(Originally written by myself in the app Inkvite)
“Slow, deep breaths,” said Lia to herself. “Don’t let them see you break.”
The room was a stark, clinical white. The reclined set she was clamped to was thick with cushions, and it was almost cozy, but the anticipation….
A low tone sound, signaling the start of the interrogation.
The machines against the wall that had looked brittle and dead as she was led in suddenly came to life. They shifted and whirred as power surged through them. Controlled by the scientists that ran this awful lab, they rolled quickly towards her. Lia took a sharp breath and steeled herself. They wanted the safeword, but they wouldn’t get it. She felt ready, but her heartbeat betrayed her and sped up.
STAGE 1
A steady hum. Heavy pressure on her bare toes as they were pushed back and held in place. She couldn’t move them at all. Then the tickling started.
She resisted at first. The peculiar, rod-like devices that extended from the machines and stroked her soles were too gentle. To fight the sensation, Lia clenched her jaw, tightened her abs, and focused on the tension of her muscles.
A voice crackled through a speaker in the ceiling. “We can stop now,” it said, “if you just say the word.”
“The word,” Lia chuckled, laughing more at her own corny joke then at the machine’s effects. It made her think of her ex-boyfriend, Brett, who liked to touch her feet. When she was in the right mood, it felt nice. Reflecting on this, she actually relaxed.
In the next room, a crew of men and women in white coats whispered to each other. One of them pushed a throttle lever forward.
The hum of the chair rose in pitch. Lia felt a scratching sensation rake along the bottoms of her feet. It was more intense than the playful strokes she experienced earlier. Still, she fought the desire to laugh by fixating on past fantasies. Memories flooded her view, blocking out her predicament and the growing tickle sensation.
“I’m gonna get you!” Brett called out, running across the room to pull her into a tight hug. Before long, the tackle had turned into a tickle fight, and Lia was down for the count. Brett could always find her worst spots, and she always curled into a helpless ball before surrendering. Over time, though she learned to shut the sensation down, taking Brett’s power away.
“That all you got?” she yelled.
That was when a set of tiny metal fingers poked out from the sides of the chair, and took their place on her outstretched ribs.
STAGE 2
As ticklish as she was, Lia didn’t give in. So her captors intensified their efforts.
Three monitors on motorized cranes descended from the ceiling and stared into Lia’s face. They snapped on and displayed images from America’s Funniest Home Videos, and funny cat clips from YouTube, all while the tickling continued. The observers felt certain that their strategy would bear fruit. If they could get just one laugh, the rest would surely follow, and the word would be theirs. Then they could release their captive, her body showing no sign of duress, and maintain deniability.
Lia only smiled. She was back with Brett on their movie date night. Lying on his couch, they watched the latest Katka Roxy film. It was a sort of romantic thriller. Keller squeezing out of ridiculous situations.
Her legs were outstretched, her feet in Brett’s lap. He rubbed and tickled them as he loved to do. She occasionally kicked and giggled, but she was secretly practicing her resistance techniques. She knew a time might come when The Word might be tortured out of her, and she needed to be ready. There was only one place that she couldn’t stand being tickled at, once place that she was grateful her captors hadn’t found. For if they did, the Word would be out. Bret knew about this spot, and he often took advantage of it. Though she hadn’t minded surrendering to him, cracking to these eggheads would be humiliating.
She thought about tough-gal Roxy, and loving Brett, and sighed.
“This isn’t working,” said one of the scientists. “We need to ramp it up.”
STAGE 3
The machines began to explore all over Lia’s body, not just her feet, seeking the perfect target. It had no success at her neck or her chin or her armpits, and Lia could sense the distaste of her torturers as the machine frantically searched. The vicious fingers probed and stroked and poked, but Lia fought every touch.
Until one found her hip.
It was a little spot at the side of Lia’s waist, just above her pelvis. A finger poked her there just once, and Lia gasped.
Everything froze.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
The machine seemed to shake with glee, as though expressing the pleasure of its controllers. Then it attacked Lia, squeezing both of her hips with every available finger, until Lia’s face was slathered with tears. They were tears of hysterical laughter, but there was nothing funny about the situation. Her mind whirled. The iron fingers had shattered her fantasy world and yanked her back to reality, and reality sucked.
“Ahahaha! Stop! Please!” she cried. “I can’t — hahaha! — I can’t take it!”
“The word?” said the speaker.
The safe word. The only thing that could end it. Lia forced in a deep breath and shouted so loudly that her larynx burned.
“WATCH!”
Silence. Confusion. Lia’s panting. The scientists had pulled the throttle lever back, and were now murmuring in fascination. “Apple’s unveiling a watch for this year’s keynote? A watch?”
Lia was a brilliant engineer, and had worked with Apple for years. “Haha…yes…hahahaha…just please stop. Don’t do that again, please.”
“She appears not to lie,” one scientist said, “but could we tickle Tim Cook just to be sure?”
“Slow, deep breaths,” said Lia to herself. “Don’t let them see you break.”
The room was a stark, clinical white. The reclined set she was clamped to was thick with cushions, and it was almost cozy, but the anticipation….
A low tone sound, signaling the start of the interrogation.
The machines against the wall that had looked brittle and dead as she was led in suddenly came to life. They shifted and whirred as power surged through them. Controlled by the scientists that ran this awful lab, they rolled quickly towards her. Lia took a sharp breath and steeled herself. They wanted the safeword, but they wouldn’t get it. She felt ready, but her heartbeat betrayed her and sped up.
STAGE 1
A steady hum. Heavy pressure on her bare toes as they were pushed back and held in place. She couldn’t move them at all. Then the tickling started.
She resisted at first. The peculiar, rod-like devices that extended from the machines and stroked her soles were too gentle. To fight the sensation, Lia clenched her jaw, tightened her abs, and focused on the tension of her muscles.
A voice crackled through a speaker in the ceiling. “We can stop now,” it said, “if you just say the word.”
“The word,” Lia chuckled, laughing more at her own corny joke then at the machine’s effects. It made her think of her ex-boyfriend, Brett, who liked to touch her feet. When she was in the right mood, it felt nice. Reflecting on this, she actually relaxed.
In the next room, a crew of men and women in white coats whispered to each other. One of them pushed a throttle lever forward.
The hum of the chair rose in pitch. Lia felt a scratching sensation rake along the bottoms of her feet. It was more intense than the playful strokes she experienced earlier. Still, she fought the desire to laugh by fixating on past fantasies. Memories flooded her view, blocking out her predicament and the growing tickle sensation.
“I’m gonna get you!” Brett called out, running across the room to pull her into a tight hug. Before long, the tackle had turned into a tickle fight, and Lia was down for the count. Brett could always find her worst spots, and she always curled into a helpless ball before surrendering. Over time, though she learned to shut the sensation down, taking Brett’s power away.
“That all you got?” she yelled.
That was when a set of tiny metal fingers poked out from the sides of the chair, and took their place on her outstretched ribs.
STAGE 2
As ticklish as she was, Lia didn’t give in. So her captors intensified their efforts.
Three monitors on motorized cranes descended from the ceiling and stared into Lia’s face. They snapped on and displayed images from America’s Funniest Home Videos, and funny cat clips from YouTube, all while the tickling continued. The observers felt certain that their strategy would bear fruit. If they could get just one laugh, the rest would surely follow, and the word would be theirs. Then they could release their captive, her body showing no sign of duress, and maintain deniability.
Lia only smiled. She was back with Brett on their movie date night. Lying on his couch, they watched the latest Katka Roxy film. It was a sort of romantic thriller. Keller squeezing out of ridiculous situations.
Her legs were outstretched, her feet in Brett’s lap. He rubbed and tickled them as he loved to do. She occasionally kicked and giggled, but she was secretly practicing her resistance techniques. She knew a time might come when The Word might be tortured out of her, and she needed to be ready. There was only one place that she couldn’t stand being tickled at, once place that she was grateful her captors hadn’t found. For if they did, the Word would be out. Bret knew about this spot, and he often took advantage of it. Though she hadn’t minded surrendering to him, cracking to these eggheads would be humiliating.
She thought about tough-gal Roxy, and loving Brett, and sighed.
“This isn’t working,” said one of the scientists. “We need to ramp it up.”
STAGE 3
The machines began to explore all over Lia’s body, not just her feet, seeking the perfect target. It had no success at her neck or her chin or her armpits, and Lia could sense the distaste of her torturers as the machine frantically searched. The vicious fingers probed and stroked and poked, but Lia fought every touch.
Until one found her hip.
It was a little spot at the side of Lia’s waist, just above her pelvis. A finger poked her there just once, and Lia gasped.
Everything froze.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
The machine seemed to shake with glee, as though expressing the pleasure of its controllers. Then it attacked Lia, squeezing both of her hips with every available finger, until Lia’s face was slathered with tears. They were tears of hysterical laughter, but there was nothing funny about the situation. Her mind whirled. The iron fingers had shattered her fantasy world and yanked her back to reality, and reality sucked.
“Ahahaha! Stop! Please!” she cried. “I can’t — hahaha! — I can’t take it!”
“The word?” said the speaker.
The safe word. The only thing that could end it. Lia forced in a deep breath and shouted so loudly that her larynx burned.
“WATCH!”
Silence. Confusion. Lia’s panting. The scientists had pulled the throttle lever back, and were now murmuring in fascination. “Apple’s unveiling a watch for this year’s keynote? A watch?”
Lia was a brilliant engineer, and had worked with Apple for years. “Haha…yes…hahahaha…just please stop. Don’t do that again, please.”
“She appears not to lie,” one scientist said, “but could we tickle Tim Cook just to be sure?”
