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oneortheother
09-06-2016, 08:31 PM
Star Wars TK: Rey’s Interrogation

O-O-O

Visions swarmed before her eyes… a young girl screaming at a desert planet as a ship flew away… a hooded figure holding a lightsaber as blue as the summer sky… a forest wreathed in flames as soldiers clad in white armour crawled over it like ants… a black mask hovering over her, radiating malice…

Rey woke with a start, her eyes opening to see the cold visage of Kylo Ren staring back at her. It was hard to say which sight was more frightening: that cruel mask, created from the stuff of nightmares, or the merciless, angry look in those dark eyes.

“Having a nice dream?” he asked softly. “Dreaming of… your home?”

“Stay out of my head,” Rey said, scowling. She felt violated, as though every inch of her body had been desecrated by his foul touch as he invaded the privacy of her mind.

“You’re doing a good job of stopping me,” Kylo said, sounding furious at her success. Rey realized that he had only seen her first vision, and had missed out on the subsequent three. Perhaps she was stronger than she thought, even against someone imbued with the mythical powers of the Force. Did that mean she was–

“But that changes now,” Kylo declared, disrupting Rey’s train of thought. “Your mind is closed to me, but all defences can be worn down, all energy shields can be… drained.” He drew his lightsaber, a scarlet sword, as red as fury. He waved it an inch from her face.

She was powerless to escape, still strapped the metal chair-like contraption in the New Order Base’s interrogation chamber, with metal and leather straps holding down her wrists, elbows, thighs, knees and ankles. She was only capable of shaking her head from side to side, or wiggling her hands and feet lightly. She was still fully clothed, thankfully, but she didn't take notice of it, as she was focused on this sneering man in front of her.

Rey stared him in the eye, denying the powerful instinct in her head that was screaming at her to cower, to beg for her life, to tell him anything that he wanted to know. Was he going to burn her? Cut her? Kill her? She tested her bonds for the umpteenth time, but just like all the times before, they were as cold and rigid as ever, this cold metal chair, binding her about the wrists, ankles, and waist.

When Kylo swung the blade, purely out of reflex, Rey had to close her eyes, as the red streak flashed at her, again, and again. When Rey opened her eyes, fearing the worst, she saw that all the lightsaber had done was cut at her beige robes a few times.

“I think you missed.”

“I most certainly did not,” Kylo thundered. He waved a hand, and using the Force, suddenly strips of clothing flew off Rey, exposing the bare, slightly tanned flesh on her stomach, underarms, thighs, and feet.

Rey shot Kylo an indignant, scandalized look.

“I’ve consulted Sith holocrons and my master on the best way to deal with breaking a wilful captive,” Kylo said, evidently trying to ignore the wilting glare Rey was giving him. He clicked off his lightsaber and hooked it on his belt. “I found a method of torture I think you will appreciate…”

“Torture?” Rey did not like where this was going.

“Yes… tickle torture.”

For a second, Rey didn’t know how to react. The whole thing just seemed so absurd. Tickling was what parents did to kids! Tickling was what teenagers did to their crushes! Tickling was hardly torturous. And Rey doubted if she even was ticklish, after so many years of living rough in the desert planet of Jakku.

“I know what you’re thinking… maybe I’m not even ticklish,” Kylo said.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No. Just smarter than you think.” Kylo turned away, reaching for a syringe. He jabbed it into Rey’s bicep, sending some mysterious fluid coursing through Rey’s body.

“A serum of our own design… it stimulates the nervous system, making the subject highly sensitive to all stimuli…” Kylo reached out with a hand, and tapped Rey’s toned stomach. It wasn’t even a tickle, or even a scratch, just a light pat, but Rey found herself yelping all the same. It tickled… And if one light touch could do that much…

Kylo flashed her a predatory grin. “Last chance to tell me where the base of the resistance is…”

“I don’t know!”

“Wrong answer,” he said, and began.

Kylo went to the monitor for a moment, and the metal contraption that bound Rey suddenly gave a mechanical whirl, as gears shifted about, the arms and legs of the device spreading out to resemble a horizontal X-frame, so Rey was stared at the ceiling of this cold, sterile-looking interrogation room.

Rey gasped, shuddering as she felt gloved hands paw at her body in an experimental fashion. They poked and prodded gently, seemingly with little determination or conviction, but Rey found herself smiling through gritted teeth despite herself.

“Let me see if I can remember how to do this…” Kylo murmured, as his fingers began to knead at her tummy, squeezing along her muscular abs. Each clumsy squeeze sent a jolt through Rey’s body, each one threatening to burst the rising balloon of hot, ticklish laughter that was bubbling inside her. It was when Kylo’s gloved hands reached inside Rey’s armpits that the ballon popped, laughter exploding from Rey’s mouth as she threw her head back. She had discovered, much to her regret, that her underarms were so ludicrously ticklish than even clumsy fumbling was enough to provoke violent laughter. Just what had been in that syringe?

Emboldened by her laughter, Kylo continued, tickling harder and with more confidence, as Rey shook her head wildly. He experimented with prodding in those armpits, and then grabbing, clawing at them. All his methods proved fruitful as the room rang with the sound of Rey’s snickers and snorts. It seemed that any contact with the sensitive hollows of Rey’s armpits really was all it took to unleash a gust of laughter.

Thankfully, after a few minutes of this, Rey could feel the laughter dying down, drying up. The poking and jabbing in her armpits was decreasing in effectiveness. Was it the serum wearing off? Or was she simply being desensitized due to the same spot being tormented so much?

“Hmmmm…” Kylo pondered, stroking his chin. “Let me try something different.” He pulled off his thick, black clothes, and used her fingernails to rake up and down Rey’s ribs. Immediately, Rey’s laughter double, tripled, and then quadrupled when those nails started probing inside Rey’s navel.

“I seem to be getting the hang of this,” Kylo said, smirking as his nails glided up and down Rey’s toned, mid-section.

“Stahahahap! Stop!” Rey shouted, shaking her head from side to side as his fingers squeezed cruelly up and down her torso. Her hands grasped, her toes curled as every muscle in her body contracted as she tried to evade those merciless fingers, but it was to no avail. At best she maybe shift her body an inch in either direction, and Kylo’s fingers followed her like a homing missile. She was utterly trapped, and Kylo was free to explore her ticklish body any way he liked. Rey closed her eyes for a moment, as he grabbed the tender sides of her stomach, only for them to burst open as he suddenly stuck his fingers up, into her armpits, scratching and scrabbling away with glee.

“Tell me what I want to know,” Kylo said, tickling more insistently, really digging into the hollows of Rey’s underarms.

What did he want to know? It was hard to think with all this stimulation going on. Thankfully, after a few more maddening moments of armpit torture, he continued.

“Where is the resistance base? Tell me!”

Rey had no answer for him. She honestly didn’t know. She tried to explain, tried to make him see reason, but she couldn’t find the right words, and even if she did, the steady stream of laughter erupting from her lips would have made it logorrheic.

“Hmmm, you’re tougher than I thought,” Kylo said, after a few more minutes of ruthless, brutal tickling on Rey’s stomach. Rey glanced down through teary eyes and saw her stomach was red from all the scratching.

“Does… that mean you’ll let me go?”

Kylo shot her a dark look. “I’ll be better prepared tomorrow. And you’ll regret mocking me.”

He stalked off angrily, and Rey found herself alone. A few moments later, the lights switched off, shrouding the room in darkness.

Fatigue hit her like a speeder, and as soon as she got her breathing under control, she closed her eyes in preparation for sleep. She had a feeling she would need all her strengths in the days to come.



O-O-O


Rey awoke to the sound of shouts, and barked orders. Groggily, she looked around her jail cell, which looked as bleak and grim as always. The sounds were coming from outside the room, when a trooper in black and steel-grey armour was bellowing orders to underlings. Rey was surprised to hear that the individual in the fearsome dark armour had the mezzo-soprano of a woman.

“I want a dozen guards here day and night! This captive cannot, and will not, escape!” She sounded like she would personally skin alive anyone who defied her commands. “And keep an eye out for any suspicious behaviour,” she warned. “Any traitors will get what they deserve.”

Through the black visor of her Stormtrooper helmet, this woman in charge seemed to notice Rey, and came stomping towards her.

“Ah, you’re awake, Lord Ren has told me to personally see to you.” Rey did not like the way the she said this. The woman’s face was entirely obscured by the armour, but Rey was pretty sure that she was grinning a cruel, cruel smile.

“But where are my manners?” She chuckled. “I’m Captain Phasma, commanding officer of Starkiller Base.”

Rey stayed silent. Was she supposed to introduce herself? Like they were at some kind of posh dinner party instead of in an interrogation chamber?

“I can see that you’re a little surprised to see a woman in charge here,” Phasma continued, clearly having noticed Rey’s surprise earlier. “Am I wrong?”

Rey nodded, reluctantly.

“Well, I could tell you a sad tale of how I had to fight my way up the ranks, hindered by institutional sexism at every stage…” Phasma walked besides Rey. Rey noticed there was a tray full of strange tools and bottles that had not been there the day before. “But that wouldn’t really be quite true. The New Order is surprisingly feminist.” Phasma pulled off her thick, regulation-issue Stormtrooper gloves. “I got promoted because I was crueller and tougher than all the men in my recruiting class.” Rey’s eyes grew wide. Phasma’s nails were longer than Kylo’s had been, and painted a Stormtrooper grey.

And they proved every bit as effective as they looked. Their fingers dove straight into Rey’s armpits, which were as taut and powerless as ever, held tightly by the cold metal clasps of the X-frame. Rey immediately threw her head back and squealed.

“Good… good…” Phasma muttered under her breath, as she spent about thirty seconds in the armpits, and then ventured downwards, poking all around Rey's ribs, down along her quivering, soft sides, across her toned stomach, and then straight back up into her armpits again. The tickling was exploratory, and rapid, a probing strike designed to gauge a foe’s weaknesses, like a reconnaissance manoeuvre, and Rey had a bad feeling. She was not oblivious to how effective this initial scouting had been. Phasma was making notes of which spots were making her scream, and revisiting them every few seconds. She wasn’t as inexperienced as Kylo, who worked over the same spot over and over again till the sensations numbed. Phasma started and stopped, here, there, and everywhere on Rey’s helpless upper body. Rey had not expected a woman to be so cruel, especially to one of her own gender, but Captain Phasma was all that, and more.

“Interrogation was what really impressed my superiors in the New Order,” Phasma said, as her nails spidered maddening circles along Rey’s belly. Rey howled with laughter, almost obscuring Phasma’s words, but Phasma simply leaned closer as she worked her expert fingers tirelessly across ticklish flesh. “I can break anyone, and you’re no exception, girl.” She emphasized this point by corkscrewing a sharp fingernail in Rey’s bellybutton, making the dark-haired girl laugh her hardest yet.

“Talk. Now.” Phasma put a hand on Rey’s face, and forced Rey to look in her eyes. Or her face, anyway.


“I really don’t know where the base is!” Rey exclaimed. It didn’t take much effort for tears to come to her eyes. She hoped that somehow this other women might empathize with her situation, but she had a feeling that she was about to be disappointed.

“I don’t believe you,” Phasma said flatly, as she drilled her fingertips into Rey’s underarms, making Rey arch her back and shriek with haphazard laughter. “But perhaps this next dose will help you remember where the resistance base is.”

Rey could only whimper as the same serum that Kylo had used on her yesterday made its reappearance. It was swiftly injected into her body, and Rey oculd feel it rapidly taking effect, as everything, even the air from the station’s ventilation system seemed to tease her hypersensitive skin.

“Are your feet ticklish?” Phasma asked, glancing down at Rey’s soles. She pressed a button on the X-frame’s control panel, and the device tilted, raising the feet upwards for easier access, much to Rey’s alarm.

Rey honestly wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t have thought that she was ticklish at all, but she had been thoroughly corrected on that account. Rey had thought that her feet, tough from all the running and walking she did, should not be especially sensitive. Plasma seemed to have the same judgement, as she tsked upon examining Rey’s grimy soles.

“Hmmmm, these are no Senator’s feet, that’s for sure,” Plasma said, scratching her head. “But that’s nothing a little oil won’t fix.”

Oil? Rey was confused as Phasma reached for an unmarked bottle from the tray, and began smearing the thick liquid across her soles, taking care to finger inbetween her toes to make sure the oil did not miss a spot. Her feet tickled slightly when Plasma was sticking her fingers around Rey’s toes, but for the most part, Rey was relieved that the toughness of her small feet seemed to be protecting her.

Then suddenly, after Phasma had coated Rey’s feet with oil, she stood up, and drove her nails into Rey’s stomach once more. Expecting some diabolical misfortune to befall her feet, Rey squealed in surprise, and quickly settled back into hysterics as Phasma’s nails ruthlessly tormented every inch of her tummy once more, spending and especially long time tormenting Rey’s terribly ticklish navel.

After a few minutes of belly brutality, Phasma went downwards to dance her sharp fingernails all over Rey’s thighs. Kylo had never touched her there, and Rey was surprised how much it tickled as Phasma stroked along Rey’s inner thighs and around her knees. It was nothing compared to the strange itching sensation that was spreading across Rey’s oil-covered feet, however. The oil seemed to be having some strange effect on them. Tied on her back, Rey had no angle to possibly see what was happening to the bottoms of her feet, but it almost felt like acid was eating away at them, but in a tickly-sort of way as opposed a painful one. Plasma was giving Rey no time to think about it though, as she ran her nails up and down Rey’s inner thighs while Rey tried in vain to close them, but the metal bonds were as unbreakable and implacable as ever.

“Now let’s see if those feet are ready yet,” Plasma said, giving the backs of Rey’s knees one last tease before she went back to take a look at the feet.

“Wha-what are you doing to them?” Rey asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Plasma laughed. “Can’t you feel it?” She dragged a sharp fingernail down the arch of one foot, and Rey yelped.

“Hmmm, not as soft as I would like,” Plasma said, as she raked her nails up both soles at once, sending Rey into a sudden fit of laughter. Rey felt that her feet were plenty sensitive enough at the present, but it seemed her opinion was being discounted. Plasma gave her no moment to voice any further complaints, as quick as a flash, the cruel Captain was at Rey’s ribs, careful inspecting the shape of each rib before darting to the next rib in line. She counted up and down the ribs, humming a militaristic tune to herself as Rey tossed her head from side to side in wild laughter.

Rey wasn’t sure how long Plasma kept this up for. It might have been ten minutes or it might have been ten hours. Time tended to blend together in that dizzying haze of forced laughter. All Rey knew was that by the end of it, her stomach was sore, her ponytail had come loose, and stray strands of dark hair were plastered across her face, and her feet tingled terribly.

“Let’s take another look, shall we?” Plasma asked rhetorically, as she strode to Rey’s oily soles, the Captain’s boots clanging across the metal floor.

Rey screamed as the Captain’s sharp nails made first contact. Any hopes of her feet not being ticklish, or the oil being ineffective were dissipated. The howls of laughter didn’t even sound like her, as Plasma’s nails swept across the pair of quivering, trapped feet.

“Much better…” Plasma purred, as her fingers skated across the slick and smooth soles, which were now perfect for tickling. “As soft as if they had been pedicured daily,” Plasma declared, tickling even harder, focusing right in Rey’s arches. Rey wondered how the New Order had time to come with such substances, but she was finding it hard to focus on anything but her own extreme ticklishness.

“Are you ready to talk, or do I have to explore these toes of yours?” Plasma asked, lodging her fingers in between Rey’s squirming toes.

There were many things Rey wanted to say, but Plasma wasn’t interested in hearing them, as they were not about the location of the rebel base. So Plasma set her evil fingernails to work again, wiggling her nails and stimulating the delicate skin between each digit. Rey writhed in her bonds again, despite the protests of her sore muscles. She was now starting to understand what made this method so brutally effective in torturing information out of captives.

“Nohohohoho! Plehehehease nohohoho more!”

“Tickle, tickle, tickle…” Plasma said, ignoring Rey as the Captain ruthlessly rummaged her nails all around the sensitive flesh in between the toes.

“Stahahahap tihihickling thehehehere!” Rey begged, trying to wiggle her toes and dislodge Plasma’s nails, but to no avail. Plasma’s fingers were firmly in place, and would stay there, wreaking ticklish havoc, for as long as she wanted.

“Oh, very well…” Plasma acquiesced, removing her nails from those ticklish toes, allowing Rey to immediately curl her them for protection, but it was no cause for celebration. She had only removed them so that she could run her nails down Rey’s silky-smooth soles, very quickly and repeatedly. “Laugh for me, captive.”

And laugh Rey did. Laugh and laugh and laugh, till fatigue and ticklishness overwhelmed her, and her consciousness ebbed away.


Rey awoke to a screeching headache, more intense than the worst migraine. It like someone was digging a white-hot blade into her brain. She opened to see the outstretched fingers of Kylo Ren, as he stared at her with a face of intense concentration.

“How do you do it? Kylo said, gritting his teeth. “How!?” he shouted, pounding his fists against a nearby monitoring device so hard the glass shattered.

“Her mental defences are likely still intact, my lord,” a woman’s voice explained. Rey’s eyes were still bleary, but it sounded a lot like Plasma. The thought made Rey’s heart sink. Those two were bad enough alone, but tickle torturing her in unison? The very thought sent icy shivers down her spine. And she seemed even more helpless than ever. Her toes her been tied back with metal cords, so even the ability so scrunch her toes or flap her feet had been taken away from her.

“Well, we’ll have to break them, won’t we?” Kylo said, looming over Rey, his face a visage of barely-repressed wroth.

Rey tried not to whimper as she felt a fresh layer of oil being smeared across her bare feet. “Please… I really don’t know anything!”

“If I had a cred for every time I heard that…” Plasma said, laughing. She took her post at Rey’s soles, cracking her knuckles menacingly.

“Captain Plasma has given me some suggestions,” Kylo said, as he hovered his fingers over Rey’s underarms, still stretched taut and tight, perfectly vulnerable for tickling. “We’ll see how long you keep pleading ignorance. We’ll break you and get inside that thick skull of yours.”

Rey barely had a moment to feel indignant at Kylo’s remark before the tickling struck her. She threw he rhead back, her head, her pride the only thing preventing her from immediately screaming with laughter. Her feet seemed to have grown in ticklishness, yet again, and Plasma was giving them absolutely no mercy. With the toeties, keeping Rey’s feet taut and in place, she was taking full advantage of their lack of mobility by raking her brutal nails up and down Rey’s arches, especially around the fleshy ball of the feet and along the very centre of the sole.

Rey’s armpits were no slouch in the ticklishness department, and Kylo’s fingers were doing more than their fair share of damage too. Rey was dismayed to detect that Kylo’s bare fingers (he had had the good sense to take his gloves off earlier, this time) seemed to be getting more adept at squeezing every inch of ticklish laughter from her. His fingers, nimble and dexterous from the lightsaber training, or whatever it was that he did in his free time, were a constant wave of unpredictable motion. Rey sometimes found herself recognizing letters or even a phrase or two that Kylo seemed to be drawing in her underarms with his nails. He was getting better at this, Rey thought darkly, and she did not like that at all.

Rey glanced down at the helmet-clad Captain, who was currently doing unspeakably cruel things to Rey’s trapped toes with her nails, really digging in the little-to-no-contact area where the toes met the rest of the foot where Rey was rapidly realizing she was disastrously ticklish. Had he been practicing on her? With her?

She closed her eyes, and tried to imagine the forboding captain, stripped down to her undergarments, strapped into this restricting metal device the way Rey was now. Rey imagined Plasma as a woman with short blonde hair, and pale skin, for some reason. The image of Plasma laughing as her toned, militaristic body was being tormented filled Rey with a strange warmness. Rey’s eyes flew open as she realized that the sensation was her stomach being tickled.

“Nohohoho! Nooooo!” Rey screamed, as Kylo and Plasma double-teamed her torso. Kylo’s slender fingers were covering Rey’s left side while Plasma’s sharp nails probed Rey’s right side.

Clenching her eyes tightly shut, Rey found her two tormentors so distinct she might be able to recognize them by their touch alone. Kylo’s nails were shorter, and his style of torture was more forceful. He appeared to get quite frustrated if Rey didn’t have some grandiose reaction every few moments, and would always tickle her more savagely, more quickly, to compensate when this occurred. In addition, he seemed to prefer a sort of muscle-stimulating tickling, especially around Rey’s stomach, which always seemed to draw Kylo’s attention for some reason. He liked to squeeze and knead, really digging in hard. It was the kind of laughter more likely to make Rey grunt and burst into belly laughs, though with the current overflow of ticklish sensations, it all blended into hysteria.

Plasma had a more precise, methodical touch. She liked to poke and prod, carefully flicking and tracing her sharp nails across Rey’s skin to see which spots drove Rey maddest. She tickled quickly and she tickled slowly, but always in a measured, restrained way, as if everything was building up to some grand master plan. She never seemed rushed, which was a contrast to Kylo’s wild approach. She would meticulously stroke her nails across Rey’s body, watching Rey’s expression and reactions carefully as she made each move, as if she were playing a game of dejarik. Rey could sense that Plasma had great confidence in her abilities. It was clear she had done this many, many times, as Plasma gradually discovered more and more of Rey’s hotspots, and promptly shared them with her tickler-in-arms, who usually would immediately dig into said spot with great haste.


“Try poking her right there, my lord,” Plasma offered, jabbing a finger along Rey’s sides, just under the lowest rib. Rey jolted to the side. Kylo mimicked her actions, and Rey jolted to the other side, shrieking. Together, they had her twisting from side to side like she was doing some hellish ab workout.

The torture session then took a strange turn, as it seemed to almost become a training seminar, as Plasma pointed out more and more spots, and recommended techniques to the curious Kylo. Rey would have thought that this moody man’s pride would lead him to feel demeaned by taking advice from another, but distressingly enough, he seemed rather receptive to suggestions, as together they tormented Rey to new heights of ticklish insanity.

"My lord, try running your nails along here,” Plasma said, tracing a nail along Rey’s tricep, “and then squeeze right in that spot." Plasma squeezed the flesh along the armpits, just below the breast. Rey squealed, and then squealed again as Kylo imitated Plasma’s action.

“My lord, the central part right there seems to be a vulnerable spot for the captive,” Plasma stated, her voice stoical, as if she was ordering lunch at the Death Star Canteen as opposed to coldly listing out all of Rey’s most devastating spots. “Try using your nails like this.” She spidered her fingers across the hollows of both of Rey’s armpits at once, making the dark-haired girl howl. She stepped aside to let Kylo have a go, and after he was met with similar results, the two of them worked together to deliver a harrowing tickling experience to Rey’s more underarms.

Rey would have happily cut her own feet off as the two tormenters then walked to the foot of the torture chair, and began to walk Kylo through the best way to tickle torture Rey to the depths of insanity.

“My lord, this combination has proven profitable for me,” Plasma demonstrated, scratching right under the ball of Rey’s right feet, and then immediately running her sharp nails the lengths of Rey’s helpless arches, in a zig-zag pattern. Rey snorted, and then burst into rapid-fire laughter.

Kylo tried to copy Plasma’s manoeuvre on Rey’s left foot, which was closer to him, but he scratched too low, and his didn’t zig and zag his fingers enough, failing to bring Rey to quite the same hysterics as Plasma had.

“It’s more like this, my lord,” Plasma explained patiently, demonstrating her manoeuvre once more.

“I think her other foot is simply more ticklish,” Kylo grumbled. Kylo grit his teeth, but it was impossible to tell if he was frustrated at being lectured by the Captain or if he was frustrated by his own ineptitude. Either way, he took it out on Rey’s poor foot, as his tickled it cruelly with his trademark fury.

“Excellent work, my lord,” Plasma nodded, and Kylo gave a sort of grimace that could almost have been a smile, though perhaps Rey did not see clearly as her eyes were getting teary from laughing so hard.

“Here’s another fine spot I’ve discovered, my lord,” Plasma said, her words driving another dagger of fear in Rey’s heart. Rey’s fear proved to be well-founded as Plasma used only her two index fingers to scratch a small spot on both arches, which led to a disgustingly disproportionate billow of laughter.

Kylo hit the same spot, but he scratched too hard, and the tickling was less effective as a result.

“A softer touch is sometimes needed, my lord,” Plasma said, delicately teasing that horribly ticklish spot on Rey’s arches again to emphasis this point.

Kylo muttered something under his breath again, and followed her instructions, though Rey still felt he tickled too hard. She wasn’t about to correct though, of course.

It went on and on, Plasma spilling every one of Rey’s ticklish spots happily, as together they tickled her to her limits and beyond. They got so into the lesson they even forgot to ask Rey where the resistance base was, though Rey wouldn’t have been able to tell them anyway.

“Your lessons have been… most useful,” Kylo said, seeming to stutter over the words. “I… thank you for them.”

“The pleasure was mine, my lord.”

“Your presence will not be required tomorrow. She’ll tell me all her secrets, and I will break her with my own two hands.”

“Very well, my lord, but if I may make a final remark…”

Rey wanted to keep listening, as she had a feeling these last words could be the difference between madness and sanity, but it had all been too much, simply too, too much. Her entire body ached. Her stomach was sore. Her head was spinning. She closed her eyes.

O-O-O


Rey woke to the whirling of a droid. She opened her eyes groggily. She seemed to be alone. At the foot of the torture chair, there was a small tank-shaped droid, about the size of an astromech, brushing the floor with its spinning brushes. It had two brushes, one to sweep along the floor, and another to dust along the walls. Rey had seen such droids before. It would not have surprised her if she had scavenged a droid of this exact model once, though right now her time on Jakku felt like a million years ago. Yet right now, in this moment, staring at this droid as it busily swept up a trickle of drool from where Rey had slept, she had this powerful sense of trepidation, a bad feeling that somehow this droid would do her harm. The thought made her toes curl, or the thought would have, had her toes not still been firmly tied back with metal threads.

Her meditations were interrupted by footsteps. Kylo Ren strode into the room, smirking.

“Good morning,” he said, reaching for the bottle of oil, instantly dashing Rey’s hopes that anything other than horrendous tickle torture might be on the agenda today. “Are you ready to tell me all your secrets now?”

“I don’t have any secrets to tell you! I really don’t know! Why won’t you two understand that…”

Kylo snorted. “Still playing innocent, are we? We’ll see how long that lasts today.” He rubbed the oil deep into Rey’s soles, taking care to coat the toes with the sensation-enhancing substance too.

Kylo gestured to the droid, and the droid hummed its way in front of Rey’s feet, its brush looking devastatingly bristly upclose.

Rey didn’t know what made her say this. Perhaps it was frustration, desperation, or simply acceptance of her situation. “I thought you said you were going to do this yourself. Still need someone to help you?”

Kylo’s hands shot out and rummaged across Rey’s stomach, making the dark-haired girl gasp.

“What was that?” he asked, tickling even harder.

Rey tried to speak, but his fingers were terrible. He had a finger right in her belly button, wriggling about horribly.

“What did you say to me?” He gestured, and the droid began its cleaning duties. The two motorized brushes whirled and spun over Rey’s bare soles, as her oiled-up toes twitched helplessly.

“What did you say?” Kylo growled, his hands ravaging the soft sides of Rey’s stomach. His hands were horrible. He really had gotten much better in his technique, Rey realized, to her dismay. The torturous brushing against her slick, oily ticklish soles was a very close second, however. “Say it. Tell me.”

“Nahahahathing! I sahehehehed nohohohothing!” Rey could only close her eyes and scream. Kylo laughed, and waved his hand. Suddenly, the brushes at her feet begin spinning even more quickly, jarring her eyes back open and redoubling her squirming and hysterical laughter.

“That’s not what I want,” Kylo said, as his fingers leapt into Rey’s armpits, drawing circles in the hollows of her underarms. “Ask me what do I want,” he said, in a voice as soft as a lover’s.

Rey’s first instinct was not to play along with whatever twisted game this dark Force-user man had in store for her, but after a few moments of silent defiance, Kylo waved a hand. THe droid’s brushes made a beeline for Rey’s toes, and Rey found herself howling louder with every rotation of those merciless bristles on her tender digits, her feet straining against the toe bondage without gaining any relief.

“What… do… you… want!” Rey managed to say, between shrieks.

“I want you to beg, I want you to scream, and I want you to shudder in fear everytime I walk into this room,” Kylo said, a haughty, wide grin stretched across his lips as his fingers skittered from spot to spot. Rey had a grin stretched across her lips too, but for an entirely different reason – it tickled too damn much.

“I almost hope you don’t tell me what I want to know…” Kylo said, his tone confiding as he slipped a finger into Rey’s belly button to punish the inside of her navel. “It can get mighty dreary in this base sometimes, when I’m not out on a mission. You’re an… amusing distraction.” Kylo laughed. Rey wasn’t sure that was a compliment as Kylo retracted his finger from her poor belly button, but it was no moment to celebrate, as both hands began speedily squeezing up and down her sides.

“And it’s been very educational to think of new ways to torture you,” Kylo said, his voice almost tender. But he didn’t give Rey any time to ponder on this as he never ceased his ticklish ministrations.

“I saw one of these droids in the hallway the other day,” Kylo said, sounding smug as his fingers danced across Rey’s sides. “A wonderful idea, wouldn’t you say?” He laughed along with Rey, taking her hysterics as an affirmation of his statement.

“Do you know what this is?” Kylo said. He waved a hand, as a small, device appeared in his hands. He stuck it in Rey’s tear-streaked and sweat-laden face. He even stopped tickling, just so Rey could get a good look at the device. Even the droid scrubbing her poor feet slowed to a crawl. The device was straight, with a small circular brush that bent at a right angle from the object. Rey vaguely recognized the object as something she had noticed in the markets of Jakku and her scavenging, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She wasn’t in the strongest mental state, at this point.

“No…” she said, Kylo’s expectant look made it apparent he wanted a response of some kind.

“It’s part of our soldiers’ basic supplies.” He sounded excited, jubilant. “They use them to clean their teeth. Apparently dental hygiene is one of the focuses of the New Order.”

He reached out with the Force, and like magic, he had two of these electric toothbrushes; one for each hand. Rey had a bad feeling about this.

“So, this is what I’m going to do,” he turned the toothbrushes on, filling the room with ominious whirling. “I’m going to scrub every inch of your armpits. I’m going to scrub every inch of your ribs. I’m going to put this inside your belly button. We don’t want you having cavities, do we?”

Rey was shouting and begging before those evil-looking devices even touched her, but a second before they made contact, Kylo suddenly pulled away. “Unless you want to tell me where the resistance base is.”

“I really don’t know! I told you a thousand times, please! I, really, really, don’t know where that is! Don’t tickle me anymore!”

Kylo just chuckled. “So be it.”


He flicked a finger, and the droid went straight back to buffing the arches of Rey’s feet, as he went to work applying the electric toothbrushes to Rey’s upperbody, in all the spots in he had just detailed so lovingly.

It was clear he was proud of his ingenuity, as he refrained from restraint and went straight to Rey’s sweet spot, her stomach, with the toothbrushes. He sent the toothbrushes circling around her navel, laughing at the way Rey’s belly would spasm like one of those exotic Twilek dancers. He traced a few shapes with the toothbrushes, as Rey’s muscular abs contracted and clenched with every movement.

Rey was losing her mind from the brushing. It was hard to say what was worse. The brushing at her feet was much larger, and smeared with the oil, they were terribly ticklish, and utterly overwhelmed by all the bristles of the droid as it happily cleaned her feet. The toothbrushes at her stomach were smaller, and thus theoretically more manageable, but she had always been so much more ticklish up there that it all seemed to about balance out. Her stomach made a strong bid for ticklish prominence, however, as the toothbrush circled the inside of Rey’s quivering belly button with its buzzing head.

“You may continue to vex me, but I’ll keep thinking of new ways to break you,” Kylo sneered, as he grabbed Rey’s chin and forced her to look at him. Inadvertently, Rey let loose a bark of laughter, spraying him with a bit of spittle as the droid continued to apply its brushes to her arches. Kylo wiped the spit with the back of my hand. “You did that on purpose,” he yelled, as in his fit of rage, he dropped his toothbrushes and dug his fingers roughly into Rey’s armpits.

Rey turned to shout that she hadn’t meant it, that she didn’t know anything, and that she couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard, but it was no use. She laughed and laughed and laughed, as the droid and Kylo’s furious fingers tickled her into hapless hysterics. Rey was no match for Kylo’s wrath, and her resistance, and consciousness, were worn away by insistent brushing at her soles and haphazard fingers in her underarms after several hours. Kylo never stopped tickling her this time, as he seemed so determined to smash away her resistance, but no matter how often he yelled at her to tell him where the base was, Rey could do nothing. She could do nothing but laugh, as the tickle torture continued without stopping and she finally fainted.

O-O-O

Rey stirred, and her sensation was the welcome feeling of new. Something felt slick and rubbery around her feet, and her fingers felt funny, but maybe she was sleeping on some synthetic material, having been sprung from the ghastly prison by her allies. She opened her eyes, and the familiar feeling of dread and trepidation returned. Things were different, in the dank depressing interrogation room, but most certainly not for the better. The chair seemed to have been upgraded, as new shackles now held Rey much more securely to the cold, unforgiving metal, even restraining every individual finger. Rey could feel a mould around her neck, preventing any movement. At her feet, every toe was held completely still by a carefully designed mould. A droid was stationed in front of the immobile feet, a cleaning droid with four little implements that look liked motorized brushes.

It was not the kind of new beginning Rey had hoped for when she woke up.

“So you’ve finally awakened,” a high, cruel, female voice said. Rey’s heart sank.

There was the familiar clank of boots on a metal floor and Captain Phasma, her grey glinting in the harsh lights of the interrogation chamber, appeared in front of Rey.

“Do you like the new upgrades to your chair?” Phasma asked, but her eyes were not on Rey, whom the question had been directed to. Phasma’s eyes were focused on the thick black gloves she was unpeeling from her own hands. The gesture sent a shiver of fear down Rey’s spine as she Phasma’s nails, looking as sharp and fiendish as ever.

“I’d rather see you in here,” Rey replied. “Then we’ll see how tough you are.”

Phasma laughed without mirth. “Ha. Ha. Aren’t you funny?” Phasma used one fingernail to slowly, ever so slowly, drag up the arch of Rey’s right foot. Rey shuddered, gritting her teeth, and refusing to fall to pieces from the touch. She knew the laughter would come, but she didn’t want to give Phasma the satisfaction of crumbling after a lone finger. Rey had taken worse. She could fight it.

After lightly scratching for few moments, Phasma traced her fingers upwards, brushing through the crevice between Rey’s toes, along the shins, up the inner thigh, till the finger rested on Rey’s stomach. Already, Rey was panting from the effort of defying the ticklish instincts that bubbled away within her.

“You can’t move, can you? Not even an inch.” Rey hated it, but Phasma was right. What little movement had been allowed her before, for example, the scrunching of her toes, had been taken away from her too, like everything else in this merciless room. Phasma circled Rey’s stomach with a fingernail slowly, then suddenly dug all ten fingers into Rey’s sides, making the brunette squeal in surprise.

‘I can see you’re in a defiant mood today,” Phasma said, using her knuckles to prod Rey’s ribs. The vibing sensations made Rey gasp and shudder at the same time. “Lord Ren will like that. And hate it at same time.”

“I could not care less what ‘Lord’ Ren wants,” Rey replied, glaring. She was biting hard on her lower lip as Phasma continued her work. It tickled terribly, like it always did, but Rey was sick of being brought low and weak by this silly childish tickling again and again. She would delay the inevitable, and she would fight Phasma for every inch.

Phasma laughed. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be tough,” she said, as she spidered her nails along Rey’s biceps, making the muscles there tense up and contract like Rey was attempting a chin-up.

For a few moments more, there was only the sound of grunts, gasps, and silence, as Rey choked down the laughter that continually threaten to burst from her lips, as Phasma and her merciless nails continued to trail their devastating paths across Rey’s helpless body.

“Well, I must admit I’m impressed,” Phasma said, as she stopped for a moment, stretching her fingers and cracking her knuckles. “A girl as ticklish as you shouldn’t have been able to take so much of this.”

“Maybe I’m just tougher than I look,” Rey retorted, as she panted, sweat trickling down her neck. Trying to resist the urges instead of simply succumbing to them had exhausted her. It was like wading against the current. It took an almighty amount of effort to stand your ground and not be swept away. Rey wasn’t sure how, or why, but she could feel like there was this hidden reserve in the back of her mind, urging her on, and granting her strength. Could this be…?

Phasma shrugged. “Perhaps you are,” she said. “But I preferred it when this room echoed with the sound of you laughing and begging.”

“Wha-what are you doing?” Rey said, as Phasma made a moved to the tray of tools, picked up what looked like a metal visor, and walked to Rey’s bound body. With the tight bondage in place, Rey couldn’t even move her neck, so Phasma easily affixed the visor over Rey’s eyes, throwing the girl’s world in blindness.

Then, as Rey acclimatized to this dark, dangerous world around her, Rey heard the gentle squirt of oil being squeezed out of its bottle. A fresh coat of oil was applied to Rey’s feet, stomach, ribcage, and armpits. Rey could only breathe deeply, and try to get her tingling body under control. Blindfolded and smeared with that accursed oil, every sensation of her body suddenly felt accentuated, intensified. Cruel woman that she was, Phasma then made Rey wait, made Rey anticipate the horrific tickling onslaught that was undoubtedly about to befall her.

Rey couldn’t see, but she could sense, she just knew, that Phasma’s long, cruel fingernails were inches away from Rey’s slick, toned stomach, just waiting for the moment Rey lowered her guard. All Rey could do was tighten her abs, prepare, and wait.

The sound of the automated whirling of the droid’s brushes caught Rey completely wrong-footed. She could only splutter as the small, brushes suddenly began to sweep across her oiled, exposed soles with surgical precision, making no unnecessary movements. Rey had no idea what kind of programming the droid had, but it was certainly decided for darker purposes that simply cleaning, as they proceeded to dust in between and under each and every one of Rey’s quivered, tied-back toes, one at a time.

As the sensations from her traumatisingly ticklish feet crept up her legs, Phasma’s fingers suddenly flew into motion, skittering around Rey’s stomach while the young brunette’s mind had been on the brushing her feet were receiving. Rey screamed as fingers scrambled across her stomach and ribs, Phasma’s long nails taking care to torment Rey’s navel thoroughly.

She was laughing so hard that she barely heard his footsteps till it was too late.

“You know, I’ve been meditating on what to do with you,” Kylo said, as he procured an electric toothbrush, and began applying it to Rey’s armpit, occasionally dragging it upwards to tease along the nape of the neck. “And I’ve come to a realisation.” He held Rey in suspense a few moments longer, as she laughed herself silly, all hopes and plans of defiance utterly decimated. “I don’t care if you tell me where the resistance base is, or even if you know where it is.” He dug his nails hard into Rey’s armpits. “I’ll keep you as my prisoner, as my little pet… something to play with and blow off some steam after training with my master. I’ll be sure to program the droids to keep you entertained while I’m away, of course.”

So that was the secret behind the droid. Rey felt the brushes make swift, brief strokes across the arches of her feet, driving her to new heights of insane laughter. As horrendous as it was to be tickled by Phasma or Kylo, their sensations had never extended past a few hours, minus that one time when they had worked in shifts. Rey imagined the prospect of several of these droids tending to her for half the day, with one droid at her feet, one droid at her stomach, and one at her armpits…

Rey wanted to weep. She wanted to scream. She wanted to attack him. But all she could do was laugh.

“You’re mine forever now.” Kylo laughed. “Unless someone comes to save you, of course,” Kylo said, scoffing. “But what are the chances of that happening? A million to one chance.”

Never tell me the odds, Rey thought, as she fell back into the prison of laughter.