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oneortheother
09-06-2016, 08:30 PM
Jennifer Lawrence TK: Captured by the Illuminati

O-O-O

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead…” a voice whispered in Jennifer’s ear. She groaned, keeping her eyes tightly closed. She wasn’t quite ready to get up for the tribulations of the day. She knew she had a full day today, with a movie shoot for her latest film, followed by several media appearances she had been signed up for by her overzealous agent. Just give me five more minutes...

“Wakey wakey…” the same voice whispered in Jennifer’s other ear, but she was half-convinced she was still dreaming. How would there possibly be someone in her secure, private mansion? She tried to roll over to find a better position to sleep, but found that, strangely, she couldn’t move. Her eyes flew opened, pupils dilated with shock and surprise. It took a few blinks for her blue eyes to become accustomed to the harsh lightness of the room, but once she had, she didn’t know what to think.

There was a stab of fear as Jennifer took into account her surroundings.

She was in what could only be described as a cell, cold and sterile-looking. A featureless, small, white room, without any real furnishings whatsoever, with the exception of a metal examination table, which Jennifer found herself currently strapped to.

Jennifer took a deep breath, willing herself to not show fear. As her eyes scanned the room, every detail she took in about her current situation sent alarms blaring in her head. Oh no… what have I gotten myself into? She could feel the steady pulse of trepidation as her heart pounded in her chest. She glanced down at her body. She could see her sparkly blue toenail polish reflecting from the harsh lights of the room. She saw her pale, slightly tanned legs held firmly down by leather straps. Her toned abdomen, the abs she had worked so hard to get, on full display as she was clad only in the skimpy black undergarments she had worn to sleep the night before. Her wrists were stretched far above her head, like she was in some kind of medieval rack, held in place by the same leather straps that were around her ankles, legs, and waist. But the strangest thing she saw was the other inhabitants of the room, who must have been the ones whispering in her ear. There were four figures in the room with her, clad in shapeless black robes and shiny silver masks. The masks bore a strange symbol of a triangle with an eye in it. It looked vaguely familiar, but the symbology department of her mind didn’t seem to be working at the moment.

Jennifer put on her best voice, the menacing, dangerous voice she used when playing ferocious characters. She was fucking Katniss Everdeen, for God’s sake. It wouldn’t do to show how scared she was.

“Do you know who I am?” Jennifer said, scowling. The second part of her speech was a commanding: “You better let me go right this instant,” but Jennifer never got to say it, as the four cloaked figures immediately burst into snickers by the end of Jennifer’s first line. Jennifer was surprised to hear the laughter was female, from all four of them.

“Of course we know who you are, darlin’,” one of the figures said, in a strong southern drawl. “It would be mighty silly of us gals to go through all the trouble to kidnap you if we didn’t!” The figure guffawed, sounding to Jennifer like every bit the uneducated country redneck.

“What do you want?” Jennifer cut in, putting as much steel in her voice as possible.

“Why so serious, J-Law?” another figure said, this voice was younger, brattier. Jennifer wouldn’t have been surprised if it was some rich idiot’s spoiled teenager daughter under that strange mask. “We’re just here for a few… laughs.”

The brat’s last word sent shivers down Jennifer’s spine, and not just because of the strange way she had elongated ‘laughs’ like some strange hiss. The brat had pulled back the dark sleeve of her robe to reveal a manicured hand with long, cruel-looking fingernails. A pink-painted fingernail was currently sliding around Jennifer’s navel in slow, teasing circles.

“Q-quit it!” Jennifer said, biting her lower lip. She could already feel the laughter bubbling away inside her.

“You wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you?” Jennifer recognized her as being the first voice to whisper. It was measured and educated, with a British accent. The voice came from the foot of the bondage table. The woman was crouched over Jennifer’s soft, vulnerable feet, casually stroking the tip of one finger up and down the arch of Jennifer’s right foot. Jennifer noticed with alarm that this woman had devilishly long fingernails too, only hers were painted a classy white, to match the cold white walls of this godforsaken room.

“N-no! Nohohot at t-tall!” Jennifer said, her voice quavering as the two teasing fingers worked their magic on her taut, trapped body. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, if only she could hold out long enough, without laughing, they might get bored and stop. Perhaps even release her once they saw that she wouldn’t play along with their weird games.

The only problem was that Jennifer was rapidly reaching the limit of her endurance, as in truth, she was an astonishingly ticklish girl, as all her friends had teased her when she was growing up. Her schoolmates had poked her in the sides during class, snuck fingers in her underarms when she was carrying things, and once during a school field trip to the beach, they had tricked Jennifer into being buried in the sand, but had left her hyperticklish size eight feet sticking out. The whole class had gathered round, even using shells and things from the beach to tease her poor feet, but all those experiences paled in comparison to what she was currently experiencing. She had always known that her friends would take pity and stop tickling her after a while, but here, tied up and helpless with these four maniacal women, she had no such guarantee.

Jennifer’s head snapped to the side as a finger scratched lightly at her left bicep, slowly dragging its way downwards into dangerous, dangerously ticklish territory. “So you say you ain’t ticklish? Really? Then you won’t mind me joining in too, will you, darlin’?”

All she could do was grit her teeth and close her eyes, trying to block out the niggling sensations. The tickling was maddening, absolutely maddening. The Southerner’s whorehouse red nail was nipping at the hollows of her armpit, making Jennifer want she could rip her arm out of its socket just to get it away. The Englishwoman’s sharp white nail was stroking at the fleshy ball of the foot, as Jennifer tried to use one foot to cover up the other. The Brat girl’s psychedelic pink was still twirling circles along Jennifer’s stomach, getting perilously close to entering her bellybutton with every circuit.

She wanted so badly to laugh, but she couldn’t give them the satisfaction. She just couldn’t.

Soon, however, even this point of pride was wrenched away from her, as the final woman spoke, in a high, malevolent voice. “I think it’s time we cut with the foreplay, ladies. I want to hear this bitch laugh.”

Jennifer opened her eyes just in time to see two hands, with all their long nails painted a sinister black, shoot out and grab her hips, rummaging over them wildly. While the other hands had teased, this individual evidently saw no need for such gimmicks, and meant to inflict as much as torment as possible, as quickly as possible. Using the savagely sharp tips of her nails, she squeezed and prodded at Jennifer’s hips, and just like that, the dam was broken.

Laughter flooded freely from Jennifer’s lips. She shook her head from side to side as if she could deny her own supreme sensitivity, but it was no use. There was no going back now. Everywhere tickled, everything tickled. Following Mean girl’s example, all four of them were now going full force at Jennifer’s body with both hands. Four pairs of hands and forty fingernails had unimpeded access to every inch of Jennifer Lawrence’s body, and there was not a thing she could do about it, except to laugh at her own weakness, at life for doing this to her, and at these four crazy women for doing this.

Jennifer arched her back in response to this sudden influx of ticklish sensations, but that only seemed to make things worse, as Brat girl tickled her ribs and stomach even harder.

“Let’s put a cushion under her back!” Brat girl said suddenly, as her nails scampered across Jennifer’s protracted ribcage. “You can, like… see her ribs much more clearly this way!”

Mean girl glanced over, and nodded, before suddenly adding her merciless fingers to the mix, so Jennifer’s right flank was being worked over by Brat girl’s playful, teasing touch while her left flank was being assaulted by Mean girl’s crueller, darker touch. With their combined efforts, Jennifer found she was constantly arching her back despite itself, so desperate was her body for some kind of release from these mind numbing sensations that were swarming her body.

“I should like some toeties to be installed here also,” the Englishwoman said from her post at Jennifer’s ankles, were her nails were presently stroking insistently across the pair of curling, flexing, feet. “She’s such a minx, curling and flapping her feet so.” She sniffed. “Such uncivilized behaviour. One should simply take one’s punishment on the chin, instead of struggling so.”

“I couldn’t agree more, hun,” the Southerner said, as she raked her nails up and down Jennifer’s helpless hollows, sometimes slowly, and sometimes quickly.

Punishment for what? Jennifer thought, through a haze of tickle-addled delirium. She wanted to ask, but she was having trouble formulating words at the present, as unbidden laughter seemed to have priority.

As Jennifer’s laughter bounced across the walls of the room as if mocking herself for her absurd ticklishness, Mean girl leaned forward. She had stopped tickling, though the other three had continued their rampage. “Do you want us to stop?” Jennifer could hear the mocking smirk in her voice. Through teary eyes, Jennifer saw the bleary reflection of Mean girl’s mask; she saw herself, red-faced and writhing, her mouth wide, her pearly white teeth on full display as she laughed and laughed.

Hating herself, Jennifer nodded.

“Then you’ll need to beg. Beg us for mercy, and this is over… for tonight.”

Jennifer did not like one bit what that last part had been about, but she had more pressing matters to focus on, namely three pairs of evil fingernails still ruthlessly tickling her spots.

“Plehehehease stahahahap!” Jennifer begged, despising the pathetic whine that came from her voice.

“More!” growled Mean girl, skittering one hand over Jennifer’s collarbones, while her other hand dug into Jennifer’s right armpit to emphasize her point. Jennifer was beside herself with laughter, as Mean girl and Southerner took possession of a ticklish underarm each.

“Mehehehercy! Mahahaharcy! Pleaseheeheeeese!”

“Say I am your slave.”

Jennifer bit her lip, hesitating for a moment, but suddenly Mean girl stalked off. She reappeared at Jennifer’s left ankle, gripping Jennifer’s pedicured toes, pulling them back, and slashing her nails up and down the squirming, silky-smooth foot, as Englishwoman and her careful, measured touch continued to weave patterns all over Jennifer’s other foot.

Jennifer couldn’t bear the thought of enduring this any longer. She leaned down and saw her pale body was already reddening, wounds from this one-sided war of laughter, as painted nails stoked her ticklish body. Brat girl had a finger in Jennifer’s navel. Southerner had moved down to work on Jennifer’s thighs. Her right foot and left foot were in Englishwoman and Mean girl’s clutches. This had to stop.

“I’m yohohohour slave!”

“I can’t hear you!” Mean girl said, smirking. “You’re too far away.”

“I’m your slahahahave!” Jennifer bellowed, as all four tickling hands suddenly tickled her even harder. But still, they ignored her, continuing to tickle and tickle. She shouted it again and again. It wasn’t till the tenth time that they finally stopped.

“Better,” Mean girl said, patting Jennifer’s foot the way you might pet a cat. “Give her something to drink.”

Jennifer saw them lift a bottle of water to her lips. Her throat parched from all her shouting, she drank greedily.

As the room began to spin around her, she realized the drink had been dosed.

“Good night!” Brat girl said, giving her a cheerful wave.

Jennifer slept.

O-O-O

Jennifer woke to the delicious smell of pizza. She smiled. So it had all just been a bad dream after all… her boyfriend must have come in and decided to surprise her with a naughty snack. She opened her eyes, and her stomach dropped.

She was still there, in that miserable room, with those four masked women hovering over here. There were two pizza boxes propped up on plastic chairs.

“Good morning, darlin’,” Southerner girl said. “You in the mood for some breakfast?”

“Fuck all of you,” Jennifer spat. “Let me go! Let me out of this place!”

“That’s no way to speak to us,” Mean girl said, her voice cold as ice and are dangerous as frostbite. “You’re our slave now.”

“Aren’tcha hungry, J-Law?” Bratty girl said, her voice light and cheerful.

Before Jennifer could respond to this obvious good cop, bad cop routine, her stomach gave a loud rumble. She hadn’t eaten in ages. She nodded, reluctantly.

“If you be a good girl, we’ll untie you,” Englishwoman said, her voice high and haughty.

Jennifer nodded again, seeing an opportunity to escape. Southerner balanced the pizza box on Jennifer’s lap, as Bratty girl loosened the leather straps around Jennifer’s right wrist. Mean girl leaned against the wall at the far side of the room, arms crossed.

“Alright, that’s enough,” she called out, in a voice that brook no disagreement. The other women retreated leaning against the same wall as Mean girl. “You have five minutes.”

Jennifer bit her lip. With only a hand free, there was no chance of escape. It would take her minutes to undo all these straps, and she was unlikely to even have ten seconds with her four tormentresses watching her like hawks.

Perhaps it was best to bide time for now, and wait for the opportune moment. Using her free hand, Jennifer ate, grateful at least that they weren’t starving her. She kept an eye on her four captors. Bratty girl had dug into the pockets of her robe and pulled out a bejewelled smartphone and was tapping away. Southerner was whistling some country tune Jennifer vaguely recognized. Englishwoman was admiring her white nails. Mean girl had her arms crossed, all her attention still on Jennifer.

“Time’s up,” Mean girl barked, after a few more minutes.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Jennifer protested.

“Wouldn’t want you to have an accident,” Brat girl snickered, and nodding to each other, the four girls moved to untie Jennifer. This was her chance…

“Just so you know, you’re on my private ranch,” Southerner said. “This is all my land for the next ten miles in every direction.”

“No funny business,” Mean girl warned, lifting into her jacket and pulling out a revolver, just to quash Jennifer’s dreams of escape even further. Just wait for the right moment… Jennifer told herself. They’ll make a mistake somewhere…

Jennifer allowed herself to be led away to a washroom, where she promptly did her business. The bathroom was sparse and utterly devoid of anything she could use as a weapon. They promptly frogmarched her back into the cell, where they strapped her down again.

“Good…” Brat girl purred, as she tightened the straps around Jennifer’s waist. “Now that all the boring stuff is out of the way, we can get back to the fun!”

“Fun? You creeps think this is fun?” Jennifer hadn’t meant to say this, but the prospect of another massive dose of tickle torture had quite soured her mood. The fact they had upgraded their torture bench, with the toes ties and cushion under her back as they had discussed the night before did not help. By the time they finish looping and pulling Jennifer’s aqua-blue painted toes back, she felt as exposed and vulnerable as she had ever been in her entire life.

“The lil’ lady sure seems a bit cranky, this mornin’!” Southerner said, chuckling.

“I quite agree,” Englishwoman said, with a disapproving sniff. ”She should know by now not to take that tone with us.”

Mean girl, without saying a word, reached underneath the bondage table, and pulled out a toolbox. She fished a plastic ballgag from the box, and promptly shoved it roughly into Jennifer’s mouth. Surprised, Jennifer was barely able to put up any resistance as the cold, uncomfortable material was shoved in her mouth.

“Much better… I like to see the fear in those pretty blue eyes,” Mean girl said, giving Jennifer a mocking pat on the head that made her feel like a dog.

Then, without any further build-up or ceremony, she began running her long black fingernails across Jennifer’s collarbones and neck. Squeaking into the gag, Jennifer tossed her head from side to side, trying to avoid the fingers or by trying to crush the fingers under her neck, but it all seemed to simply amuse Mean girl.

“You are our slave, Jennifer,” she taunted. “Ours now, and forever. And don’t you forget it.”

Jennifer looked up to try to glare at her foe, but she would she was unable to maintain such a stare with so many hands running up and down her ticklish body. The other girls had started tickling too, taking their cue from Mean girl.

Through bleary eyes, Jennifer saw the pink nails of Bratty girl (when they weren’t speaking, their nails were the only way to tell them apart) spidering across her helpless feet, paying particular attention to those pretty-painted toes. Despite her own muffled laughter and Mean girl’s taunts, Jennifer could hear Brat girl giggling, as if the desperate, but futile twitches of her tightly-bound toes amused her.

Southerner’s red nails were exploring along Jennifer’s knees, where Jennifer had just learned, with dismay, harboured many super ticklish areas. The tanned, freckled hand squeezed up and down, even venturing upwards to tease along Jennifer’s thighs occasionally, but mainly focusing on the sweet spot under Jennifer’s knees.

The Englishwoman’s touch was methodical, light, and deliberate, but no less effective as she slowly caressing of Jennifer’s toned midriff with her bone-white nails. She dragged her long nails up and down her exposed skin, watching Jennifer’s face hungrily for her reactions, taking careful notice of the way Jennifer’s body would flinch in response to her precise touches. She was clearly intent on sniffing out every one of Jennifer’s worst spots. This one’s a businesswoman… a nose for finding the weaknesses of others… Jennifer thought dimly, willing herself not to scream into the gag as the Englishwoman’s careful, meticulous questing discovered a secret spot that Jennifer had hidden even from her boyfriends during their pillowplay. With the cushion under her back forcing her to make an arch with her spine, Jennifer’s ribs protruded, making it child’s play to focus fingers right on the ridges of the ribcage, which the Englishwoman did repeatedly, working her way up the ribs and then back down again.

After what could have been twenty minutes or twenty hours, Mean girl called a half to the proceedings. Jennifer had hoped they would give her a break, but those hopes were promptly dashed. “Let’s rotate, ladies.”

Jennifer tried not to cry as Englishwoman pointed out the nightmarishly ticklish spot on her ribs to Southern girl, who was the next to play with Jennifer’s torso. “That’s the look I like to see,” Mean girl said, giving Jennifer a light slap on the cheek as she walked down to acquaint herself with Jennifer’s toetied and helpless feet. Mean girl began raking her nails up and down Jennifer’s poor, buttery-soft feet before the other girls were even fully in position, but the others quickly made up for lost time, tearing into Jennifer’s ticklish spots with glee.

Englishwoman’s maddeningly light touch on her neck and collarbones… Southerner’s rough fingers working over her ribs and stomach… Bratty girl’s childish fingers teasing all over her inner thighs and knees… and of course, Mean girl’s ruthless nails, scything up and down her soft feet, which had been pedicured only days ago. And totally unable to express her laughter, aside from mmphing into the gag.

It was too much to take… Too much…

Consciousness slipped away from Jennifer.

O-O-O

Consciousness returned, unbidden and unwanted. Jennifer’s eyes flicked open, then immediately squeezed shut. It was better to feign sleep. Sleep was peaceful. Sleep was relaxing. It was when she awake that her troubles began. She could feel that she was still gagged and bound up anyway, so she knew she wouldn’t be escaping.

“I saw that, J-Law!” a girlish voice squeaked. It could only be Brat girl. Jennifer heard her clap her hands excitedly. Jennifer didn’t move. It was time to put her award-winning acting skills to the test.

“Trying to trick me, huh?” Brat girl asked, after Jennifer did not react. “I know you’re awake. I saw you open your eyes.”

Jennifer forced her breathing to stay the same. Brat girl was the youngest of the group, and so she was probably the dumbest too. If she could just fool her, Jennifer might buy herself some time…

“Hmmm, I guess I could have just been imagining things… I guess I gotta go easy on the kush…” Brat girl sounded uncertain. Jennifer heard her walk away from the bondage table. Jennifer breathed a mental sigh of relief, thanking her lucky stars!

Of course, life had a habit of catching you with your britches down, especially when you thought you were out of the woods. Jennifer yelped into the gag, as one of Brat girl’s long nails suddenly made contact with the bottom of Jennifer’s right foot, dragging quickly up the taut foot. With her eyes shut, and thinking she had just successfully evaded a gruesome fate, Jennifer had been caught completely off-guard.

“Psych! You think I’m some kind of idiot, don’t you?” Jennifer was in no state to deny it, as she began struggling anew. Brat girl’s nails scampered up and down Jennifer’s helpless feet, like a pair of marauding spiders.

"I so knew it," Brat girl said, giggling triumphantly. "Gotcha!”

The only consolation was that Brat girl seemed to be alone, her three partners in crime absent from the scene, though Jennifer felt that Brat girl was doing plenty well on her own, especially when Brat girl leaned forward so she could wiggle her nails along Jennifer’s milky-white inner thighs as well, tickling Jennifer’s left foot with one, and Jennifer’s right thigh with the other.

After a few moments, seemingly getting bored with Jennifer’s deliciously ticklish feet, she moved up again, using both hands on Jennifer’s thighs and kneecaps for a spell, and then reaching up with a hand to experiment with Jennifer’s tummy too. After spending a few more quick moments with one hands on Jennifer’s left thigh and the other at her stomach, Brat girl went full-on into Jennifer’s toned tummy, with her left hand running rampant over Jennifer’s right side and ribs, while her right hand wriggled its way from the top of Jennifer’s smooth, firm stomach down until it reached the lower stomach, right below her belly button. Brat girl’s giggles were practically louder than Jennifer’s as she switched hands, now tormenting the left side and ribs with her right hand while her left hand began crawling up and down Jennifer’s poor stomach.

Brat girl didn’t have to share with anyone, so she was taking full advantage of this fact, treating Jennifer’s ticklish body like a buffet, having a taste here, there, and everywhere.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have admitted you were so ticklish in an interview, J-Law,” Brat girl said, slowing down the tickling right when Jennifer was on the brink of hyperventilation. Jennifer took advantage of the cessation of tickle torture to breath in air desperately through her nose. “That’s what drew our attention to you. That’s why we chose you.”

Jennifer grunted, the only sound she could make with the gag in her mouth, trying to indicate that she wanted to talk. Brat girl obligingly slackened the strap around the back of the ball gag so that it came out of Jennifer’s mouth, the moist, disgusting thing resting on her neck.

“You chose me?” Jennifer asked, trying to get as much information as she could from the gossipy girl.

“Well, we had a few other candidates, but after you said that you hated to be tickled…” Brat girl tittered. “We knew it had to be you.”

“Who is ‘we’? Just who are you people? And what do you want with me?” Jennifer was shouting, so frustrated that she had been abducted with these freaks and desperate to find out why.

Brat girl was about to answer when the door to the cell flew open.

“Naughty, naughty,” Mean girl said, her voice stern as she strolled into the room, with Southerner and Englishwoman behind her. “Hogging her all to yourself, eh? You’ll have to be disciplined for this later.”

“Awww, don’t be like that, guys!” Brat girl said, whinging.

“Rules are rules,” Englishwoman said. “And this violation constitutes an hour in the punishment stocks.”

“But we can’t say that we blame you, hun,” Southerner said, giggling. “Miss Celebrity here sure is a delight to tickle.” There was a murmur of accord.

“Indeed,” Mean girl said, nodding. “Allow us to make up for lost time.”

On that note, another horrendous tickle torture session began. This time they eschewed with the gag, as Mean girl said she wanted to hear Jennifer begging. And beg she did, though Jennifer hated herself for every pathetic word that passed her lips. But begging for mercy, threatening them, and promising rewards in return for her freedom all proved to be ineffective – her words falling on deaf ears as their hands worked all over Jennifer’s gorgeous, ticklish body.

The girls had brought a new toy into play – baby oil, which they lathered generously across Jennifer’s toned stomach, ribs, and thighs, even squirting some into her armpits as if it was deodorant. The sweet-smelling substance was rubbed firmly in Jennifer’s skin, and for the briefest of moments it almost felt like a massage, till the fingers began skating across the now-slick surfaces with villainous intent. Taking full advantage of the added sensitivity the oil granted, the four women relocated their torment around those areas.

Englishwoman drew slow, torturous symbols in the hollows of Jennifer’s armpits, tracing lines, numbers, letters, shapes, and God knows what else. All Jennifer knew was that the sensation kept changing, never allowing her to get used to it.

Mean girl scratched along Jennifer’s thighs, toned from hours in the gym, but still ultra responsive to her sharp black talons. They looked and felt like two dark arachnids, as they spidered up and down Jennifer’s inner thighs, occasionally meandering up along the hips to explore other ticklish pastures.

Southerner had Jennifer’s left side, and her red nails were a blur as they stroked and teased from spot to spot, counting ribs and goosing sides in a wave of constant motion, with the earnest, tireless work ethic of a devoted farmhand.

Bratty girl had Jennifer’s right side, though her tickling seemed a little timid, as her right hand brushed against Jennifer’s ribs while her left hand poked and prodded along Jennifer’s soft side. In one of the rare moments Jennifer was able to muster enough concentration to focus, she wondered what this punishment would be. Would Brat girl be stripped and placed into one of this bondage tables? Jennifer had no idea what Brat girl might look like, but she imagined some dumb blonde in the Miley Cyrus mould, with her pretty pink toes in restraining toeties, a cushion under her back to force her back to arch, and straps everywhere as the other three women worked over her ruthlessly. It was a pleasing thought. It was almost enough to make Jennifer forget her own miserable situation.

One such thing Jennifer would have liked to forget was the fact that, the worst spot today, by far, was Jennifer’s belly, as it overlapped the ‘territory’ of three of her torturers, so Jennifer often had at least two or three hands constantly teasing across the sensitive, soft flesh there.

Every few minutes, Mean girl would call a halt, and fresh oil would be added, but no sooner had Jennifer gotten her ragged breathing under control would they begin anew, digging in with fresh vigour.

“It feels like I’m missing out,” Englishwoman said, as she raked her long white nails up and down Jennifer’s armpits, gazing down at Jennifer’s stomach, which was getting pinker by the minute.

“You’re right. Let’s all give Miss Hollywood’s stomach a good seeing to,” Mean girl said, her voice dripping with malice, as suddenly eight hands descended on Jennifer’s stomach, overwhelming her supremely ticklish tummy. Jennifer fought to get free, but the straps were as unyielding as ever as she shrieked with laughter. They definitely spent at great deal of time quadruple teaming Jennifer’s poor stomach, before Mean girl said they wouldn’t want to desensitize that lovely stomach. And just like that, the girls shifted back onto on the other spots which had prior been neglected. Jennifer couldn’t even find fresh energy to writhe on her bondage table as suddenly two cruel hands appeared in each armpit and two on each foot. The tickling had been centralized on her stomach, yet now it had spread to all four corners of her ticklish body. It was too much, just too much.

Right when she was on the cusp of losing consciousness, or losing her mind, either one, they stopped.

“Who are you?”

Jennifer bit her lip as tears of laughter and fear trickled down her face, knowing that the wrong answer resulted in more tickling.

“Y-your slave…”

“Good girl. Sleep now, slave. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Jennifer Lawrence obeyed.

O-O-O

Hungry for food and hungry for freedom, Jennifer woke.

She had no idea what time it was, but her captors were yet to wake up. The lights were off, but Jennifer’s eyes had acclimatized to the dark and she was able to examine her straps at leisure. She squirmed and pushed her fingers outwards, trying to see how far she could reach. The four women had left their toolbox in the room, and if Jennifer could reach it, maybe find a screwdriver or something, then perhaps… Yet the straps were as tough as ever, though Jennifer felt like they might be slightly looser, say a centimetre or so, but she worried she was just imagining things. She took a deep breath. Patience. If she was patient, she could escape, would escape…

Then suddenly, the lights went on, the harsh, white light blinding Jennifer. She instinctively tried to block the light with her hand, but the bonds made it impossible. She blinked rapidly as a hooded figure walked into the room, doubtless with bad, ticklish intentions on her mind.

“My, my… aren’t you up early?” said the clipped, foreign accent of Englishwoman. “Good thing I’m a night owl, myself.”

“What time is it?” Jennifer asked, trying to gauge the European woman’s mood. She had learned to be careful of what words she spoke to these captors, over these past few days. Sometimes they spoke to her when they were torturing her individually, but she knew better than to try anything when a group of them were there, especially Mean girl. She was the most dangerous of the lot, by far. Have patience, and you will survive this, Jennifer…

“5 o’clock,” Englishwoman answered, rolling back her sleeve to reveal a dainty white wrist, and a designer wristwatch.

“Your accent… where are you from?” Jennifer said suddenly, as Englishwoman suddenly took a step closer, getting dangerously close to Jennifer’s trapped, ticklish body. She had learned to keep them talking for as long as she could. And most people loved to talk about themselves, as had definitely been Jennifer’s experience in Hollywood. Listening to Brat girl rant about her University professors and her stupid boyfriend was much more preferable to being tickle to tears, after all.

“Manchester, but I see what you’re doing, Lawrence.”

“What?” Jennifer replied, putting all the innocence she could into her voice.

“You’re trying to get me to talk… what’s next? What’s my job? How old am I? What’s my name?”

Jennifer said nothing. A denial would be as good as a confession.

“I’m not here to talk to you, Miss Lawrence.”

“Then why are you keeping me here?”

“Oh, they’ll be time for that later,” Englishwoman said, as she reached into the toolbox and pulled out a paintbrush. “But you wanted some personal information about me… here’s something. I love to paint. And as luck would have it, there’s a canvas right here.”

Jennifer tried not to cringe as a dab of baby oil was squirted onto her soles, accompanied by the soft bristles of the paintbrush. Her whole body quivered, shaking in her bonds as best she could. Her toes fought against the toeties, but they were as rigid as ever. Jennifer knew she would laugh, such a thing was sure as sunrise, but she didn’t want to give this British bitch the satisfaction of crumbling into hysterics within moments.

It wasn’t easy, as the paintbrush lightly stroked her helpless, size eight soles. All Jennifer could do was grit her teeth as Englishwoman leaned closer, clearly concentrating on this imaginary masterpiece she was painting on her ‘canvas’. The laughter began to trickle from her lips as the brush began ‘shading’ in between Jennifer’s blue-painted toes, tormenting and teasing the webbing and undersides of those tender digits with methodical, rigorous touches. The brush would go from toe to toe, making sure every one of those plump, ticklish appendages did not miss out on the paintbrush’s kiss.

As Englishwoman procured another paintbrush, so she could ambidextrously stroke both soles at once, Jennifer pounded her head against the cushioned headrest of the bondage table, trying to not think about how badly she needed to pee. All she could move were her hands and neck, so they were a constant flurry of motions, fingers opening and closing as Jennifer tried to find some way to take her mind of the painting on the bottoms of her feet.

“I usually work with finer materials than this,” Englishwoman said, as she suddenly brought both paintbrushes to one lone foot, forcing a squeal from Jennifer. “But one must make do with what one has,” she said, as one paintbrush circled Jennifer’s big toe while the other patiently weaved up and down the arch, held taut and extended by the toe bondage.

“I call it Portrait of a Ridiculously Ticklish Pair of Feet,” Englishwoman declared, giving Jennifer’s toes one last swab with the brushes.

“Have you had enough?” Englishwoman asked, as she stopped ‘painting’; her voice was devoid of concern. Jennifer sucked air in desperately. This Englishwoman always gave her the creeps. Mean girl frightened her with her cruelty, Brat girl irritated her with her airheadness, and Southerner annoyed her with her faux-friendliness, but Englishwoman’s icy demeanour had always creeped Jennifer out the most.

“Plehehehease stop…”

“You know what you have to say, Miss Lawrence…”

Jennifer whimpered. She hated this. All of this. Every day and night they broke her, tarnishing her pride and humiliating as she begged for them to stop. They pushed her and pushed her till she willing to say anything just to make them stop.

“I shall take your silence for appreciate of my artistic talents. It’s high time I painted a masterpiece on your armpits.”

“No!” Jennifer howled, but it was already too late. The baby oil was squirted down in Jennifer’s left underarm, as the starlet desperately tried to reason with her captor.

“The paint’s already out of the bottle…” she said, using her hands to rub the oil in, causing a fair amount of incidental but not accidental tickling in the process. “You wouldn’t want me to waste it, would you?”

Pouring a final dab of oil onto Jennifer’s armpit, Englishwoman commenced her painting. With her perfect, hairless armpits nice and slick, every stroke, every touch, seemed to be magnified a hundred fold. The paintbrush, with its soft, delicate bristles was a completely different sensation to the nails Jennifer had become accustomed to. Jennifer would have laughed at the fact she could have become accustomed to such a thing if she didn’t want to cry so badly. Before long, Jennifer had two paintbrushes twirling in the hollows of both underarms, tracing symbols and elaborate patterns that wrenched laughter from her mouth with every precise stroke.

“Portrait of a Terribly Ticklish Pair of Armpits,” Englishwoman dubbed, and by her tone, she wasn’t close to finishing, clearly in the midst of a great artistic fervour. Portrait of a Furiously Ticklish Tummy, and Portrait of a Tantalizingly Ticklish Pair of Inner Thighs followed, before Englishwoman finally stopped.

“Well, it’s 7AM,” she said, checking her watch. “Time to wake up the others. I hope you enjoyed our session. It’s important to respect the arts, Miss Lawrence.”

Gasping for air, and her stomach sore from laughing so much, Jennifer had a premonition that she was in for a very long day…

O-O-O


O-O-O

After her breakfast and a sorely-needed bathroom break, Jennifer found herself back on her bondage table, straps tight around her body, and her toes tied back. She had been too tired from her ‘painting’ session to even think about escape, and her fears and anxieties were starting to catch up with her. She had been in this accursed place for several days now – where were the manhunts? Why had she not been rescued yet? How much more of this would she have to endure? Despite all her talk of patience, Jennifer felt she was no closer to escape or understanding why she had been taken in the first place. Was there even a reason?

It was during all these frightening thoughts that Jennifer heard the creak of her cell door.

“Mornin’, darlin’! I hear you’ve been up a while!” There was no mistaking the southern drawl.

“When will you let me go?” Jennifer demanded, as her doubts nagged at her. “You’ve kept me here so long already!”

“Afraid that ain’t for me to decide,” Southerner said, shrugging. “I’m just the hostess of this lil’ gatherin’. You gonna have to ask the others.” The others meant Mean girl, and Jennifer knew the only answer she get from her – screaming laughter, till she passed out, or worse.

“Anywho, speakin’ of my hostess responsibilities,” Southerner said, as she sidled up to Jennifer, who shut her eyes and cringed. “You know, I take a lot of pride in keepin’ a tidy household.” Jennifer noticed Southerner wore an ostentatious wedding ring on her freckled hands as the cloaked, masked woman reached down to open the toolbox.

“And since you’re here in my dungeon, I consider you part of my property,” Southerner said, laughing a melodious cackle. “So it would be mighty poor of me to not keep you nice and clean!”

What she said didn’t click for Jennifer till Southerner pulled out a feather duster, a scrub brush, and a pair of toothbrushes.

“No… No, no, no!” Jennifer didn’t like the look of those nasty looking tools one bit. They were all perfectly mundane, but in this tickle-obsessed setting, they took on ominous meanings.

“What’s wrong?” Southerner chuckled. “I’m doin’ you a favour! You got some dust on you. I got to get it off."

On that note, wielding the duster like a wand, Southerner began to sweep the brush across Jennifer’s helpless feet. She dusted up and down both feet, like a most earnest and diligent chambermaid, taking care to dust every spot, especially in the hypersensitive nooks and crannies along Jennifer’s azure-painted toes. “I gotta be thorough. The dust bunnies love to hide away in corners.”

The feather duster almost felt like some soft, fluffy animal, like a mischievous puppy, was slithering about her feet, utterly unaware of the ticklish havoc its hair was inflicting. It was an interesting contrast to the paintbrushes which had driven Jennifer loopy mere hours ago. One was precise, one covered a large area, yet both tickled her silly.

“Well, I’m finished here,” Southerner said. Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief.

“That tummy of yours is lookin’ mighty dusty though.”

Jennifer pounded her head into the head rest. I should have known better. They always do this to me… raise my hopes and play with my heart like this…

After giving Jennifer’s stomach, sides, ribs, and armpits a thorough dusting for what felt like at least an hour, Southerner stopped. Finally it’s over…

“Hmmmm, I got some good news and I got some bad news,” Southerner said, scratching her head with a manicured hand. “Which one you wanna hear first?”

Jennifer was desperate for some good news. “Good.”

“Good news is, I’m done dustin!” Southerner said cheerily, dropping the feather duster back into the tool brush.

“And the bad news?” Jennifer asked, in a quiet voice.

“I’m afraid I need to do some heavy duty cleanin’ now,” Southerner said, though her voice didn’t sound upset at all.

“Oh God, oh God!” Jennifer whimpered, finding fresh energy to twist in her bonds, but it was useless, as always.

“Hey, don’t you be takin’ the Lord’s name in vain,” Southerner said warningly. “But I’ll be right back.”

Jennifer only had a moment to compose her thoughts before Southerner returned, a pail of water in hand. She dipped the scrub brush into the water, and started to apply it vigorously to Jennifer’s taut, trapped feet. When the innumerable bristles of the scrub brush made contact with Jennifer’s soles, she let loose a scream higher and harsher than one she had ever made. The scrub brush was even crueller than nails, or anything Jennifer had experienced so far. The scrub brush was large too, coating Jennifer’s entire foot in ticklish sensations as it washed and washed the damp flesh.

“Hmmm, I need something smaller to clean in here,” Southerner pondered, disappointed that the size of the scrub brush made it cumbersome to properly ‘clean’ in between Jennifer’s toes. So she switched to the two smaller toothbrushes, dipped them in the pail of water, and set to scrubbing furiously under the toes, and along their stems while Jennifer shrieked with laughter.

“Now your feet are looking squeaky clean!” Southerner cheered. “Won’t you be a sweetie and thank me for my hard work?” She asked, her tone deadly dangerous, as a scrub brush hovered across Jennifer’s right foot, an unspoken threat clear to see.

“T-thank you…”

“You’re welcome!” Southerner said happily. “Now where was I…”

The stomach was next on her agenda, clearly. Jennifer’s beautiful blue eyes were wide with horror as Southerner held her firm with one hand while she started scrubbing wide circles all over Jennifer’s tummy with the other. The scrub brush had been bad enough on Jennifer’s tootsies, but the stomach was a whole different story, as Jennifer laughed so hard she could barely breathe. Southerner took care to clean every iota of dirt from the sides and ribs too.

“Hmm, what a conundrum, how can I get in there…” Southerner mused, as she brought the scrub brush to Jennifer’s belly button, displeased with the way the bristles failed to reach inside the navel. She promptly switched to the smaller toothbrushes and cleaned every inch of that terribly ticklish spot.

After Southerner was content with the level of cleanliness there, Jennifer was again made to thank her. It took all her acting skills to avoid spitting in this woman’s face, and hide her fury.

The cleaning for the armpits was horrendous, as went without saying, but Jennifer was at least grateful for the fact that Southerner went straight into it with the toothbrushes, as opposed to using the scrub brush first since the large utensil didn’t really fit that easily. The tickling was slightly shorter, though still intolerably long, in Jennifer’s opinion.

“Look at you now, darlin’!” Southerner beamed, as Jennifer panted like she had just run a marathon. “Nice and clean. Now the boss lady wants to talk to you in a few minutes, so don’t you go anywhere!” Giggling to herself, Southerner left the room.

If only there was anywhere to go, Jennifer thought, closing her eyes.

O-O-O

Jennifer awoke to darkness. For a second, she thought the lights of her cell had been turned off, before she felt the stiff fabric of a sleeping mask across her face. Every muscle tensed up as Jennifer heard low voices, talking at just the edge of her perceptions.

“Should we give her up?”

“What have our superiors done to deserve her? Those stuck-up bastards told us it was impossible. Yet here we are. And here she is.”

“Yeah… they would just, like, sacrifice her to that weird god they think we all believe in.”

“Yeah, we’d take much better care of her, anyway, wouldn’t we, gals?”

Jennifer heard them laugh. Then Mean girl’s voice, clear as a gunshot.

“She’s awake.”

Jennifer gasped as a hand made contact with her left foot, sliding its way up her body, along a thigh, across her stomach, through an underarm, till it reached her cheek.

“Sleep well?” the voice asked, in a soft voice. “You weren’t eavesdropping on us, were you?” Mean girl said, her voice venomous.

“N-no, of course not…”

“Oh, of course not?” Mean girl repeated. “Who are you?”

Jennifer bit back the retort that had half-formed in her mouth. “Y-your, y-your…” She couldn’t say it. She just couldn’t not after everything she had endured today.

The blonde darling of Hollywood shrieked as suddenly two claws dug into her underarms, rummaging fiercely.

“I thought you would know better by now,” Mean girl growled. “Ladies, get into position, and take your tools.”

Jennifer didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but she didn’t have time to think about it, as she felt something moist dab her bicep. She barely had a moment to register the feeling before she felt a needle pierce her arm, shooting God knows what into her veins.

“We prepared a lil surprise for you today, darlin’!” Southerner said from Jennifer’s elbow. She seemed to be the one handling the injection. Once the syringe was retracted from Jennifer’s arm, she felt an odd queasiness, like she every nerve was standing on end. It was unlike any recreational drug Jennifer had ever taken, that was for sure.

Jennifer felt adrenaline course throughout her entire body, as she waited for the attack that she knew was coming. And they always said that the waiting was the worst part. Blinded, Jennifer suddenly become acute of every strap, every bit of bondage that secured her to this table, helpless, powerless, to whatever these four crazy women wanted to do to her. Mean girl’s fingers were still in Jennifer’s armpits, making every nerve stand on end. They weren’t moving, but they were there, threatening and imposing, like a loaded weapon that could be fired at any second. Jennifer’s stomach churned and flipped as she waited. Brat girl, Englishwoman, and Southerner were waiting there, their tools and inch away from all of Jennifer’s worst spots, the spots they had gotten to know so well over the last week. They were toying with Jennifer’s mind, forcing her to anticipate the brutal attack that was about to befall her. And it was working.

“That’s a serum of our own creation,” Mean girl said, her cruel talons still not moving. “Our secret order created it many years ago. It’ll enhance every sensation. I think you’ll like it.” Mean girl laughed, and all three of the others joined in, their laughter bouncing off the walls of the tiny cell. Jennifer was starting to tickle herself just from shaking so much.

“What are you, Jennifer Lawrence?” Mean girl said, leaning in, and Jennifer’s world exploded.

Claws scrapped in Jennifer’s armpits, the sensation alone already throwing her into hysterics. Jennifer screamed, begging and shouting out the answer she knew Mean girl wanted to hear, but it was too late. The black nails were merciless, scratching and prodding in Jennifer’s hollows ruthlessly.

Jennifer wouldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow the underarms were the least of her worries today. She recognized the expert probing of paintbrushes in her prettily-pedicured toes that could only be Englishwoman. Each bristle felt like a hot iron, burning away Jennifer’s brain with its mind-meltingly maddening touch.

The toothbrushes were clearly Southerner’s handiwork, as they tormented Jennifer’s thighs, occasionally drifting up the body to tease the ribs or sides with ferocious scrubbing.

The stomach had something different – a completely new sensation. It was a pair of soft, fluffy tools, probably feathers. Their touch was light, but still incredibly effective in driving Jennifer silly with laughter. The feathers lapped up and down her stomach, as soft as a lover’s kiss, their bristles just firm enough to tantalize all the nerve clusters around that toned tummy. Before long, Brat girl (it had to be her, through sheer elimination) began dipping the feather into Jennifer’s belly button, and the fluffy feathers quickly stoked Jennifer to new heights of chaotic laughter. Jennifer was already laughing uncontrollably – that went without saying, but the feathers dipping into her navel forced her muscles to contract rapidly, like they were spasming.

“You’d make a good belly dancer, J-Law,” Jennifer heard Brat girl say. “All you need is a feather in your button to help you dance!” Bratty girl said, giggling in her infuriatingly schoolgirlish way. Jennifer tried to saw from side to side to evade the feathers, but like all her efforts to escape, it was hopeless. She was trapped in a prison of laughter. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, not one bit, but Jennifer felt more sensitive and ticklish than ever. Whatever was in that serum seemed to be working, as Jennifer laughed herself half-mad.

Jennifer wanted to weep when Mean girl announced the first rotation. Over the sound of her harried breathes, she heard the sound of rummaging in the toolbox, which could not possibly bode well.

Sure enough, when Mean girl went to her new post at Jennifer’s size eight feet, she had toys – a pair of scrub brushes which she promptly put to work on Jennifer’s arches. Meanwhile, Englishwoman’s paintbrushes were tormenting her thighs, Southerner’s toothbrushes were giving her stomach a good cleaning, and Brat girl’s feathers were dancing in her armpits. Jennifer’s screaming barely resembled words now, she begged through her laughter, confessing a thousand times to be their slave, their anything.

The girls laughed at her every time she made such a proclamation, tickling her even harder. They stopped and rotated again, with some more rummaging in the toolbox. Mean girl had picked up these cold, tri-pronged instruments, probably forks, and was ploughing them up and down Jennifer’s ribs. Englishwoman painted a beautiful landscape across Jennifer’s abs, now surely rock-hard from all the laughing. Southerner’s toothbrushes did ungodly things to Jennifer’s terribly ticklish armpits. Brat girl’s feathers fluttered across Jennifer’s heels, and under her toes. Jennifer laughed and laughed and laughed.

At the next rotation, Jennifer was at her wit’s end, promising the women anything they wanted, anything at all, but Mean girl had just sneered and replied: “We want to tickle you more.”

And that they did. Mean girl had something with a sharp point, possibly a pen, and was drawing something all over Jennifer’s stomach. Blindfolded, Jennifer had no idea, but she could guess it was some kind of contract, stating how Jennifer was now their sole property. Englishwoman twirled her paintbrushes in Jennifer’s underarms, tracing all manner of shapes and letters. Southerner scrubbed Jennifer’s trembling toes, two at a time, starting with the big toes. Brat girl’s feathers flittered up and down Jennifer’s thighs.

Then they stopped, as they all went full circle, starting back when they had all begun.

“You’re ours now, Jennifer,” Mean girl said, laughing. “Forever. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Jennifer nodded, desperate to placate them, as tears trickled into the sleeping mask, but it was too late.

They had already started again.