Hello everybody. It feels like ages since I've been on here, but things in life have kept me rather busy. However, in honor of CBS's new show Supergirl I thought it only right to dedicate a couple of hours of my life to composing a short story. I hope it goes over well with all who read it, and please feel free to leave comments and constructive criticism bellow. Thank you and enjoy.
Five weeks into the unpredictable abyss that is television, and who would have ever guessed the program would be such a success. I myself had very little faith in the project, but don’t tell my producers that. After all I am the star of the show. Sixteen thousand homes tuned in for the first episode and the numbers since have been potent and strong.
The thoughts of our success continuously run through my mind as I mull over the script for next week’s episode. My concentration is broken at the pounding knock on my trailer door. Without permission of admittance the door swings open and a lanky man with a receding hairline pops his head in, “We’re on in five Melissa.” He smiles.
I put down the script stand up and acknowledge my director, “I’ll be right there Glen.” I shoot him an equally peppy smile.
He trots away and leaves me to my business. I don’t know whether I envy his spryness or I’m put off by it, “What’s the point of knocking if you’re just gonna walk in?” I roll my eyes.
I slam shut the door to my trailer and in doing so disturb the sign atop of it, “Oh you flimsy thing.” I complain slapping it back into place. It reads, “Trailer One Melissa Benoist: Kara Jor-el/Supergirl”.
The walk from the trailer to the set sees half a dozen hands powdering every inch of my face with last minute applications of lipstick and makeup. After all, superheroes still have to look their best when fighting criminals, right?
Glen is already seated in his director’s chair addressing a small group of producers hovering around him like bees to a flower, “Alright everybody, places!” He shouts, waving off his subordinates, “Ready Melissa?” He asks as I approach his side.
I take a deep breath and attempt to block out all of life’s little distractions so that I can meld into character. The female public is counting on me to deliver. Women across America tune in to see me kick ass. I’m like the ambassador to some sort of feminist brigade.
“Melissa?” Glen asks again, this time tapping my arm.
I blink my eyes and shake myself back into reality, “Sorry Glen. I was just…” I’m cut short.
“I know Supergirl can fly, but could you PLEASE get your head out of the clouds?” He jokes.
Once I’m strapped to the harness that helps me “fly” Glen screams, “ACTION!” I didn’t think directors did that anymore. Wouldn’t a subtle nod be sufficient? Never the less I watch as two able bodied men position a fan directly in front of me and flip the power switch. My shoulder length blonde hair is the first to start flapping in the wind. My crimson red skirt and cape follow. I look to my left at a bright green screen,
“How boring.” I think to myself.
“A little more effort!” Glen shouts from his chair.
I nod, clench my fists and look straight forward beaming daggers into the camera lens. I try to imagine actually being among the clouds and on occasion whip my head to shake imaginary cloud dust from my face. The scene ends with me gliding onto the pavement of a busy city street, “CUT!” Glen shouts.
Several assistants rush to my aid unhinging the restraints from my body. The next scene is already in progress, a bank robbery. Not very original, I’ll admit, but Supergirl must answer even the most minuscule of crimes, “ACTION!” Glen booms.
“Hello boys!” I say casually flicking a lock of hair away from my face.
The assailants masked and dressed in black aim their pistols at me and fire away, “Die lady!” One of them shouts.
“Oh okay.” I giggle, pretending to adhere to his request, “I’ll play along.” I pretend a bullet’s punctured my flesh, “Oh that hurt!” I say clutching my sides.
I grab them both by the throat as they attempt to brush by me, “You didn’t actually think I was hurt did you?” I tease, throwing them effortlessly to the ground, “But that hurt didn’t it?” I chuckle. I look down on both of them as they cower in what I can only assume is a combination of bewilderment and embarrassment, “What did you think you were going to do with these?” I ask disarming my assailants.
Neither of them have a reply. They’re in too much pain and shock to do anything other than groan.
I take their weapons and effortlessly crush them under the heels of my crimson red boots, “Some thugs just never learn.” I pick up their loot bags, “You won’t mind if I take these back to where they belong now do ya?” I take their moans as a go ahead sign and proceed back into the bank from which they came.
A majority of the bank’s occupancy is still huddled under tables and desks as I enter the main area, “Have no fear, Supergirl is here.” The line sounds so corny, but I say it with gusto and a puffed out chest.
Of the piles of people scattered across the floor, the most unlikely of them crawls out to greet me. Hunched beneath my knees is a short, plump middle aged woman. I bend to her level and assist her to her feet, “Mam, are you all alright?” I ask staring deeply into her bloodshot eyes. I scroll down and notice her name badge, “Martha?”
She brings herself to give a simple nod before burying her face into my chest.
The intimacy of the moment is broken as Glen blurts out, “AND CUT! Beautiful acting Melissa, and Gena you were so convincing.” He reassures, “We’re going to go ahead and jump to Supergirl’s little speech before she disappears into the clouds, okay? Okay.”
I’m re-harnessed, once again a victim of the confines of ropes and pulleys and the reality that I can’t fly without some assistance, “And ACTION!” Glen shouts.
Suspended above the masses I survey every single person as I give my roaring speech, “It is cowardice men like these here who wish to prey among the weak, but always remember, wherever evil surfaces, in whatever form it takes, Supergirl will be there, no matter the stakes.” I smile triumphantly as the harnesses whisk me off camera, “CUT!” Glen yells again.
“Don’t forget, we’ve got that little banquet to attend tonight Melissa. Everyone’s going to want a picture with Supergirl.” Glen smiles at me.
“Oh, how could I forget?” I say rolling my eyes in frustration.
I enter my trailer and slam the door behind me only this time I make sure to lock the door. I step towards my mini fridge and swing open the door allowing a cool blast to touch my face. I look to my left and I look to my right, “There’s nobody here Melissa.” I say to myself. After self-reassurance I lift my skirt and thrust my crotch as deep as it will fit into the fridge. God I’m scorching in this suit.
After a quick shower I put on a fresh suit, hiking up the skirt ever so slightly to show off my toned thighs a bit more. A tap on my trailer door signifies Glen is ready to go, “I’ll be right there.” I shout dabbing out whatever excess water still remains in the strands of my hair. I spring open the door only to be caught off guard by a thirty somethings soccer mom and her toddler aged daughter waiting for me by the steps, “Um… Hello.” I say unenthusiastically, “Wha-da you want?” I ask forcing a smile.
Seeing right through my disguise, and I’m not talking about the giant S stretched across my boobs she retreats, “Perhaps another time.” She says bluntly, “Come on dear Supergirl’s very busy tracking bad guys.” She fibs.
I can see the hurt in her daughter’s eyes as they’re about to exit my presence and it gets the better of me, “Whoa wait, please. I didn’t mean to come off as rude.” I protest, “Let’s try again.”
She nods her head.
I close the trailer door and wait for her to knock on it again.
The second she does I spring out like a jack-in-the-box, “Hello there! Supergirl at your service!” I say flapping the cape behind me.
Instantly the little girl’s eyes light up, I’ve got her attention and I’m back in the good graces of Soccer mom.
Almost as stunned as her daughter, Soccer mom takes a second to respond, “Oh, my… Well we were just on the premises and my little one just loves your show. She’d love to get a picture with you, if that’s not asking too much?” She shrugs.
“Absolutely!” I say with a gleam in my eye.
It takes Soccer mom almost a minute of fumbling before she can find her cellphone amidst the mess that is her purse, “There it is.” She says triumphantly.
I take her daughter’s hand and kneel to her level, “What’s your name love?” I ask caressing her cheek to mine.
It takes her a second but she eventually ekes out in a delicate whisper and through a mouthful of her own finger, “Amanda.”
“Well nice to meet you Amanda. My name’s Melisa.” I reply.
She stares at me in confusion, “I thought your name was Kara?”
I look to her mother who ushers me to play along, “That’s, that’s right. I was testing you.”
We turn, face the camera and snap a couple of pictures. The brightness of the flash momentarily blinds me and it takes a second before I can focus in on Amanda again, “Can you take me flying?” She asks.
Her mother comes to my rescue by offering her daughter a quick explanation, “Now Amanda, Supergirl’s extremely tired. She’s been fighting bad guys all day. ”
I throw in a yawn to back up her mother’s claims, but Amanda doesn’t fold easily and gives a quick rebuttal, “Aww it will only take a minute!” She whines.
Fortunately talks of chicken nuggets for dinner and ice-cream for desert instantly blindside Amanda’s train of thought, “Yay!” she cries.
Suddenly Soccer mom is the hero again. Clutching her daughter in her arms she waves goodbye and walks towards the main offices of CBS,
“I can’t really fly little one.” I whisper into the wind.
I sulk back into my trailer and softly close the door behind me, “That was close.” I say pondering Amanda’s request. Less than a minute goes by before another person’s knocking at my door, “Please let it be Glen.” I say to myself. I think I’ve had about all I can handle of adoring little fans for one night.
With cautionary effort I open the door just a crack so as to peek outside. Sudden blunt force to the door catches me off guard and sends it crashing against my skull. The presence of an intruder becomes secondary significance as I collapse to the ground writhing in sharp throbbing pain. Damaged eyesight reduces me to a blurred vision of a man cloaked in black gloating over me. In effortless fashion I’m tossed like a ragdoll face first onto my couch, reduced to simply absorbing the punishment, “Help…” I manage to whimper.
I feel him flip my skirt up and expose my butt, “He's going to rape you Melissa.” I think to myself.
Keeping my upper body subdued through brute strength I’m unable to see what he’s doing to me down below. Not that I’d want to see anyway. I cry for help, but it is lost in the cushion my face is pinned against.
I feel a quick pinch on my left butt cheek before he gets off of me, “Maybe he’s changed his mind?” I ponder.
I stagger to my feet under legs which have become as unstable as a towering stack of Jenga blocks and see that he’s whimsically going about sheathing the tip of a syringe, “Wha-what did you do to me?” I ask, struggling to stay balanced.
He looks at me and chuckles through his mask.
His deep voice sends shivers down my spine. I attempt to run for the door but fall flat on my face as my legs refuse to move from under me. As I crash my head on the floor the world around me seeps into a haze and a wondrous serenity blankets my body as the inevitability of sleep becomes apparent. My eyes flutter passively for several seconds before I succumb to slumber.
Cold is the first feeling I sense as I awake from the anesthetics. I try to open my eyes, but the light before me proves to be too bright, so I keep them closed. My ears pick up voices in the distance. Men are talking, but still slightly shaken by my unwitting inebriation it’s very hard to make out what’s being said. As the feeling in my limbs return I instinctively begin to stir, just as if I was back home in bed after a good night’s sleep, only for some reason, I can’t rub my eyes of the drowsiness. Try as I might my arms while responsive seem repressed. I open my eyes and strain to adjust to the light. As I do I notice my arms have been tightly secured above my head by a pair of leather straps. I look down to find my legs in a similar predicament only they’ve been spread slightly apart and my feet are now bare. Off to the side of what I can only assume is a studio, lay my crimson red boots. All my stirring summons the attention of my captors and its then that I wish I’d remained asleep or at least faked being so. It was too late now as a pair of masked men positioned themselves on either side of my head. Too scared to speak I watch in timid wonder as to their intent.
It’s then that a third party makes his presence known as he appears in the rafters above us, “Melisa? Melisa Benoist?” He asks.
I focus in on the rather high pitched vocals coming from a bald man in mirror chrome sunglasses. His attire, a professional business suit black with a red tie catches my attention.
“Ahem, well? Can’t you speak darling?” He says in a cool collective tone.
I muster the courage to eke out a quiet, “Yes…”
His cold stare already has my heart racing and my thoughts running wild with endless scenarios. And as he begins to pace from side to side with his hands behind his back I can’t help, but be drawn to him, “Oh good, so you can talk.” He cackles. “I suppose you’re wondering why you are here, and what’s led to this unfortunate predicament you now find yourself in.” He says with smooth fluidity.
Never taking my eyes off him I muster another fading mumble, “Y-yes…”
He smiles, “Oh come now darling don’t be afraid, we’re not here to hurt you.”
“Then what do you call this?” I say rattling my wrists to the limit of my restraints.
The man utters one word that makes me cringe, “Control.”
“See, for some time now, you’ve been in a position of power, stirring waters and disrupting the natural order of things.” The man says as he begins his descend from the rafters.
Now on the ground floor and standing right at my bedside he proceeds to trace the giant S that’s stretched out across my chest, “Ooh don’t touch me!” I snap.
He lets out a low chuckle, “Ah-ah-ah, you’re not in control.” He says paying extra attention to my nipples.
I wiggle about trying to shake him off, to no avail, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” I huff angrily. “I have, powerful friends! They’ll find me.” I blurt.
He smiles at me, “Oh I doubt that darling.” He crosses his arms, “Now you made me get off track. As I was saying, the reason you’re here
Miss Benoist is because of this…” He proceeds to trace the S again, “This symbol. You, you stand for something. Feminist across America view you as a kick ass can do female, and you’re rousing spirits everywhere.” He explains.
“How is that a bad thing?” I ask in confusion.
“Blinded by your ego…” He sighs, “Women have their place in society that much is certain, but it does not supersede us the alpha male!” He says pointing to his henchmen.
I can’t help but roll my eyes at his ridiculousness, “Look, I’m just an actress on a popular television series.” I respond.
“No you are not! Women around America have begun to idolize you, worship you and aspire to you.” He rants, “To allow this to continue would be sacrilege!” He points at me.
“What are you going to do to me?!” I finally question.
“We’re going to make a mockery of what you stand for.” He smirks.
The man raises his hands and does a three sixty spin, “This studio is equipped with cameras, cameras which we will use to capture you, “Supergirl” being driven to insanity. And once the world watches you powerless and subdued… your image will forever be tarnished and all will be right with the world once more.”
I probably should keep my mouth closed, but too many words have stirred inside of me, words I cannot suppress, “This is insane! You’re insane! I can’t be held accountable for the repercussions of my actions! Please let me go!”
“Oh, I’ll let you go… after you’ve been thoroughly tortured.” He says wiggling his fingers in my face, “Tell me Miss Benoist, are you the least bit… ticklish?” He asks mischievously.
My mind boggles as I try to comprehend what I’ve just been asked, “Of all the cheap dirty tactics?! Tickling?” I spew out.
“Isn’t it genius? Supergirl, she whose name conveys pure power and might, subdued by a little tickling!” He’s giddy now, skipping around and around the table I’m tied to.
Indeed the thought made me quiver. It was an undeniable certainty that I was deathly ticklish all over my body. I couldn’t get a pedicure without shrieking from the sensitivity of the pumas stone to my bare feet and back massages were generally out of the question too. So to say that I was terrified may have been the understatement of the year. As much as I wish I could mask my fear my involuntary reactions do me no favors as I flinch the second his hands draw near my armpits.
“Shaking already Miss Benoist? I haven’t even touched you yet.” He taunts.
“No, no I’m not ticklish!” I blurt out.
He crosses his arms, “Oh?”
“That’s right, I’m not ticklish at all so you may as well not even try.” I say, continuing to dig myself deeper into a hole I should have never started digging. At the very least it’s bought me some time and perhaps if I think fast enough I can talk my way out of this.
“You’re not going to talk your way out of this Supergirl. You say you’re not ticklish? Then prove it!” He says wiggling his fingers.
Anticipation gets the best of me as I tense up, locking every bone in my body awaiting his long slender finger’s touch on my underarms. They set down on my elbows and slowly glide down towards my vulnerable hollows, then back up again. Amidst the sensations I press my lips together forcing a mild grimace, “No!” I say through grit teeth.
My captor’s fingers continue their gentle descend down my arms in tranquil circular motions, “I don’t like to go all in from the start. To garner the full attention of your senses the skin needs to be awakened first.” He explains.
My suit only aids in the sensitizing of my skin as he handles my arms with light sensual touches arousing my skin to the point where my walls of defense have lowered and I’m no longer tight and tense. Comfortable in the momentary euphoria I rest my head on the pillow and stare into the lights above me.
His hands graze over other parts of my body, raking across my chest down my sides and along my midsection all with the same kid gloves a car enthusiast might use when detailing his prized automobile. The microscopic hairs on my skin stand at attention as he makes his way down my nylon encased legs effortlessly grazing every seam with his nails. I clench my fists and bite down on my lip as he arrives at my feet and begins tracing the outlines of my soles. I can’t help but twitch every time he glides by my ever delicate arches.
“Now, you are ready.” He says taking a knee at my feet, “Implements!” He says clapping his hands.
Seemingly brought back to life one of his henchmen pulls from behind me a small translucent box, but being immobilized has its disadvantages and a distorted view is one of them. I hear the box fall to the ground and the items within it rattle and echo through the studio.
I’m tense again as his fingers tap my soles in rhythmic palpation from bottom to top shooting tiny tremors of fear up my legs, “You, you don’t have to do this.” I start to plead. “You can still let me go. I won’t press charges! I PROMISE!” I continue.
My captor clamps down on my soles giving them a quick and surprisingly satisfying rub down, “Ah, trying to buy time with benign babble… Save your breath, you’re going to need it to laugh.” He says ostentatiously.
I open my mouth for one final rebuttal, but it’s filled with laughter as his fingers rain down mercilessly on the tender bottoms of my feet, “WAI-HEY-HEY! AHOO-NOO-HO-HO-HO! PLEE-HEE-HEE-ASE!” I cry.
The floodgates of laughter have been opened. My walls of defense crumble before me as my mind explodes in an overload of sensations and emotions, “I’m not ticklish!” He says mimicking me. “Supergirl stands for honesty, but you Miss Benoist are just a big… fat… liar!” He boasts.
Never have I thrashed so violently in my life as I feverishly try to escape my confines, “Having trouble there Supergirl?” He says taking delight in my ineffectual attempts to break free, “I thought Kryptonians were STRONG? These soft leather straps should be like paper to you!”
His nails are sharp and he puts them to good use scratching the surface of my skin in circular motion. My nylon stockings only add to what are already sensitive feet making things all the more unbearable. I tug again with all my might at the fastenings that have my arms secure above me, but it’s so hard to focus on that when there’s a bevy of frivolous fingers frolicking at my feet, “P-PLEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE! OWWAH-HA-HA-HA! MERCYYYEE-EEH-HEE-HEE-HEE! HELP MEEE!!”
My captor pauses and gives me a pat on my calf, “You’re doing splendidly Miss Benoist. Just the reactions we’re looking for.” He says in a chipper tone.
I take in deep gulps of air as he riffles through his box of implements. I look to either side at his henchmen who are still as statues amidst the proceedings, “Ah yes.” I hear him say. “I’d hold still if I were you.” He cautions holding up pair of shears.
I do as I’m told allowing him to carefully slit my nylons down the seam. In an effort to keep them on I scrunch my soles wading a bunch of stocking between my toes, but his forceful grip pulls my feet back with ease and he quickly discards them, “Nice try darling. Now, let us see how ticklish you are on your bare skin.”
I feel his fingers again. Only this time there’s a heightened sensitivity and I instinctively twitch my feet away albeit not very far away, “Oh God no! Please… You, you can’t.” I protest.
“My, my Supergirl, who would have ever thought a woman of your caliber, could be reduced to begging?” He says maniacally.
Peeling back my toes my captor takes to scrapping the crevice between them giving each inch of skin its own individualized attention, “OH-HO-HO-WHOO-HA-HA! OH SH-SHIT-TA-HA-HA-HA!”
My captor wastes no time reprimanding me for my slip of the tongue, “Oh Supergirl what foul language has escaped your lips? Is that any way for a role model to talk? What of your young fans and their impressionable little ears?!”
His fingers continue to rain down my soles with intense vivacity sending me into spats of timid movements I have no control over. Each nail against my skin is like a streak of rain on a window pane and right now I’m in the midst of a thunderstorm, “OOO-HA-HA! I’M SORRY! P-PLEEEEASE STOP-PA-HA-HA! I CAN’T!” I apologize.
“Ah laughter, sweet music to my ears!” He clamors over my cries, “You aren’t so tough now are you Supergirl?” He mocks.
My captor pulls away from my feet and stands to his, “Deep breaths darling, deep breaths.” He instructs.
I’m inadvertently granted a few seconds of recovery as he rifles through his box again. I fear what tools he has in there and what he might pull out to further punish my soles. If he has a pumas stone this game is over.
My ears catch the sound of a fairly familiar high pitched buzz, “I know this sound…” I tell myself.
I don’t have to ponder any longer the second it scrapes my skin, “TOOTHBRUSH!!” I exclaim.
“Very good Miss Benoist.” He applauds sarcastically.
The tiny bristles vibrating against my toes send shockwaves of sensations up my legs and I thrust off the table as if I’ve been struck by lightning, “WHY-YEE-HE-HE-HE! OH GOD NO-HO-HO! THAT’S TICKLY-YEE-HE-HE-HE!” I ramble.
He doesn’t need to dig the brush into my foot for me to be fully effected by it. Slow soft grazes across my arch prove to be enough, “Bet you’ll never look at a toothbrush the same way again.” He comments.
“He’s got that right.” I think to myself as my head bangs against the pillow.
In between my toes prove to be the most sensitive spots on my foot and he exploits them the second he uncovers that fact, “NOT THE TOES! NOT THE TOES! NOT THE T-TOEE-EE-HE-HE-HEES! OH GOD WHY-YEE-HE-HE-HE-HE!?” My high pitched laughter echoes up and through the rafters of the studio. My only hope is that someone in the vicinity will hear me and come to my rescue.
My captor lays down the brush and uses firm circular motions with his thumbs pressed deeply into my soles to soothe away the tickles,
“You’re awfully loud aren’t you Miss Benoist?” He says smiling at me. “Fortunately for us this studio is equipped with soundproof walls. No noise comes in, and more importantly, no noise goes out.”
Against all insurmountable odds that I’ll ever escape my confinement I yank with all my being. Even as the reality sets in that I’m at the mercy of my kidnapper I yank, “DAMMIT!” I curse in frustration.
My captor comes around to gently stroke away stray strands of hair off my face, “Don’t fight it darling. Remember, you’re only as super as your special effects team. See these restraints? They aren’t some brittle bits of plastic. They’re REAL. You’re… fake. This…” he taps my chest, “…this is fake.”
No words come to mind as I lower my chin in humility. Every single word is true, and in my mind it’s all starting to sink in.
My ears perk up to the sound of his sheers snipping the air and I can only unwillingly lie still as my suit is slit down the middle. My body can breathe again as my costume is torn open to expose my bra encased breast and lightly bronzed midsection, “You just ripped my suit! That’s property of CBS!” I huff in disgust.
My captor shakes his head, “You’ll no longer have any use for it after tonight… false idol.”
If my feet were any indication, things were about to go from bad to worse.
His fingertips drip down my elbows and into my hollows with gradually stronger strokes each time until he’s ravaging my flesh with firm pokes, prods and thrusts in arbitrary, unpredictable patterns, “WAI-HEY-HEY-EEY-YEE-HE-HE-HE! PLEASE S-STOOOP-AH-HA-HA-HA! CAN’T… BREATHE! PLU-HEEEEE-ASE!”
I flop about to the limits my restraints allow like a fish out of water whose only thought is to return to the sea. My violent and vibrant movements have produced beads of sweat that now trickle down my forehead, “And here I thought Kryptonians were immune to sweating. Feeling human yet Supergirl?” he taunts.
I watch stunned and helpless as his hands hover over my body looking for another point of attack. My chest expands and collapses with every quick breath I take and I tense reflexively as his fingers close in on my ribcage, “Oh God please not there…” I object, “Please sir I’ll do anything.”
I can almost see his ears perk up at the sounds of my pleas, “Not where darling? Not…HERE!?”
His gyrating thumbs crash into my ribs giving each individual rib a thorough rubdown. The intense sensations cause my back to arch as if I’m being summoned towards the ceiling, “OH GAAAWD NO-HO-HO! I BEG YOU PLEEE-HE-HE-HE-ASE! THIS…TORTUREEE-HE-HE-HE! OOO-WAH-HA-HA!”
My persistent begging is filtered with lack of empathy as my captor continues to mercilessly wiggle his fingers deep into my sides. He sees nothing but the task at hand and my outbursts of laughter are his fruits of labor.
“Perhaps now America and the whole world will see you for what you truly are… just another…pretty…face.” His words are cold and cut sharp like a knife as I lie there breathless and motionless, the embodiment of his final statement.
He flashes a wicked grin before retreating into his box of toys. I shut my eyes tightly, frightened to death of what he might produce. The box hitting the ground makes me flinch with anticipation, but I dare not open my eyes. Just as I brace for another tickle implement I’m caught off guard as a warm oily substance embraces my skin, “What?” I say in astonishment.
I lift my head and crack open my eyes to find my captor drizzling generous portions of baby oil all over my belly, “Feels nice doesn’t it?” He asks lathering it into my skin, “If you’re wondering why I’m doing this well the answer’s simple. You’ve already proved to be extremely ticklish. Now imagine multiplying your ticklishness by one hundred!”
I don’t bother with the calculations. I already know it’s going to be hell. The grandeur of what’s to come haunts my imagination with ignitions of fear, anxiety and the all too human feeling of helplessness.
I can see it in his face, how he’s practically salivating over my vulnerable, open body glistening under the gleaming lights overhead. Unfathomable energy surges through his hands as they hover mere inches above my belly, “Ooh please, please, please don’t do it! Don’t, don’t, don’t… I can’t take it!”
My frightened desperation seems to only fan an already furious flame within my captor as he violently sinks his fingers deep into my belly.
My hips gyrate from side to side as his fingers run up and down my oil infused skin tantalizing every inch of my midsection, “WHA-HA-HA-HA! OOH GAWD-AH-HA-HA-HA! PLEEEE-HE-HE-HE-HE-ASE STOP! CAN’T…BREATHEEE-HE-HE-HE! YOU’RE…KILLING…MEEEE-HE-HE-HE!”
I catch a glimpse of my captor smiling in delight as he plays my belly like Beethoven playing the “Moonlight Sonata”, “Oh I know you don’t mean that darling. No one with a smile that bright and with laughter so jovial could possibly be dying.”
“Just because… I’m laughing…doesn’t mean I’m… enjoying this…” I manage to sputter between breaths.
“You’re resiliency is admirable Miss Benoist, but sooner or later you will break.” He says confidently.
His words ring true. How much more torture can I take physically and mentally before I end up a blubbering mass of madness? Such thoughts are quickly lost in a haze of hysteria as he thumbs my hips in fast circular movements that inch closer and closer to my crotch, “WHOO-HOO-HOO-OOO… WH-HA-HA-HIY! YA-HA-HA-OOO!”
In one quick swift motion the remainder of my suit is torn away leaving only a pair of blood red boy shorts between my vagina and the sleaze ball in control; his gaze nestled firmly on my groin, “Get a good look?” I spat raising a brow.
“You ought to keep your sharp tongue in its place Miss Benoist.” He mutters.
“Oh I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I’m usually REALLY enthusiastic when I’m having my clothes ripped off by total strangers!” I continue.
“You really think you’re in a position of…power?” He asks leaning over me. “You’re words are… empty and meaningless. It’s as simple as this…” He rests his cheek to mine and whispers, “You can’t win.”
I nearly choke on the lump in my throat as his final words whirl around in my head, sinking deeper and deeper into my physic, gnawing away at whatever little will remained within me.
“They say a woman’s most sensitive in between her thighs. Something about that area being very…sensual I believe was the word.”
I twist my body this way and that in nervous anticipation of what’s about to transpire, “Please God no! Stay away, stay away! STOP IT! STOP… IT-TA-AH-HA-HA-HA!”
Like warm putty in his hands, the stoic demeanor I held convincingly two seconds ago melts into sheer laughter and giggles as his hands hit a sweet spot along my inner thighs. The mind blowing sensations that follow see my body contort and twist like a drugged up junkie itching for a fix.
“That’s it Miss Benoist, let the laughter flow.” My antagonist instructs.
The word “flow” echoes through my head as an all too familiar tingling sensation begins to resonate in my vaginal area. It’s then that I immediately regret having drank an entire bottle of water prior to this, and the realization that if the tickling didn’t stop soon, laughter wouldn’t be the only thing flowing out of me.
“YOU HAVE TO STOOOP-PA-AH-HA-HA-HA! I’M BEGGING YOU PLEE-HE-HE-HE-ASE! I DON’T WA-AH-HA-HANT TO PEEEE!” I squeal.
My words only fuel him to thrust his fingers deeper into my tender flesh, “So be it.” He says in a compassionless tone, “You soiling yourself will only further solidify your downfall.”
I shake my head violently in despair, “NO,NO,NO! PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEEE-HE-HE-ASE! GOD DAMN YOOO-WHOO-HOO-HOO-HOO!”
The tingling intensifies as I attempt hopelessly to fight back my body’s natural instinct to urinate. Drifting thoughts buy me mere seconds before my focus wavers back to the insatiable reminder that my bladder is full. I clap my thighs together in a last ditch effort to suppress the pain only to feel the bittersweet relief of warm liquid drenching my panties seconds later.
My captor backs away slowly, clapping his hands triumphantly, “Well done Miss Benoist. Well done. You held out longer than expected and for that I applaud you.”
Ravaged, sweat drenched and now laying in a pool of pee I burry my head as far up against my arm as possible and start to sob. My thoughts reach out to Blake my husband and Glen my director and how they all must be worried sick about me by now. I wish I could send a distress signal out across the frequencies like Kara Jor-el, but alas, I’m just an ordinary girl. Breaking these bonds would be easy for Kara. At home I Melissa Benoist can’t even open a pickle jar.
The sound of approaching footsteps makes me cringe, “No more…” I whisper weakly.
Gripping my chin in his hand my kidnapper forces me to face him. The tears in my bloodshot eyes make my vision blurry, but even a blind man couldn’t miss the wide grin on the old man’s face, “She’s done.” He says whipping my head to the side, “Prep her for transport.”
“HANDS OFF THE GIRL!” A loud booming voice clatters throughout the studio.
I lift my head to the sound of a handful of S.W.A.T officers cautiously approaching the scene with guns drawn. Caught off guard my captors make a run for it prompting all but one officer after them. The closer she gets to me, the more I recognize her face, “Soccer mom?” I gasp in disbelief.
“Hey Supergirl.” She smiles holstering her pistol.
“Please don’t call me that.” I say feeling disgraced.
“Okay, Miss Benoist I’m special agent Veronica Kraft. Hang tight I’m gonna get you outta here.” She comforts.
With relative ease my restraints are unfastened, yet drained of energy and dignity I find myself anesthetized, my body a motionless mass.
Veronica stares daggers into my eyes, “Miss Benoist we NEED to get you out of here. Can you stand up?”
I can hear her words, but they don’t register. My body and spirit refuse to comply.
“You have to try. I cannot carry you alone.” She persists.
She sits me upright and swings my arm around her neck pulling me to my unsteady legs. We stagger in small increments out into the clear night sky where the gusts of a cold autumn breeze make my skin crawl. Her squad car as black as the night itself sits parked alongside a curb and would otherwise be invisible if not for the flashes of blue and red emanating from the windshield.
I’m escorted to the car and sat in the back seat. I clutch my aching sides and lower my head to let my golden blonde locks hide my face from the world. A comforting hand is laid on my shoulder and I peek up to see Veronica standing by with a soft fluffy towel and a small cup of water, “It’s not much, but it’s all I have.” She says modestly.
I kindly accept the water and slowly sip it as she drapes the towel around my shoulders, “How? How did you find me?”
Veronica kneels before me and shoots me a smile, “We’d actually been tracking the man who kidnapped you tonight. It was purely coincidental that my daughter and I had our little backstage rendezvous on the same day.”
“Looks like you’re the hero of this story hu?” I say through a forced smile.
“Yeah, just wait till my little Amanda hears about how mommy saved Supergirl.” Veronica chuckles, “She’ll never believe me.”
“Well she should.” I say tightening my grip on the cup.
There’s a notable tone in my voice Veronica picks up on right away, “Hey, hey…” She leans in and locks eyes with me, “… I’m not going to try and pretend to understand what’s going through your head right now. I do however firmly believe you’ll rise above this.” She consoles. Her attention is drawn elsewhere and she retreats, momentarily leaving my side.
I sigh and bury my head in my hands letting the small foam cup fall to the ground. Its cool contents sprinkle atop my foot as it crashes down.
My ears catch the drifting sound of radio chatter coming from Veronica’s radio. It’s a frenzied conversation I can’t quite make out, but judging by Veronica’s body language it’s good news.
“You’re kidnappers are in custody Miss Benoist. We got em’.” She says cheerfully.
It takes all I can muster to display the slightest bit of happiness, “Good.” I answer blankly.
“We’ve recovered the footage of your ordeal. It’s a solid piece of evidence, but we have more than enough against him to lock him up without it.” She explains.
“Are you going to…?”
“Watch it?” Veronica interjects, “No. I’ll see to it that it gets destroyed.”
“Thank you.” I say slouching in my seat.
Veronica rests a hand on my knee, “Hey look, whatever happened in there doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a symbol of strength and hope for lots of young girls out there.”
She speaks, but her words aren’t getting through. My mind lays wasted tormented by the visions of my captor and the hell he put me through.
“Your husband is here Miss Benoist.”
“Blake? Blake?” I ask looking up.
Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt my husband trots to my side and wraps his arms around my waist, “Thank God you’re alright.” He gasps, plastering his cheek to mine.
It’s been four days since my horrifying ordeal, four days since I’ve been to CBS and four days since I’ve even been out of my own home. Most days are spent wrapped in blankets atop a bed in seclusion, my contact with the outside world limited to occasional calls Blake asking if I’m okay.
On this my fifth day I awake cloaked in blankets. Stripped to just panties and one of Blake’s long white tees, I climb out of bed and stagger towards a half empty bottle of liquor. Indecision leads me to taking a swig straight from the bottle as opposed to pouring myself a glass. My hardwood countertop sits littered with junk and a contract notice from CBS.
Taking a pen, paper and a hard surface I plop down on the side of my bed and begin to compose a letter.
Dear Glen,
I’m writing this letter first of all to thank you for your continued support
Throughout this harrowing time. I understand my absence is inexcusable
And has put a hiatus on the show of which I am extremely sorry. This
brings me to my next point.
As much as it pains me to have to do this, I cannot and will no longer be
Able to fulfill my obligation. I can no longer be your Supergirl. My recent
Ordeal has left me feeling tarnished and uncertain. I can no longer
Blur the line between the fantasy you desire me to partake in, and the
Reality of my own mortality and all of its limitations.
I express my deepest regrets and wish you all the best going forward
Without me.
Melissa Benoist
I fax the letter without hesitation.
In moments it will print out into the hands of a bubbly receptionist who is so naïve she’ll hand it over to Glen with a genuine smile. Glen will take it and his heart will sink after it’s been punctured a hundred times with every word he reads.
I lazily crawl back into bed under a sea of white sheets to continue my dark descent. I close my eyes to the images of my violator ingrained in my brain laughing and taunting me, his words forever resonating, “You can’t win.”
Not so Super Girl
Five weeks into the unpredictable abyss that is television, and who would have ever guessed the program would be such a success. I myself had very little faith in the project, but don’t tell my producers that. After all I am the star of the show. Sixteen thousand homes tuned in for the first episode and the numbers since have been potent and strong.
The thoughts of our success continuously run through my mind as I mull over the script for next week’s episode. My concentration is broken at the pounding knock on my trailer door. Without permission of admittance the door swings open and a lanky man with a receding hairline pops his head in, “We’re on in five Melissa.” He smiles.
I put down the script stand up and acknowledge my director, “I’ll be right there Glen.” I shoot him an equally peppy smile.
He trots away and leaves me to my business. I don’t know whether I envy his spryness or I’m put off by it, “What’s the point of knocking if you’re just gonna walk in?” I roll my eyes.
I slam shut the door to my trailer and in doing so disturb the sign atop of it, “Oh you flimsy thing.” I complain slapping it back into place. It reads, “Trailer One Melissa Benoist: Kara Jor-el/Supergirl”.
The walk from the trailer to the set sees half a dozen hands powdering every inch of my face with last minute applications of lipstick and makeup. After all, superheroes still have to look their best when fighting criminals, right?
Glen is already seated in his director’s chair addressing a small group of producers hovering around him like bees to a flower, “Alright everybody, places!” He shouts, waving off his subordinates, “Ready Melissa?” He asks as I approach his side.
I take a deep breath and attempt to block out all of life’s little distractions so that I can meld into character. The female public is counting on me to deliver. Women across America tune in to see me kick ass. I’m like the ambassador to some sort of feminist brigade.
“Melissa?” Glen asks again, this time tapping my arm.
I blink my eyes and shake myself back into reality, “Sorry Glen. I was just…” I’m cut short.
“I know Supergirl can fly, but could you PLEASE get your head out of the clouds?” He jokes.
Once I’m strapped to the harness that helps me “fly” Glen screams, “ACTION!” I didn’t think directors did that anymore. Wouldn’t a subtle nod be sufficient? Never the less I watch as two able bodied men position a fan directly in front of me and flip the power switch. My shoulder length blonde hair is the first to start flapping in the wind. My crimson red skirt and cape follow. I look to my left at a bright green screen,
“How boring.” I think to myself.
“A little more effort!” Glen shouts from his chair.
I nod, clench my fists and look straight forward beaming daggers into the camera lens. I try to imagine actually being among the clouds and on occasion whip my head to shake imaginary cloud dust from my face. The scene ends with me gliding onto the pavement of a busy city street, “CUT!” Glen shouts.
Several assistants rush to my aid unhinging the restraints from my body. The next scene is already in progress, a bank robbery. Not very original, I’ll admit, but Supergirl must answer even the most minuscule of crimes, “ACTION!” Glen booms.
“Hello boys!” I say casually flicking a lock of hair away from my face.
The assailants masked and dressed in black aim their pistols at me and fire away, “Die lady!” One of them shouts.
“Oh okay.” I giggle, pretending to adhere to his request, “I’ll play along.” I pretend a bullet’s punctured my flesh, “Oh that hurt!” I say clutching my sides.
I grab them both by the throat as they attempt to brush by me, “You didn’t actually think I was hurt did you?” I tease, throwing them effortlessly to the ground, “But that hurt didn’t it?” I chuckle. I look down on both of them as they cower in what I can only assume is a combination of bewilderment and embarrassment, “What did you think you were going to do with these?” I ask disarming my assailants.
Neither of them have a reply. They’re in too much pain and shock to do anything other than groan.
I take their weapons and effortlessly crush them under the heels of my crimson red boots, “Some thugs just never learn.” I pick up their loot bags, “You won’t mind if I take these back to where they belong now do ya?” I take their moans as a go ahead sign and proceed back into the bank from which they came.
A majority of the bank’s occupancy is still huddled under tables and desks as I enter the main area, “Have no fear, Supergirl is here.” The line sounds so corny, but I say it with gusto and a puffed out chest.
Of the piles of people scattered across the floor, the most unlikely of them crawls out to greet me. Hunched beneath my knees is a short, plump middle aged woman. I bend to her level and assist her to her feet, “Mam, are you all alright?” I ask staring deeply into her bloodshot eyes. I scroll down and notice her name badge, “Martha?”
She brings herself to give a simple nod before burying her face into my chest.
The intimacy of the moment is broken as Glen blurts out, “AND CUT! Beautiful acting Melissa, and Gena you were so convincing.” He reassures, “We’re going to go ahead and jump to Supergirl’s little speech before she disappears into the clouds, okay? Okay.”
I’m re-harnessed, once again a victim of the confines of ropes and pulleys and the reality that I can’t fly without some assistance, “And ACTION!” Glen shouts.
Suspended above the masses I survey every single person as I give my roaring speech, “It is cowardice men like these here who wish to prey among the weak, but always remember, wherever evil surfaces, in whatever form it takes, Supergirl will be there, no matter the stakes.” I smile triumphantly as the harnesses whisk me off camera, “CUT!” Glen yells again.
***
“Don’t forget, we’ve got that little banquet to attend tonight Melissa. Everyone’s going to want a picture with Supergirl.” Glen smiles at me.
“Oh, how could I forget?” I say rolling my eyes in frustration.
I enter my trailer and slam the door behind me only this time I make sure to lock the door. I step towards my mini fridge and swing open the door allowing a cool blast to touch my face. I look to my left and I look to my right, “There’s nobody here Melissa.” I say to myself. After self-reassurance I lift my skirt and thrust my crotch as deep as it will fit into the fridge. God I’m scorching in this suit.
After a quick shower I put on a fresh suit, hiking up the skirt ever so slightly to show off my toned thighs a bit more. A tap on my trailer door signifies Glen is ready to go, “I’ll be right there.” I shout dabbing out whatever excess water still remains in the strands of my hair. I spring open the door only to be caught off guard by a thirty somethings soccer mom and her toddler aged daughter waiting for me by the steps, “Um… Hello.” I say unenthusiastically, “Wha-da you want?” I ask forcing a smile.
Seeing right through my disguise, and I’m not talking about the giant S stretched across my boobs she retreats, “Perhaps another time.” She says bluntly, “Come on dear Supergirl’s very busy tracking bad guys.” She fibs.
I can see the hurt in her daughter’s eyes as they’re about to exit my presence and it gets the better of me, “Whoa wait, please. I didn’t mean to come off as rude.” I protest, “Let’s try again.”
She nods her head.
I close the trailer door and wait for her to knock on it again.
The second she does I spring out like a jack-in-the-box, “Hello there! Supergirl at your service!” I say flapping the cape behind me.
Instantly the little girl’s eyes light up, I’ve got her attention and I’m back in the good graces of Soccer mom.
Almost as stunned as her daughter, Soccer mom takes a second to respond, “Oh, my… Well we were just on the premises and my little one just loves your show. She’d love to get a picture with you, if that’s not asking too much?” She shrugs.
“Absolutely!” I say with a gleam in my eye.
It takes Soccer mom almost a minute of fumbling before she can find her cellphone amidst the mess that is her purse, “There it is.” She says triumphantly.
I take her daughter’s hand and kneel to her level, “What’s your name love?” I ask caressing her cheek to mine.
It takes her a second but she eventually ekes out in a delicate whisper and through a mouthful of her own finger, “Amanda.”
“Well nice to meet you Amanda. My name’s Melisa.” I reply.
She stares at me in confusion, “I thought your name was Kara?”
I look to her mother who ushers me to play along, “That’s, that’s right. I was testing you.”
We turn, face the camera and snap a couple of pictures. The brightness of the flash momentarily blinds me and it takes a second before I can focus in on Amanda again, “Can you take me flying?” She asks.
Her mother comes to my rescue by offering her daughter a quick explanation, “Now Amanda, Supergirl’s extremely tired. She’s been fighting bad guys all day. ”
I throw in a yawn to back up her mother’s claims, but Amanda doesn’t fold easily and gives a quick rebuttal, “Aww it will only take a minute!” She whines.
Fortunately talks of chicken nuggets for dinner and ice-cream for desert instantly blindside Amanda’s train of thought, “Yay!” she cries.
Suddenly Soccer mom is the hero again. Clutching her daughter in her arms she waves goodbye and walks towards the main offices of CBS,
“I can’t really fly little one.” I whisper into the wind.
I sulk back into my trailer and softly close the door behind me, “That was close.” I say pondering Amanda’s request. Less than a minute goes by before another person’s knocking at my door, “Please let it be Glen.” I say to myself. I think I’ve had about all I can handle of adoring little fans for one night.
With cautionary effort I open the door just a crack so as to peek outside. Sudden blunt force to the door catches me off guard and sends it crashing against my skull. The presence of an intruder becomes secondary significance as I collapse to the ground writhing in sharp throbbing pain. Damaged eyesight reduces me to a blurred vision of a man cloaked in black gloating over me. In effortless fashion I’m tossed like a ragdoll face first onto my couch, reduced to simply absorbing the punishment, “Help…” I manage to whimper.
I feel him flip my skirt up and expose my butt, “He's going to rape you Melissa.” I think to myself.
Keeping my upper body subdued through brute strength I’m unable to see what he’s doing to me down below. Not that I’d want to see anyway. I cry for help, but it is lost in the cushion my face is pinned against.
I feel a quick pinch on my left butt cheek before he gets off of me, “Maybe he’s changed his mind?” I ponder.
I stagger to my feet under legs which have become as unstable as a towering stack of Jenga blocks and see that he’s whimsically going about sheathing the tip of a syringe, “Wha-what did you do to me?” I ask, struggling to stay balanced.
He looks at me and chuckles through his mask.
His deep voice sends shivers down my spine. I attempt to run for the door but fall flat on my face as my legs refuse to move from under me. As I crash my head on the floor the world around me seeps into a haze and a wondrous serenity blankets my body as the inevitability of sleep becomes apparent. My eyes flutter passively for several seconds before I succumb to slumber.
***
Cold is the first feeling I sense as I awake from the anesthetics. I try to open my eyes, but the light before me proves to be too bright, so I keep them closed. My ears pick up voices in the distance. Men are talking, but still slightly shaken by my unwitting inebriation it’s very hard to make out what’s being said. As the feeling in my limbs return I instinctively begin to stir, just as if I was back home in bed after a good night’s sleep, only for some reason, I can’t rub my eyes of the drowsiness. Try as I might my arms while responsive seem repressed. I open my eyes and strain to adjust to the light. As I do I notice my arms have been tightly secured above my head by a pair of leather straps. I look down to find my legs in a similar predicament only they’ve been spread slightly apart and my feet are now bare. Off to the side of what I can only assume is a studio, lay my crimson red boots. All my stirring summons the attention of my captors and its then that I wish I’d remained asleep or at least faked being so. It was too late now as a pair of masked men positioned themselves on either side of my head. Too scared to speak I watch in timid wonder as to their intent.
It’s then that a third party makes his presence known as he appears in the rafters above us, “Melisa? Melisa Benoist?” He asks.
I focus in on the rather high pitched vocals coming from a bald man in mirror chrome sunglasses. His attire, a professional business suit black with a red tie catches my attention.
“Ahem, well? Can’t you speak darling?” He says in a cool collective tone.
I muster the courage to eke out a quiet, “Yes…”
His cold stare already has my heart racing and my thoughts running wild with endless scenarios. And as he begins to pace from side to side with his hands behind his back I can’t help, but be drawn to him, “Oh good, so you can talk.” He cackles. “I suppose you’re wondering why you are here, and what’s led to this unfortunate predicament you now find yourself in.” He says with smooth fluidity.
Never taking my eyes off him I muster another fading mumble, “Y-yes…”
He smiles, “Oh come now darling don’t be afraid, we’re not here to hurt you.”
“Then what do you call this?” I say rattling my wrists to the limit of my restraints.
The man utters one word that makes me cringe, “Control.”
“See, for some time now, you’ve been in a position of power, stirring waters and disrupting the natural order of things.” The man says as he begins his descend from the rafters.
Now on the ground floor and standing right at my bedside he proceeds to trace the giant S that’s stretched out across my chest, “Ooh don’t touch me!” I snap.
He lets out a low chuckle, “Ah-ah-ah, you’re not in control.” He says paying extra attention to my nipples.
I wiggle about trying to shake him off, to no avail, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” I huff angrily. “I have, powerful friends! They’ll find me.” I blurt.
He smiles at me, “Oh I doubt that darling.” He crosses his arms, “Now you made me get off track. As I was saying, the reason you’re here
Miss Benoist is because of this…” He proceeds to trace the S again, “This symbol. You, you stand for something. Feminist across America view you as a kick ass can do female, and you’re rousing spirits everywhere.” He explains.
“How is that a bad thing?” I ask in confusion.
“Blinded by your ego…” He sighs, “Women have their place in society that much is certain, but it does not supersede us the alpha male!” He says pointing to his henchmen.
I can’t help but roll my eyes at his ridiculousness, “Look, I’m just an actress on a popular television series.” I respond.
“No you are not! Women around America have begun to idolize you, worship you and aspire to you.” He rants, “To allow this to continue would be sacrilege!” He points at me.
“What are you going to do to me?!” I finally question.
“We’re going to make a mockery of what you stand for.” He smirks.
The man raises his hands and does a three sixty spin, “This studio is equipped with cameras, cameras which we will use to capture you, “Supergirl” being driven to insanity. And once the world watches you powerless and subdued… your image will forever be tarnished and all will be right with the world once more.”
I probably should keep my mouth closed, but too many words have stirred inside of me, words I cannot suppress, “This is insane! You’re insane! I can’t be held accountable for the repercussions of my actions! Please let me go!”
“Oh, I’ll let you go… after you’ve been thoroughly tortured.” He says wiggling his fingers in my face, “Tell me Miss Benoist, are you the least bit… ticklish?” He asks mischievously.
My mind boggles as I try to comprehend what I’ve just been asked, “Of all the cheap dirty tactics?! Tickling?” I spew out.
“Isn’t it genius? Supergirl, she whose name conveys pure power and might, subdued by a little tickling!” He’s giddy now, skipping around and around the table I’m tied to.
Indeed the thought made me quiver. It was an undeniable certainty that I was deathly ticklish all over my body. I couldn’t get a pedicure without shrieking from the sensitivity of the pumas stone to my bare feet and back massages were generally out of the question too. So to say that I was terrified may have been the understatement of the year. As much as I wish I could mask my fear my involuntary reactions do me no favors as I flinch the second his hands draw near my armpits.
“Shaking already Miss Benoist? I haven’t even touched you yet.” He taunts.
“No, no I’m not ticklish!” I blurt out.
He crosses his arms, “Oh?”
“That’s right, I’m not ticklish at all so you may as well not even try.” I say, continuing to dig myself deeper into a hole I should have never started digging. At the very least it’s bought me some time and perhaps if I think fast enough I can talk my way out of this.
“You’re not going to talk your way out of this Supergirl. You say you’re not ticklish? Then prove it!” He says wiggling his fingers.
Anticipation gets the best of me as I tense up, locking every bone in my body awaiting his long slender finger’s touch on my underarms. They set down on my elbows and slowly glide down towards my vulnerable hollows, then back up again. Amidst the sensations I press my lips together forcing a mild grimace, “No!” I say through grit teeth.
My captor’s fingers continue their gentle descend down my arms in tranquil circular motions, “I don’t like to go all in from the start. To garner the full attention of your senses the skin needs to be awakened first.” He explains.
My suit only aids in the sensitizing of my skin as he handles my arms with light sensual touches arousing my skin to the point where my walls of defense have lowered and I’m no longer tight and tense. Comfortable in the momentary euphoria I rest my head on the pillow and stare into the lights above me.
His hands graze over other parts of my body, raking across my chest down my sides and along my midsection all with the same kid gloves a car enthusiast might use when detailing his prized automobile. The microscopic hairs on my skin stand at attention as he makes his way down my nylon encased legs effortlessly grazing every seam with his nails. I clench my fists and bite down on my lip as he arrives at my feet and begins tracing the outlines of my soles. I can’t help but twitch every time he glides by my ever delicate arches.
“Now, you are ready.” He says taking a knee at my feet, “Implements!” He says clapping his hands.
Seemingly brought back to life one of his henchmen pulls from behind me a small translucent box, but being immobilized has its disadvantages and a distorted view is one of them. I hear the box fall to the ground and the items within it rattle and echo through the studio.
I’m tense again as his fingers tap my soles in rhythmic palpation from bottom to top shooting tiny tremors of fear up my legs, “You, you don’t have to do this.” I start to plead. “You can still let me go. I won’t press charges! I PROMISE!” I continue.
My captor clamps down on my soles giving them a quick and surprisingly satisfying rub down, “Ah, trying to buy time with benign babble… Save your breath, you’re going to need it to laugh.” He says ostentatiously.
I open my mouth for one final rebuttal, but it’s filled with laughter as his fingers rain down mercilessly on the tender bottoms of my feet, “WAI-HEY-HEY! AHOO-NOO-HO-HO-HO! PLEE-HEE-HEE-ASE!” I cry.
The floodgates of laughter have been opened. My walls of defense crumble before me as my mind explodes in an overload of sensations and emotions, “I’m not ticklish!” He says mimicking me. “Supergirl stands for honesty, but you Miss Benoist are just a big… fat… liar!” He boasts.
Never have I thrashed so violently in my life as I feverishly try to escape my confines, “Having trouble there Supergirl?” He says taking delight in my ineffectual attempts to break free, “I thought Kryptonians were STRONG? These soft leather straps should be like paper to you!”
His nails are sharp and he puts them to good use scratching the surface of my skin in circular motion. My nylon stockings only add to what are already sensitive feet making things all the more unbearable. I tug again with all my might at the fastenings that have my arms secure above me, but it’s so hard to focus on that when there’s a bevy of frivolous fingers frolicking at my feet, “P-PLEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE! OWWAH-HA-HA-HA! MERCYYYEE-EEH-HEE-HEE-HEE! HELP MEEE!!”
My captor pauses and gives me a pat on my calf, “You’re doing splendidly Miss Benoist. Just the reactions we’re looking for.” He says in a chipper tone.
I take in deep gulps of air as he riffles through his box of implements. I look to either side at his henchmen who are still as statues amidst the proceedings, “Ah yes.” I hear him say. “I’d hold still if I were you.” He cautions holding up pair of shears.
I do as I’m told allowing him to carefully slit my nylons down the seam. In an effort to keep them on I scrunch my soles wading a bunch of stocking between my toes, but his forceful grip pulls my feet back with ease and he quickly discards them, “Nice try darling. Now, let us see how ticklish you are on your bare skin.”
I feel his fingers again. Only this time there’s a heightened sensitivity and I instinctively twitch my feet away albeit not very far away, “Oh God no! Please… You, you can’t.” I protest.
“My, my Supergirl, who would have ever thought a woman of your caliber, could be reduced to begging?” He says maniacally.
Peeling back my toes my captor takes to scrapping the crevice between them giving each inch of skin its own individualized attention, “OH-HO-HO-WHOO-HA-HA! OH SH-SHIT-TA-HA-HA-HA!”
My captor wastes no time reprimanding me for my slip of the tongue, “Oh Supergirl what foul language has escaped your lips? Is that any way for a role model to talk? What of your young fans and their impressionable little ears?!”
His fingers continue to rain down my soles with intense vivacity sending me into spats of timid movements I have no control over. Each nail against my skin is like a streak of rain on a window pane and right now I’m in the midst of a thunderstorm, “OOO-HA-HA! I’M SORRY! P-PLEEEEASE STOP-PA-HA-HA! I CAN’T!” I apologize.
“Ah laughter, sweet music to my ears!” He clamors over my cries, “You aren’t so tough now are you Supergirl?” He mocks.
My captor pulls away from my feet and stands to his, “Deep breaths darling, deep breaths.” He instructs.
I’m inadvertently granted a few seconds of recovery as he rifles through his box again. I fear what tools he has in there and what he might pull out to further punish my soles. If he has a pumas stone this game is over.
My ears catch the sound of a fairly familiar high pitched buzz, “I know this sound…” I tell myself.
I don’t have to ponder any longer the second it scrapes my skin, “TOOTHBRUSH!!” I exclaim.
“Very good Miss Benoist.” He applauds sarcastically.
The tiny bristles vibrating against my toes send shockwaves of sensations up my legs and I thrust off the table as if I’ve been struck by lightning, “WHY-YEE-HE-HE-HE! OH GOD NO-HO-HO! THAT’S TICKLY-YEE-HE-HE-HE!” I ramble.
He doesn’t need to dig the brush into my foot for me to be fully effected by it. Slow soft grazes across my arch prove to be enough, “Bet you’ll never look at a toothbrush the same way again.” He comments.
“He’s got that right.” I think to myself as my head bangs against the pillow.
In between my toes prove to be the most sensitive spots on my foot and he exploits them the second he uncovers that fact, “NOT THE TOES! NOT THE TOES! NOT THE T-TOEE-EE-HE-HE-HEES! OH GOD WHY-YEE-HE-HE-HE-HE!?” My high pitched laughter echoes up and through the rafters of the studio. My only hope is that someone in the vicinity will hear me and come to my rescue.
My captor lays down the brush and uses firm circular motions with his thumbs pressed deeply into my soles to soothe away the tickles,
“You’re awfully loud aren’t you Miss Benoist?” He says smiling at me. “Fortunately for us this studio is equipped with soundproof walls. No noise comes in, and more importantly, no noise goes out.”
Against all insurmountable odds that I’ll ever escape my confinement I yank with all my being. Even as the reality sets in that I’m at the mercy of my kidnapper I yank, “DAMMIT!” I curse in frustration.
My captor comes around to gently stroke away stray strands of hair off my face, “Don’t fight it darling. Remember, you’re only as super as your special effects team. See these restraints? They aren’t some brittle bits of plastic. They’re REAL. You’re… fake. This…” he taps my chest, “…this is fake.”
No words come to mind as I lower my chin in humility. Every single word is true, and in my mind it’s all starting to sink in.
My ears perk up to the sound of his sheers snipping the air and I can only unwillingly lie still as my suit is slit down the middle. My body can breathe again as my costume is torn open to expose my bra encased breast and lightly bronzed midsection, “You just ripped my suit! That’s property of CBS!” I huff in disgust.
My captor shakes his head, “You’ll no longer have any use for it after tonight… false idol.”
If my feet were any indication, things were about to go from bad to worse.
His fingertips drip down my elbows and into my hollows with gradually stronger strokes each time until he’s ravaging my flesh with firm pokes, prods and thrusts in arbitrary, unpredictable patterns, “WAI-HEY-HEY-EEY-YEE-HE-HE-HE! PLEASE S-STOOOP-AH-HA-HA-HA! CAN’T… BREATHE! PLU-HEEEEE-ASE!”
I flop about to the limits my restraints allow like a fish out of water whose only thought is to return to the sea. My violent and vibrant movements have produced beads of sweat that now trickle down my forehead, “And here I thought Kryptonians were immune to sweating. Feeling human yet Supergirl?” he taunts.
I watch stunned and helpless as his hands hover over my body looking for another point of attack. My chest expands and collapses with every quick breath I take and I tense reflexively as his fingers close in on my ribcage, “Oh God please not there…” I object, “Please sir I’ll do anything.”
I can almost see his ears perk up at the sounds of my pleas, “Not where darling? Not…HERE!?”
His gyrating thumbs crash into my ribs giving each individual rib a thorough rubdown. The intense sensations cause my back to arch as if I’m being summoned towards the ceiling, “OH GAAAWD NO-HO-HO! I BEG YOU PLEEE-HE-HE-HE-ASE! THIS…TORTUREEE-HE-HE-HE! OOO-WAH-HA-HA!”
My persistent begging is filtered with lack of empathy as my captor continues to mercilessly wiggle his fingers deep into my sides. He sees nothing but the task at hand and my outbursts of laughter are his fruits of labor.
“Perhaps now America and the whole world will see you for what you truly are… just another…pretty…face.” His words are cold and cut sharp like a knife as I lie there breathless and motionless, the embodiment of his final statement.
He flashes a wicked grin before retreating into his box of toys. I shut my eyes tightly, frightened to death of what he might produce. The box hitting the ground makes me flinch with anticipation, but I dare not open my eyes. Just as I brace for another tickle implement I’m caught off guard as a warm oily substance embraces my skin, “What?” I say in astonishment.
I lift my head and crack open my eyes to find my captor drizzling generous portions of baby oil all over my belly, “Feels nice doesn’t it?” He asks lathering it into my skin, “If you’re wondering why I’m doing this well the answer’s simple. You’ve already proved to be extremely ticklish. Now imagine multiplying your ticklishness by one hundred!”
I don’t bother with the calculations. I already know it’s going to be hell. The grandeur of what’s to come haunts my imagination with ignitions of fear, anxiety and the all too human feeling of helplessness.
I can see it in his face, how he’s practically salivating over my vulnerable, open body glistening under the gleaming lights overhead. Unfathomable energy surges through his hands as they hover mere inches above my belly, “Ooh please, please, please don’t do it! Don’t, don’t, don’t… I can’t take it!”
My frightened desperation seems to only fan an already furious flame within my captor as he violently sinks his fingers deep into my belly.
My hips gyrate from side to side as his fingers run up and down my oil infused skin tantalizing every inch of my midsection, “WHA-HA-HA-HA! OOH GAWD-AH-HA-HA-HA! PLEEEE-HE-HE-HE-HE-ASE STOP! CAN’T…BREATHEEE-HE-HE-HE! YOU’RE…KILLING…MEEEE-HE-HE-HE!”
I catch a glimpse of my captor smiling in delight as he plays my belly like Beethoven playing the “Moonlight Sonata”, “Oh I know you don’t mean that darling. No one with a smile that bright and with laughter so jovial could possibly be dying.”
“Just because… I’m laughing…doesn’t mean I’m… enjoying this…” I manage to sputter between breaths.
“You’re resiliency is admirable Miss Benoist, but sooner or later you will break.” He says confidently.
His words ring true. How much more torture can I take physically and mentally before I end up a blubbering mass of madness? Such thoughts are quickly lost in a haze of hysteria as he thumbs my hips in fast circular movements that inch closer and closer to my crotch, “WHOO-HOO-HOO-OOO… WH-HA-HA-HIY! YA-HA-HA-OOO!”
In one quick swift motion the remainder of my suit is torn away leaving only a pair of blood red boy shorts between my vagina and the sleaze ball in control; his gaze nestled firmly on my groin, “Get a good look?” I spat raising a brow.
“You ought to keep your sharp tongue in its place Miss Benoist.” He mutters.
“Oh I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I’m usually REALLY enthusiastic when I’m having my clothes ripped off by total strangers!” I continue.
“You really think you’re in a position of…power?” He asks leaning over me. “You’re words are… empty and meaningless. It’s as simple as this…” He rests his cheek to mine and whispers, “You can’t win.”
I nearly choke on the lump in my throat as his final words whirl around in my head, sinking deeper and deeper into my physic, gnawing away at whatever little will remained within me.
“They say a woman’s most sensitive in between her thighs. Something about that area being very…sensual I believe was the word.”
I twist my body this way and that in nervous anticipation of what’s about to transpire, “Please God no! Stay away, stay away! STOP IT! STOP… IT-TA-AH-HA-HA-HA!”
Like warm putty in his hands, the stoic demeanor I held convincingly two seconds ago melts into sheer laughter and giggles as his hands hit a sweet spot along my inner thighs. The mind blowing sensations that follow see my body contort and twist like a drugged up junkie itching for a fix.
“That’s it Miss Benoist, let the laughter flow.” My antagonist instructs.
The word “flow” echoes through my head as an all too familiar tingling sensation begins to resonate in my vaginal area. It’s then that I immediately regret having drank an entire bottle of water prior to this, and the realization that if the tickling didn’t stop soon, laughter wouldn’t be the only thing flowing out of me.
“YOU HAVE TO STOOOP-PA-AH-HA-HA-HA! I’M BEGGING YOU PLEE-HE-HE-HE-ASE! I DON’T WA-AH-HA-HANT TO PEEEE!” I squeal.
My words only fuel him to thrust his fingers deeper into my tender flesh, “So be it.” He says in a compassionless tone, “You soiling yourself will only further solidify your downfall.”
I shake my head violently in despair, “NO,NO,NO! PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEEE-HE-HE-ASE! GOD DAMN YOOO-WHOO-HOO-HOO-HOO!”
The tingling intensifies as I attempt hopelessly to fight back my body’s natural instinct to urinate. Drifting thoughts buy me mere seconds before my focus wavers back to the insatiable reminder that my bladder is full. I clap my thighs together in a last ditch effort to suppress the pain only to feel the bittersweet relief of warm liquid drenching my panties seconds later.
My captor backs away slowly, clapping his hands triumphantly, “Well done Miss Benoist. Well done. You held out longer than expected and for that I applaud you.”
Ravaged, sweat drenched and now laying in a pool of pee I burry my head as far up against my arm as possible and start to sob. My thoughts reach out to Blake my husband and Glen my director and how they all must be worried sick about me by now. I wish I could send a distress signal out across the frequencies like Kara Jor-el, but alas, I’m just an ordinary girl. Breaking these bonds would be easy for Kara. At home I Melissa Benoist can’t even open a pickle jar.
The sound of approaching footsteps makes me cringe, “No more…” I whisper weakly.
Gripping my chin in his hand my kidnapper forces me to face him. The tears in my bloodshot eyes make my vision blurry, but even a blind man couldn’t miss the wide grin on the old man’s face, “She’s done.” He says whipping my head to the side, “Prep her for transport.”
“HANDS OFF THE GIRL!” A loud booming voice clatters throughout the studio.
I lift my head to the sound of a handful of S.W.A.T officers cautiously approaching the scene with guns drawn. Caught off guard my captors make a run for it prompting all but one officer after them. The closer she gets to me, the more I recognize her face, “Soccer mom?” I gasp in disbelief.
“Hey Supergirl.” She smiles holstering her pistol.
“Please don’t call me that.” I say feeling disgraced.
“Okay, Miss Benoist I’m special agent Veronica Kraft. Hang tight I’m gonna get you outta here.” She comforts.
With relative ease my restraints are unfastened, yet drained of energy and dignity I find myself anesthetized, my body a motionless mass.
Veronica stares daggers into my eyes, “Miss Benoist we NEED to get you out of here. Can you stand up?”
I can hear her words, but they don’t register. My body and spirit refuse to comply.
“You have to try. I cannot carry you alone.” She persists.
She sits me upright and swings my arm around her neck pulling me to my unsteady legs. We stagger in small increments out into the clear night sky where the gusts of a cold autumn breeze make my skin crawl. Her squad car as black as the night itself sits parked alongside a curb and would otherwise be invisible if not for the flashes of blue and red emanating from the windshield.
I’m escorted to the car and sat in the back seat. I clutch my aching sides and lower my head to let my golden blonde locks hide my face from the world. A comforting hand is laid on my shoulder and I peek up to see Veronica standing by with a soft fluffy towel and a small cup of water, “It’s not much, but it’s all I have.” She says modestly.
I kindly accept the water and slowly sip it as she drapes the towel around my shoulders, “How? How did you find me?”
Veronica kneels before me and shoots me a smile, “We’d actually been tracking the man who kidnapped you tonight. It was purely coincidental that my daughter and I had our little backstage rendezvous on the same day.”
“Looks like you’re the hero of this story hu?” I say through a forced smile.
“Yeah, just wait till my little Amanda hears about how mommy saved Supergirl.” Veronica chuckles, “She’ll never believe me.”
“Well she should.” I say tightening my grip on the cup.
There’s a notable tone in my voice Veronica picks up on right away, “Hey, hey…” She leans in and locks eyes with me, “… I’m not going to try and pretend to understand what’s going through your head right now. I do however firmly believe you’ll rise above this.” She consoles. Her attention is drawn elsewhere and she retreats, momentarily leaving my side.
I sigh and bury my head in my hands letting the small foam cup fall to the ground. Its cool contents sprinkle atop my foot as it crashes down.
My ears catch the drifting sound of radio chatter coming from Veronica’s radio. It’s a frenzied conversation I can’t quite make out, but judging by Veronica’s body language it’s good news.
“You’re kidnappers are in custody Miss Benoist. We got em’.” She says cheerfully.
It takes all I can muster to display the slightest bit of happiness, “Good.” I answer blankly.
“We’ve recovered the footage of your ordeal. It’s a solid piece of evidence, but we have more than enough against him to lock him up without it.” She explains.
“Are you going to…?”
“Watch it?” Veronica interjects, “No. I’ll see to it that it gets destroyed.”
“Thank you.” I say slouching in my seat.
Veronica rests a hand on my knee, “Hey look, whatever happened in there doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a symbol of strength and hope for lots of young girls out there.”
She speaks, but her words aren’t getting through. My mind lays wasted tormented by the visions of my captor and the hell he put me through.
“Your husband is here Miss Benoist.”
“Blake? Blake?” I ask looking up.
Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt my husband trots to my side and wraps his arms around my waist, “Thank God you’re alright.” He gasps, plastering his cheek to mine.
***
It’s been four days since my horrifying ordeal, four days since I’ve been to CBS and four days since I’ve even been out of my own home. Most days are spent wrapped in blankets atop a bed in seclusion, my contact with the outside world limited to occasional calls Blake asking if I’m okay.
On this my fifth day I awake cloaked in blankets. Stripped to just panties and one of Blake’s long white tees, I climb out of bed and stagger towards a half empty bottle of liquor. Indecision leads me to taking a swig straight from the bottle as opposed to pouring myself a glass. My hardwood countertop sits littered with junk and a contract notice from CBS.
Taking a pen, paper and a hard surface I plop down on the side of my bed and begin to compose a letter.
Dear Glen,
I’m writing this letter first of all to thank you for your continued support
Throughout this harrowing time. I understand my absence is inexcusable
And has put a hiatus on the show of which I am extremely sorry. This
brings me to my next point.
As much as it pains me to have to do this, I cannot and will no longer be
Able to fulfill my obligation. I can no longer be your Supergirl. My recent
Ordeal has left me feeling tarnished and uncertain. I can no longer
Blur the line between the fantasy you desire me to partake in, and the
Reality of my own mortality and all of its limitations.
I express my deepest regrets and wish you all the best going forward
Without me.
Melissa Benoist
I fax the letter without hesitation.
In moments it will print out into the hands of a bubbly receptionist who is so naïve she’ll hand it over to Glen with a genuine smile. Glen will take it and his heart will sink after it’s been punctured a hundred times with every word he reads.
I lazily crawl back into bed under a sea of white sheets to continue my dark descent. I close my eyes to the images of my violator ingrained in my brain laughing and taunting me, his words forever resonating, “You can’t win.”
