ficticktion
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WARNING: SOME EXPLICITLY SEXUAL CONTENT AS WELL AS INTENSE, NON-CONSENTUAL THEMES
Tara had waited days to have the dorm room to herself and she was making full use of this time. Her eyes were shut tight and her face flushed as she bit her lip and ran two fingertips over her wet panties. She lay naked under the blanket that covered her from head to toe, or almost to toe. One foot poked out, pink nails on a darkly bronzed, slender foot wiggling over the edge of the mattress. She imagined herself lying bare on a bed for a princess, twirling her fingers around in her light blond pussy hair and teasing a slave boy with her eyes. She pictures naked slave boys all around her bed, all standing and aching with lust, not allowed to touch her or even themselves, pre-cum appearing on the heads…she lost her train of thought for a moment as footsteps came and went by her door outside, in the dorm hallway. She slid in and out of herself, her hips rising and falling. Tara imagined them all longingly staring at her hard nipples, her firm tummy, the wet fingers pumping in and out of her. She would permit one of them to stroke himself, let him go faster and faster, then order him to stop it before he could finish. The idea of being watched and of teasing drove her crazy. She traced a circle around her clitoris. Her muscles tightened.
Another noise interrupted. The door was unlocking. She took her hand away, tried to steady her hips from their thrusting, to pretend to be napping as Meg came into the room. She wondered if her shaking was visible under the covers.
Meg tiptoed past her to her desk. Both freshmen, they had met the first day of school and been rooming together since January. The prettiest freshmen girls in the dorm, they had immediately formed a bond. Tara, with her curly, short blond hair, blue eyes and map of freckles that went from her nose to her chest bone and Meg, of Korean descent with hair down to her shoulder blades, had none of the same classes but all the same hobbies. They went running together, went to the same parties, and had been planning spring break together.
Meg was reading a book. When she was sure she had steadied her breath, Tara peaked her face out from under the covers and tried to sound groggy. “What’s up?”
“I got the tickets. Dominican Republic, baby.”
“Puerto Plata, baby.”
It was Tara who had come across the Internet ad and convinced Megan they should take the deal to pay for the vacation. Tickets and a three star hotel room for a week if they'd spend a half day as models in some erotic videos. Kinky stuff but no full nudity or sex. They had gone through a long checklist, selecting what they would and wouldn't do and writing a comment next to each NO. Sucking lolipops and/or dildos. YES. Bondage (no pain, just tied up). YES. Public peeing. YES (Tara) and NO ("sick" wrote Megan). To being tickled, they both checked NO. "Hate it" wrote Tara, "can't deal" wrote Megan. To tickling others, they both agreed.
They'd sent it their answers along with some jpegs and got their work offer a day later.
“I think there’s some kind of gas getting in here. Sir?” The driver didn’t seem to be listening. She was going to tap on the glass but was too dizzy.
When she woke up, the driver was gone. They weren’t in a car. The girls were in a large, windowless room with concrete walls. It was undecorated except for a toilet in the corner and one full-length mirror in the wall. They had been stripped to their cotton underwear, hands tied behind their backs and were lying on cots. They both sat up slowly and got to their feet. “What the fuck?”
“Tara, we’ve been kidnapped.”
They started screaming for help and Megan tried kicking at the door. It was thick and metal. In reply to the thudding of her feet, it unlocked and the driver came in with two other men. They wore ski masks and let him do the speaking.
“Feeling well rested from your nap?” he smiled.
“Let us the fuck out of here!”
“Calm, darling. You’ll need your energy today.”
“People are looking for us right now, asshole.”
“Maybe. I doubt it. Anybody who knows about your trip expects you to be gone for a week. And if they look at all, they’ll be looking in the Dominican Republic.” He laughed. “Yes, you’re well rested after LONG nap.” He looked to his colleagues, who nodded in agreement. “And now you’re ours.”
Tara tried to run for the door but there was little point. One of the men grabbed her by the hair, turned her around and held onto her wrist to steady her. Megan began to sob.
“Oh, poor darlings. Don’t be afraid. Nobody here wants to hurt you. And our employer will probably choose to have you returned to the Dominican Republic when – well, if and when he’s satisfied with your work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“But you already know. You’re here to make movies. Let’s go,” he said to the other men. The girls were easily picked up and carried, kicking futilely, into a hallway. They were brought a short ways to another door and carried into what looked like a sadist’s dream.
Cameras on tripods stood in each corner of the room and hung from the ceiling. In the center of the room were two cushioned tables, each with what appeared to be wooden stockades at each end. There were also hooks in the ceiling and ropes dangling down. Against the walls were wooden storage chests. And women. Four black women, all in tight jeans and white tank tops, in wearing clown makeup but looking very serious, arms folded over their chests. Lastly, there were two chairs. The men put the girls down on their feet in front of the chairs and one of the clown women ordered them to sit by pointing. When Megan shook her head, the women took her and Tara by the necks and shoved them down into the seats. The men went behind them, quickly unlocking and redoing their cuffs to fix them to their places. One of the clowns was getting something from a chest. It was tape.
Tara tried to scream for help again but didn’t have a chance to shout much before she and her friend were reduced to muffled whimpers. The men walked out.
“You can yell all you like,” said the tallest of the women in an accent that didn’t seem Spanish. “Nobody come here to help. Nobody hear you.”
The girls could only watch and wonder as their female captors removed things from the chests. One woman held a bottle of sunscreen, though it seemed unlikely that they would be going to the beach any time soon. Another waved an electric toothbrush with a grin.
“We’re ready,” said the tallest and the door opened again. The masked men were back and carrying another, also most likely a student.
She was a slender but curvy redhead. Naked and with tears in her eyes, she was limp in her guard’s arms and begged softly in a Scottish accent. “Please. I’ll do what you want. Please, no more,”
She was put into the table and her ankles locked into the stocks. Her hands were not put into the similar holes above her head but merely cuffed under the small of her back, causing her to arch upward, ribs straining against a thin frame and tummy taut. Tara, from where she sat, could see her outie belly button rise and fall with short, frightened breaths. “Please. I can’t take it.”
The leader of the clowns leaned close to Megan and sighed into her ear. “What should we do? Hmmm?” The American girl trembled with fear. “Don’t worry, little baby. You only watch now. We play later.”
And then it began. All three of the black women went to the red-haired girl and started to run long fingernails along her body. Two of them stood on either side and stroked her from elbow to armpit to the side of her breast, going slowly up and down as she spasmed and thrashed. The leader stood by her feet, watching and tapping her fingertips on the wooden stocks. She sputtered and choked for air as they petted her arms, laughed hard when they went into her pits or scratched at her small, firm breasts.
Tara’s mind was spinning. They were going to be tickled against their will for the cameras. She wouldn’t be able to stand it. She hadn’t been held down and tickled since she was twelve years old but she was still afraid of it. She tried to say something but could only grunt into the tape.
“Shhh,” said the leading clown, looking into her eyes. “Just wait,”
The women at the victim’s sides were concentrating on the ribs now, poking her with fingertips and kneading her with knuckles. She screamed each time they went to the floating ribs and the girls could see her toes clench and flex as her face flew from side to side.
“Will you be good?” asked the leader.
“I –HAHAHA! I’ll BE GOOD! Please!”
They kept on assaulting her ribs.
“Will you kiss our feet. You will lick the toes?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Will you kiss these pretty girls? You kiss the pussies?”
“YES! AAWH! AHAHAHAHA! PLEASE, STOP!”
One of the women bent down and blew sloppy raspberries into her stomach. The girl bounced hard on the table.
“Poor baby. Laugh for us.”
She did exactly as instructed, laughing harder and harder as the women took turns blowing fart noises on her tummy, squeezing her ribs and pinching skinny, freckled thighs just above the knees.
The leader waved her hand and her subordinates stopped, allowing their prisoner to catch her breath. Glistening with sweat, she sobbed and gasped for air. She was still giggling. “Please,” she gulped. “No,”
The tools that had been displayed before were now handed to the leader, who poured shining suntan lotion onto the redhead’s feet and massaged it all over her soles and toes. “What about you, Megan?” the clown asked. “Where are you ticklish?”
Megan shook her head as the leader turned on the toothbrush and pressed it lightly into the redhead’s left heel. She went crazy, thrashing about in desperation as circles were traced on the ball of her foot, up to the center and back. Again and again, the pattern was repeated and the victim shrieked.
“Do you girls want to be porno stars? You want that men watch you? They watch this girl,” The tall, dark clown scraped her captive from heel to big toe. She danced the brush over every inch of the foot. The redhead was in tears. “Our boss watches and he likes it. He will like to watch you, Tara.” The redhead’s laughter was hoarse.
One of the other women went to the right foot and bent over to suck on her toes, one by one. It looked like the redhead would break her own limbs trying to rip free. She was hysterical. Finally, she coughed, burped and fainted. The tickling stopped. He victim was out cold, her ribs still undulating as she gasped unconsciously for air.
“Your turn,” said the leader to Tara.
YOUR TURN. Anybody want to take over from here?
Tara had waited days to have the dorm room to herself and she was making full use of this time. Her eyes were shut tight and her face flushed as she bit her lip and ran two fingertips over her wet panties. She lay naked under the blanket that covered her from head to toe, or almost to toe. One foot poked out, pink nails on a darkly bronzed, slender foot wiggling over the edge of the mattress. She imagined herself lying bare on a bed for a princess, twirling her fingers around in her light blond pussy hair and teasing a slave boy with her eyes. She pictures naked slave boys all around her bed, all standing and aching with lust, not allowed to touch her or even themselves, pre-cum appearing on the heads…she lost her train of thought for a moment as footsteps came and went by her door outside, in the dorm hallway. She slid in and out of herself, her hips rising and falling. Tara imagined them all longingly staring at her hard nipples, her firm tummy, the wet fingers pumping in and out of her. She would permit one of them to stroke himself, let him go faster and faster, then order him to stop it before he could finish. The idea of being watched and of teasing drove her crazy. She traced a circle around her clitoris. Her muscles tightened.
Another noise interrupted. The door was unlocking. She took her hand away, tried to steady her hips from their thrusting, to pretend to be napping as Meg came into the room. She wondered if her shaking was visible under the covers.
Meg tiptoed past her to her desk. Both freshmen, they had met the first day of school and been rooming together since January. The prettiest freshmen girls in the dorm, they had immediately formed a bond. Tara, with her curly, short blond hair, blue eyes and map of freckles that went from her nose to her chest bone and Meg, of Korean descent with hair down to her shoulder blades, had none of the same classes but all the same hobbies. They went running together, went to the same parties, and had been planning spring break together.
Meg was reading a book. When she was sure she had steadied her breath, Tara peaked her face out from under the covers and tried to sound groggy. “What’s up?”
“I got the tickets. Dominican Republic, baby.”
“Puerto Plata, baby.”
It was Tara who had come across the Internet ad and convinced Megan they should take the deal to pay for the vacation. Tickets and a three star hotel room for a week if they'd spend a half day as models in some erotic videos. Kinky stuff but no full nudity or sex. They had gone through a long checklist, selecting what they would and wouldn't do and writing a comment next to each NO. Sucking lolipops and/or dildos. YES. Bondage (no pain, just tied up). YES. Public peeing. YES (Tara) and NO ("sick" wrote Megan). To being tickled, they both checked NO. "Hate it" wrote Tara, "can't deal" wrote Megan. To tickling others, they both agreed.
They'd sent it their answers along with some jpegs and got their work offer a day later.
“I think there’s some kind of gas getting in here. Sir?” The driver didn’t seem to be listening. She was going to tap on the glass but was too dizzy.
When she woke up, the driver was gone. They weren’t in a car. The girls were in a large, windowless room with concrete walls. It was undecorated except for a toilet in the corner and one full-length mirror in the wall. They had been stripped to their cotton underwear, hands tied behind their backs and were lying on cots. They both sat up slowly and got to their feet. “What the fuck?”
“Tara, we’ve been kidnapped.”
They started screaming for help and Megan tried kicking at the door. It was thick and metal. In reply to the thudding of her feet, it unlocked and the driver came in with two other men. They wore ski masks and let him do the speaking.
“Feeling well rested from your nap?” he smiled.
“Let us the fuck out of here!”
“Calm, darling. You’ll need your energy today.”
“People are looking for us right now, asshole.”
“Maybe. I doubt it. Anybody who knows about your trip expects you to be gone for a week. And if they look at all, they’ll be looking in the Dominican Republic.” He laughed. “Yes, you’re well rested after LONG nap.” He looked to his colleagues, who nodded in agreement. “And now you’re ours.”
Tara tried to run for the door but there was little point. One of the men grabbed her by the hair, turned her around and held onto her wrist to steady her. Megan began to sob.
“Oh, poor darlings. Don’t be afraid. Nobody here wants to hurt you. And our employer will probably choose to have you returned to the Dominican Republic when – well, if and when he’s satisfied with your work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“But you already know. You’re here to make movies. Let’s go,” he said to the other men. The girls were easily picked up and carried, kicking futilely, into a hallway. They were brought a short ways to another door and carried into what looked like a sadist’s dream.
Cameras on tripods stood in each corner of the room and hung from the ceiling. In the center of the room were two cushioned tables, each with what appeared to be wooden stockades at each end. There were also hooks in the ceiling and ropes dangling down. Against the walls were wooden storage chests. And women. Four black women, all in tight jeans and white tank tops, in wearing clown makeup but looking very serious, arms folded over their chests. Lastly, there were two chairs. The men put the girls down on their feet in front of the chairs and one of the clown women ordered them to sit by pointing. When Megan shook her head, the women took her and Tara by the necks and shoved them down into the seats. The men went behind them, quickly unlocking and redoing their cuffs to fix them to their places. One of the clowns was getting something from a chest. It was tape.
Tara tried to scream for help again but didn’t have a chance to shout much before she and her friend were reduced to muffled whimpers. The men walked out.
“You can yell all you like,” said the tallest of the women in an accent that didn’t seem Spanish. “Nobody come here to help. Nobody hear you.”
The girls could only watch and wonder as their female captors removed things from the chests. One woman held a bottle of sunscreen, though it seemed unlikely that they would be going to the beach any time soon. Another waved an electric toothbrush with a grin.
“We’re ready,” said the tallest and the door opened again. The masked men were back and carrying another, also most likely a student.
She was a slender but curvy redhead. Naked and with tears in her eyes, she was limp in her guard’s arms and begged softly in a Scottish accent. “Please. I’ll do what you want. Please, no more,”
She was put into the table and her ankles locked into the stocks. Her hands were not put into the similar holes above her head but merely cuffed under the small of her back, causing her to arch upward, ribs straining against a thin frame and tummy taut. Tara, from where she sat, could see her outie belly button rise and fall with short, frightened breaths. “Please. I can’t take it.”
The leader of the clowns leaned close to Megan and sighed into her ear. “What should we do? Hmmm?” The American girl trembled with fear. “Don’t worry, little baby. You only watch now. We play later.”
And then it began. All three of the black women went to the red-haired girl and started to run long fingernails along her body. Two of them stood on either side and stroked her from elbow to armpit to the side of her breast, going slowly up and down as she spasmed and thrashed. The leader stood by her feet, watching and tapping her fingertips on the wooden stocks. She sputtered and choked for air as they petted her arms, laughed hard when they went into her pits or scratched at her small, firm breasts.
Tara’s mind was spinning. They were going to be tickled against their will for the cameras. She wouldn’t be able to stand it. She hadn’t been held down and tickled since she was twelve years old but she was still afraid of it. She tried to say something but could only grunt into the tape.
“Shhh,” said the leading clown, looking into her eyes. “Just wait,”
The women at the victim’s sides were concentrating on the ribs now, poking her with fingertips and kneading her with knuckles. She screamed each time they went to the floating ribs and the girls could see her toes clench and flex as her face flew from side to side.
“Will you be good?” asked the leader.
“I –HAHAHA! I’ll BE GOOD! Please!”
They kept on assaulting her ribs.
“Will you kiss our feet. You will lick the toes?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Will you kiss these pretty girls? You kiss the pussies?”
“YES! AAWH! AHAHAHAHA! PLEASE, STOP!”
One of the women bent down and blew sloppy raspberries into her stomach. The girl bounced hard on the table.
“Poor baby. Laugh for us.”
She did exactly as instructed, laughing harder and harder as the women took turns blowing fart noises on her tummy, squeezing her ribs and pinching skinny, freckled thighs just above the knees.
The leader waved her hand and her subordinates stopped, allowing their prisoner to catch her breath. Glistening with sweat, she sobbed and gasped for air. She was still giggling. “Please,” she gulped. “No,”
The tools that had been displayed before were now handed to the leader, who poured shining suntan lotion onto the redhead’s feet and massaged it all over her soles and toes. “What about you, Megan?” the clown asked. “Where are you ticklish?”
Megan shook her head as the leader turned on the toothbrush and pressed it lightly into the redhead’s left heel. She went crazy, thrashing about in desperation as circles were traced on the ball of her foot, up to the center and back. Again and again, the pattern was repeated and the victim shrieked.
“Do you girls want to be porno stars? You want that men watch you? They watch this girl,” The tall, dark clown scraped her captive from heel to big toe. She danced the brush over every inch of the foot. The redhead was in tears. “Our boss watches and he likes it. He will like to watch you, Tara.” The redhead’s laughter was hoarse.
One of the other women went to the right foot and bent over to suck on her toes, one by one. It looked like the redhead would break her own limbs trying to rip free. She was hysterical. Finally, she coughed, burped and fainted. The tickling stopped. He victim was out cold, her ribs still undulating as she gasped unconsciously for air.
“Your turn,” said the leader to Tara.
YOUR TURN. Anybody want to take over from here?