a little.” The thought of tickling the beautiful blonde woman before him made him hard as a rock.
The thought of submitting voluntarily to Mott’s desires was not in JJ’s playbook. She wasn’t about to let him know that though.
“W…will you let me go quickly if I…if I,” she indicated the bed, “let you tickle me now?” She winced as she said the word tickle and kept her posture submissive, her voice small.
Mott beamed at her, “sweetheart, I’ll take excellent care of you. Old Mott knows just what he’s doing.”
JJ wiped tears from her eyes with the cuff of her sweater. She shuffled nervously towards him, the cuffs of her jeans scuffing softly on the dark, lacquered floorboards.
“What do you want me to do?” She asked softly.
Mott turned toward the bed again and smoothed the sheets down. “Just let me put that sweet little ass of yours down here and…”
JJ’s blue eyes, narrowed and grew steely with determination. She launched herself towards Mott with a blood-curdling yell, her left fist lashed out towards his face.
Mott turned, sensing movement. Beneath the mask, his eyebrows arched in momentary surprise and then he was moving. Instinctively he turned his head and leaned back, JJ’s knuckles grazed his jaw but he avoided the full impact of her strike.
JJ was well-trained and before her punch landed she shot out a punishing knee strike. Mott swivelled protecting his groin and took the blow on his hip. It hurt but not as much as it could have.
The furious FBI agent was in close now and all her pent-up frustration was unleashed in a volley of whipping elbows. Mott’s hands came up around his head in a boxer’s guard and he took the onslaught on his forearms and shoulders. He dropped his weight and stepped forward, locking his arms around JJ’s waist. He straightened up lifting her clear off her feet. She continued to pummel him as he threw her on the bed again and pinned her there with his own body.
He was breathing hard but he managed to pin JJ’s wrists out to her sides. He was straddling her thighs, his knees clenched tight against her wriggling hips. She continued to growl and struggle even though her valiant attack had been neutralised.
“Wow,” Mott said, “that was cool! What was that? Krav Maga? I hear that’s what they teach at the Eff Bee Eye. That’s what it says on their website.”
“Go to hell!” JJ snapped in a mixture of anger and frustration.
Mott held her there as her struggles subsided. There was nothing he loved more than a challenge. He was grinning like a demon. “Damn girl, you got spirit. You know if I was the marrying kind, there’d be a ring on your finger and a bun in your oven.”
“You even try that and I will kill you!” JJ spat back.
Mott looked into her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I reckon you would too. But like I said, I didn’t bring you here for that.”
He slowly started to move JJ’s arms upwards towards her head. She looked left and right in panic as she realised what he was doing and then she started trying to buck him off and free her hands.
“Uh-uh, just accept it, JJ. Just accept this is inevitable and you never really had a choice.” Mott taunted. She was stronger than he gave her credit for, especially after the draining session of tickle torture he had inflicted on her earlier. He was impressed.
JJ still squirmed as she felt her upper arms press against her ears. She was horrified that Mott had her at such a disadvantage. Her stomach flipped as Mott moved both of her slender wrists together and held them in place with one large hand.
He wriggled the fingers of his free hand above her, circling like a bird of prey over a particularly juicy meal.
“Ooh, where to start, I feel like a kid in a candy store.”
JJ spluttered and whimpered. She watched helplessly as the fingers glide above her body. The poor girl didn’t think she could take much more. Her toes clenched and unclenched reflexively.
“Please…” She began.
“Shhh,” Mott chided softly. He leaned his weight over her wrists. The bed creaked slightly. He directed a single beckoning digit toward her unprotected right armpit.
JJ squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the finger press against the fine wool of her turtleneck and rub softly against her underarm.
Mott’s whisper caressed her ear. “It’s torture isn’t it? Knowing I can tickle you whenever I want. I’m just playing with you now. Not a damn thing you can do about it.”
The young agent felt every single nerve ending on the right side of her body start to tingle, even her neck and her face got in on the act.
Mott chuckled softly and began to slowly, rhythmically bicycle his finger in JJ’s armpit.
The helpless girl squeezed her eyes shut and tried to control her panicked breathing. She desperately attempted to focus her mind on other things to block out what was happening to her. What were the names of the girls on her varsity soccer team in college? Who had been her training officers at Quantico?
She was grimly trying to remember the name of a tall redhead from Pasadena who had played in goal when Mott introduced a second invading digit, broke his rhythm and scrabbled his fingers quickly with a chant of “Tickle!”
The redhead from Pasadena evaporated and JJ’s mind was flooded with the reality of her predicament. She gasped and her eyes flew open. Caught a momentary glimpse of Mott’s face leering and taunting. She tried to resist but his ploy had beaten her.
“Nooo.” She hissed through gritted teeth.
Her breathing began to judder. Mott recognised the beginnings of laughter. He gleefully switched his fingers to her other armpit and began to tickle that one.
JJ squirmed, arched under his body weight and then shrieked with anguished frustration. That just incited her tormentor’s technique to new heights and the shriek broke up into pained laughter.
She cringed as he switched randomly from one armpit to the other. His fingers caught slightly in her sweater and worked the prickly wool effectively against her skin to sensitise and tantalise her.
She did not make it easy for him, she snapped at his fingers with her teeth anytime they passed remotely within range and struggled furiously. Both tickler and ticklee were soon hot and sweaty.
Mott did not let up for an instant. He slipped his fingers under the collar of JJ’s turtleneck and teased her throat, his fingers danced upwards and fluttered against her earlobes before returning to her wondrously sensitive underarms.
He knew she couldn’t resist like this forever, he had to wear her down so he kept his fingers dancing while she bucked and kicked against his immovable weight. Whether it took seconds, minutes or even hours, they all cracked eventually.
Finally he got what he wanted. JJ’s body went as taut as a wire under tension for a few seconds and then she threw her head back and emitted a helpless wail of capitulation. Inside, Mott’s was howling with delight. He let go of her wrists and jammed both sets of fingers into her armpits and began tickling her furiously.
JJ gulped and shuddered with laughter and cries of frustration. Tears stained her, now-rosy, cheeks and her long blonde hair was a tangled mane.
Instinctively her arms clamped to her sides, effectively squeezing Mott’s hands exactly where they wanted to be. She flapped ineffectively at him as he tickled her.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Mott growled with animalistic fervour. His hands were squashed up against her and he could feel the pleasing swells of her breasts brushing against the insides of his wrists. Having a woman this attractive and ticklish at his mercy was his ultimate fantasy.
“Get off me!” JJ screeched, her head whipped from side to side.
“Nope.” he replied cheerfully. “I am going to tickle you for a loooong time yet.”
The poor girl let out another garbled sob of frustration that morphed into another fit of unwitting giggles.
Mott’s large hands inched their way down from her armpits and began to squeeze JJ’s ribs, kneading and probing enthusiastically. “Ooh, what’ve got here? This looks like fun!”
JJ finally released her arms from her sides and tried to sit up. She plucked and slapped and pulled at Mott’s hands but her strength was sapped and his was supercharged with adrenaline and excitement. She gave up trying to stop him and instead tried to protect herself, covering her ribs.
The masked tickler was unfazed. He switched his attention to his prisoner’s slender waist and used his forefingers and thumbs to lobster claw her slender torso, probing away through smooth flesh to the toned and trembling muscle below. JJ’s head fell back to the bed as, unable to control her laughter, she fought to prevent him from tickling her.
Mott plunged his hungry fingers under the front of JJ’s sweater and allowed his digits to feast on her trembling tummy. The poor girl’s eyes bulged open and her mouth formed a perfect “O” as his cool fingertips skipped and scribbled their way across her belly. Long practised skills of self control allowed Mott to keep his fingers cooler than his victim’s skin. The reactions were so much sweeter that way. (Such self-control was sometimes beyond him but he reasoned that’s what ice cubes were for.)
With his hands now exploring beneath her clothing, JJ thrashed furiously from side to side and pulled at Mott’s wrists. This new indignity spurred her efforts on and with an heroic effort she managed to scoot backwards, pull her knees up to her chest and plant both her feet in Mott’s torso. Her strong thighs pistoned forward and Mott found himself falling backwards, rolling off the bed.
This was fantastic! Mott couldn’t believe this girl was still fighting! He rolled smoothly to the floor and was back on his feet in a flash.
JJ had half stumbled, half tumbled off the bed and flew towards the door. She got both hands around the handle, desperate to flee from this tickling maniac. She yanked hard. Locked! The FBI agent let out a cry of frustration as Mott grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her away from the door.
He twisted her around and grabbed the back of her sweater. He jerked it up and over her head and pulled it down swiftly, effectively muffling her obstructing her head and arms. JJ was not wearing an undershirt beneath her sweater, just a black satin bra, which lifted her breasts high. Her skin was smooth, soft and glowed with vitality.
Mott raised an eyebrow of appreciation and pushed JJ toward the bed. So blinded, she stumbled and was easily pinned down on her tummy. She struggled to extricate her arms but felt Mott hold her in place with his bodyweight. One hand clamped over her nose and mouth through fine wool. The other dipped downwards and playfully tickled her waist and sides. He was rewarded with the sound of muffled laughter. He carried on tickling. He figured that would take the wind out of her sails.
JJ fought to breathe and slowed her struggles as she knew he was trying to get her exhaust her oxygen. He kept her nose and mouth clamped though and continued tickling regardless. She started to panic as her head started to spin and her lungs craved air. A blast of cool air hit her upper back and shoulders and JJ could see and breathe again. Unfortunately for her, Mott was pulling her turtleneck down her arms and then it was gone altogether.
The excited tickle fiend liked a challenge and his blonde prisoner was certainly providing one. He also liked to make sure the odds were always well stacked in his favour. He tossed JJ’s sweater to the floor and pulled her left wrist behind her back. A wide leather cuff was secured to it in short order. Her right wrist joined it with a little more difficulty and that too was cuffed.
He sat astride her buttocks and stroked her slender waist. “You got a lotta heart, girl. I’ll give you that.” JJ pulled at her wrists but there was no give in the leather cuffs. Mott pulled a matching set of elbow cuffs from where they were draped over the wrought iron bedframe and slipped these easily around JJ’s upper arms, cinching them tight.
He paused for a second to admire his handiwork. There was something about the juxtaposition of leather bondage equipment and supple female flesh that struck a chord deep within his soul. He lifted his mask to wipe sweat from his brow, repositioned it and then flipped his blonde captive onto her back.
He stared down at her, fixing every detail of her in his mind. She looked magnificent. Her long blonde hair was haloed out over the black satin bedsheets. Her slender body was a study in toned and healthy femininity. Her firm breasts were thrust forward by the elbow bondage. Her flat tummy rose and fell gently as she breathed. He traced a single digit down her throat, between her breasts and over her belly, grazing over the rim of her shallow navel before pausing just above her belt buckle.
Mott realised JJ was staring at him with trepidation. “I’d be willing to bet you a steak dinner that all this glorious flesh is ticklish as hell.”
JJ’s nostrils flared with defiance. “I don’t think they serve steak where you’re going. But you’ll probably have to toss a few salads, eat a tube steak or two.”
Mott laughed heartily and slapped his thigh. “That’s good JJ, that’s real good. Now quit yapping. The only things I wanna hear out of those sweet lips now are laughter and begging.” He clenched his knees tighter around her hips and raised his fingers above her like a concert pianist preparing to play his masterpiece.
“Oh God,” she whispered in a strangled voice, feeling more helpless than ever. She could no longer defend herself and she bound in such a way that her shoulders were pulled back and her body was thrust upwards, as if she were offering herself to him!
“Not quite,” Mott murmured. One corner of his mouth twisted up in a smile and then he began to skate his nails over JJ’s ribs.
The bondage ensured her skin was stretched tight across her ribs and Mott’s fingers weaved their way back and forth in random patterns across their shallow contours moving from just below her bra to just above the point where her ribs dipped away to her gently heaving stomach.
JJ was already open mouthed and shaking with silent laughter. She sniffed, gulped and uttered a single word in a hoarse voice. “Please.”
Her plea went unanswered. The fingers continued their dance.
Mott’s fingers met in the middle and then worked their way out to the sides of the skin that covered the pretty girl’s ribs. He noticed a light smattering of goose bumps raised on her upper arms, a sure sign of her anxiety and sensitivity. Glorious. Absolutely glorious.
He leaned forward slightly and whispered teasing and taunting words to his plaything.
“Are your ribs a lil ticklish, JJ? Mind if I take a little look see and give ‘em a rubbin?”
“What happens if I give you a little squeeze….just…HERE!” (What happened was she yelped and her eyes bugged out.)
“How about if I tickle you two places at once, huh?” One hand drifted upwards to dapple light touches around her neck and ears and trace the length of her collarbones. The other maintained a steady rhythm of squeezing and drumming over her ribs.
JJ was completely lost. She could the sheets beneath her dampened with perspiration and the soft leather rubbing over her captured upper arms and her wrists. The entire front of her body tingled with anticipation of being tickled and anywhere that the fingers fell, the tingling was multiplied.
Mott attacked JJ’s tummy and waist lustily now. Little pinches, strokes, pokes and squeezes all elicited delightful rumbles of melodic, gurgling laughter.
“That’s a sweet little belly button you got there, honey. I bet you’d look great on a bar doing body shots.” He held her in place, one hand gripping her side as he stroked the rim of her navel with the forefinger of the other. He dipped his fingertip into the shallow cup of flesh and wiggled it in slow, tight circles.
JJ arched her back and laughed even harder, high pitched screeches punctuated her distress. She squirmed delightfully between his strong thighs, inadvertently rubbing herself against him.
Mott was mesmerised. He could feel the smallest movements in the toned muscles of JJ’s pretty tummy when he tickled her like this. He had to taste it. He just had to. He gripped her hips with both hands, getting a good hold on her jeans and then bent down and slipped his wet tongue into her belly button, licking and swirling its tip. He could smell her womanly scent of her warm skin and her almost when light-headed with the multitude of sensations he was experiencing.
Up above him JJ was banging the back of her head against the soft bed, squealing hysterically and begging him to stop. Naturally this just made him lick, nibble and blow on her tight tummy even more. His thumbs worked their way into the tight pockets at the front of her jeans and probed the highly sensitive area just inside her hipbones. Oh how she screamed when he rubbed his thumb tips over the taut flesh he found there.
And that was how he broke her. Sometimes it tooks hours of relentless attention to a spot on the sole of the foot with the tines of a common dinner fork. Sometimes it was nibbling and exposed neck with the lightest of touches. Sometimes it was restrictive bondage and stiff feathers. With JJ, it was the sinuous, teasing tongue in her belly button and the implacable thumbs working her hips.
That was what did it. JJ’s struggles dropped off. She lay there, shaking with laughter but she no longer fought him. She had put up a hell of a fight but now she could do nothing but laugh as he exploited her heightened ticklishness.
Mott sat up and let his fingers run rampant over her glowing upper body. From her hips to her ears he teased, squeezed, pinched, rubbed and kneaded his way all over her slickly sensitive skin.
Poor JJ was lost in another world now. All she knew was the maddening firing of synapses that sent ticklish signals to her brain and exploding in the millions of nerve endings on her skin. All she heard were her own croaky and hoarse pleadings, her own tortured laughter and Mott’s self-satisfied chuckles and taunts.
Mott worked his captive over to the point where she almost passed out a couple of times. He would pause, sit her up, force her to swallow a few sips of water, allow her the briefest of respites to restore her breathing and then he would pin her down and begin all over again. He had developed a serious jones for the feel of her skin and the sound of her laughter and he did his damnedest to prolong it for as long as he could. If that meant pushing JJ to the limits of physical and mental tolerance then that was what he was quite prepared to do.
JJ no longer cared about fighting back and any hopes of an arrest or a rescue were ridiculously distant fantasies. Now she just wanted this to end. Mott’s fingers were once again snuggled in her underarms and wriggling away. He was hunkered down over her nibbling at her earlobe and her neck. He whispered in a wet, meaty voice, telling her she was his tickle slave and that after this night, she always would be.
He laughed gaily and flipped her onto her front. He sat down over her knees and began to rake his fingers lightly below the rounded curve of her buttocks and down the tops of her thighs, scratching through tight denim. She arched backwards in a move that would have impressed the average yoga student and her fingers searched desperately for his. Her laughter reached a new pitch and Mott guessed that like most women, JJ had never been tickled there before. He kept tickling her until she sank into the bedsheets, a quivering mess.
He gave her butt a playful swat and then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I think it’s time we had a look at the old nylons versus bare feet argument again, don’t you?”
JJ turned her face to the side, her cheek was wet with tears of laughter. “No more, no more.” She pleaded shakily. “I can’t take anymore.”
Mott chuckled happily. “Course you can.” He reached for another little implement he had been saving up.
JJ felt him spin around to face her feet and then another leather cuff was fastened over her jeans and around her left ankle. A similar cuff was secured over her right ankle. JJ felt her legs were parted and was momentarily confused. She had imagined he was trying to bind her ankles together. She moved her feet and then found her range of movement was severely inhibited.
“Spreader bar.” Mott said simply. “I got this one in Amsterdam a couple of years ago. I paid a lot for it to be custom-made but it was worth it. It’s done serious duty since then.”
JJ pressed her face into the bedsheets and let out a moan of despair. Was this bastard ever going to stop tickling her? She could sympathise now with all Mott’s previous victims and she felt she was experiencing some kind of karmic retribution for even daring to make light of their ordeals. Tickling, how bad could it really be?
Mott grabbed hold of the spreader bar, which was telescoped out to 24 inches, and used it to twist JJ over onto her back again. He saw the beaten look in her big blue eyes and decided to rub it in a little more.
“Aww, is the tough little FBI agent all worn out with a little tickling? Poor little JJ! Whatever shall we do with her?”
He lifted the bar in the middle and held it up so he could inspect JJ’s wriggling feet. One still covered in a black nylon sheath, the other pink and bare.
“I’ll let you into a secret, JJ,” he said conspiratorially, “I don’t actually care which tickles more, I’m gonna tickle you anyway.”
He ran a finger down one nyloned arch and then down one bare arch and got a nice squeal for each. He flipped his exhausted prisoner onto her front again and made sure her insteps were pressed into the bed, her soles exposed for his pleasure. He sat on the backs of her legs and ran his nails up and down her soles. JJ no longer even had the strength to look up from her bedsheets and all Mott heard was her muffled laughter and the odd curse.
The small, perfectly formed feet before him wriggled and shivered and he looked on in fascination as she curled her toes inward creating a myriad a small wrinkles across her arches that vanished once her toes flexed and splayed. It was a close thing to say whether she was more sensitive to his touch with nylon or without it. In the end he decided to call it a draw and tickle her anyway.
He was rewarded with louder peals of laughter and even some womanly moans (!) when he took the toes of her bare foot into his mouth and ran his tongue over them while raking his nails against the nylon covered surface of her other foot. His tongue slurped, his fingers danced, his tickle slave screamed and writhed. Throw in a large deep pan pizza with mushroom and pepperoni and a six pack of beer and his evening would have been just about perfect.
Mott wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was grinning insanely. He rolled off of JJ and propped himself up at her side. “You know JJ, a lot of women have great bodies but yours is off the charts ticklish too.”
JJ turned to face him, her cheek still resting on the bed. “Please, you’ve got what you wanted. Can you let me go now?”
“The thing is, most of the time, you can only tickle one part at a time. You know? You do the feet and maybe you can get the legs or you do the pits and get the tummy too. But what if you want it all? Well I’ve got a little idea for that. You’re gonna love it.
JJ was about to ask him what he meant but he was already fiddling around down by her feet. His spreader bar telescoped at 24 and an extreme 36 inches but now he collapsed it to 12 inches, less stressful to his prisoner but still an effective hobble.
He put a thick towel around his neck and then lifted JJ by her hips and turned her onto her back. She was getting royally fed up of being manhandled and tossed about in this fashion but there was precious little she could do about it.
He lifted up the spreader bar and pulled JJ up easily so only her head and shoulders were on the bed. He pulled the bar over his head and placed it against the towel on his neck. He was kneeling upright with his thighs spread. He grabbed her hips and pulled her into the V created by his thighs so the backs of her legs were against his chest, the backs of her knees against his shoulders. He was able to sit on her bound wrists but more importantly this odd position gave him access to all the places he had been tickling before at once. With the spreader bar in danger of knocking him on the back of the head it was a risky position to try so he always made sure his victim was drained of energy before indulging.
“Whaddya think? Pretty clever huh?” Mott said, genuinely pleased with himself. “Let’s give it a whirl.
Laughing from this intimate position was even more uncomfortable for JJ but she had little choice as he tickled her ribs and sides. One hand stayed there, the other flew up to one of the feet in orbit around his head. He alternated like this for while. One foot, then the other, one hand always on her ribs and belly.
Then both hands were working her ribs and straying onto the sides of her breasts. JJ squirmed and bit her lip. Her hips moved in that unmistakable fashion. This did not escape Mott.
“Oh, you like that one huh?” He grinned down at her embarrassed expression. “Can’t have you getting all hot and bothered can we?”
He reached down to her waist and began to undo her belt. JJ squealed in protest but he slid the thick black leather tongue through the brass buckle and then popped open the buttons on her jeans.
“Oh God, not that.” She implored.
Mott rolled his eyes. “How many times? I didn’t bring you here for that. I can get that anywhere. You know what this is about, right? It’s about THIS!” He plunged his fingers into her open jeans, caught a sight of her black panties and then began to stroke the ultra-sensitive skin just inside her hipbones.
JJ arched all the way and emitted a shriek of high-pitched laughter but there was nowhere for her to go and Mott’s fingers stroked their merry way across her lower belly and hips, straying briefly onto her panties. “Oh God, Oh God…” She gulped over and over again.
“Sorry, he ain’t here right now but ol’ Mott is and he is gonna take good care of you.”
He tickled her tight little belly into spasms of laughter, his tickled up and down her sides, all over her ribs, into her soft pits and over her neck and ears. He reached up and tickled her feet, raking his nails up and down her soft tortured soles. JJ gulped and spluttered under his relentless fingers. She laughed and she squealed and she trembled and she whimpered. At that moment she truly was his tickle slave, existing only to satisfy his raging tickle lust.
Mott could see she had taken just about all she could from him but he did not show her any mercy. If anything he became even more frenzied. He pulled her legs back over his head and draped her over his lap. His fingers flew over her body, delving into her unbuckled jeans, turning her onto her side so he could tickle those sweet spots just below her rounded buttocks over and over.
JJ looked up at the grinning face of her tormentor as she spasmed, jerked and shook with laughter under his onslaught. She was really tiring now, her muscles had no strength and the edges of her vision were starting to go a little fuzzy. His fingers were massaging her ribs, forcing more laughter from her lungs but now the laughter sounded distant and her face felt flushed and hot.
Mott knew exactly what he was doing to his dizzy prisoner. He dumped her on her back so her legs were dangling off the bed. Then, kneeling on the floor before her, he reached up to her pretty neck and pressed his mouth against her taut belly. He caressed her throat and ears and pressed his wriggling fingers into her underarms. He nibbled and nuzzled his way from hip to hip before snaking and fluttering his tongue in and out of her navel. JJ’s laughter became hoarse and croaky, she was almost wheezing with hysteria now. A soft squeal cracked in her throat and she arched up, pressing her tummy against his face. Then she emitted a small groan and dropped back to the bed.
Mott stood up, licking his lips and surveyed his tickle slave. JJ’s torso rose and fell with her gentle breaths. Her hair was a wild mane and tears stained her cheeks. The corners of her mouth were crinkled upwards and her eyebrows arched slightly as if she was frozen in tickle torment. One bra strap had slid down, hinting at the rich curve that lay below and her open jeans were rucked about her hips exposing the low waist of her panties. Sometimes less is more and it was a visual he wanted to remember forever.
Luckily he always kept a high-end digital camera with him on such occasions and so he took a picture. In fact, he took several.
He patted her cheeks with his fingers and gave her a gentle shake. “Oh JJ? Sleeping Beauty, wakey wakey!” There was no reaction from the befuddled girl.
Mott’s body felt electrified. He removed the spreader bar from her ankles and gently unbuckled the cuffs from her elbows and wrists. He stripped what tattered nylon still remained from her foot and then lifted both of her feet to his face. He inhaled deeply, kissed each toe individually, then the balls of her feet, then her heels.
He held them there easily with one hand. With the other he opened his belt and jeans and pulled his raging cock free. He began to stroke himself while he tasted her toes. At this stage, it didn’t take him long. It seldom did. He had already gorged himself in a feast of tickling and he thought of this as the after dinner mint.
With his tongue sucking hard at JJ’s big toes, he felt a sweet rumbling pulse in his loins. A bolt of lightning shot up his spine making him groan with pleasure as he came. He shot his load in shuddering, shallow arcs across the black satin bedsheets.
Finally spent, he propped himself up on all fours, breathing hard. He loved the danger and excitement of that moment. The moment of little death when, if his captive awoke, he would truly be vulnerable. The thrill of the risk just added to the potency of his climax.
Mott smoothed JJ’s hair from her face, tugged the wayward bra strap back onto her shoulder and wrestled her jeans up. There, that was much better. He lifted her up and delivered a gentle kiss to her slightly parted lips and then laid her gently back down again.
His first order of business was to clean himself up. The second order of business was to take care of JJ. Finally he would sanitise the rooms where he had kept her and then vanish like a wraith.
……….
Two months later:
Aaron “Hotch” Hotchner wandered onto the firing range at Quantico and nodded to the rangemaster. The grizzled former Marine gunnery sergeant looked up from a logbook and nodded back at the special agent from the BAU.
“Don’t normally see you BAU guys down here that much.”
Hotch shrugged. “It’s a bad world. Is Agent Jareau here?”
The rangemaster handed Hotch a pair of orange ear defenders. “Down at the end. She’s been here a while and I have to say, that girl’s got a hell of an eye. Getting some real tight groups.”
“Thanks.” Hotch said. He took the ear defenders and put them on.
JJ was the only one at the range at that time. He walked toward her, not entirely sure of what he was going to say. He stood back at a respectful distance and watched as JJ put double taps into a man-size silhouette at 15 yards.
When her clip was empty, she placed her weapon on the counter, tugged her ear defenders down around her neck and cycled the target back towards her to check her accuracy.
Hotch pulled his ear guards down and announced his presence by clearing his throat.
“Hey, Hotch. What’s up?” JJ said without turning around. She was busy inspecting her target.
“You OK, JJ?” He said.
She turned and smiled at him and for a second he believed her. Those blue eyes, that open smile. Hotch sighed inwardly. It had been two months since Mott had abducted JJ. Psychiatrists said she was doing fine. She was tough, she was a fighter. She was mentally strong enough to recover from her ordeal and she had insisted on coming back to work as soon as possible and pursuing the investigation.
They had discovered of course that Mott was simply a name he chose himself. He displayed his conceit in its choice as in a taunting message to the BAU he signed off as, “MOTT - Master of Tickle Torture.”
With JJ’s report they had gathered more information about what drove him and a profile was developed. The team had rarely been more motivated to apprehend an unsub. The BAU looked after its own.
And then, just as the investigation seemed poised on the brink of a breakthrough the order had come to cease and desist any and all activity into the search for Mott. There was no explanation and the order came down from on high, from the director himself. To placate the outrage there had been unconvincing arguments made about jurisdictions and more serious cases requiring the BAU’s attention but it was a bitter pill to swallow. JJ herself had remained strangely calm about the whole thing.
Only Hotch knew that the director had been pressured by powerful, faceless sources in Washington. He had done some digging himself and come up against a brick wall that said Department of Defense. Whoever wanted the BAU off the case had some serious clout.
“Some of the guys are going for a beer, JJ. You want to come along? Maybe have a game of darts?” Hotch asked hopefully.”
“Maybe in a while,” JJ replied as she loaded a fresh clip. “I’m just gonna finish up here first and then I have a refresher session with the defensive tactics instructor.”
Hotch knew that JJ didn’t have a physical evaluation scheduled for at least six months but it didn’t seem helpful to point it out.
“Hey, Hotch!”
He looked up at her, his thoughts momentarily interrupted. She was grinning at him.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me. OK?”
Hotch forced a smile. “I’ll see you later, JJ. You take care.” He placed the defenders back over his ears and walked back down the range as JJ began perforating another paper silhouette.
……….
Several thousand miles away:
Qatar. They were probably in Qatar. Elena Vorlov knew that was where the Americans put people when they wanted to interrogate them out of the way of prying eyes. She wasn’t unduly worried and had been in worse scrapes. Her cover story was that she was a Swedish news reporter and with her 6 foot frame, long blonde hair and blue eyes she certainly looked the part.
She had spent 7 years as a lieutenant in the Russian FSB before the lure of the private sector had taken hold. Mother Russia didn’t pay the bills in the brave new world and a woman like her had skillsets that could be turned to profitable advantage.
The room she was being held in was an airless makeshift office with two solid wooden chairs bolted into the floor. She was securely bound to one chair, the other was directly opposite, presumably so an interrogator could get right into her face. That might seem a little excessive but then again she had been caught in possession of a Dragunov sniper rifle and $25,000 in cash.
Her only company was a morose, buzz-cut sporting fellow in a white short-sleeved shirt, striped tie and cheap black suit pants. The outfit screamed CIA. Elena was wearing a light blue hiking shirt, khaki pants and walking boots, just like most other reporters in the Middle East. They were both sweltering in the oppressive heat.
Just as she figured they were playing a waiting game with her, the door to the office cracked open and someone a little higher up the food chain walked in. This fellow was clearly an Ivy Leaguer. Elena guessed he had probably been at Yale and a member of the Skull and Bones society.
“We’ve checked your back story and there’s no trace of a journalist named Elizabeth Lindstrom from Gothenberg.” He said in a matter of fact fashion. “Even if there had been, I doubt she’d have a Russian sniper rifle and a wad of dollars in her possession. Care to explain that?”
Elena ignored him and pretended to stifle a yawn.
“OK, be a hardassed bitch about it. Last chance. You gonna talk to me or does this go to the next level?”
This time the Russian gave him a bored shrug. She knew what the Americans were like. They would shout at her, they may even rough her up a little but it wasn’t as if she had been taken by Colombian cartel members or the Iranians.
Ivy League nodded at buzz-cut. “We’re wasting our time with this one. Let’s get out of here.”
The two men left leaving Elena alone. The blonde sighed. So it was the waiting game. Well she could wait. Not so long ago she had spent six days on a frozen hillside, waiting for a clear shot at a moving target 800 yards away. This was a walk in the park in comparison.
The door opened again. She looked up expecting to see the Ivy leaguer again but instead she saw one of the commandos who had been present at the take down. He was a tall, lean, hard looking character with short brown hair. He appeared unarmed and wore a pair of desert BDU pants, desert boots and a brown t-shirt.
“I suppose you are here to slap me around and make me cry?” Elena said with a pout. These Americans really had no idea.
“Not exactly,” the commando replied. He undid the bindings that attached Elena’s boots to her chair and pulled her legs out in front of her, re-binding them to the chair opposite.
“You and I are just going to have a nice little chat.” He looked her in the eye and gave her a wolf-like grin.
Elena felt the first pang of uncertainty. This wasn’t something she had expected.
“I am really looking forward to getting to know all about you, Miss Lindstrom, or whatever your name is. I’ll find out eventually. I always do.” He began to unlace her boots.
“In the meantime, you can call me Mott.”
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Come on people. This is one helluva read!! 
Truly a fantastic conclusion. This was definitely worth the wait and you know how frustrating it is for me to wait. 
