Francie_Pants
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- May 6, 2008
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This is kind of a bridge scene, between the last one and the more involved continuation that I have. It's basically the transport scene, with some foreshadowing to the nature of the 'buyer'.
Part One can be viewed here:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=176002
Part Two:
After I passed out, they obviously moved quickly, because when I awakened, I was no longer dangling from the chain. I was lying, instead, on my back, on the ground. A special belt was buckled around my waist, and my wrists were strapped into leather cuffs, attached to the belt, on either side of my waist. My tube top had been pulled back up, and my boots were back on. My ankles were shackled together with about enough chain between them that I would be able to walk, with baby steps. The makeshift gag of the handkerchief and leather strap had been replaced by a ball gag.
The four of them: Crystal, Trina, Dorinda, and Dianne, were standing there talking to a handful of men. They were obviously the buyer and his entourage.
I tried to rise quietly, and somehow push myself up, but with my hands secured to my waist, they were useless to me. Besides, the instant I tried to sit up, an unseen man pushed down on my shoulders, from behind, forcing my back against the ground, again. I gave him the coldest stare I could muster, but inside I was shaking with fear. This was actually going to happen. They were actually selling me to this smuggler.
They disregarded my noises, as I screamed and protested through the gag, making quite an amusing commentary with what actually made it past the gag.
I had awakened just in time to see the exchange of money. The buyer handed a briefcase to Dianne. I can only assume it was loaded with cash.
“Thank you, Mr. Winston. Always a pleasure doing business with you. When will you be coming around, again?” Dianne was enjoying this way too much, at least I thought.
“Well, that will depend,” his voice was kind of high pitched, cracked and annoying. It made me think of a teenager going through puberty, but he looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, “on how fast the demand rises for the next shipment.”
“Well, just give me all. We’ll be eyeing potential merchandise, in the meantime,” Dianne stated.
“Ok, let’s get this show on the road.” Winston barked his command at the men with him.
I watched as they came toward me. There wasn’t anything I could do, but I made a show of giving it my best effort, nevertheless. Two of them held me, while the third put a cloth bag over my head and tied it closed, around my neck. I kicked and screamed, as I was lifted and carried outside.
I can only assume that I was loaded in the trunk of a car, because I couldn’t see. It felt and sounded that way, though. After a few moments of kicking, struggling and screaming, I gave it up, because it was obvious that I was not getting loose, and they were apparently paying me no mind.
I must have spent all night and part of the next day in the trunk of that car, drifting in and out of sleep and wondering all the time where we were going that was taking so long. I had to pee really badly, and was just about to let it go, when the car stopped, and they opened the trunk. I had no idea where we were at, but it was obviously not the destination. As the man took the bag off of my head, I could see that we were on a side road, next to the woods. The man then half led, half dragged me out into the woods.
“Boss figures you probably need to go, and he doesn’t want the smell in his trunk. You got two minutes.” The man was large and looked mean, so I decided not to test my ability to run in the shackles.
I did what I was brought out there to do, then sighed, as the bag was put back over my head and tied. I put up a little bit of fight, as I was loaded back into the trunk, not really wanting to spend any more time back there, but as it slammed shut, I calmed back down, and decided to try to go back to sleep.
Some unmeasured amount of time later, I was awakened by the opening of the trunk. I could see nothing as I was lifted and carried. Nothing much was said, by those carrying me, but I could hear voices just within earshot. I was only able to make out bits and pieces, but based on what I could hear, and the movement of the place I had been carried to, it didn’t take a lot of figuring to guess that I was on a boat and that it was soon to be leaving the port.
There was some jostling about, as I was lifted onto some type of box. I tries to pull my arms free, as the men unshackled them from my sides, but I couldn’t see, and I had one man pulling on each arm, apparently, so it was a futile effort. They secured my wrists high above my head, and after removing the shackles from my ankles, I felt them being placed in grooves, before a bar came across them. It was some sort of stocks type device, or such. A strap across the back of my calf muscles kept me from being able to pull myself up.
A few moments later, there was silence. I was alone. The bag was still over my head, and I was still gagged. After a few minutes of futile struggle, I succumbed to the fact that I was stuck there for the time being, and tried to listen and think.
The sound of engines starting alerted me to the fact that we were about to leave the dock. Soon the boat was moving, and where we were headed I could not even guess.
A short while later, I heard footsteps, and then recognized that someone was in the room with me. The instant I heard the voice, I knew that it was Winston speaking. The voice was unmistakable.
“Well, it looks like I’ve got you all to myself, for a while, Francie.” The sound of him saying my name was very annoying and discouraging. I replied with an animated series of jerks and flexing against my restraints, and created a new language with the attempts to plead and protest through the gag.
“I might as well enjoy myself,” he then said. At that point, I was revisiting the previous nightmare, all over again. He started wrenching my boots off, one at a time. Once he had them off, he picked up where Dorinda and Crystal had left off.
Either he had really long fingernails, or someone else was doing the tickling, though, because it was as if Crystal was tickling me again. The fingernails scraping against the nylon covered skin got a quick reaction from me, to say the least. I lurched against the bindings, with fierce intent, but was held to motionlessness, and an instant later, my laughter was finding its way back out.
The gag and the bag muffled the sound, moderately, but there was no doubt of the fact that I was ticklish. I’m pretty sure I heard Winston make a squeaky squeal of delight. After that, all hell broke loose. I don’t know how long he tickled me, but it was way too long. You know how most people will tickle you up to a certain point of hysteria and then stop? It usually takes a few quick moments of tickling. Well, this wasn’t like that. It was worse than Dorinda and Crystal’s tickling, too. He was assaulting both feet; one with each hand. When I thought sure that he would have to stop, to keep my lungs from rising up and spouting out of my body, he didn’t stop. He kept tickling, and tickling, and tickling. For all the swaying my body was engaged in, from the knees up, my feet were scarcely able to wiggle; swaying a little bit in either direction, but far from enough movement to evade the tickling fingers.
I could see only black. It was dark, down here below deck, on the ship, and the bag over my head just darkened things further. The gag made breathing more difficult. The laughter, as a result, was far more draining on me than it might have been, otherwise.
Then he started in with something else. It felt like forks, probably plastic, because they felt too flimsy, when pulled against my soles, to be silver or stainless steel. I went ballistic, exploding with such harsh laughter, that I thought I was going to burn the back of my throat. When I couldn’t laugh any louder, or harder, I laughed silently. There were long spells of silent laughter, where it was just too strong and forceful for me to even consider making noise. He didn’t slow down, then, either. It wasn’t until I was about to pass out that he stopped.
“Hmm. That’s a very nice reaction you have.” He spoke, as I was doing my best to stop laughing and catch my breath. How humiliating? There I was, trapped in a boat; being shipped off to be sold into slavery, being reduced to ridiculous laughter, by the very people who were taking advantage of me. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t stop laughing for long enough to sound angry.
Before I even had a chance to fully restore myself to even breathing, his hands had come up from behind me, pushing their way up under my white blouse. They made a beeline straight for my armpits. It pulled harshly on the chains holding my wrists up, as if I was hoping to lift my armpits up and further away from his advancing fingers. I barely even rattled the chains, as I burst into high pitched hysterics, before he got within five inches of my armpits. By the time he reached them, I was silent with my ticklish madness, once more.
His fingers moved all around in my sweaty armpits and across the tops of my breasts, while I showed him just how wildly ticklish a woman can be. I hated how he could be enjoying himself, so much, at my expense, and all I could do in response was giggle like a half-crazed cheerleader. I really hated to see what his long fingernails looked like, because usually when men grow their fingernails out, like that, it looks really disgusting.
At the moment, though, those fingernails were having free run of my unprotected armpits. It didn’t matter how much I twisted, or how hard I heaved in either direction, the tickling digits never ceased to inflict the hellish scrapings on my sensitive skin.
Just when I thought it couldn’t’ get any worse, down came the tube top, again. I was really starting to wonder if he had exchanged notes with the other women, too. He didn’t use a feather on my breasts, though. He used what I could only assume was a toothbrush, in one hand, and with his other hand, he just flittered those annoyingly long fingernails.
I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, and the moisture the tears were saturating the bag with caused it to stick to my face in places, as I bucked and thrashed, helplessly. Down to my stomach and ribs his fingernails went, while he continued to alternate the toothbrush between one breast and the other. My nipples were hard enough to glass, at that point, which only made it tickle more.
My laughter was a cross between wails of agony and outright screams of giggling. When his fingernails dragged across my stomach, they elicited a deeper, gut wrenching thrust of guffaws, and then I was jerked back into the high pitches of giggly squeakage, by the toothbrush on my breasts.
I was starting to lose touch with reality and with my own identity, when he finally stopped the torture. I don’t know what he was doing, while I was composing myself, but it took quite some time.
“In case you are wondering, we are headed for my private, island vacation home. I’ve decided that you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for, myself. Rather than sell you, I’m just going to keep you for myself.” He spoke the words, as I was easing back into a state of normal breathing. The words made me freeze with terror, and once I put my mind around the fullness and perceived the impact of what he had told me, I started jerking as wildly as when he was issuing his most intense tickling assaults. I screamed all kinds of obscenities and protest into the gag.
“Good, I’m glad to see you’re excited about it, as well.” He gave my left nipple a quick pinch, as he said ‘excited’. “We’ll be arriving shortly. My staff will see to it that you are shown to your new living quarters. I’ll be checking in on you, later.”
He spoke that last line with an ominous tone that told me he’d probably be doing a lot more than just ‘checking’ in.
--Look for Part III, soon.--
Part One can be viewed here:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=176002
Part Two:
After I passed out, they obviously moved quickly, because when I awakened, I was no longer dangling from the chain. I was lying, instead, on my back, on the ground. A special belt was buckled around my waist, and my wrists were strapped into leather cuffs, attached to the belt, on either side of my waist. My tube top had been pulled back up, and my boots were back on. My ankles were shackled together with about enough chain between them that I would be able to walk, with baby steps. The makeshift gag of the handkerchief and leather strap had been replaced by a ball gag.
The four of them: Crystal, Trina, Dorinda, and Dianne, were standing there talking to a handful of men. They were obviously the buyer and his entourage.
I tried to rise quietly, and somehow push myself up, but with my hands secured to my waist, they were useless to me. Besides, the instant I tried to sit up, an unseen man pushed down on my shoulders, from behind, forcing my back against the ground, again. I gave him the coldest stare I could muster, but inside I was shaking with fear. This was actually going to happen. They were actually selling me to this smuggler.
They disregarded my noises, as I screamed and protested through the gag, making quite an amusing commentary with what actually made it past the gag.
I had awakened just in time to see the exchange of money. The buyer handed a briefcase to Dianne. I can only assume it was loaded with cash.
“Thank you, Mr. Winston. Always a pleasure doing business with you. When will you be coming around, again?” Dianne was enjoying this way too much, at least I thought.
“Well, that will depend,” his voice was kind of high pitched, cracked and annoying. It made me think of a teenager going through puberty, but he looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, “on how fast the demand rises for the next shipment.”
“Well, just give me all. We’ll be eyeing potential merchandise, in the meantime,” Dianne stated.
“Ok, let’s get this show on the road.” Winston barked his command at the men with him.
I watched as they came toward me. There wasn’t anything I could do, but I made a show of giving it my best effort, nevertheless. Two of them held me, while the third put a cloth bag over my head and tied it closed, around my neck. I kicked and screamed, as I was lifted and carried outside.
I can only assume that I was loaded in the trunk of a car, because I couldn’t see. It felt and sounded that way, though. After a few moments of kicking, struggling and screaming, I gave it up, because it was obvious that I was not getting loose, and they were apparently paying me no mind.
I must have spent all night and part of the next day in the trunk of that car, drifting in and out of sleep and wondering all the time where we were going that was taking so long. I had to pee really badly, and was just about to let it go, when the car stopped, and they opened the trunk. I had no idea where we were at, but it was obviously not the destination. As the man took the bag off of my head, I could see that we were on a side road, next to the woods. The man then half led, half dragged me out into the woods.
“Boss figures you probably need to go, and he doesn’t want the smell in his trunk. You got two minutes.” The man was large and looked mean, so I decided not to test my ability to run in the shackles.
I did what I was brought out there to do, then sighed, as the bag was put back over my head and tied. I put up a little bit of fight, as I was loaded back into the trunk, not really wanting to spend any more time back there, but as it slammed shut, I calmed back down, and decided to try to go back to sleep.
Some unmeasured amount of time later, I was awakened by the opening of the trunk. I could see nothing as I was lifted and carried. Nothing much was said, by those carrying me, but I could hear voices just within earshot. I was only able to make out bits and pieces, but based on what I could hear, and the movement of the place I had been carried to, it didn’t take a lot of figuring to guess that I was on a boat and that it was soon to be leaving the port.
There was some jostling about, as I was lifted onto some type of box. I tries to pull my arms free, as the men unshackled them from my sides, but I couldn’t see, and I had one man pulling on each arm, apparently, so it was a futile effort. They secured my wrists high above my head, and after removing the shackles from my ankles, I felt them being placed in grooves, before a bar came across them. It was some sort of stocks type device, or such. A strap across the back of my calf muscles kept me from being able to pull myself up.
A few moments later, there was silence. I was alone. The bag was still over my head, and I was still gagged. After a few minutes of futile struggle, I succumbed to the fact that I was stuck there for the time being, and tried to listen and think.
The sound of engines starting alerted me to the fact that we were about to leave the dock. Soon the boat was moving, and where we were headed I could not even guess.
A short while later, I heard footsteps, and then recognized that someone was in the room with me. The instant I heard the voice, I knew that it was Winston speaking. The voice was unmistakable.
“Well, it looks like I’ve got you all to myself, for a while, Francie.” The sound of him saying my name was very annoying and discouraging. I replied with an animated series of jerks and flexing against my restraints, and created a new language with the attempts to plead and protest through the gag.
“I might as well enjoy myself,” he then said. At that point, I was revisiting the previous nightmare, all over again. He started wrenching my boots off, one at a time. Once he had them off, he picked up where Dorinda and Crystal had left off.
Either he had really long fingernails, or someone else was doing the tickling, though, because it was as if Crystal was tickling me again. The fingernails scraping against the nylon covered skin got a quick reaction from me, to say the least. I lurched against the bindings, with fierce intent, but was held to motionlessness, and an instant later, my laughter was finding its way back out.
The gag and the bag muffled the sound, moderately, but there was no doubt of the fact that I was ticklish. I’m pretty sure I heard Winston make a squeaky squeal of delight. After that, all hell broke loose. I don’t know how long he tickled me, but it was way too long. You know how most people will tickle you up to a certain point of hysteria and then stop? It usually takes a few quick moments of tickling. Well, this wasn’t like that. It was worse than Dorinda and Crystal’s tickling, too. He was assaulting both feet; one with each hand. When I thought sure that he would have to stop, to keep my lungs from rising up and spouting out of my body, he didn’t stop. He kept tickling, and tickling, and tickling. For all the swaying my body was engaged in, from the knees up, my feet were scarcely able to wiggle; swaying a little bit in either direction, but far from enough movement to evade the tickling fingers.
I could see only black. It was dark, down here below deck, on the ship, and the bag over my head just darkened things further. The gag made breathing more difficult. The laughter, as a result, was far more draining on me than it might have been, otherwise.
Then he started in with something else. It felt like forks, probably plastic, because they felt too flimsy, when pulled against my soles, to be silver or stainless steel. I went ballistic, exploding with such harsh laughter, that I thought I was going to burn the back of my throat. When I couldn’t laugh any louder, or harder, I laughed silently. There were long spells of silent laughter, where it was just too strong and forceful for me to even consider making noise. He didn’t slow down, then, either. It wasn’t until I was about to pass out that he stopped.
“Hmm. That’s a very nice reaction you have.” He spoke, as I was doing my best to stop laughing and catch my breath. How humiliating? There I was, trapped in a boat; being shipped off to be sold into slavery, being reduced to ridiculous laughter, by the very people who were taking advantage of me. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t stop laughing for long enough to sound angry.
Before I even had a chance to fully restore myself to even breathing, his hands had come up from behind me, pushing their way up under my white blouse. They made a beeline straight for my armpits. It pulled harshly on the chains holding my wrists up, as if I was hoping to lift my armpits up and further away from his advancing fingers. I barely even rattled the chains, as I burst into high pitched hysterics, before he got within five inches of my armpits. By the time he reached them, I was silent with my ticklish madness, once more.
His fingers moved all around in my sweaty armpits and across the tops of my breasts, while I showed him just how wildly ticklish a woman can be. I hated how he could be enjoying himself, so much, at my expense, and all I could do in response was giggle like a half-crazed cheerleader. I really hated to see what his long fingernails looked like, because usually when men grow their fingernails out, like that, it looks really disgusting.
At the moment, though, those fingernails were having free run of my unprotected armpits. It didn’t matter how much I twisted, or how hard I heaved in either direction, the tickling digits never ceased to inflict the hellish scrapings on my sensitive skin.
Just when I thought it couldn’t’ get any worse, down came the tube top, again. I was really starting to wonder if he had exchanged notes with the other women, too. He didn’t use a feather on my breasts, though. He used what I could only assume was a toothbrush, in one hand, and with his other hand, he just flittered those annoyingly long fingernails.
I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, and the moisture the tears were saturating the bag with caused it to stick to my face in places, as I bucked and thrashed, helplessly. Down to my stomach and ribs his fingernails went, while he continued to alternate the toothbrush between one breast and the other. My nipples were hard enough to glass, at that point, which only made it tickle more.
My laughter was a cross between wails of agony and outright screams of giggling. When his fingernails dragged across my stomach, they elicited a deeper, gut wrenching thrust of guffaws, and then I was jerked back into the high pitches of giggly squeakage, by the toothbrush on my breasts.
I was starting to lose touch with reality and with my own identity, when he finally stopped the torture. I don’t know what he was doing, while I was composing myself, but it took quite some time.
“In case you are wondering, we are headed for my private, island vacation home. I’ve decided that you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for, myself. Rather than sell you, I’m just going to keep you for myself.” He spoke the words, as I was easing back into a state of normal breathing. The words made me freeze with terror, and once I put my mind around the fullness and perceived the impact of what he had told me, I started jerking as wildly as when he was issuing his most intense tickling assaults. I screamed all kinds of obscenities and protest into the gag.
“Good, I’m glad to see you’re excited about it, as well.” He gave my left nipple a quick pinch, as he said ‘excited’. “We’ll be arriving shortly. My staff will see to it that you are shown to your new living quarters. I’ll be checking in on you, later.”
He spoke that last line with an ominous tone that told me he’d probably be doing a lot more than just ‘checking’ in.
--Look for Part III, soon.--
