First thing to say is I did not write this story. All credit for the work you are about to read goes to Irving Krebb of Vellication Video fame. We were kicking ideas around and I said I had always wondered what would happen if Samantha Storm found herself at the mercy of one of 'us' rather than some kinky master villain/interrogator. So Krebb got thinking and got writing and this is the result.
I was so inspired I created several drawings to go with it. The best of the bunch is attached here and the rest can be found in the Artwork forum.
Finally, I'd like to say thanks to Irving for his efforts here and if you enjoyed it like I did and want a sequel then go and bomb his PM box until he agrees!
Consciousness makes its lazy way into Samantha Storms pretty, raven-haired noggin. She blinks a few times before the spots disappear completely and realizes she's looking at a high, industrial ceiling. She tries to move but someone has gone to great lengths to make sure that isn’t possible. Looking down across her stretched out body she can see her ankles have been locked into what look like stocks. Her thighs are strapped down, as are her elbows and her wrists; which she can't see but can feel as the leather cuffs bight into her skin. Her first thought is, “Not again.” An angry noise wells up inside her and then she notices her mouth has been taped shut. “Of course,” she thinks.
Samantha's head jerks around frantically looking for the person who did this to her but there's no one. The only sounds she hears are the odd hissing, mechanical noises made cavernous in big warehouses. Instead of panicking, she calms herself and lets the training take over. First she tests the strength of her bonds and discovers they are indeed quite strong. Check. Next, she screams as loud as she can through the tape to see if anyone comes over to shut her up. She screams twice and counts to fifty. Nothing. Check. The warehouse is fairly dim, but a small shaft of sunlight coming from a window several feet to her left tells her it's daytime and her attackers, whoever they are, might be waiting for the cover of darkness to do whatever it is they plan on doing.
Her brain runs through volumes of training materials before she finally decides that her only course of action is to stay calm and hope someone finds her. Samantha begins to call for help, to scream really, but in a carefully timed sequence so as not to exhaust herself too quickly. After about an hour with no help in sight it is only her training which is keeping her from falling apart. She fills her lungs with air for another attempt and just before she releases hears, “Hello?”
Samantha stars bucking and screaming as loud as she can, looking towards the direction of the voice. She hears it again, “...is there someone in here?” The voice is closer now, if only he'd just...
And then suddenly a man's face is hovering above her, a man in a hat with his head curiously tilted like a dog when it hears a funny sound. He reaches down and very quickly rips off the tape.
He says, “I'm sorry, but if you do it slow, it...”
“Never mind”, Samantha says, “untie me!”
The man looks at her again and then just his eyes move to the left and to the right, scanning the room, he says slowly, “What's going on here?”
Samantha Storm, trying to keep the anger out of her voice says, “What does it look like?”
The man says, “Well...it looks like you're all tied up.”
“Very observant”, she says, then adds, “are you a little slow?” From the looks of this guy he might be slow, she thinks, he didn't react the way you would think a normal person would react to finding a woman tied to a table in a warehouse.
The man pulls a cigarette from his pocket and looks down at her. He says, “No, I'm not slow.”
“THEN UNTIE ME. NOW!!' she says a little too harshly.
“Well, shit, if you're going to be rude about it....”, he says, grinning mischievously.
“I'm sorry, it's just...Mr., uh...?” Samantha says, impatiently.
“No mister. So, what'd you do? People don't just get lashed to tables for no reason.”
“Untie me and I'll tell you.”
“Later” he says, and starts looking around; he sees some things on the wall: feathers(?), a pair of big, black, elbow length rubber gloves; he takes them down and puts them on looking very amused. He finds a lab coat type thing and puts that on too. He pulls a feather off the rack on the wall and examines it.
“I think”, he says, “...that you might be some kind of gift from some kind of god...and it would probably be a sin not to accept such a fine gift.”
“What are you talking about?” Samantha says, “UNTIE ME!”
“Silence!” Krebb says, in a sort of German, mad-scientist accent, and giggles. “You vill tell me ever'sing or you vill suffer ze consequvenses.”
He moves the feather towards her menacingly and says, to no one in particular, “Elba, take notes!”
“Are you insane?” Samantha shouts.
Returning to his normal tone says, “No, I'm Irving Krebb. Very nice to meet you.”
Krebb moves towards her left foot, which Samantha cannot move even an inch. He says, "Are you righty or lefty?"
"What?!!"
"Never mind, I'll assume righty, most of us are anyway."
He gently removes the shoe from her left foot admiring the lovely high arch and the cute painted toes and lets out a quiet little sigh.
"See, if you're right handed, it's most likely that your right foot will be more ticklish than you're left...and vice-versa."
"You're going to tickle me?" Samantha says, "Please don't."
"I really haven't got any choice...this...me finding you here like this, this was no accident, this is...BIG.”
"Please, please don't tickle me, I..."
"No, no, none of that, you're going to fuck up the narrative."
Krebb removes a glove and gently strokes the sole of her left foot from the bottom to the top and lets his fingers dance lightly over the tops for her toes. Samantha twitches, her face doing its best not to smile. He strokes again, and again with the dancing, and then begins his fingers fluttering up and down the sole of her foot. Samantha can't take it, she begins to giggle and in between giggling curses her tormenter. "You..ha ha...fuck...I...Just...st-stop it....stop it...ha ha ha."
Her face is beautiful but made more beautiful by the little reflexes now consuming her. She's smiling despite herself and to any casual observer she might enjoying all this.
"We've only just gotten started," Krebb says, "I haven't even tried the feather yet. Let's do that next." He stops tickling her and removes the other glove, she takes a deep breath, still affected with a bit of the giggles.
"Why are you doing this?" She asks, "You don't even know who I am."
"Because I like it...I thought I explained all this..." Krebb says, and removes the right shoe. Samantha's face goes all smiley even before he touches her; he notices and says, "Ah, this is the one then isn't it? Let's try this feather then." Samantha's smile became uncontrollable; she knew how ticklish this was going to be; she knew how ticklish her foot was and she knew she'd soon be in trouble.
It’s a good feather, stiff at the peak and pointed. Krebb draws it down the sole of her right foot causing an instant reaction that is somewhere above giggling but not quite laughter: more of a full body shiver thing.
"Now, that's the stuff," he says to himself, and continues to work the feather up and down the sole of her foot and in between her toes and on the top of her foot, letting the feather do the work -- like a Taoist, not thinking, just doing.
Samantha is hysterical, writhing beneath her bonds, completely broken down and reduced by reflexes over which she has no control. And though she's found herself in this situation before, this time it's different; there is no malice in Krebb's actions; no desire to cause pain or humiliation. He's not questioning her or cursing her...he's not even being rude; if anything, she'd have to admit that he's actually kind of polite, in a strange sort of way.
Satisfied with the feather's performance, Krebb puts it down and lights up another smoke. He leans over her and offers her a drag but she shakes her head 'no.' He says, "Can I get you some water? You're sweating, you don't want to get dehydrated now."
"No," she says, and looks at him strangely. He's sort of half-smiling, and to her, looks pretty ridiculous, like a little kid with a new toy (which was her, she realized.) He wasn't what you'd called handsome, but compared to some of the other creeps she's had to deal with in the course of her career, he was not terrible to look at.
"You're really gonna untie me when you're done aren't you?"
"I said I would."
"So how much longer do I have to put up with this?"
"Oh, probably not too much longer, I'm about to explode as it is...need to settle down, have a smoke before we get to Round Two."
Samantha looking at him with widening eyes and racing thoughts, says, quietly, "Round Two?"
The question hung there for a minute as Krebb's eyes darted and squinted, he seemed to be someplace far, far away, and then suddenly:
"Round Two! And I have to warn you that the tickling gets more intense with each successive round."
"Intense?"
"You won't die or anything, trust me...it's me I'm worried about, shit, if it gets too good I might have a stroke."
Samantha Storm had felt a sense of relief knowing that this person bent on tickling her into fits wasn't going to hurt her, but at the same time she realized she was dealing with a very strange individual, a type of person that the books and classes and lectures hadn't covered.
He was his own kind of crazy and that realization came with its own set of concerns. But he did seem sincere and, tied up like she was, she decided to let herself lean towards cautious optimism. She also decided that when and if he did untie her, she was going to beat the mortal shit out of him the first chance she got. This thought pleased her so she hung on to it and prepared for Round Two.
Krebb snuffed out his cigarette and clasped his hands together in a disturbingly Nazi-scientist sort of way; he smiled and said, "Ready!"
Samantha Storm, weakened but defiant as ever, almost enjoyed saying, "Knock yourself out."
Krebb smiled his odd little smile and said, "Well, then, let's get down to business, how about that belly?" He gently lifted the edge of her shirt to glimpse Storm's perfect, taut stomach. No belly-rings here; no tattoos or adornments; this was just a beautifully curving geometric masterpiece.
"My stars...." he said, and again looked to the heavens. He then undid each button on her shirt carefully savoring every inch of nakedness gained by his efforts. When he got to the last button he opened the shirt wide and took a step back and stood there like a man appreciating a piece of fine art (which, really, he was.)
"I suppose the bra comes next?" Samantha asked.
"No."
"No?" she was actually a little shocked.
"No, I'm a gentleman...of sorts...there are rules."
"Rules?"
"My rules and the rules say you are entitled to your dignity."
Samantha Storm had been with the Company for more than a few years and knew of a lot of bad people, very dangerous people, and one thing they all had in common was that each had their own peculiar eccentricities. Some men really enjoyed the whole idea of the romanticized, Ian Fleming penned villain. The other thing they all had in common a complete lack of respect for anyone's dignity. Most of them probably couldn't spell it. So who was this strange man talking about dignity? Her analytical brain kicked in automatic, a reflex honed by the training, and she began to try to figure him out...that is, until another, un-invited reflex took the driver’s seat because Krebb was gently pinching at the very sensitive area two inches to the left of her navel.
He started tracing little circles, dragging his calloused finger around and around a tiny spot that drove Storm absolutely insane. She was smiling, but not laughing, the noises she was making sounded more like, "Gha...gha...shhh...iii....ittt." The whole time Krebb was staring into her eyes and his own eyes were brilliant green and shining. This concentric circle thing was killing her, and her body was doing it's best to avoid the terrible circles, bucking violently against her bonds. Then she stopped moving completely and went stiff; all the while laughter poured out of her and she could do nothing to control herself. This went on for about eight minutes, and then Krebb stopped.
"That was pretty awful, yeah?" He said.
Storm was out of breath, she looked at him and blew a puff of air out of the side of her mouth to get her hair out of her eyes. And this casual, insignificant gesture, almost killed poor Irving Krebb. He stepped back and just stared at her, like that silly little thing chicks do without even thinking about it frightened him. He took a minute to compose himself and then his eyes again, they were shining.
"I have always been crazy for a vertical bellybutton..." he said to her, and allowed the tip of his index finger a shallow dip. She squirmed and forgot herself, saying, "No, No, don't do that, don--" But he did it anyway, realizing he'd found a good spot he lingered forever on just her bellybutton, endlessly stroking, poking, dipping, circling, swirling...it was hell for the lovely Samantha Storm who reacted with a non-stop "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH" kinda thing. This bit lasted, oh, ten minutes. When he stopped she said, "Please, don't do that, please...*giggles*...I hate that...please..."
"Alright, alright, calm down" Krebb said, "no more bellybutton play....for now."
Storm had tears running down the sides her face from all the hysterical laughing and screaming. She wasn't crying though, and that was important. Krebb reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief (who carries a handkerchief anymore?) and gently wiped them away.
"You are the best thing there is." he said, "I am having so much fun...wow, you know where I was going when I found you here?"
"No" she said, still breathing a little hard.
“Me either." He said.
"No, no, tell me..." Storm was trying to get him to talk so he'd stop tickling her, not real clever but the only option she had. It didn't work.
Krebb caught on to her little ploy and deemed it a good, playful way to punish her for trying to pull a fast one. He used both hands this time, on either side of her soft, supple belly, pinching gently but furiously, filling the air with a new laugh, a nice, high, girly, melodious laugh. Ah, it was like the singing of angels, Krebb thought. (He was given to thinking dramatic things like that.) He almost had the urge to say something cute, like kootchie-coo or some-shit, but that was against the rules. He enjoyed the beautiful music for at least ten minutes, more like twenty, with a few stops and starts so poor Samantha could catch her breath. She was at his mercy and he was enjoying watching her reactions: surprise, defiance, total release and acceptance to the terrible tickles that never seem too... And then, like before, he stopped, smiled, and reached for his cigarettes. He turned his back on Samantha and faced the wall; to her, it looked like he was admiring a beautiful sunset only he could see. When he turned around again he said, "We're almost there, Round 3 in a moment, Round 3."
"Jesus," Samantha said, out of breath, hot, sweating, and desperately wanting this to be over, "why is this such a turn on, torturing me like this? Tell me, you owe me that much."
"Because it's real," Krebb said, "it's honest and it cannot be faked or forged...but it can be forced, and that is sometimes unfortunate but that's how it is. I didn't make up that rule; that one's not mine."
And then he smoked and wandered around the warehouse and very casually said again, "Round 3."
Samantha breathed a heavy sigh and tried to brace herself for Round 3. The mysterious man in the hat seemed to be thinking up things to do to her, cruel things, she imagined, awful things. A little shiver of fear mixed with excitement ran through her; the excitement just an automatic reaction to all that tickling, all that...stimuli, she reasoned. But Krebb, who had done this before, knew better.
He'd seen this once before, heard it actually; it was the sound pleasure and terror make together sometimes when the circumstances are just right. It was a beautiful, elusive sound, and he realized it was a rare thing that he was hearing it for a second time. Having been young and inexperienced the first time, he wasn't able to enjoy it properly or even graciously; but now, with years of experience behind him and an intimate knowledge of the gentle art of digital manipulation...and most importantly this perfect instrument all trussed up and ready to go, he was ready.
All this flashed in Krebb's head in less time than it would take to explain it. Samantha Storm did not possess the insight needed to appreciate how profound their accidental meeting had become; this one small sad fact, Krebb thought, was a damn shame.
In a moment, Samantha Storm was to become something more than a ticklish woman tied to a table, much more. Irving Krebb, this time flicked his still lit cigarette butt carelessly across the room and cracked his knuckles loudly. He stood over Samantha's glistening body, it was now sufficiently tuned, warmed up and buzzing like an amplifier, that deep, bassy buzz. He looked at her with soft, determined eyes, raised his arms and flexed his fingers; he had decided on a Rhapsody.
He picked up the feather again and seemed to glide towards Samantha's naked feet. He stood looking at them for a moment and then raised the feather like a conductor would, a look of seriousness came over his face. He cleared his throat and began again with the toes. Flicking the feather across the tops and stroking down the soles, producing from Samantha a series of staccato giggles and chirps, first the left foot, then the right, then right again, then left, and so on, non-stop. The giggles finally gave way to a high pitched feminine laughter, not a tortured laughter, not yet, but certainly uncontrollable. Krebb was silent, and seemed to be performing. His skill with the feather was agonizing, he was able to make her giggle, then laugh, then shriek, then back down to giggle again and so on...and it all had some kind of perverse rhythm to it.
He worked her toes for more than fifteen minutes, the feather was a blur, touching and tickling every last nerve cluster in Samantha's pretty feet. When he slowed down a little, and then a little more, and then stopped, all that could be heard was Samantha's heavy breathing mixed, here and there, with a stifled giggle. Again Krebb seemed to glide, this time towards her middle, and she started laughing even before the tip of the feather dipped down into her cute little shallow navel. The feather sawed and slid around her most sensitive area causing high pitched squeals and insane laughter, a much different sounds than the toes offered. And it went on and on, Krebb like a surgeon with that goddamn thing, twisting and thrusting, pulling more and more sounds out of Samantha until she thought her throat would burst. Again, though, he began to slow down, slower and slower and stopped.
In a showy move, Krebb cast the feather aside and raised his wriggling fingers like a mad pianist about to execute one of the more challenging pieces in his repertoire. Samantha knew right away he was going for her ribs.
Up and down he played her rib cage, changing spots so often Samantha herself didn't even know which spot was most ticklish, he was hitting them one at a time or in groups of two or three, like he was playing chords. She felt like a human accordion. He squeezed her firmly yet not enough to cause any bruising, and his hands ran the length of her torso so quickly and so methodically. Krebb's movements, she thought, were not random, this was technique! She might have been impressed had she not been forced to be his instrument. For one insane minute she thought the Company might hire him, consider him useful in interrogations...and probably wouldn't have to pay him.
The action on the ribs was changing, his hands were moving closer and closer together and finally running straight down the middle of her stomach from her chest to her navel. This motion, this direction, ending up where it did, produced a sort of gigle, giggle, laugh, laugh, OH MY GOD HAHAHAHA. Another eternity which actually only last a few long, long minutes. Maybe six.
And then Krebb did something she hadn't expected, he unhitched her belt-buckle, carefully laying each end to its side, unbuttoned her jeans and gently pulled them down a little, to just below her panty line.
Samantha had started to protest but Krebb raised a hand and said, “SH!” harshly before she could get out a word. He began gently stroking across the pelvis...back and forth, just a finger, tracking lightly back and forth.
Samantha's reaction was nothing more than a huge grin she could not help, her eyes were shut and she almost cooed a little. Krebb continued this move until she had relaxed, calmed her body and steadied her breathing...and then he took a step towards her face, looked down into her eyes and said, “Thank you.”
And then he flipped a cigarette into his mouth and turned to walk away.
“Hey, she said, you said you'd UNTIE ME!”
“I did”, he said, without turning around, “You've been untied for the last few minutes. You didn't notice because you were distracted.”
And to her disbelief, she was untied, not completely but loosened sufficiently to easily slip her bonds and jump of the table, which she did in a blink. She looked to where Krebb had been walking but he was gone, only a thin trail of smoke lingered.
Samantha stood there a moment not knowing what to think...and then she smiled because she realized she wasn't angry, just happy to be free. “Still”, she thought, “If I see him again...” and the thought drifted silently away.
I was so inspired I created several drawings to go with it. The best of the bunch is attached here and the rest can be found in the Artwork forum.
Finally, I'd like to say thanks to Irving for his efforts here and if you enjoyed it like I did and want a sequel then go and bomb his PM box until he agrees!
SAMANTHA STORM MEETS IRVING KREBB
By Irving Krebb
Consciousness makes its lazy way into Samantha Storms pretty, raven-haired noggin. She blinks a few times before the spots disappear completely and realizes she's looking at a high, industrial ceiling. She tries to move but someone has gone to great lengths to make sure that isn’t possible. Looking down across her stretched out body she can see her ankles have been locked into what look like stocks. Her thighs are strapped down, as are her elbows and her wrists; which she can't see but can feel as the leather cuffs bight into her skin. Her first thought is, “Not again.” An angry noise wells up inside her and then she notices her mouth has been taped shut. “Of course,” she thinks.
Samantha's head jerks around frantically looking for the person who did this to her but there's no one. The only sounds she hears are the odd hissing, mechanical noises made cavernous in big warehouses. Instead of panicking, she calms herself and lets the training take over. First she tests the strength of her bonds and discovers they are indeed quite strong. Check. Next, she screams as loud as she can through the tape to see if anyone comes over to shut her up. She screams twice and counts to fifty. Nothing. Check. The warehouse is fairly dim, but a small shaft of sunlight coming from a window several feet to her left tells her it's daytime and her attackers, whoever they are, might be waiting for the cover of darkness to do whatever it is they plan on doing.
Her brain runs through volumes of training materials before she finally decides that her only course of action is to stay calm and hope someone finds her. Samantha begins to call for help, to scream really, but in a carefully timed sequence so as not to exhaust herself too quickly. After about an hour with no help in sight it is only her training which is keeping her from falling apart. She fills her lungs with air for another attempt and just before she releases hears, “Hello?”
Samantha stars bucking and screaming as loud as she can, looking towards the direction of the voice. She hears it again, “...is there someone in here?” The voice is closer now, if only he'd just...
And then suddenly a man's face is hovering above her, a man in a hat with his head curiously tilted like a dog when it hears a funny sound. He reaches down and very quickly rips off the tape.
He says, “I'm sorry, but if you do it slow, it...”
“Never mind”, Samantha says, “untie me!”
The man looks at her again and then just his eyes move to the left and to the right, scanning the room, he says slowly, “What's going on here?”
Samantha Storm, trying to keep the anger out of her voice says, “What does it look like?”
The man says, “Well...it looks like you're all tied up.”
“Very observant”, she says, then adds, “are you a little slow?” From the looks of this guy he might be slow, she thinks, he didn't react the way you would think a normal person would react to finding a woman tied to a table in a warehouse.
The man pulls a cigarette from his pocket and looks down at her. He says, “No, I'm not slow.”
“THEN UNTIE ME. NOW!!' she says a little too harshly.
“Well, shit, if you're going to be rude about it....”, he says, grinning mischievously.
“I'm sorry, it's just...Mr., uh...?” Samantha says, impatiently.
“No mister. So, what'd you do? People don't just get lashed to tables for no reason.”
“Untie me and I'll tell you.”
“Later” he says, and starts looking around; he sees some things on the wall: feathers(?), a pair of big, black, elbow length rubber gloves; he takes them down and puts them on looking very amused. He finds a lab coat type thing and puts that on too. He pulls a feather off the rack on the wall and examines it.
“I think”, he says, “...that you might be some kind of gift from some kind of god...and it would probably be a sin not to accept such a fine gift.”
“What are you talking about?” Samantha says, “UNTIE ME!”
“Silence!” Krebb says, in a sort of German, mad-scientist accent, and giggles. “You vill tell me ever'sing or you vill suffer ze consequvenses.”
He moves the feather towards her menacingly and says, to no one in particular, “Elba, take notes!”
“Are you insane?” Samantha shouts.
Returning to his normal tone says, “No, I'm Irving Krebb. Very nice to meet you.”
Krebb moves towards her left foot, which Samantha cannot move even an inch. He says, "Are you righty or lefty?"
"What?!!"
"Never mind, I'll assume righty, most of us are anyway."
He gently removes the shoe from her left foot admiring the lovely high arch and the cute painted toes and lets out a quiet little sigh.
"See, if you're right handed, it's most likely that your right foot will be more ticklish than you're left...and vice-versa."
"You're going to tickle me?" Samantha says, "Please don't."
"I really haven't got any choice...this...me finding you here like this, this was no accident, this is...BIG.”
"Please, please don't tickle me, I..."
"No, no, none of that, you're going to fuck up the narrative."
Krebb removes a glove and gently strokes the sole of her left foot from the bottom to the top and lets his fingers dance lightly over the tops for her toes. Samantha twitches, her face doing its best not to smile. He strokes again, and again with the dancing, and then begins his fingers fluttering up and down the sole of her foot. Samantha can't take it, she begins to giggle and in between giggling curses her tormenter. "You..ha ha...fuck...I...Just...st-stop it....stop it...ha ha ha."
Her face is beautiful but made more beautiful by the little reflexes now consuming her. She's smiling despite herself and to any casual observer she might enjoying all this.
"We've only just gotten started," Krebb says, "I haven't even tried the feather yet. Let's do that next." He stops tickling her and removes the other glove, she takes a deep breath, still affected with a bit of the giggles.
"Why are you doing this?" She asks, "You don't even know who I am."
"Because I like it...I thought I explained all this..." Krebb says, and removes the right shoe. Samantha's face goes all smiley even before he touches her; he notices and says, "Ah, this is the one then isn't it? Let's try this feather then." Samantha's smile became uncontrollable; she knew how ticklish this was going to be; she knew how ticklish her foot was and she knew she'd soon be in trouble.
It’s a good feather, stiff at the peak and pointed. Krebb draws it down the sole of her right foot causing an instant reaction that is somewhere above giggling but not quite laughter: more of a full body shiver thing.
"Now, that's the stuff," he says to himself, and continues to work the feather up and down the sole of her foot and in between her toes and on the top of her foot, letting the feather do the work -- like a Taoist, not thinking, just doing.
Samantha is hysterical, writhing beneath her bonds, completely broken down and reduced by reflexes over which she has no control. And though she's found herself in this situation before, this time it's different; there is no malice in Krebb's actions; no desire to cause pain or humiliation. He's not questioning her or cursing her...he's not even being rude; if anything, she'd have to admit that he's actually kind of polite, in a strange sort of way.
Satisfied with the feather's performance, Krebb puts it down and lights up another smoke. He leans over her and offers her a drag but she shakes her head 'no.' He says, "Can I get you some water? You're sweating, you don't want to get dehydrated now."
"No," she says, and looks at him strangely. He's sort of half-smiling, and to her, looks pretty ridiculous, like a little kid with a new toy (which was her, she realized.) He wasn't what you'd called handsome, but compared to some of the other creeps she's had to deal with in the course of her career, he was not terrible to look at.
"You're really gonna untie me when you're done aren't you?"
"I said I would."
"So how much longer do I have to put up with this?"
"Oh, probably not too much longer, I'm about to explode as it is...need to settle down, have a smoke before we get to Round Two."
Samantha looking at him with widening eyes and racing thoughts, says, quietly, "Round Two?"
The question hung there for a minute as Krebb's eyes darted and squinted, he seemed to be someplace far, far away, and then suddenly:
"Round Two! And I have to warn you that the tickling gets more intense with each successive round."
"Intense?"
"You won't die or anything, trust me...it's me I'm worried about, shit, if it gets too good I might have a stroke."
Samantha Storm had felt a sense of relief knowing that this person bent on tickling her into fits wasn't going to hurt her, but at the same time she realized she was dealing with a very strange individual, a type of person that the books and classes and lectures hadn't covered.
He was his own kind of crazy and that realization came with its own set of concerns. But he did seem sincere and, tied up like she was, she decided to let herself lean towards cautious optimism. She also decided that when and if he did untie her, she was going to beat the mortal shit out of him the first chance she got. This thought pleased her so she hung on to it and prepared for Round Two.
Krebb snuffed out his cigarette and clasped his hands together in a disturbingly Nazi-scientist sort of way; he smiled and said, "Ready!"
Samantha Storm, weakened but defiant as ever, almost enjoyed saying, "Knock yourself out."
Krebb smiled his odd little smile and said, "Well, then, let's get down to business, how about that belly?" He gently lifted the edge of her shirt to glimpse Storm's perfect, taut stomach. No belly-rings here; no tattoos or adornments; this was just a beautifully curving geometric masterpiece.
"My stars...." he said, and again looked to the heavens. He then undid each button on her shirt carefully savoring every inch of nakedness gained by his efforts. When he got to the last button he opened the shirt wide and took a step back and stood there like a man appreciating a piece of fine art (which, really, he was.)
"I suppose the bra comes next?" Samantha asked.
"No."
"No?" she was actually a little shocked.
"No, I'm a gentleman...of sorts...there are rules."
"Rules?"
"My rules and the rules say you are entitled to your dignity."
Samantha Storm had been with the Company for more than a few years and knew of a lot of bad people, very dangerous people, and one thing they all had in common was that each had their own peculiar eccentricities. Some men really enjoyed the whole idea of the romanticized, Ian Fleming penned villain. The other thing they all had in common a complete lack of respect for anyone's dignity. Most of them probably couldn't spell it. So who was this strange man talking about dignity? Her analytical brain kicked in automatic, a reflex honed by the training, and she began to try to figure him out...that is, until another, un-invited reflex took the driver’s seat because Krebb was gently pinching at the very sensitive area two inches to the left of her navel.
He started tracing little circles, dragging his calloused finger around and around a tiny spot that drove Storm absolutely insane. She was smiling, but not laughing, the noises she was making sounded more like, "Gha...gha...shhh...iii....ittt." The whole time Krebb was staring into her eyes and his own eyes were brilliant green and shining. This concentric circle thing was killing her, and her body was doing it's best to avoid the terrible circles, bucking violently against her bonds. Then she stopped moving completely and went stiff; all the while laughter poured out of her and she could do nothing to control herself. This went on for about eight minutes, and then Krebb stopped.
"That was pretty awful, yeah?" He said.
Storm was out of breath, she looked at him and blew a puff of air out of the side of her mouth to get her hair out of her eyes. And this casual, insignificant gesture, almost killed poor Irving Krebb. He stepped back and just stared at her, like that silly little thing chicks do without even thinking about it frightened him. He took a minute to compose himself and then his eyes again, they were shining.
"I have always been crazy for a vertical bellybutton..." he said to her, and allowed the tip of his index finger a shallow dip. She squirmed and forgot herself, saying, "No, No, don't do that, don--" But he did it anyway, realizing he'd found a good spot he lingered forever on just her bellybutton, endlessly stroking, poking, dipping, circling, swirling...it was hell for the lovely Samantha Storm who reacted with a non-stop "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH" kinda thing. This bit lasted, oh, ten minutes. When he stopped she said, "Please, don't do that, please...*giggles*...I hate that...please..."
"Alright, alright, calm down" Krebb said, "no more bellybutton play....for now."
Storm had tears running down the sides her face from all the hysterical laughing and screaming. She wasn't crying though, and that was important. Krebb reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief (who carries a handkerchief anymore?) and gently wiped them away.
"You are the best thing there is." he said, "I am having so much fun...wow, you know where I was going when I found you here?"
"No" she said, still breathing a little hard.
“Me either." He said.
"No, no, tell me..." Storm was trying to get him to talk so he'd stop tickling her, not real clever but the only option she had. It didn't work.
Krebb caught on to her little ploy and deemed it a good, playful way to punish her for trying to pull a fast one. He used both hands this time, on either side of her soft, supple belly, pinching gently but furiously, filling the air with a new laugh, a nice, high, girly, melodious laugh. Ah, it was like the singing of angels, Krebb thought. (He was given to thinking dramatic things like that.) He almost had the urge to say something cute, like kootchie-coo or some-shit, but that was against the rules. He enjoyed the beautiful music for at least ten minutes, more like twenty, with a few stops and starts so poor Samantha could catch her breath. She was at his mercy and he was enjoying watching her reactions: surprise, defiance, total release and acceptance to the terrible tickles that never seem too... And then, like before, he stopped, smiled, and reached for his cigarettes. He turned his back on Samantha and faced the wall; to her, it looked like he was admiring a beautiful sunset only he could see. When he turned around again he said, "We're almost there, Round 3 in a moment, Round 3."
"Jesus," Samantha said, out of breath, hot, sweating, and desperately wanting this to be over, "why is this such a turn on, torturing me like this? Tell me, you owe me that much."
"Because it's real," Krebb said, "it's honest and it cannot be faked or forged...but it can be forced, and that is sometimes unfortunate but that's how it is. I didn't make up that rule; that one's not mine."
And then he smoked and wandered around the warehouse and very casually said again, "Round 3."
Samantha breathed a heavy sigh and tried to brace herself for Round 3. The mysterious man in the hat seemed to be thinking up things to do to her, cruel things, she imagined, awful things. A little shiver of fear mixed with excitement ran through her; the excitement just an automatic reaction to all that tickling, all that...stimuli, she reasoned. But Krebb, who had done this before, knew better.
He'd seen this once before, heard it actually; it was the sound pleasure and terror make together sometimes when the circumstances are just right. It was a beautiful, elusive sound, and he realized it was a rare thing that he was hearing it for a second time. Having been young and inexperienced the first time, he wasn't able to enjoy it properly or even graciously; but now, with years of experience behind him and an intimate knowledge of the gentle art of digital manipulation...and most importantly this perfect instrument all trussed up and ready to go, he was ready.
All this flashed in Krebb's head in less time than it would take to explain it. Samantha Storm did not possess the insight needed to appreciate how profound their accidental meeting had become; this one small sad fact, Krebb thought, was a damn shame.
In a moment, Samantha Storm was to become something more than a ticklish woman tied to a table, much more. Irving Krebb, this time flicked his still lit cigarette butt carelessly across the room and cracked his knuckles loudly. He stood over Samantha's glistening body, it was now sufficiently tuned, warmed up and buzzing like an amplifier, that deep, bassy buzz. He looked at her with soft, determined eyes, raised his arms and flexed his fingers; he had decided on a Rhapsody.
He picked up the feather again and seemed to glide towards Samantha's naked feet. He stood looking at them for a moment and then raised the feather like a conductor would, a look of seriousness came over his face. He cleared his throat and began again with the toes. Flicking the feather across the tops and stroking down the soles, producing from Samantha a series of staccato giggles and chirps, first the left foot, then the right, then right again, then left, and so on, non-stop. The giggles finally gave way to a high pitched feminine laughter, not a tortured laughter, not yet, but certainly uncontrollable. Krebb was silent, and seemed to be performing. His skill with the feather was agonizing, he was able to make her giggle, then laugh, then shriek, then back down to giggle again and so on...and it all had some kind of perverse rhythm to it.
He worked her toes for more than fifteen minutes, the feather was a blur, touching and tickling every last nerve cluster in Samantha's pretty feet. When he slowed down a little, and then a little more, and then stopped, all that could be heard was Samantha's heavy breathing mixed, here and there, with a stifled giggle. Again Krebb seemed to glide, this time towards her middle, and she started laughing even before the tip of the feather dipped down into her cute little shallow navel. The feather sawed and slid around her most sensitive area causing high pitched squeals and insane laughter, a much different sounds than the toes offered. And it went on and on, Krebb like a surgeon with that goddamn thing, twisting and thrusting, pulling more and more sounds out of Samantha until she thought her throat would burst. Again, though, he began to slow down, slower and slower and stopped.
In a showy move, Krebb cast the feather aside and raised his wriggling fingers like a mad pianist about to execute one of the more challenging pieces in his repertoire. Samantha knew right away he was going for her ribs.
Up and down he played her rib cage, changing spots so often Samantha herself didn't even know which spot was most ticklish, he was hitting them one at a time or in groups of two or three, like he was playing chords. She felt like a human accordion. He squeezed her firmly yet not enough to cause any bruising, and his hands ran the length of her torso so quickly and so methodically. Krebb's movements, she thought, were not random, this was technique! She might have been impressed had she not been forced to be his instrument. For one insane minute she thought the Company might hire him, consider him useful in interrogations...and probably wouldn't have to pay him.
The action on the ribs was changing, his hands were moving closer and closer together and finally running straight down the middle of her stomach from her chest to her navel. This motion, this direction, ending up where it did, produced a sort of gigle, giggle, laugh, laugh, OH MY GOD HAHAHAHA. Another eternity which actually only last a few long, long minutes. Maybe six.
And then Krebb did something she hadn't expected, he unhitched her belt-buckle, carefully laying each end to its side, unbuttoned her jeans and gently pulled them down a little, to just below her panty line.
Samantha had started to protest but Krebb raised a hand and said, “SH!” harshly before she could get out a word. He began gently stroking across the pelvis...back and forth, just a finger, tracking lightly back and forth.
Samantha's reaction was nothing more than a huge grin she could not help, her eyes were shut and she almost cooed a little. Krebb continued this move until she had relaxed, calmed her body and steadied her breathing...and then he took a step towards her face, looked down into her eyes and said, “Thank you.”
And then he flipped a cigarette into his mouth and turned to walk away.
“Hey, she said, you said you'd UNTIE ME!”
“I did”, he said, without turning around, “You've been untied for the last few minutes. You didn't notice because you were distracted.”
And to her disbelief, she was untied, not completely but loosened sufficiently to easily slip her bonds and jump of the table, which she did in a blink. She looked to where Krebb had been walking but he was gone, only a thin trail of smoke lingered.
Samantha stood there a moment not knowing what to think...and then she smiled because she realized she wasn't angry, just happy to be free. “Still”, she thought, “If I see him again...” and the thought drifted silently away.
