ElFewja
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So, hm. Quite a bit for this one, I guess. Final monologue feels forced, and I started to remove it at one point but… was building that off of her being tickled and unable to focus on what was going on, so that she listened to maybe a sentence or two, dissolving into tickling description. Then I realized that wasn’t what was happening, and forcing that in there would have been more awkward. There wasn’t enough going on in the story to allow it to be interrupted as is, so I left it. It’s not bad – it really gets his character across – but it’s kind of telly (read: lots of, not kind of). It has that comic book feel of a character divulging his reasons, you know? So, in that regard, it’s not unrealistic. Whatever.
The other point is that part 2 isn’t happening. I have maybe a paragraph of it from when I first finished this one, but as I thought about it, part two doesn’t cover anything new. Just more tickling of a nature that I’ve already explored to my heart’s content. Basically, she goes to the trial to get back at them but the mafia people interfere so that she gets the wrong date (safeguard); she arrives and is alone there. There was some imagery of the blind statue of justice with the scale out of balance as she walked in. Anyway, they lower her into a vat of liquid that they stole from some lab (see: Zucchini); it was somewhat important to me since it tied those two stories together, but certainly not enough to revisit this one. Oh well. Maybe later.
Enjoy(ish).
Tattle Tale (part 1: Negotiations) (fish/f feet)
After spending the greater part of the afternoon at a soup kitchen in a more desolate part of the burg, Natasha finally left that disgusting place with it’s ogre like brutes that deigned call themselves human, accompanied by the undercover agent who was supposed to monitor her while she worked here temporarily. Every day was a different job at a different location, until tomorrow, when she would finally testify in the murder case; the case involved quite a few individuals believed to be involved in the city’s mafia, and Natasha had seen it all while driving past the park one night. She’d never forget those faces, she knew.
As the cab screamed towards them with the intent of smuggling her to the new hotel, one that even her temporary guardian did not know, she wondered at what this one’s conditions would be like. Most had been acceptable, though some were bad; likewise some were very fancy, thus the curiosity. The black car – she wondered at the color choice, because television always depicted cabs as yellow – stopped outside of the building soon enough; her guardian thoroughly looked the driver in the eye before nodding to him, and then to her, signaling that everything was clear for her to climb in, which she did.
Several minutes passed as she looked out the window, wondering what the trial might be like; she had never been to a real trial, but did enjoy the Turnabout Courtroom video game series, and wondered if it would be anything like that. Certainly not, she knew, but it would be interesting, or at least she hoped. As she lived outside of the city, the scenery changing from thick buildings to dense trees that one could not see more than a few feet passed did not alarm her, until several minutes later when it became evident that they were leaving civilization altogether. Unsure if this was intended, as every hotel so far had been in the city, and though she knew there to be some outside, off of the highways, she politely asked the driver - through that glass barrier with it’s holes - if he was going in the right direction. The only response she was given was the loud click of both the back doors locking automatically via his controls.
Natasha knew she should be afraid, but her proud German heritage hardly allowed any fear to well up inside of her. Before long, the road had disappeared, giving way to a dirt one in its place, which soon led the cab to a large, empty and lonely looking building that appeared to be a logging warehouse, though it was far too decrepit to be in use any longer. So, even the government was infiltrated by the mafia, she reasoned; it made sense, but still felt unbelievable.
Of course they stopped at the desolate place; where else would they go, after all, since the road had ended? The door unlocked itself as the driver stepped out, that black vest and black cabbie hat of his providing the only unique details to his otherwise generic, unshaven mug. As he opened the door she noticed his hand was inside of his pants pocket; best not to do anything silly then, she thought, wondering at what sort of weapon he carried there. After watching him make a flourish towards the opened doorway of the warehouse, she rose and began to walk towards it, haphazardly stepping on the unpaved and rocky pathway that her pathetic flip flops had a difficult time traversing.
There was little to describe inside; the setting sun’s golden-oraneg rays illuminated the musky place through the western windows, thin things at the top of the warehouse, showing little more than thick amounts of dust. Rusted saw blades and broken conveyer belts littered the floor, and to both sides there were metal stairways that led up to an equally metal walkway that criss-crossed above her like a maze, close to the hanging lights that seemed to no longer be of use. In the center of the room, though, stood a crowd of four of five men some fifty feet from the entrance; she immediately recognized them as the ones that she was to testify against.
From behind she felt the cabbie push her, urging her to walk forward towards them, which she did, afraid of what would happen should she not. As she approached she became aware of each of them smiling, eyeing her up and down as they did; there was little to look at, she knew, because she had worn her usual garments of blue jeans, flip flops, and a t-shirt, but they ogled her as though her private areas were bared before them nonetheless. Strangely, there was a pool of water in the middle of the floor that seemed well tended; probably for their sadistic purposes as a saw-mill likely had no use for it.
As she was forced to the waters edge, two goons, one at her right and one at her left, grabbed her arms and pushed her shoulders so that she slowly sat down on the cold, dusty cement floor before pushing her onto her back. Well, at least they won’t drown me, she thought to herself as they pulled her back so that her knees rested on the edge of that otherworldly glowing pool, the lights deep below the waters surface giving it a mystic sheen. Because two of the men grabbed her ankles and held her legs straight, neither of her legs so much as grazed the waters surface, leading her to belief that something inside of there – a carnivorous fish maybe – would be used to torture - or persuade as they would probably call it – her. Meanwhile, as she was preoccupied with thoughts of what might be inside the water, the men at her arms had bound her wrists tightly with lengths of rope; pulling on each and looking to her left, then her right, she saw that they had tied her with long lengths of rope that were attached at either side of her to the legs of the unmoving conveyer belts’ tables.
“So,” began one who had not driven her here; the cabbie was nowhere to be seen, she realized. “You know why you’re here, so that’ll cut things short. We would like to persuade you not to testify tomorrow.”
“I won’t. You can let me go now. See how easy that was?” Even tied up, she spoke smugly.
“Not good enough. We need to make sure you won’t.”
“Yeah, and how will you do that? Kill me? You know you can’t hurt me; they already have your group’s names and faces.”
“Oh no, no no; we won’t hurt you. You’re right; we can’t hurt you.” He nodded, then, and the one at her left ankle slapped her flip flop off of her foot from its heel. A few moments of silence passed before their boss’ figure – he had to be the boss – spoke again. “What, you aren’t curious as to what we have in mind?”
“You’ll do it anyway riheheheght?” She was interrupted by her own laughter as something slid down her bare foot’s bottom, causing the unavoidable reaction; looking to the one that held it, she saw him grin evilly towards her.
“Ah, boss,” began the one that held her ankle and likely had run his finger down her foot, “Her foot is so smooth, like really exquisite liquor. So ticklish, too; wish my doll would squeal like that. Can we keep her to play with?” Those words held a sinister feel to them, but the man he addressed only flashed his too-white teeth and nodded, giving an eerie appearance to that shadow of a figure.
“Ticklish?” Their boss asked smugly as he bent down and picked up her lost bit of footwear, turning it about in his hand as he looked at her with a demonic grin before slipping her flip flop inside of a coat pocket.
“Go to hell.” Like hell she would give them the pleasure of toying with her as such; whatever they planned to do to her, she would not give them the pleasure of looking helpless.
“Feisty.” Was all he said before nodding again at the ones who held her leg. Slowly, she felt her leg bend downwards, towards the water, until the toes of her foot rested just on the surface, the ripples reaching up and caressing the bottom of her foot’s ball. Suddenly, something – she didn’t know what – grasped around her toes; it was wet and slimy, and whatever it was, it tickled like crazy as its rubbery grip softened then hardened repeatedly, as if it were biting her toe but was unable to grip. Just as she screamed and began to laugh, her captor lifted her foot away from the water, the sensations disappearing immediately.
The one that had submerged her ankle laughed heartily and looked to his companions, calmly asserting, “Y’see boys? She really liked that! Did you see her smile?!”
“You see that,” began the figure she assumed to be the boss, ignoring his underling, “that is a piranha. Without its teeth, of course. My dad loved piranha’s, you know. But I call these my Tickle Fish; tickled, didn’t it?”
“Go to hell!” she wheezed at him, having lost a fair amount of oxygen by the surprise attack on her foot.
“So; you reacted so much, and only one got a hold of your toes. What would happen if your whole foot was submerged?”
Panic instantly set in as she began to beg for mercy; if her whole foot were subjugated to those sensations, she would go crazy. “No! No, no please, please don’t! I won’t! I won’t!” Unable to coherently form a sentence, she saw through wide eyes as he nodded again, feeling the cold water surround her foot as it was pushed and then held beneath the surface, dampening the leg of her blue jean so that it stuck to her skin.
All at once everything became a hazy mess of tickling; she closed her eyes, becoming unaware of the joy that her wild and unhindered laughter put on the faces of these evil men as she flailed about, laughing madly as if for the first time discovering her own ticklishness. Everywhere, she felt things – the slimy mouths of those fish – latch on and chomp at her feet, sliding off unexpectedly or clinging on and shaking her flesh, causing unimaginable sensations as she screamed, her laughing filling the night air and startling more than a few birds. Never before had she ever thought that the only thing she could desire in this world was to have one part of her body taken away from an animal’s grasp, as the things managed to find each of her toes and overwhelm them despite how wildly they wiggled, almost swallowing them whole with that unrealistic sensation that made her laugh so uncontrollably. It seemed to her that they had been starved for this very occasion; so that they would voraciously and relentlessly nibble at her supple flesh so as to throw her into hysterics. Nothing in the world mattered save freeing her foot from these demonic waters, and yet the man that gripped her ankle and held it in the water seemed not to give way no matter how hard she struggled; she wondered what would drive a person to torture another so vigorously as she tried to distance herself from her foot. All at once, several fish discovered her heel, each one attempting and failing to devour it, instead sucking on her flesh with their thin lips, driving her mad while several more gave her big toe similar treatment from all angles, both under and above. Her smaller toes were spared from such punishment and were instead engulfed by the demonic fish, so that they wiggled about madly in an attempt to rip her toes from her feet, and unable to, driving her further from sanity; with their mouths clamped shut over her toes, she was unable to avoid their saw-like, toothless chewing, which bore an unimaginable feeling deep into her toes that caused her to laugh harder than she had ever considered herself capable. Then they discovered the rest of her foot, vulnerable as that ample amount of flesh lacked any significant defense mechanisms; before long she could feel what she imagined to be a hundred tiny fish sucking at every bit of her foot, attempting to find some hidden reservoir of laughter there; unlike her heels and toes, the fish that attacked her sole and arches managed to attach themselves in such a way that if she struggled at all, it only added to the amount of tickling that their sucking contributed to her, so that she soon gave up struggling and attempted to, as horrible as it felt, keep her feet as still as possible so that she did not assist the fish in torturing her. It tickled too much, and all she could think of was that it needed to end. Just as suddenly as it began, it stopped again as her foot was withdrawn from those hellish waters.
“That was only a minute, dear Natasha; a mere sampling.” He said simply, his eyes looking as innocent as they were before he had begun torturing her.
“Please… no more…” she panted out, finding herself unable to finish the sentence. Distantly, she felt aches running up through her arms and strong burning sensations at the wrists, probably from her flailing about like a fish removed from its pond.
“Oh, we were only showing you what you will be experiencing, dear Natasha. In fact, tonight – for the next ten hours – everything you experience is merely a warning. If you testify against us, we will find you, and it will be worse the next time.”
“I won’t… I won’t…” through heavy pants and from wide eyes, she assured them, but he did not stop talking.”
“That’s what they always said. And then they did it anyway. Those bastard girls that lived next to me. Twins; adorable, very beautiful. It was during summer, after our last year of high school, when they started doing things. Small stuff at first – taking something of mine and hiding it away – but it got to be bigger and bigger stuff. Then, one day, they broke into my car and stole my cd player. I never saw them, but I know it was them. I went over – they were home alone – and I tied them up in their sleep. See, my dad – he was a pervert – always got me to tickle my mom, when I was little. Found out later he was into that sort of thing, and it rubbed off onto me. Until he shot her, anyway. Everything came back to me then, when I looked over these two girls, who had not worn socks to bed that night, and I asked them; ticklish? Then I tickled them. They said they didn’t do it, and that they would never do it again after the first hour; oh man, their screams were lovely, you should have heard them. Just after that first hour, when they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop, they started screaming. Three hours. They cried, they peed themselves; they hated me for the rest of my life, but they couldn’t get me convicted. There just wasn’t any evidence, you know? That’s why tickling is so beautiful. No evidence. Now,” during that terrifying story at some point, those men at her ankles had begun wrapping her legs together with another length of rope; looking down when she felt the pressure of it grow, because they had finally knotted it, she saw that it was attached to a rock the size of her head. Their boss continued speaking while examining her other flip flop, which had migrated into his hand at some point – probably she had foolishly thrown it off while struggling earlier - as she realized what they had in mind, “You just think about testifying tomorrow for the rest of the night, and we’ll be back to take you to your hotel in the morning.” With that, he thrust her other flip flop into his coat and started to walk off while informing her that she certainly would have no need of it, but stopped before he had moved the whole way past her body. “But, I just have to ask one thing before I go. Ticklish?” With that word, she heard a splash; with that splash she felt her feet pulled into the water, pulled by the weight of the rock, subjecting both of her feet to those terrible sensations no matter how much she flapped or moved them. Unable to pull her feet free, she laughed loudly, her voice sounding like that of a cartoon hyena’s as the five men disappeared from her sight.
Amidst her laughter she screamed out in one last attempt to reason with them, choking out panted words, “Please! I promihehes! I promise-” until she was unable to say anymore; she would have given anything in the world to have her feet removed at that moment but could not vocalize it no matter how she tried. The slamming and locking of the warehouse’s doors echoed dully about the warehouse, reverberating against her mentality with a cruel determination.
The other point is that part 2 isn’t happening. I have maybe a paragraph of it from when I first finished this one, but as I thought about it, part two doesn’t cover anything new. Just more tickling of a nature that I’ve already explored to my heart’s content. Basically, she goes to the trial to get back at them but the mafia people interfere so that she gets the wrong date (safeguard); she arrives and is alone there. There was some imagery of the blind statue of justice with the scale out of balance as she walked in. Anyway, they lower her into a vat of liquid that they stole from some lab (see: Zucchini); it was somewhat important to me since it tied those two stories together, but certainly not enough to revisit this one. Oh well. Maybe later.
Enjoy(ish).
Tattle Tale (part 1: Negotiations) (fish/f feet)
After spending the greater part of the afternoon at a soup kitchen in a more desolate part of the burg, Natasha finally left that disgusting place with it’s ogre like brutes that deigned call themselves human, accompanied by the undercover agent who was supposed to monitor her while she worked here temporarily. Every day was a different job at a different location, until tomorrow, when she would finally testify in the murder case; the case involved quite a few individuals believed to be involved in the city’s mafia, and Natasha had seen it all while driving past the park one night. She’d never forget those faces, she knew.
As the cab screamed towards them with the intent of smuggling her to the new hotel, one that even her temporary guardian did not know, she wondered at what this one’s conditions would be like. Most had been acceptable, though some were bad; likewise some were very fancy, thus the curiosity. The black car – she wondered at the color choice, because television always depicted cabs as yellow – stopped outside of the building soon enough; her guardian thoroughly looked the driver in the eye before nodding to him, and then to her, signaling that everything was clear for her to climb in, which she did.
Several minutes passed as she looked out the window, wondering what the trial might be like; she had never been to a real trial, but did enjoy the Turnabout Courtroom video game series, and wondered if it would be anything like that. Certainly not, she knew, but it would be interesting, or at least she hoped. As she lived outside of the city, the scenery changing from thick buildings to dense trees that one could not see more than a few feet passed did not alarm her, until several minutes later when it became evident that they were leaving civilization altogether. Unsure if this was intended, as every hotel so far had been in the city, and though she knew there to be some outside, off of the highways, she politely asked the driver - through that glass barrier with it’s holes - if he was going in the right direction. The only response she was given was the loud click of both the back doors locking automatically via his controls.
Natasha knew she should be afraid, but her proud German heritage hardly allowed any fear to well up inside of her. Before long, the road had disappeared, giving way to a dirt one in its place, which soon led the cab to a large, empty and lonely looking building that appeared to be a logging warehouse, though it was far too decrepit to be in use any longer. So, even the government was infiltrated by the mafia, she reasoned; it made sense, but still felt unbelievable.
Of course they stopped at the desolate place; where else would they go, after all, since the road had ended? The door unlocked itself as the driver stepped out, that black vest and black cabbie hat of his providing the only unique details to his otherwise generic, unshaven mug. As he opened the door she noticed his hand was inside of his pants pocket; best not to do anything silly then, she thought, wondering at what sort of weapon he carried there. After watching him make a flourish towards the opened doorway of the warehouse, she rose and began to walk towards it, haphazardly stepping on the unpaved and rocky pathway that her pathetic flip flops had a difficult time traversing.
There was little to describe inside; the setting sun’s golden-oraneg rays illuminated the musky place through the western windows, thin things at the top of the warehouse, showing little more than thick amounts of dust. Rusted saw blades and broken conveyer belts littered the floor, and to both sides there were metal stairways that led up to an equally metal walkway that criss-crossed above her like a maze, close to the hanging lights that seemed to no longer be of use. In the center of the room, though, stood a crowd of four of five men some fifty feet from the entrance; she immediately recognized them as the ones that she was to testify against.
From behind she felt the cabbie push her, urging her to walk forward towards them, which she did, afraid of what would happen should she not. As she approached she became aware of each of them smiling, eyeing her up and down as they did; there was little to look at, she knew, because she had worn her usual garments of blue jeans, flip flops, and a t-shirt, but they ogled her as though her private areas were bared before them nonetheless. Strangely, there was a pool of water in the middle of the floor that seemed well tended; probably for their sadistic purposes as a saw-mill likely had no use for it.
As she was forced to the waters edge, two goons, one at her right and one at her left, grabbed her arms and pushed her shoulders so that she slowly sat down on the cold, dusty cement floor before pushing her onto her back. Well, at least they won’t drown me, she thought to herself as they pulled her back so that her knees rested on the edge of that otherworldly glowing pool, the lights deep below the waters surface giving it a mystic sheen. Because two of the men grabbed her ankles and held her legs straight, neither of her legs so much as grazed the waters surface, leading her to belief that something inside of there – a carnivorous fish maybe – would be used to torture - or persuade as they would probably call it – her. Meanwhile, as she was preoccupied with thoughts of what might be inside the water, the men at her arms had bound her wrists tightly with lengths of rope; pulling on each and looking to her left, then her right, she saw that they had tied her with long lengths of rope that were attached at either side of her to the legs of the unmoving conveyer belts’ tables.
“So,” began one who had not driven her here; the cabbie was nowhere to be seen, she realized. “You know why you’re here, so that’ll cut things short. We would like to persuade you not to testify tomorrow.”
“I won’t. You can let me go now. See how easy that was?” Even tied up, she spoke smugly.
“Not good enough. We need to make sure you won’t.”
“Yeah, and how will you do that? Kill me? You know you can’t hurt me; they already have your group’s names and faces.”
“Oh no, no no; we won’t hurt you. You’re right; we can’t hurt you.” He nodded, then, and the one at her left ankle slapped her flip flop off of her foot from its heel. A few moments of silence passed before their boss’ figure – he had to be the boss – spoke again. “What, you aren’t curious as to what we have in mind?”
“You’ll do it anyway riheheheght?” She was interrupted by her own laughter as something slid down her bare foot’s bottom, causing the unavoidable reaction; looking to the one that held it, she saw him grin evilly towards her.
“Ah, boss,” began the one that held her ankle and likely had run his finger down her foot, “Her foot is so smooth, like really exquisite liquor. So ticklish, too; wish my doll would squeal like that. Can we keep her to play with?” Those words held a sinister feel to them, but the man he addressed only flashed his too-white teeth and nodded, giving an eerie appearance to that shadow of a figure.
“Ticklish?” Their boss asked smugly as he bent down and picked up her lost bit of footwear, turning it about in his hand as he looked at her with a demonic grin before slipping her flip flop inside of a coat pocket.
“Go to hell.” Like hell she would give them the pleasure of toying with her as such; whatever they planned to do to her, she would not give them the pleasure of looking helpless.
“Feisty.” Was all he said before nodding again at the ones who held her leg. Slowly, she felt her leg bend downwards, towards the water, until the toes of her foot rested just on the surface, the ripples reaching up and caressing the bottom of her foot’s ball. Suddenly, something – she didn’t know what – grasped around her toes; it was wet and slimy, and whatever it was, it tickled like crazy as its rubbery grip softened then hardened repeatedly, as if it were biting her toe but was unable to grip. Just as she screamed and began to laugh, her captor lifted her foot away from the water, the sensations disappearing immediately.
The one that had submerged her ankle laughed heartily and looked to his companions, calmly asserting, “Y’see boys? She really liked that! Did you see her smile?!”
“You see that,” began the figure she assumed to be the boss, ignoring his underling, “that is a piranha. Without its teeth, of course. My dad loved piranha’s, you know. But I call these my Tickle Fish; tickled, didn’t it?”
“Go to hell!” she wheezed at him, having lost a fair amount of oxygen by the surprise attack on her foot.
“So; you reacted so much, and only one got a hold of your toes. What would happen if your whole foot was submerged?”
Panic instantly set in as she began to beg for mercy; if her whole foot were subjugated to those sensations, she would go crazy. “No! No, no please, please don’t! I won’t! I won’t!” Unable to coherently form a sentence, she saw through wide eyes as he nodded again, feeling the cold water surround her foot as it was pushed and then held beneath the surface, dampening the leg of her blue jean so that it stuck to her skin.
All at once everything became a hazy mess of tickling; she closed her eyes, becoming unaware of the joy that her wild and unhindered laughter put on the faces of these evil men as she flailed about, laughing madly as if for the first time discovering her own ticklishness. Everywhere, she felt things – the slimy mouths of those fish – latch on and chomp at her feet, sliding off unexpectedly or clinging on and shaking her flesh, causing unimaginable sensations as she screamed, her laughing filling the night air and startling more than a few birds. Never before had she ever thought that the only thing she could desire in this world was to have one part of her body taken away from an animal’s grasp, as the things managed to find each of her toes and overwhelm them despite how wildly they wiggled, almost swallowing them whole with that unrealistic sensation that made her laugh so uncontrollably. It seemed to her that they had been starved for this very occasion; so that they would voraciously and relentlessly nibble at her supple flesh so as to throw her into hysterics. Nothing in the world mattered save freeing her foot from these demonic waters, and yet the man that gripped her ankle and held it in the water seemed not to give way no matter how hard she struggled; she wondered what would drive a person to torture another so vigorously as she tried to distance herself from her foot. All at once, several fish discovered her heel, each one attempting and failing to devour it, instead sucking on her flesh with their thin lips, driving her mad while several more gave her big toe similar treatment from all angles, both under and above. Her smaller toes were spared from such punishment and were instead engulfed by the demonic fish, so that they wiggled about madly in an attempt to rip her toes from her feet, and unable to, driving her further from sanity; with their mouths clamped shut over her toes, she was unable to avoid their saw-like, toothless chewing, which bore an unimaginable feeling deep into her toes that caused her to laugh harder than she had ever considered herself capable. Then they discovered the rest of her foot, vulnerable as that ample amount of flesh lacked any significant defense mechanisms; before long she could feel what she imagined to be a hundred tiny fish sucking at every bit of her foot, attempting to find some hidden reservoir of laughter there; unlike her heels and toes, the fish that attacked her sole and arches managed to attach themselves in such a way that if she struggled at all, it only added to the amount of tickling that their sucking contributed to her, so that she soon gave up struggling and attempted to, as horrible as it felt, keep her feet as still as possible so that she did not assist the fish in torturing her. It tickled too much, and all she could think of was that it needed to end. Just as suddenly as it began, it stopped again as her foot was withdrawn from those hellish waters.
“That was only a minute, dear Natasha; a mere sampling.” He said simply, his eyes looking as innocent as they were before he had begun torturing her.
“Please… no more…” she panted out, finding herself unable to finish the sentence. Distantly, she felt aches running up through her arms and strong burning sensations at the wrists, probably from her flailing about like a fish removed from its pond.
“Oh, we were only showing you what you will be experiencing, dear Natasha. In fact, tonight – for the next ten hours – everything you experience is merely a warning. If you testify against us, we will find you, and it will be worse the next time.”
“I won’t… I won’t…” through heavy pants and from wide eyes, she assured them, but he did not stop talking.”
“That’s what they always said. And then they did it anyway. Those bastard girls that lived next to me. Twins; adorable, very beautiful. It was during summer, after our last year of high school, when they started doing things. Small stuff at first – taking something of mine and hiding it away – but it got to be bigger and bigger stuff. Then, one day, they broke into my car and stole my cd player. I never saw them, but I know it was them. I went over – they were home alone – and I tied them up in their sleep. See, my dad – he was a pervert – always got me to tickle my mom, when I was little. Found out later he was into that sort of thing, and it rubbed off onto me. Until he shot her, anyway. Everything came back to me then, when I looked over these two girls, who had not worn socks to bed that night, and I asked them; ticklish? Then I tickled them. They said they didn’t do it, and that they would never do it again after the first hour; oh man, their screams were lovely, you should have heard them. Just after that first hour, when they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop, they started screaming. Three hours. They cried, they peed themselves; they hated me for the rest of my life, but they couldn’t get me convicted. There just wasn’t any evidence, you know? That’s why tickling is so beautiful. No evidence. Now,” during that terrifying story at some point, those men at her ankles had begun wrapping her legs together with another length of rope; looking down when she felt the pressure of it grow, because they had finally knotted it, she saw that it was attached to a rock the size of her head. Their boss continued speaking while examining her other flip flop, which had migrated into his hand at some point – probably she had foolishly thrown it off while struggling earlier - as she realized what they had in mind, “You just think about testifying tomorrow for the rest of the night, and we’ll be back to take you to your hotel in the morning.” With that, he thrust her other flip flop into his coat and started to walk off while informing her that she certainly would have no need of it, but stopped before he had moved the whole way past her body. “But, I just have to ask one thing before I go. Ticklish?” With that word, she heard a splash; with that splash she felt her feet pulled into the water, pulled by the weight of the rock, subjecting both of her feet to those terrible sensations no matter how much she flapped or moved them. Unable to pull her feet free, she laughed loudly, her voice sounding like that of a cartoon hyena’s as the five men disappeared from her sight.
Amidst her laughter she screamed out in one last attempt to reason with them, choking out panted words, “Please! I promihehes! I promise-” until she was unable to say anymore; she would have given anything in the world to have her feet removed at that moment but could not vocalize it no matter how she tried. The slamming and locking of the warehouse’s doors echoed dully about the warehouse, reverberating against her mentality with a cruel determination.
