oneortheother
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Sep 16, 2008
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- 18
Avengers TK: Black Widow
To say that tensions were high during the Kree-Skrull war would be the understatement of the year. Somehow, the Avengers and their planet, the humble Earth, had found itself in the midst of conflict that made the Hundred Year War look like a brief skirmish. Earth was now the battlefield between a massive intergalactic confrontation between the alien races of the Kree and the Skrull.
The Kree were blue-skinned and freakishly powerful, on account of the different gravity between their homeworld and Earth. They also required nitrogen to breathe, so they often wore masks or breathing aids. Although they were had enough strength to cave a man’s chest in with a punch, they were not the more fearsome of the alien visitors.
The Skrulls were the ones who made Captain Marvel reluctant to close her eyes and unclench her jaw. Their natural form were humanoids that resembled green-skilled reptiles, which would have made them easy to identify if they stuck in such a form for long—one of their foremost abilities was their genetic fluidity, molecular instability, and genetic diversity, which resulted in a lifeform that was capable of shapeshifting. They could change shape and change colour, all as long as their physical size was not altered too much, which made they couldn’t turn into giants or mites. It was good to know the conservation of mass was a law that was still followed in the universe, even if most of the others were tossed out the window. But the Skrulls’ talent for impersonation was poison for trust. How could you keep on believing people when anyone could be a Skrull behind their smile? Your postman, your green grocer, your cab driver, any of them could be those monsters in disguise. And to think any of your friends could be a traitor there just to create discord in the community? Thoughts like that sent shivers down Carol Danvers’s neck. It didn’t matter what superpowers she might have as Captain Marvel—anyone could be a spy, anyone could be a traitor, and there was naught she could do but keep a wary eye on everyone in case of treason.
And her cautious nature soon proved practical indeed—in The Avengers’ mansion, Captain Marvel was in the secure computer mainframe checking some for the databases when she noticed one of the computers were on. It was a computer that was never supposed to be used without multilevel authorisation, as it contained a great deal of confidential information. In fact, no one was supposed to use it without at least two other members of the group were present, for that was how critical the information within was.
Her eyebrows stitched together into a concerned line, and she chewed on her lower lip. She was about to press her intercom to signal a security breach when she glimpsed a woman with a shock of auburn hair in a black jacket sprinting away.
“Hey, you!” Captain Marvel shouted, and the figure ran even faster. “Stop!”
Captain Marvel flew towards the figure, but all she saw was an empty corridor. She could hear the sound of boots clacking on the floor in the distance, and she zoomed towards the sound. “Who’s there! Show yourself!” she shouted into the corridor, her eyes scanned the area till as she frowned.
“Everything okay?” said the familiar voice of Black Widow, whose real name Natasha Romanoff. Captain Marvel’s brown eyes were sharp and doubtful as they turned to the other woman. She saw the black jacket, red hair and… what? Surely, Black Widow herself was beyond reproach, being one of the longest-tenured members of The Avengers, but was this the real Natasha? With the Skrull menace at large, you really never could be sure.
“I don’t know—you tell me.” Captain Marvel brushed her thin blonde hair out of her face, which was a bit shorter than shoulder-length. “What were you doing in the computer mainframe just now?”
Black Widow’s blue eyes were wide and innocent, though her mouth was pale and thin. “I was just checking some files. What’s wrong with you? There’s no need to be so hostile.”
“Hostile?” Captain Marvel shook her head. “There was someone in the frame just now trying to hack into our files. You’re telling me you didn’t notice?”
“Really? I didn’t notice anything.”
“Is that so?” Captain Marvel said, moving so quickly it was like she materialized beside the redheaded woman. “With your observation skills, you didn’t see anything at all? Hmmm, forgive me, but I find that mighty suspicious.” She reached out and grabbed Black Widow by the wrist. “Maybe it’s best you come with me.”
Black Widow narrowed her eyes. “Take your hands off me now, or I promise you’ll regret it.”
“Look at it from my perspective,” Captain Marvel said, letting go. She tapped at her own chest, right where the sunburst was on her red and navy-blue costume. “The way I see it, there's two possibilities. You're loyal and I'm making a mistake, in which case you will be understanding. Or you're a Skrull and I'm right and it's absolutely integral that I do this. And if you insist on not cooperating with me here.” Her hands crackled with energy. “Then, it seemed very likely indeed that you’re on the other team. What’s it gonna be?”
The red-haired avenger threw up her hands, recognising the Catch-22 situation she was in. “Alright, fine. Let’s just get this over with.” She allowed herself to be steered to one of the Avenger Mansion’s interrogation rooms.
But when she saw the restraints, she froze as her brain deduced exactly what kind of inquisition awaited her. The chair resembled one of those high-tech massage chairs, with its elevated legs and plush exterior, but it had been modified to restrain individuals with superhuman strength. Steel sticks layered with padding to prevent chaffing secured the ankles, while metal bands around the wrists, elbows, knees, and neck kept the rest of the body in place.
“Come on, this isn't necessary.” Black Widow said, willing her voice not to shake.
“Oh, but I believe it is,” Captain Marvel said, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. “I thought it only fitting to choose an interrogation method you personally devised.”
“Is fitting really the right word to use? It’s more mocking, surely.” Black Widow’s blood had gown cold at that revelation. Waterboarding she could take. Sleep deprivation she could endure. But this? To be tormented with the methods she herself had devised? She was flattered yet appalled. She had designed a tickle torture methodology because it seemed more subtle as it left little marks, more humane as it wasn't so traumatic, and more sustainable as it could be continued for weeks and weeks. It was ideal for use on anyone from villainesses to venal politicians. Above all, she has chosen it because of her own embarrassing sensitivity, as so much of the torture manual had been based on what she learned herself about yet one innate ticklishness.
“Well, here's the thing,” Captain Marvel said, her hand outstretched. “The real Black Widow is an expert on enhanced interrogation techniques. She would never let a simple thing like tickling break her. If you don't falter after a few days of interrogation, I might believe you’re who you say you are.”
“Days?” Weeks! Black Widow’s eyes widened. The thought of a few more seconds of this was already painful.
“That’s probably too short a duration, isn’t it?” The blonde girl scratched her chin. “I’ll consult with the others. The real Black Widow could probably last months. We should keep it up for a few weeks to make doubly sure. If this you are the real Natasha, I think she'd appreciate our thoroughness in the name of security.” Her smile was all earnest innocence.
Black Widow groaned, sighed, and began removing her jacket. There was no use in complaining, was there? If she were lucky, the real spy would be caught before long, and they could dispense with this farce soon. She got into the chair
Her boots, socks, and jacket were promptly removed, which left her in trousers and a grey shirt short-sleeved t-shirt that would provide little resistance to her armpits, which were spread open and exposed due to the arms of the chair. Black Widow took a deep breath she tried to steady her heartbeat. Captain Marvel began using black string to bind up all her red-painted toes to further restrict movement. Even this gentle manipulation of her pale digits had her squirming and fighting of an involuntary smile, though she tried hard to hide it.
Once the toe-tying was done, Captain Marvel gave the small, quivering feet a little slap and stepped back to see everything from a better vantage point.. Natasha’s creamy feet were small and a little on the wrinkly side, a fact soon emphasised by the inclusion of baby oil generously smeared across both soles.
Captain Marvel reached for the toolbox of tickle torture weaponry, which Black Widow herself had compiled a while ago—another fact that was so unfair that she strained hard against her bonds, not truly trying to get free, just trying to find an outlet for her raging frustrations. But the stocks were sturdy and implacable. The final touch was a few sensors added to the temples of the head where heart rate could be measured—they wanted to stress her system, not stop it.
“Alright, let’s get down to business then. Who are you?”
“Natasha Romanoff.”
“Good, I hope your answer remains that throughout.” She took off her red gloves—all the better to use the point of her short fingernails.
Black Widow didn’t even get a moment to steel herself before the tickling started right away. She pursed her lips and willed herself not to scream as all her breath was expelled through her nose. She could feel the blonde woman pressing in hard with her fingernails to try to make it as intense as possible on the soft bottoms of Natasha’s feet.
She couldn’t have held out for longer than five seconds before the giggles came spluttering out. Those fingers were electrifying, sending shocks and tingles surging up her sensitive feet, through her legs, and then soaring through her body. A particular good spot that the diligent Captain soon discovered was the very centre of the sole, right in the mindset of those wrinkly arches. Whenever fingers stroked anywhere around that area, her laughter would go higher and higher till schoolgirl-esque squeaks and squeals peppered her mirth. The oil made those nails skate around with ease till they were darting all over the sole almost like they were tickling everywhere at the same time.
“Wow, I never thought the notorious Black Widow could make a sound like that!” Captain Marvel said, changing track and scratching along the sides of the feet. She even reached back to get the tops and the ankles, which was exactly what the manual suggestion doing occasionally for variation, Black Widow realised with dismay—who would have thought Captain Marvel would be the voracious reader-type? “You are the genuine thing, right?”
“Ofofofofofof course!” Natasha wailed, before realising she had just admitted that the real Black Widow really was so very delicate.
“Okay, if you say so,” Captain Marvel said with a chuckle. “You know, your toes keep on wiggling and wiggling. It’s almost like they want my attention.” Her fingers roamed upwards and starting scratching under the pads of Black Widow’s rosy toes with quickly little strokes, which uncorked a fresh burble of laughter from the redheaded hero.
Black Widow’s petite digits fought to escape the string, but they were tied too tightly, and she could do little but clench her pedicured toes a bit, which seemed to achieve little but make them more of a visually appealing target on account of her ruby-red nail varnish.
Taking full advantage of her lack of mobility, Captain Marvel used her nails to poke around the webbing and the tender undersides of those toes, swiping her index along the base of those toes again and again. The little-to-contact zone along the toe stems prove so exceptionally sensitive that playing around there got a few cute snorts from the stern, taciturn Avenger.
“How you holding up?” Black Widow heard the other woman say. The redhead was gasping for breath and her long hair was starting to stick to her face and mouth from perspiration. Captain Marvel came over and brushed the stray locks of hair behind Black Widow’s ear.
“Thanks,” Black Widow began to say, but her murmur of thanks had scarcely passed her lips before the other Avenger had snuck her hands into those stretched-out underarms and began to wiggle them all around.
After a bit of this, she deviated to squeezing around the soft flesh of those armpits, and each goosing grab forced a fresh gust of laughter from Black Widow’s red lips. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, and laugh, laugh, laugh. It was like a button she could press—push her and low, husky laughter would be released and in great quantities.
“Gahahahaha, stahahahahap!”
You want me to stop already?” Captain Marvel asked as her slender hands wandered lower to start squeezing around the ribs and sides. Even as her expression was calm and insouciant, her fingers were ruthless and methodical. “I’ll only stop if you shapeshift back into your original form, Skrull scum. Unless of course, you’re Natasha, and you’re just saying that out of instinct. Which is it?”
“Hahahahahaha, I dohohohon’t! I cahahahan’t!” Black Widow was laughing too hard to come up with a congruent response to that question, especially when the blonde’s nimble, dexterous fingers scampered across her stomach. Captain Marvel rolled up the thin grey t-shirt for easy access and ploughed into the thin, toned abdomen with speedy gusto to further discomfit the other Avenger.
“Stop moving around so much,” Captain Marvel said with a smirking titter when she started to redirect her attack to that trim, pale stomach. Natasha was bouncing and bucking so much that if not for the strap around her waist, she might have wiggled free. “I think my finger might get stuck in there if you keep moving,” she teased, slipping an index finger into her navel and wriggling it all about. Her abdominal muscles clenched and tightened, and she blenched with every twist of that finger, yet the wild laughter was ceaseless.
When she stopped again, Black Widow was out of breath and sweating. How long had it been? It felt it had been hours, but the clock in the room only indicated about twenty minutes had passed. And there was supposed to be days of this? How on earth was she supposed to endure? She had to find a way out of this nightmare… She tested her bonds but she herself had designed them to be unbreakable, and unless she developed some kind of teleportation ability, she wouldn’t be getting out that way. Maybe words would work?
But before she could keep of anything she might say to sway the hard-working captain, the blonde woman reached up and scratched her fingers into Black Widow’s armpits once again. It was only fort about five seconds, though that enough to get howling again.
“Let’s get back to those pretty feet of yours,” Captain Marvel said, punctuating her words by reaching down and raking her nails down the nearest foot to make Black Widow yelp.
Her armpits and stomach still felt tingly, yet her next stage was about to begin. By now, her feet weren't glistening as much, so it was time to reapply the oil. Black Widow groaned as the fresh oil was rubbed into her soles once more to keep them as receptive and ticklish as possible. She had really been hoping her tickler might forget that stage, but her luck continued to be awful.
“Let’s see how you handle this little tool next,” Captain Marvel said, rummaging in the tool box of tickle torture paraphernalia. Natasha muttered profanities under her breath. As if the fingers hadn’t proved hellish enough.
Her heart dropped when she saw the blonde captain pull out a black hairbrush with a head the size of her palm. The long black bristles were coated with plastic tines, and Black Widow could hear the sharp scrapping sound they make when a grinning Captain Marvel whisked it across her own hand.
“This looks pretty menacing,” she confided. “I mean, I can’t even stand getting pedicures, so I can’t imagine what it must feel to have something like this used on feet as ticklish as yours.” She shrugged. “But you’re probably tougher than I am, right?”
As she brought the tool closer to Natasha’s bare, wrinkly soles, the Russian Avenger didn’t feel very tough, strong, or powerful. She sucked in her breath, curled her toes, and nibbled on her upper lip as that brush with all those bristles drew closer and closer.
“Gahahahahah!” The first contact of that brush was even worse than she might have imagined. Black Widow owned a hairbrush like that, and on a whim, she had once swiped it across her own feet, but trying to tickle yourself was never the same as when someone else was doing it. She closed her eyes and focused all her attention on her left foot as the hairbrush starting whizzing up and down it. The innumerable, countable plastic tines of those hairbrush were far too much for her bare feet to stand, especially in such an oiled-up state and with her mind in overdrive.
She sucked in quick, panicky breaths and gnawed on her lower lip as the brush made a slow circuit along that foot. So much of her focus was on that left foot that she was caught utterly off-guard when the brush flicked over to the right and swipe up the soft skin of the arch there, exactly one time. But one time was enough to incur a shriek from her, and then when the hairbrush returned to its merry voyage on the left foot, her resistance was gone, and her laughter gushed from her like a burst watermain.
Captain Marvel had become quite well-acquainted with all the acutely receptive spots on her soles during this sustained interrogation, and she revisited them with the brush, chuckling. Those firm bristles flicked and wreaked havoc as they slowly crawled and glided around her slick soles. Sometimes, they would paint a wide arc around her arches, other times, they would slide back and forth as they scrubbed hot spots under the red-painted toes or at the base of the pink heels.
“Looks like I’ll need a smaller brush to get those spots between your toes properly,” Captain Marvel said in a pouting voice as she switched to quick, rapid strokes under the ball of the foot. “But I guess I’ll get to that later. You’ve got a toothbrush in her that I’m dying to use. You really thought of everything, didn’t you? Good of you to be so thorough. Assuming, of course, you are the real Black Widow, of course.” The blonde tried to slither that brush under Natasha’s wiggling toes, but the size of the tool made it cumbersome to really get at the toe webbing, their stems, and the undersides, though the brush did a fine job assaulting the pads and tips of those small toes.
“Stahahahahap! Plehehehehease! It’s toohoohooo muhuhuch!” Black Widow’s whole body shook udner the fierce scrubbing onslaught of that hairbrush on her poor, tickle-abused feet. Her face grew warm and streaked with tears, and she was feeling light-headed from the constant barrage of her nervous system.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” It was a new voice, and Natasha looked up with hope. She recognised the long black hair and the spider emblem across the chest. It was Jessica Drew, who was better known as Spider-Woman.
Captain Marvel explained to the other hero the situation, and Spider-Woman clapped her hands and jumped up at down at the prospect of assisting in this mission. “Security comes first,” Spider-Woman said, though the wide grin on her face gave away the fact duty was only half of her motivation. “How can I help?”
Black Widow groaned. As if one tickler hadn’t been bad enough!
“Well, I was about to see how her toes react to a bit of methodical teasing,” Captain Marvel said, smiling. “Why don’t you have a go with this?” She tossed Spider-Woman the hairbrush that had inflicted so much ticklish agony.
“With pleasure,” the black-haired woman purred. She started working with it right away, dragging it lightly up and down Natasha’s right foot. Her movements with the brush were a little sloppy at first—she wasn’t using enough energy to press those bristles in, but she was an annoyingly fast learner, and she soon had laughter echoing across the small interrogation room. The good captain was also happy to let her in on some of Natasha’s secret spots, too, so she quickly learned to spend a lot of time scrubbing around that taut, extended arch that couldn’t handle all those bristles.
Black Widow’s laughter had already been steady and raucous on account of that infernal hairbrush, but the toothbrush helped it reach a higher-pitch. Wielded by Captain Marvel’s steady hand, it went hunting for treasure troves of laughter in all those small crannies and nooks that the hairbrush had been unable to explore adequately. The bristles of the electric toothbrush were softer, yes, yet they were still stiff enough to stoke Natasha’s pampered toes to new heights of agony.
The toothbrush went at them one at a time, picking apart those tightly-curled toes so they could explore in between them. Black Widow could clench as hard as she could, but her petite digits weren’t strong enough to hold steadfast in the face of the superhuman strength Spider-Woman and Captain Marvel possessed.
The brush probed all over each of those ruby-red toes with a precise meticulousness that made Black Widow want to scream. It seemed every single millimeter of flesh had to be account for in its diligent scrubbing as the toothbrush went at sides, pads, stems, the tips, and parituclarly the soft flesh between each digit.
“She is so ticklish!” Spider-Woman said with a giggle as she slowly slid the soft burhs in between the toes, twirling it between her dexterous fingers to really thoroughly stimulate those undersides. “Cootchie, cootchie coo!”
“I’m nahahahahat!” Black Widow wailed, even as every sound she made proved contrary to the fact.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Captain Marvel said as she continued her tireless scrubbing with the bigger hairbrush on the other foot. “But that’s Black Widow for you—master of deception, super-spy, and all that.”
Natasha found herself flushing as the other two Avengers shared another chuckle and smile at that, even as they continued their foot torment with an easy nonchalance.
“Don’t worry, we’ll give your feet a break for now.”
But before Black Widow’s tootsies had even stopped tingling from residual tickling, the two women were poking around her midsection to set her off again.
“Nohohohoho! Nohohohot up theheheeree agahahain!” She tossed her head from side to side. Captain Marvel had her right flank while Spider-Woman took the left, and they were clawing and pawing all over the place, snaking into her armpits, squeezing her stomach, and stroking her sides.
“Don’t worry, your first break is due in an hour,” Captain Marvel said with a wink. “At least according to the manual—if it’s just guidelines, then maybe we could push it back to three hours or something. What do you think?”
“Nohohohoho!” Black Widow shouted.
“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Spider-Woman said, right when her fingers found a deliciously sensitive spot on Natasha’s ribcage and began scratching at it over and over again. “I just know if the real Black Widow were here, she’d be so impressed with our perseverance. After all, I know this is exactly what she would do if our roles were reversed.”
That was true. So very true. And Natasha would remember that. Maybe later, once she’d got out of this mess, she would need to find some pretence to accuse these two of being Skrulls. Now that would be fun. The thought of that put a smile on her face as she lost herself to ceaseless laughter…
To say that tensions were high during the Kree-Skrull war would be the understatement of the year. Somehow, the Avengers and their planet, the humble Earth, had found itself in the midst of conflict that made the Hundred Year War look like a brief skirmish. Earth was now the battlefield between a massive intergalactic confrontation between the alien races of the Kree and the Skrull.
The Kree were blue-skinned and freakishly powerful, on account of the different gravity between their homeworld and Earth. They also required nitrogen to breathe, so they often wore masks or breathing aids. Although they were had enough strength to cave a man’s chest in with a punch, they were not the more fearsome of the alien visitors.
The Skrulls were the ones who made Captain Marvel reluctant to close her eyes and unclench her jaw. Their natural form were humanoids that resembled green-skilled reptiles, which would have made them easy to identify if they stuck in such a form for long—one of their foremost abilities was their genetic fluidity, molecular instability, and genetic diversity, which resulted in a lifeform that was capable of shapeshifting. They could change shape and change colour, all as long as their physical size was not altered too much, which made they couldn’t turn into giants or mites. It was good to know the conservation of mass was a law that was still followed in the universe, even if most of the others were tossed out the window. But the Skrulls’ talent for impersonation was poison for trust. How could you keep on believing people when anyone could be a Skrull behind their smile? Your postman, your green grocer, your cab driver, any of them could be those monsters in disguise. And to think any of your friends could be a traitor there just to create discord in the community? Thoughts like that sent shivers down Carol Danvers’s neck. It didn’t matter what superpowers she might have as Captain Marvel—anyone could be a spy, anyone could be a traitor, and there was naught she could do but keep a wary eye on everyone in case of treason.
And her cautious nature soon proved practical indeed—in The Avengers’ mansion, Captain Marvel was in the secure computer mainframe checking some for the databases when she noticed one of the computers were on. It was a computer that was never supposed to be used without multilevel authorisation, as it contained a great deal of confidential information. In fact, no one was supposed to use it without at least two other members of the group were present, for that was how critical the information within was.
Her eyebrows stitched together into a concerned line, and she chewed on her lower lip. She was about to press her intercom to signal a security breach when she glimpsed a woman with a shock of auburn hair in a black jacket sprinting away.
“Hey, you!” Captain Marvel shouted, and the figure ran even faster. “Stop!”
Captain Marvel flew towards the figure, but all she saw was an empty corridor. She could hear the sound of boots clacking on the floor in the distance, and she zoomed towards the sound. “Who’s there! Show yourself!” she shouted into the corridor, her eyes scanned the area till as she frowned.
“Everything okay?” said the familiar voice of Black Widow, whose real name Natasha Romanoff. Captain Marvel’s brown eyes were sharp and doubtful as they turned to the other woman. She saw the black jacket, red hair and… what? Surely, Black Widow herself was beyond reproach, being one of the longest-tenured members of The Avengers, but was this the real Natasha? With the Skrull menace at large, you really never could be sure.
“I don’t know—you tell me.” Captain Marvel brushed her thin blonde hair out of her face, which was a bit shorter than shoulder-length. “What were you doing in the computer mainframe just now?”
Black Widow’s blue eyes were wide and innocent, though her mouth was pale and thin. “I was just checking some files. What’s wrong with you? There’s no need to be so hostile.”
“Hostile?” Captain Marvel shook her head. “There was someone in the frame just now trying to hack into our files. You’re telling me you didn’t notice?”
“Really? I didn’t notice anything.”
“Is that so?” Captain Marvel said, moving so quickly it was like she materialized beside the redheaded woman. “With your observation skills, you didn’t see anything at all? Hmmm, forgive me, but I find that mighty suspicious.” She reached out and grabbed Black Widow by the wrist. “Maybe it’s best you come with me.”
Black Widow narrowed her eyes. “Take your hands off me now, or I promise you’ll regret it.”
“Look at it from my perspective,” Captain Marvel said, letting go. She tapped at her own chest, right where the sunburst was on her red and navy-blue costume. “The way I see it, there's two possibilities. You're loyal and I'm making a mistake, in which case you will be understanding. Or you're a Skrull and I'm right and it's absolutely integral that I do this. And if you insist on not cooperating with me here.” Her hands crackled with energy. “Then, it seemed very likely indeed that you’re on the other team. What’s it gonna be?”
The red-haired avenger threw up her hands, recognising the Catch-22 situation she was in. “Alright, fine. Let’s just get this over with.” She allowed herself to be steered to one of the Avenger Mansion’s interrogation rooms.
But when she saw the restraints, she froze as her brain deduced exactly what kind of inquisition awaited her. The chair resembled one of those high-tech massage chairs, with its elevated legs and plush exterior, but it had been modified to restrain individuals with superhuman strength. Steel sticks layered with padding to prevent chaffing secured the ankles, while metal bands around the wrists, elbows, knees, and neck kept the rest of the body in place.
“Come on, this isn't necessary.” Black Widow said, willing her voice not to shake.
“Oh, but I believe it is,” Captain Marvel said, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. “I thought it only fitting to choose an interrogation method you personally devised.”
“Is fitting really the right word to use? It’s more mocking, surely.” Black Widow’s blood had gown cold at that revelation. Waterboarding she could take. Sleep deprivation she could endure. But this? To be tormented with the methods she herself had devised? She was flattered yet appalled. She had designed a tickle torture methodology because it seemed more subtle as it left little marks, more humane as it wasn't so traumatic, and more sustainable as it could be continued for weeks and weeks. It was ideal for use on anyone from villainesses to venal politicians. Above all, she has chosen it because of her own embarrassing sensitivity, as so much of the torture manual had been based on what she learned herself about yet one innate ticklishness.
“Well, here's the thing,” Captain Marvel said, her hand outstretched. “The real Black Widow is an expert on enhanced interrogation techniques. She would never let a simple thing like tickling break her. If you don't falter after a few days of interrogation, I might believe you’re who you say you are.”
“Days?” Weeks! Black Widow’s eyes widened. The thought of a few more seconds of this was already painful.
“That’s probably too short a duration, isn’t it?” The blonde girl scratched her chin. “I’ll consult with the others. The real Black Widow could probably last months. We should keep it up for a few weeks to make doubly sure. If this you are the real Natasha, I think she'd appreciate our thoroughness in the name of security.” Her smile was all earnest innocence.
Black Widow groaned, sighed, and began removing her jacket. There was no use in complaining, was there? If she were lucky, the real spy would be caught before long, and they could dispense with this farce soon. She got into the chair
Her boots, socks, and jacket were promptly removed, which left her in trousers and a grey shirt short-sleeved t-shirt that would provide little resistance to her armpits, which were spread open and exposed due to the arms of the chair. Black Widow took a deep breath she tried to steady her heartbeat. Captain Marvel began using black string to bind up all her red-painted toes to further restrict movement. Even this gentle manipulation of her pale digits had her squirming and fighting of an involuntary smile, though she tried hard to hide it.
Once the toe-tying was done, Captain Marvel gave the small, quivering feet a little slap and stepped back to see everything from a better vantage point.. Natasha’s creamy feet were small and a little on the wrinkly side, a fact soon emphasised by the inclusion of baby oil generously smeared across both soles.
Captain Marvel reached for the toolbox of tickle torture weaponry, which Black Widow herself had compiled a while ago—another fact that was so unfair that she strained hard against her bonds, not truly trying to get free, just trying to find an outlet for her raging frustrations. But the stocks were sturdy and implacable. The final touch was a few sensors added to the temples of the head where heart rate could be measured—they wanted to stress her system, not stop it.
“Alright, let’s get down to business then. Who are you?”
“Natasha Romanoff.”
“Good, I hope your answer remains that throughout.” She took off her red gloves—all the better to use the point of her short fingernails.
Black Widow didn’t even get a moment to steel herself before the tickling started right away. She pursed her lips and willed herself not to scream as all her breath was expelled through her nose. She could feel the blonde woman pressing in hard with her fingernails to try to make it as intense as possible on the soft bottoms of Natasha’s feet.
She couldn’t have held out for longer than five seconds before the giggles came spluttering out. Those fingers were electrifying, sending shocks and tingles surging up her sensitive feet, through her legs, and then soaring through her body. A particular good spot that the diligent Captain soon discovered was the very centre of the sole, right in the mindset of those wrinkly arches. Whenever fingers stroked anywhere around that area, her laughter would go higher and higher till schoolgirl-esque squeaks and squeals peppered her mirth. The oil made those nails skate around with ease till they were darting all over the sole almost like they were tickling everywhere at the same time.
“Wow, I never thought the notorious Black Widow could make a sound like that!” Captain Marvel said, changing track and scratching along the sides of the feet. She even reached back to get the tops and the ankles, which was exactly what the manual suggestion doing occasionally for variation, Black Widow realised with dismay—who would have thought Captain Marvel would be the voracious reader-type? “You are the genuine thing, right?”
“Ofofofofofof course!” Natasha wailed, before realising she had just admitted that the real Black Widow really was so very delicate.
“Okay, if you say so,” Captain Marvel said with a chuckle. “You know, your toes keep on wiggling and wiggling. It’s almost like they want my attention.” Her fingers roamed upwards and starting scratching under the pads of Black Widow’s rosy toes with quickly little strokes, which uncorked a fresh burble of laughter from the redheaded hero.
Black Widow’s petite digits fought to escape the string, but they were tied too tightly, and she could do little but clench her pedicured toes a bit, which seemed to achieve little but make them more of a visually appealing target on account of her ruby-red nail varnish.
Taking full advantage of her lack of mobility, Captain Marvel used her nails to poke around the webbing and the tender undersides of those toes, swiping her index along the base of those toes again and again. The little-to-contact zone along the toe stems prove so exceptionally sensitive that playing around there got a few cute snorts from the stern, taciturn Avenger.
“How you holding up?” Black Widow heard the other woman say. The redhead was gasping for breath and her long hair was starting to stick to her face and mouth from perspiration. Captain Marvel came over and brushed the stray locks of hair behind Black Widow’s ear.
“Thanks,” Black Widow began to say, but her murmur of thanks had scarcely passed her lips before the other Avenger had snuck her hands into those stretched-out underarms and began to wiggle them all around.
After a bit of this, she deviated to squeezing around the soft flesh of those armpits, and each goosing grab forced a fresh gust of laughter from Black Widow’s red lips. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, and laugh, laugh, laugh. It was like a button she could press—push her and low, husky laughter would be released and in great quantities.
“Gahahahaha, stahahahahap!”
You want me to stop already?” Captain Marvel asked as her slender hands wandered lower to start squeezing around the ribs and sides. Even as her expression was calm and insouciant, her fingers were ruthless and methodical. “I’ll only stop if you shapeshift back into your original form, Skrull scum. Unless of course, you’re Natasha, and you’re just saying that out of instinct. Which is it?”
“Hahahahahaha, I dohohohon’t! I cahahahan’t!” Black Widow was laughing too hard to come up with a congruent response to that question, especially when the blonde’s nimble, dexterous fingers scampered across her stomach. Captain Marvel rolled up the thin grey t-shirt for easy access and ploughed into the thin, toned abdomen with speedy gusto to further discomfit the other Avenger.
“Stop moving around so much,” Captain Marvel said with a smirking titter when she started to redirect her attack to that trim, pale stomach. Natasha was bouncing and bucking so much that if not for the strap around her waist, she might have wiggled free. “I think my finger might get stuck in there if you keep moving,” she teased, slipping an index finger into her navel and wriggling it all about. Her abdominal muscles clenched and tightened, and she blenched with every twist of that finger, yet the wild laughter was ceaseless.
When she stopped again, Black Widow was out of breath and sweating. How long had it been? It felt it had been hours, but the clock in the room only indicated about twenty minutes had passed. And there was supposed to be days of this? How on earth was she supposed to endure? She had to find a way out of this nightmare… She tested her bonds but she herself had designed them to be unbreakable, and unless she developed some kind of teleportation ability, she wouldn’t be getting out that way. Maybe words would work?
But before she could keep of anything she might say to sway the hard-working captain, the blonde woman reached up and scratched her fingers into Black Widow’s armpits once again. It was only fort about five seconds, though that enough to get howling again.
“Let’s get back to those pretty feet of yours,” Captain Marvel said, punctuating her words by reaching down and raking her nails down the nearest foot to make Black Widow yelp.
Her armpits and stomach still felt tingly, yet her next stage was about to begin. By now, her feet weren't glistening as much, so it was time to reapply the oil. Black Widow groaned as the fresh oil was rubbed into her soles once more to keep them as receptive and ticklish as possible. She had really been hoping her tickler might forget that stage, but her luck continued to be awful.
“Let’s see how you handle this little tool next,” Captain Marvel said, rummaging in the tool box of tickle torture paraphernalia. Natasha muttered profanities under her breath. As if the fingers hadn’t proved hellish enough.
Her heart dropped when she saw the blonde captain pull out a black hairbrush with a head the size of her palm. The long black bristles were coated with plastic tines, and Black Widow could hear the sharp scrapping sound they make when a grinning Captain Marvel whisked it across her own hand.
“This looks pretty menacing,” she confided. “I mean, I can’t even stand getting pedicures, so I can’t imagine what it must feel to have something like this used on feet as ticklish as yours.” She shrugged. “But you’re probably tougher than I am, right?”
As she brought the tool closer to Natasha’s bare, wrinkly soles, the Russian Avenger didn’t feel very tough, strong, or powerful. She sucked in her breath, curled her toes, and nibbled on her upper lip as that brush with all those bristles drew closer and closer.
“Gahahahahah!” The first contact of that brush was even worse than she might have imagined. Black Widow owned a hairbrush like that, and on a whim, she had once swiped it across her own feet, but trying to tickle yourself was never the same as when someone else was doing it. She closed her eyes and focused all her attention on her left foot as the hairbrush starting whizzing up and down it. The innumerable, countable plastic tines of those hairbrush were far too much for her bare feet to stand, especially in such an oiled-up state and with her mind in overdrive.
She sucked in quick, panicky breaths and gnawed on her lower lip as the brush made a slow circuit along that foot. So much of her focus was on that left foot that she was caught utterly off-guard when the brush flicked over to the right and swipe up the soft skin of the arch there, exactly one time. But one time was enough to incur a shriek from her, and then when the hairbrush returned to its merry voyage on the left foot, her resistance was gone, and her laughter gushed from her like a burst watermain.
Captain Marvel had become quite well-acquainted with all the acutely receptive spots on her soles during this sustained interrogation, and she revisited them with the brush, chuckling. Those firm bristles flicked and wreaked havoc as they slowly crawled and glided around her slick soles. Sometimes, they would paint a wide arc around her arches, other times, they would slide back and forth as they scrubbed hot spots under the red-painted toes or at the base of the pink heels.
“Looks like I’ll need a smaller brush to get those spots between your toes properly,” Captain Marvel said in a pouting voice as she switched to quick, rapid strokes under the ball of the foot. “But I guess I’ll get to that later. You’ve got a toothbrush in her that I’m dying to use. You really thought of everything, didn’t you? Good of you to be so thorough. Assuming, of course, you are the real Black Widow, of course.” The blonde tried to slither that brush under Natasha’s wiggling toes, but the size of the tool made it cumbersome to really get at the toe webbing, their stems, and the undersides, though the brush did a fine job assaulting the pads and tips of those small toes.
“Stahahahahap! Plehehehehease! It’s toohoohooo muhuhuch!” Black Widow’s whole body shook udner the fierce scrubbing onslaught of that hairbrush on her poor, tickle-abused feet. Her face grew warm and streaked with tears, and she was feeling light-headed from the constant barrage of her nervous system.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” It was a new voice, and Natasha looked up with hope. She recognised the long black hair and the spider emblem across the chest. It was Jessica Drew, who was better known as Spider-Woman.
Captain Marvel explained to the other hero the situation, and Spider-Woman clapped her hands and jumped up at down at the prospect of assisting in this mission. “Security comes first,” Spider-Woman said, though the wide grin on her face gave away the fact duty was only half of her motivation. “How can I help?”
Black Widow groaned. As if one tickler hadn’t been bad enough!
“Well, I was about to see how her toes react to a bit of methodical teasing,” Captain Marvel said, smiling. “Why don’t you have a go with this?” She tossed Spider-Woman the hairbrush that had inflicted so much ticklish agony.
“With pleasure,” the black-haired woman purred. She started working with it right away, dragging it lightly up and down Natasha’s right foot. Her movements with the brush were a little sloppy at first—she wasn’t using enough energy to press those bristles in, but she was an annoyingly fast learner, and she soon had laughter echoing across the small interrogation room. The good captain was also happy to let her in on some of Natasha’s secret spots, too, so she quickly learned to spend a lot of time scrubbing around that taut, extended arch that couldn’t handle all those bristles.
Black Widow’s laughter had already been steady and raucous on account of that infernal hairbrush, but the toothbrush helped it reach a higher-pitch. Wielded by Captain Marvel’s steady hand, it went hunting for treasure troves of laughter in all those small crannies and nooks that the hairbrush had been unable to explore adequately. The bristles of the electric toothbrush were softer, yes, yet they were still stiff enough to stoke Natasha’s pampered toes to new heights of agony.
The toothbrush went at them one at a time, picking apart those tightly-curled toes so they could explore in between them. Black Widow could clench as hard as she could, but her petite digits weren’t strong enough to hold steadfast in the face of the superhuman strength Spider-Woman and Captain Marvel possessed.
The brush probed all over each of those ruby-red toes with a precise meticulousness that made Black Widow want to scream. It seemed every single millimeter of flesh had to be account for in its diligent scrubbing as the toothbrush went at sides, pads, stems, the tips, and parituclarly the soft flesh between each digit.
“She is so ticklish!” Spider-Woman said with a giggle as she slowly slid the soft burhs in between the toes, twirling it between her dexterous fingers to really thoroughly stimulate those undersides. “Cootchie, cootchie coo!”
“I’m nahahahahat!” Black Widow wailed, even as every sound she made proved contrary to the fact.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Captain Marvel said as she continued her tireless scrubbing with the bigger hairbrush on the other foot. “But that’s Black Widow for you—master of deception, super-spy, and all that.”
Natasha found herself flushing as the other two Avengers shared another chuckle and smile at that, even as they continued their foot torment with an easy nonchalance.
“Don’t worry, we’ll give your feet a break for now.”
But before Black Widow’s tootsies had even stopped tingling from residual tickling, the two women were poking around her midsection to set her off again.
“Nohohohoho! Nohohohot up theheheeree agahahain!” She tossed her head from side to side. Captain Marvel had her right flank while Spider-Woman took the left, and they were clawing and pawing all over the place, snaking into her armpits, squeezing her stomach, and stroking her sides.
“Don’t worry, your first break is due in an hour,” Captain Marvel said with a wink. “At least according to the manual—if it’s just guidelines, then maybe we could push it back to three hours or something. What do you think?”
“Nohohohoho!” Black Widow shouted.
“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Spider-Woman said, right when her fingers found a deliciously sensitive spot on Natasha’s ribcage and began scratching at it over and over again. “I just know if the real Black Widow were here, she’d be so impressed with our perseverance. After all, I know this is exactly what she would do if our roles were reversed.”
That was true. So very true. And Natasha would remember that. Maybe later, once she’d got out of this mess, she would need to find some pretence to accuse these two of being Skrulls. Now that would be fun. The thought of that put a smile on her face as she lost herself to ceaseless laughter…
