oneortheother
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Sep 16, 2008
- Messages
- 375
- Points
- 18
Walking Dead TK:
“I think you understand that I don’t wanna kill ya,” Negan said. He was a large, grizzled man with a baseball bat slung over his shoulder with an easy smile and dark, jovial eyes. “I don’t really want to hurt you neither, unless you make me. I just want you two to tell me what you know about this Rick and his plans.” He smacked a hard fist into the open palm of his other hand and grinned. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?” repeated Rosita Espinosa, an incredulous sneer on her face. “All you need us to do is betray our friends? No fucking way.” She shook her head, her long black hair flapping.
“We humans need to stick together,” Negan said, looking at the two women who were bound up with rope and tied down to wooden chairs. While Rosita was all grimaces and scowls, the other woman, Enid, was quiet and her pale eyes were full of fear. “It’s only us against the walkers. I’d rather not hurt you if I don’t have to. Cooperate, and this will go a lot better for you.”
“What’ll happen if we take you to our group?” Enid asked.
“What’ll happen? You friends will learn who’s the boss.” He laughed. “I’m gonna line your people up in front of your little houses, and you're gonna work up to an apology for spitting in my face when I extended the hand of friendship, and the person with the lamest one is gonna get killed. That’s it. Once your people understand that this is what happens when you mess with me, I’m sure we’ll all get along fine.”
Both women said nothing at the end of this spiel. They looked away from the large, imposing man, staring at the spartan room. Aside from the wooden chairs they were bound to, there was little in the room to occupy their attention. The windows were shattered and boarded up with wooden planks, with little slivers on bright sunlight creeping through. Negan stood on a three-legged stool as he spoke to them. He sighed at their silence. “We do this the hard way, then. Now, I’m tempted to hobble you or kneecap you, but I don’t particularly enjoying hurting women. Making them laugh though? That’s a different matter.”
He slapped his leg at Enid’s creased brow and Rosita’s annoyed moue, chuckling at their perplexed faces. “You’ll work it out eventually.” He whistled and two of his followers walked in with their heads bowed low in respect. “I’m not planning on telling you jokes by the way, in case that’s what you were thinking was gonna happen.”
The two women continued to look mystified. One of the followers was a young man with long dark hair, while the other was a woman about the same age. The woman had dirty-blonde hair and a smile, while the man—boy, really—looked to be full of mischief. Neither of them inspired more confidence in the two women or alleviated their fears.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you gals waiting,” Negan said and nodded to his two henchmen. “Let’s get to it, people. Start ‘em up too, so they know what to expect.”
Enid and Rosita exchanged a glance as the young man and the blonde woman came closer to them. Both female captives were tied to chairs with their arms behind their heads, so the palms of their hands were almost on their necks. Further rope around their wrists were tied to the chair to keep them secured in that exposed position.
“What, what are you doing? Get away!” Rosita’s voice was loud and sharp, but the undercurrent of fear within it betrayed her true feelings. When the sneering blonde-haired woman lowered her fingers towards Rosita’s underarms, which were scarcely protected by the short sleeves of her grey t-shirt, the Hispanic woman flinched and tried to jerk away.
“That ain’t gonna happen, honey,” Negan said, shaking his head. “They ain’t gonna stop till you start cooperating. And I guess you’re starting to get an idea of exactly what kind of fun you’re in for, huh?”
Rosita was—the blonde woman was creeping her long fingernails into her armpits and rummaging all around that sensitive flesh. What started as light teasing quickly turned into a fierce scratching right in the centres of those hollows.
“Dahahahamnit, stahahahap!” It was so much that her scowl kept getting overwhelmed into a tight, ticklish grin. She jolted so much and so hard that her cap fell off.
“Don’t keep her friend waiting, boy,” Negan said the dark-haired guy standing beside Enid. “You’ll hurt her self-esteem!”
The dark-haired boy nodded, which prompted Enid to start squirming to get away before he had even started.
“No! Get away! I’m so ticklish, please, no!” Enid closed her eyes and squealed as the boy brought his long, slender fingers to her armpits and started squeezing around the soft flesh there. Enid’s jacket had been taken away so she only had on a sleeveless white undershirt that provided minimal protection from questing fingers.
Neither Enid or Rosita had been tickled in years, so even they were surprised by their own twitchy, ticklish responses. Rosita tried to clamp her jaw shut, close her eyes, and will herself not to make a peep, but she was not particularly successful as the blonde teased the susceptible, sensitive skin of her underarms with those longish fingernails. Of the technique of the two ticklers, Rosita had definitely been the unlucky one in receiving the crafty, crueller tickler. The smirking blonde woman’s fingers alternated between tunnelling in with forceful wiggling and circling the edge of those armpits and slowly closing in on the very centre of those pale pits. Sometimes, she would use both hands to deliver slow, deliberate strokes and sometimes just one, so the contrasting paces and styles of the torment constantly caught Rosita off-guard. The fact the blonde woman was behind her meant that each blow came with surprise on her side intensified this fact.
And the blonde was not content to be silent in her duty, either. “What’s wrong, tough girl?” she said, leaning in and whispering in Rosita’s ear as her fingers worked even faster. “You ticklish? It sure seems like it. Awww, what are you doing now? Closing your eyes and pursing your lips shut like you can hold out? What, you’re gonna put it off for ten seconds? Oh, aren’t you the mighty warrior! Just giggle for me, giggle and wiggle like the weak ticklish girl that you are. You might as well talk to Negan. If not, we’re gonna torture you till you’re just a confused pile of nerve endings.”
“Shahahahat uhuhuhup!” Rosita said, twisting her head back and forth so vigorously that she almost caught the other woman with a headbutt.
“What?” The blonde was all innocent confusion as her fingers wandered lower to the very bottom of those delicate underarms. Strong, firm squeezes to this area where the armpits met the top of the ribs proved exceptionally effective in forcing boyish cackles from the black-haired woman. “It’s true. Let’s be frank, you’re not gonna be able to endure this for long. I’ll be surprised if you last half an hour. Even if you do, we can keep this up for hours, days, weeks. Because trust me, no one is coming to save you.”
As Rosita writhed in abject suffering while the malevolent blonde woman had her way with those ribs, Enid was not having a good time either. The dark-haired seemed a gentler tickler, but that made things no less more tolerable for the young woman, who boosted much more sensitivity than her Hispanic companion.
He had snuck his hands lower and was ravaging her stomach with skittering, spider-like wiggles, slipping his hands under her short white shirt so he could get at the soft, flesh of her trim, toned stomach. Her sides also proved to be a veritable goldmine of sweet spots, and his coarse hands goosed and poked around them with a keen, inquisitive touch. Whenever he came across a place that really made her squeal, he would stay to verify that spot with a flurry of secondary attacks, experimenting his approach to see what proved most effective. Whether it was a light brushing, a more insisted clawing, or a sporadic prodding, he always kept at it till he found out exactly what worked the best. And he would only move on to another spot once her laughter began to dwindle as a result of that hot spot cooling down, but he would return before long. During his exploring, he trailed along sides, stomach, and hips, finding a bevy of fun areas to torment.
For several minutes, both captives fought against their instincts before succumbing to overwhelming, insistent laughter. Rosita was all snarls and growls at first, but over time, it grew too tiring to yowl and hiss with every burst, and her muscles grew slack in her bonds from the repeated assaults on her ticklish body. Every now and then, the blonde captor would whisper something especially mocking in her ear to make her glare at her, but the glare could only hold up for so long before the mischievous fingers cracked her exterior, particularly when the blonde vixen crawled her nails from armpits to lower ribs, teasing every millimetre of brown skin during that arduous journey. Rosita continued to jerk hard against the rope that bound her, but she achieved little leeway or slack and only succeeded in rubbing her wrists red. Towards the end, there were a few tears from all the forced, involuntary mirth.
Enid was a bit more accepting of her situation—or perhaps she was simply more ticklish. Before more than ten minutes had elapsed, she had struggled so hard and so energetically that she had by now run out of gas. One of the things the boy had done was to poke her on one side and then the other. Enid would always attempt to shift away only for her other flank to plop itself within easy range of her hand, so she twisting and turning constantly as he touched and tantalised the soft skin of those pale sides. After a while of this, she gave up her flinching. With nowhere left to go, she simply slumped in her chair and laughed, tears of laughter stained her shirt.
“Enjoying the laughs?” Vegan asked, raising his hand. His people stopped their tickling, and the two tortured women gasped and tried to steady their ragged breathing. Sweat was dripping down their foreheads and their stomachs were sore from so much forced, incessant laughter. “I hope so, because we are just getting started! Unless you feel like talking, of course. Don’t get me wrong, this ain’t bad entertainment—especially since it’s not like I can watch a football game in front of the couch or nothing—but I’m a busy man. I got a lot of shit to do. So if you gals could just skip to the part where you decide to cooperate that would be great.” Negan waited for an answer and got none. Then, he shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself. Let’s move onto the next stage.”
The two torturers lowered the chairs till Rosita and Enid’s backs were on the ground. They then sat down on the ground and began untying the girls’ footwear.
“Oh, what now! Come on!” Rosita groaned as she felt her brown hiking boots being yanked off.
“God, no! Stay away from there!” Enid’s eyes were wide as she knew that her muddy white sneakers being removed could only mean one thing.
“If you really want that, then start talking,” Negan barked.
In response to that, both women could do nothing but glance down at their scrunched, socked feet and try to mentally ward themselves for the coming attack. Both women yelped at the same time when the fingers first brushed down their socked soles, and tentative, searching nails started scratching up and down.
Enid only had a pair of thin, fraying, white cotton socks that were little better than nylon stockings, so the dark-haired boy in charge of pestering her feet was having quite an easy time of it. The socks were so form-fitting that he was able to admire the shape and contours of Enid’s slender feet, from those high arches, long toes, and the fleshy balls of the feet. All of those locations were explored with his curious fingers and sources of great quantities of laughter were quickly found, but what proved to be an absolutely dynamite spot was one that the boy found quite by accident. He had been scratching under Enid’s sinuous toes when a sudden flexing of them resulted in his fingers stroking along the tops instead. Just a quick, accidental scrape of that instep had uncorked a sudden squeal from Enid that begged for further investigation. And investigate he did, dancing his fingernails across both insteps now, exploring every bit of that area which curved into the rest of the foot and the ankle. And it was not a one-off thing, either, as Enid’s laughter became peppered with cute squeaks, high-pitched squeals, and deep belly laughter when the tops of the feet were attacked. The boy would keep one hand on the instep wiggling here and there while his other hand exploited the additional sensitivity that came from one’s worst spot being so insistently abused—that free hand pinched at her wrinkles, played around the toes, and slid around the sides of the foot.
Unlike her beleaguered, tearful companion, Rosita boasted thick dark socks of wool, but she had quite the chink in her proverbial black suit of armour. The material had gone quite thin around the toe of her left foot, so a bit of bare brown flesh was showing. The diabolical blonde in charge of her torment was quick to notice this and with a bit of ticklish coaxing, she got the right big toe poking out so it was bare and exposed to any fate that might befall it. And plenty of fingers befell it, indeed. It immediately became the primary focus of the blonde’s long, vicious nails. All ten of her fingers would scurry over it, spidering and fluttering over that plump digit with speedy, swift movements. Naturally, the first instinct was to defend and support this besieged and oh so ticklish place, but trying to curl the toes or use the other foot proved ineffective, as the blonde would just snatch the toe, isolate it from the others, and continued her arrant teasing.
Unluckily for Rosita, her toes were one of her worst spots, especially the paler undersides of them, and the glaring weakness in her sock had directly the full brunt of the attack straight to them. The tip, sides, pad, and webbing of that unpainted big toe was under such relentless assault that Rosita was constantly cursing in her mind over and over again the fact that she had never got around to darning that damn hole. And when the big toe of that left foot wasn’t being tormented all over, the blonde was using her fingernails to unleash firm, scratches across the sole, particularly the arches. She needed to really press in to ensure the niggling ticklish feelings were not lost in the thick fabric of those woollen socks, and from Rosita’s shouts and whoops of laughter, it was working, though the big toe remained the best spot to strike.
It should have been better with the socks blocking out some of the sensations, yet both girls were laughing more than ever, which was a sure-fire testament to the sensitivity of their feet, a fact that had impressively remained despite the active lifestyle they had lived.
“Damn, you gals look awful,” Negan said, snapping his fingers. The tickling ceased at once. “You sure you can keep on keeping on? I don’t.” He leaned in close to Rosita and wiggled his coarse fingers over her exposed and supremely ticklish big toe for emphasis. “Why don’t you just save the effort? Unless you’d really rather we keep on going till you piss in your pants.”
Rosita’s reply was to try to spit on him, but the gob of saliva missed.
Negan laughed and shook his head. “Have it your way then, bitches. Let’s see how ticklish you are without your socks then.”
“What did I do?” Enid murmured as her thin white socks were pulled off, and her small, pale, pasty feet were now on full display and lacking even that meagre protection.
Rosita groaned and shook her head as the same was done to her and her thick black socks. Her larger, darker soles wrinkled up immediately, curling her slender toes to try to protect themselves.
“Jesus, these feet of yours are filthy,” Negan said But don’t worry, my people will help you clean them up for you. They’ll scrub ‘em till they’re nice and clean.”
When the two young tormentors left the room and returned with a rusted pail of water and an array for brushes, Enid and Rosita grimaced. Rosita blew a lock of black hair that had drifted in front of her mouth and pouted, her long toes clamped down tight. Enid’s pale eyes grew very wide as she stared at all those bristly bristles, a quiet whimper escaping her trembling lips.
Both girls shivered at the first splash of cold water on bare skin. Rude as Negan might have been, he wasn’t wrong in the sense that their bare feet could have benefitted from a wash. Their soles were a little on the grubby side from their days on the road, and they did have a certain odour about them that came as a natural result of so much walking and running.
The first weapons brandished by those tickle-obsessed wielded were toothbrushes. At a glance, they seemed old, an off-white, with many of those soft white hairs on the brush-head sticking in the wrong direction, but even if they were far from new nor in good condition, neither Enid nor Rosita of wanted them anywhere near their bare soles. This was especially true now that they had been doused in water to further facilitate and lubricate the brutal, inhuman torture.
All their fear and trepidation were promptly verified when the brushes made a strong, impactful introduction to their slick feet, and with the wetness of their moist, wrinkly soles, those brushes could skate over Enid and Rosita’s trembling soles with ease.
The dark-haired wielded his toothbrush like a painter and used light, precise strokes as he darted the devastating tool here, there, and everywhere. Enid was cursed with pale feet that were exceptionally sensitive all over, so there was no shortage of fun spots for the cheeky youth to exploit. Using light, measured swipes up and down the squirming, scrunching soles, he let the toothbrush sweep over both soles slowly, only occasionally lingering on all the particularly memorable spots.
On the whole, he was content to let Enid’s small feet flap and struggle as much as they liked. There was never more fun than the chase, and chasing such amusingly ticklish soles were very amusing indeed. If the long toes wanted to scrunch down, then they were welcome to do so, for he would content himself with tracing out the wrinkles of her arches till they opened up again. If the feet tried to hide behind one another, then that was fine as well, because that meant the toothbrush would have unfettered access to the tops of the feet around those delightfully sensitive instep and ankles. The simpatico boy’s mindset to life was very much take what you were given and don’t ask for more, and he applied this same mentality to the Enid’s feet. Every now and then, he added in his fingers into the mix, too. His nails grazed and brushed along the soles as well, adding a bit of supplementary damage to that hellish brush.
Enid squawked and shrieked under this fresh iniquitous indignity, the toothbrush proving to be brain-meltingly intense compared to the fingers, especially now that even the scant protection of socks had been stripped from her. Her pale brown hair grew messier and messier with every involuntary twist of her head in response to the atrocious toothbrush brushing away at her soft soles, and the temptation to give up her friends grew stronger and stronger. Tears crept out of the corners of her scrunched-closed eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
Things were no less better for Rosita. Unlike the more easy-going male tickler, the blonde in charge of providing Rosita with as much anguish as possible had a vastly different approach. She had decided to adopt a much more thorough and meticulous approach. Namely, she was going to map out every single out of Rosita’s fleshy brown toes, scrubbing those bubble-like digits till they were as clean as humanly possible. She held them together as she worked, pulling them away from their comrades if they tried to crunch up together in protective solidarity. Each and every toe got the vicious blonde’s full and unbridled attention to it, and she only moved onto the next digit in line when every spot there had tasted the relentless wrath of that toothbrush working all over its pad, tip, sides, webbing, and stem. And needless to say, the gaps between the toes were not spared either. Under and between the toes the toothbrush went, left foot, right foot, left again, right again, until every toe was pink and clean. And when it was discovered that Rosita’s middle toes were more sensitive of all, the blonde hit them both with such a savage scrubbing that the Hispanic woman’s mind was starting to fray. The blonde’s off-hand was also far from idle. She would scratch and rake her long fingernails on whichever foot wasn’t being abused by that toothbrush, for example, while her toes were being insistently teased by the toothbrush, the fingers were scribbling into the arches of her other foot, though sometimes she would double-team the same one to really bully that terrible ticklish tootsie.
Rosita’s shouting laughter turned almost feral when the base of her toes was being abused by that bristly, bristly brush. It became more grunts and yips than laughter, and she strained harder and harder against her bonds as an outlet for all her frustrated energy. The ropes bit into her skin, her diaphragm ached from so much forced mirth, and sweat trickled through her hair and stung her eyes, yet the toothbrush continued to be a blur across her wet, bare, terribly ticklish soles, with the tickling only ever stopping so the toothbrush could be resoaked in water to maximise the torment. The wood of the chair creaked from her straining, and once or twice, she threw her body to the side to try to escape those bristles, but even using all her energy she only achieved in moving the heavy chair less than an inch. Tears of laughter dripped down her face.
When the toothbrushes stopped at Negan’s gesture, the two girls were on the verge of breaking. “You think that was bad?” Negan asked and shook his head, chortling. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Let’s bring out the big guns, people.” The tormentors put down the toothbrushes and picked up scrub brushes. They were big, chunky things, a little bit larger than the palm of one’s hand. In terms of sheer mirth-inducing surface area alone, they looked close to a hundred times worse than the toothbrushes.
But thankfully, before the girls could be afflicted by such monstrous tools, they heard the sound of gunfire in the distance and then a much louder explosion.
“What the hell?” Negan said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What was that?”
“Salvation,” Enid murmured.
The next part whizzed past both girls. Maybe it was from exhaustion, maybe it was from the duress of tickling, or maybe it was just because they were both so thirsty, but it was hard to tell exactly what happened next. There was shouting, fighting, the distant groan of walkers, but after ten minutes, an hour, or maybe three, Negan fled with shouts and curses. The chairs that Enid and Rosita were bound to were lifted back into a seating position, and the ropes fells away.
Someone was hugging Enid and whispering in her ear. “You know I wouldn’t let you down,” said Carl, her hat-wearing boyfriend. “I know.”
“About time you guys got here,” Rosita said, groaning as she took her first unsteady steps after the eternal agony of being in that chair. She rubbed some feeling back into her calves, kicked the pail of water away, and reached for her shoes and socks. “But better late than never, I suppose. Thanks for the save.”
“We heard your cries from a while away,” Carl said. “Man, what were doing to you? Are you guys okay? You’re not bleeding or hurt or anything?”
Rosita and Enid shared a look. “We’ll tell you later. Let’s just say we were in a rather… ticklish situation.”
“I think you understand that I don’t wanna kill ya,” Negan said. He was a large, grizzled man with a baseball bat slung over his shoulder with an easy smile and dark, jovial eyes. “I don’t really want to hurt you neither, unless you make me. I just want you two to tell me what you know about this Rick and his plans.” He smacked a hard fist into the open palm of his other hand and grinned. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?” repeated Rosita Espinosa, an incredulous sneer on her face. “All you need us to do is betray our friends? No fucking way.” She shook her head, her long black hair flapping.
“We humans need to stick together,” Negan said, looking at the two women who were bound up with rope and tied down to wooden chairs. While Rosita was all grimaces and scowls, the other woman, Enid, was quiet and her pale eyes were full of fear. “It’s only us against the walkers. I’d rather not hurt you if I don’t have to. Cooperate, and this will go a lot better for you.”
“What’ll happen if we take you to our group?” Enid asked.
“What’ll happen? You friends will learn who’s the boss.” He laughed. “I’m gonna line your people up in front of your little houses, and you're gonna work up to an apology for spitting in my face when I extended the hand of friendship, and the person with the lamest one is gonna get killed. That’s it. Once your people understand that this is what happens when you mess with me, I’m sure we’ll all get along fine.”
Both women said nothing at the end of this spiel. They looked away from the large, imposing man, staring at the spartan room. Aside from the wooden chairs they were bound to, there was little in the room to occupy their attention. The windows were shattered and boarded up with wooden planks, with little slivers on bright sunlight creeping through. Negan stood on a three-legged stool as he spoke to them. He sighed at their silence. “We do this the hard way, then. Now, I’m tempted to hobble you or kneecap you, but I don’t particularly enjoying hurting women. Making them laugh though? That’s a different matter.”
He slapped his leg at Enid’s creased brow and Rosita’s annoyed moue, chuckling at their perplexed faces. “You’ll work it out eventually.” He whistled and two of his followers walked in with their heads bowed low in respect. “I’m not planning on telling you jokes by the way, in case that’s what you were thinking was gonna happen.”
The two women continued to look mystified. One of the followers was a young man with long dark hair, while the other was a woman about the same age. The woman had dirty-blonde hair and a smile, while the man—boy, really—looked to be full of mischief. Neither of them inspired more confidence in the two women or alleviated their fears.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you gals waiting,” Negan said and nodded to his two henchmen. “Let’s get to it, people. Start ‘em up too, so they know what to expect.”
Enid and Rosita exchanged a glance as the young man and the blonde woman came closer to them. Both female captives were tied to chairs with their arms behind their heads, so the palms of their hands were almost on their necks. Further rope around their wrists were tied to the chair to keep them secured in that exposed position.
“What, what are you doing? Get away!” Rosita’s voice was loud and sharp, but the undercurrent of fear within it betrayed her true feelings. When the sneering blonde-haired woman lowered her fingers towards Rosita’s underarms, which were scarcely protected by the short sleeves of her grey t-shirt, the Hispanic woman flinched and tried to jerk away.
“That ain’t gonna happen, honey,” Negan said, shaking his head. “They ain’t gonna stop till you start cooperating. And I guess you’re starting to get an idea of exactly what kind of fun you’re in for, huh?”
Rosita was—the blonde woman was creeping her long fingernails into her armpits and rummaging all around that sensitive flesh. What started as light teasing quickly turned into a fierce scratching right in the centres of those hollows.
“Dahahahamnit, stahahahap!” It was so much that her scowl kept getting overwhelmed into a tight, ticklish grin. She jolted so much and so hard that her cap fell off.
“Don’t keep her friend waiting, boy,” Negan said the dark-haired guy standing beside Enid. “You’ll hurt her self-esteem!”
The dark-haired boy nodded, which prompted Enid to start squirming to get away before he had even started.
“No! Get away! I’m so ticklish, please, no!” Enid closed her eyes and squealed as the boy brought his long, slender fingers to her armpits and started squeezing around the soft flesh there. Enid’s jacket had been taken away so she only had on a sleeveless white undershirt that provided minimal protection from questing fingers.
Neither Enid or Rosita had been tickled in years, so even they were surprised by their own twitchy, ticklish responses. Rosita tried to clamp her jaw shut, close her eyes, and will herself not to make a peep, but she was not particularly successful as the blonde teased the susceptible, sensitive skin of her underarms with those longish fingernails. Of the technique of the two ticklers, Rosita had definitely been the unlucky one in receiving the crafty, crueller tickler. The smirking blonde woman’s fingers alternated between tunnelling in with forceful wiggling and circling the edge of those armpits and slowly closing in on the very centre of those pale pits. Sometimes, she would use both hands to deliver slow, deliberate strokes and sometimes just one, so the contrasting paces and styles of the torment constantly caught Rosita off-guard. The fact the blonde woman was behind her meant that each blow came with surprise on her side intensified this fact.
And the blonde was not content to be silent in her duty, either. “What’s wrong, tough girl?” she said, leaning in and whispering in Rosita’s ear as her fingers worked even faster. “You ticklish? It sure seems like it. Awww, what are you doing now? Closing your eyes and pursing your lips shut like you can hold out? What, you’re gonna put it off for ten seconds? Oh, aren’t you the mighty warrior! Just giggle for me, giggle and wiggle like the weak ticklish girl that you are. You might as well talk to Negan. If not, we’re gonna torture you till you’re just a confused pile of nerve endings.”
“Shahahahat uhuhuhup!” Rosita said, twisting her head back and forth so vigorously that she almost caught the other woman with a headbutt.
“What?” The blonde was all innocent confusion as her fingers wandered lower to the very bottom of those delicate underarms. Strong, firm squeezes to this area where the armpits met the top of the ribs proved exceptionally effective in forcing boyish cackles from the black-haired woman. “It’s true. Let’s be frank, you’re not gonna be able to endure this for long. I’ll be surprised if you last half an hour. Even if you do, we can keep this up for hours, days, weeks. Because trust me, no one is coming to save you.”
As Rosita writhed in abject suffering while the malevolent blonde woman had her way with those ribs, Enid was not having a good time either. The dark-haired seemed a gentler tickler, but that made things no less more tolerable for the young woman, who boosted much more sensitivity than her Hispanic companion.
He had snuck his hands lower and was ravaging her stomach with skittering, spider-like wiggles, slipping his hands under her short white shirt so he could get at the soft, flesh of her trim, toned stomach. Her sides also proved to be a veritable goldmine of sweet spots, and his coarse hands goosed and poked around them with a keen, inquisitive touch. Whenever he came across a place that really made her squeal, he would stay to verify that spot with a flurry of secondary attacks, experimenting his approach to see what proved most effective. Whether it was a light brushing, a more insisted clawing, or a sporadic prodding, he always kept at it till he found out exactly what worked the best. And he would only move on to another spot once her laughter began to dwindle as a result of that hot spot cooling down, but he would return before long. During his exploring, he trailed along sides, stomach, and hips, finding a bevy of fun areas to torment.
For several minutes, both captives fought against their instincts before succumbing to overwhelming, insistent laughter. Rosita was all snarls and growls at first, but over time, it grew too tiring to yowl and hiss with every burst, and her muscles grew slack in her bonds from the repeated assaults on her ticklish body. Every now and then, the blonde captor would whisper something especially mocking in her ear to make her glare at her, but the glare could only hold up for so long before the mischievous fingers cracked her exterior, particularly when the blonde vixen crawled her nails from armpits to lower ribs, teasing every millimetre of brown skin during that arduous journey. Rosita continued to jerk hard against the rope that bound her, but she achieved little leeway or slack and only succeeded in rubbing her wrists red. Towards the end, there were a few tears from all the forced, involuntary mirth.
Enid was a bit more accepting of her situation—or perhaps she was simply more ticklish. Before more than ten minutes had elapsed, she had struggled so hard and so energetically that she had by now run out of gas. One of the things the boy had done was to poke her on one side and then the other. Enid would always attempt to shift away only for her other flank to plop itself within easy range of her hand, so she twisting and turning constantly as he touched and tantalised the soft skin of those pale sides. After a while of this, she gave up her flinching. With nowhere left to go, she simply slumped in her chair and laughed, tears of laughter stained her shirt.
“Enjoying the laughs?” Vegan asked, raising his hand. His people stopped their tickling, and the two tortured women gasped and tried to steady their ragged breathing. Sweat was dripping down their foreheads and their stomachs were sore from so much forced, incessant laughter. “I hope so, because we are just getting started! Unless you feel like talking, of course. Don’t get me wrong, this ain’t bad entertainment—especially since it’s not like I can watch a football game in front of the couch or nothing—but I’m a busy man. I got a lot of shit to do. So if you gals could just skip to the part where you decide to cooperate that would be great.” Negan waited for an answer and got none. Then, he shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself. Let’s move onto the next stage.”
The two torturers lowered the chairs till Rosita and Enid’s backs were on the ground. They then sat down on the ground and began untying the girls’ footwear.
“Oh, what now! Come on!” Rosita groaned as she felt her brown hiking boots being yanked off.
“God, no! Stay away from there!” Enid’s eyes were wide as she knew that her muddy white sneakers being removed could only mean one thing.
“If you really want that, then start talking,” Negan barked.
In response to that, both women could do nothing but glance down at their scrunched, socked feet and try to mentally ward themselves for the coming attack. Both women yelped at the same time when the fingers first brushed down their socked soles, and tentative, searching nails started scratching up and down.
Enid only had a pair of thin, fraying, white cotton socks that were little better than nylon stockings, so the dark-haired boy in charge of pestering her feet was having quite an easy time of it. The socks were so form-fitting that he was able to admire the shape and contours of Enid’s slender feet, from those high arches, long toes, and the fleshy balls of the feet. All of those locations were explored with his curious fingers and sources of great quantities of laughter were quickly found, but what proved to be an absolutely dynamite spot was one that the boy found quite by accident. He had been scratching under Enid’s sinuous toes when a sudden flexing of them resulted in his fingers stroking along the tops instead. Just a quick, accidental scrape of that instep had uncorked a sudden squeal from Enid that begged for further investigation. And investigate he did, dancing his fingernails across both insteps now, exploring every bit of that area which curved into the rest of the foot and the ankle. And it was not a one-off thing, either, as Enid’s laughter became peppered with cute squeaks, high-pitched squeals, and deep belly laughter when the tops of the feet were attacked. The boy would keep one hand on the instep wiggling here and there while his other hand exploited the additional sensitivity that came from one’s worst spot being so insistently abused—that free hand pinched at her wrinkles, played around the toes, and slid around the sides of the foot.
Unlike her beleaguered, tearful companion, Rosita boasted thick dark socks of wool, but she had quite the chink in her proverbial black suit of armour. The material had gone quite thin around the toe of her left foot, so a bit of bare brown flesh was showing. The diabolical blonde in charge of her torment was quick to notice this and with a bit of ticklish coaxing, she got the right big toe poking out so it was bare and exposed to any fate that might befall it. And plenty of fingers befell it, indeed. It immediately became the primary focus of the blonde’s long, vicious nails. All ten of her fingers would scurry over it, spidering and fluttering over that plump digit with speedy, swift movements. Naturally, the first instinct was to defend and support this besieged and oh so ticklish place, but trying to curl the toes or use the other foot proved ineffective, as the blonde would just snatch the toe, isolate it from the others, and continued her arrant teasing.
Unluckily for Rosita, her toes were one of her worst spots, especially the paler undersides of them, and the glaring weakness in her sock had directly the full brunt of the attack straight to them. The tip, sides, pad, and webbing of that unpainted big toe was under such relentless assault that Rosita was constantly cursing in her mind over and over again the fact that she had never got around to darning that damn hole. And when the big toe of that left foot wasn’t being tormented all over, the blonde was using her fingernails to unleash firm, scratches across the sole, particularly the arches. She needed to really press in to ensure the niggling ticklish feelings were not lost in the thick fabric of those woollen socks, and from Rosita’s shouts and whoops of laughter, it was working, though the big toe remained the best spot to strike.
It should have been better with the socks blocking out some of the sensations, yet both girls were laughing more than ever, which was a sure-fire testament to the sensitivity of their feet, a fact that had impressively remained despite the active lifestyle they had lived.
“Damn, you gals look awful,” Negan said, snapping his fingers. The tickling ceased at once. “You sure you can keep on keeping on? I don’t.” He leaned in close to Rosita and wiggled his coarse fingers over her exposed and supremely ticklish big toe for emphasis. “Why don’t you just save the effort? Unless you’d really rather we keep on going till you piss in your pants.”
Rosita’s reply was to try to spit on him, but the gob of saliva missed.
Negan laughed and shook his head. “Have it your way then, bitches. Let’s see how ticklish you are without your socks then.”
“What did I do?” Enid murmured as her thin white socks were pulled off, and her small, pale, pasty feet were now on full display and lacking even that meagre protection.
Rosita groaned and shook her head as the same was done to her and her thick black socks. Her larger, darker soles wrinkled up immediately, curling her slender toes to try to protect themselves.
“Jesus, these feet of yours are filthy,” Negan said But don’t worry, my people will help you clean them up for you. They’ll scrub ‘em till they’re nice and clean.”
When the two young tormentors left the room and returned with a rusted pail of water and an array for brushes, Enid and Rosita grimaced. Rosita blew a lock of black hair that had drifted in front of her mouth and pouted, her long toes clamped down tight. Enid’s pale eyes grew very wide as she stared at all those bristly bristles, a quiet whimper escaping her trembling lips.
Both girls shivered at the first splash of cold water on bare skin. Rude as Negan might have been, he wasn’t wrong in the sense that their bare feet could have benefitted from a wash. Their soles were a little on the grubby side from their days on the road, and they did have a certain odour about them that came as a natural result of so much walking and running.
The first weapons brandished by those tickle-obsessed wielded were toothbrushes. At a glance, they seemed old, an off-white, with many of those soft white hairs on the brush-head sticking in the wrong direction, but even if they were far from new nor in good condition, neither Enid nor Rosita of wanted them anywhere near their bare soles. This was especially true now that they had been doused in water to further facilitate and lubricate the brutal, inhuman torture.
All their fear and trepidation were promptly verified when the brushes made a strong, impactful introduction to their slick feet, and with the wetness of their moist, wrinkly soles, those brushes could skate over Enid and Rosita’s trembling soles with ease.
The dark-haired wielded his toothbrush like a painter and used light, precise strokes as he darted the devastating tool here, there, and everywhere. Enid was cursed with pale feet that were exceptionally sensitive all over, so there was no shortage of fun spots for the cheeky youth to exploit. Using light, measured swipes up and down the squirming, scrunching soles, he let the toothbrush sweep over both soles slowly, only occasionally lingering on all the particularly memorable spots.
On the whole, he was content to let Enid’s small feet flap and struggle as much as they liked. There was never more fun than the chase, and chasing such amusingly ticklish soles were very amusing indeed. If the long toes wanted to scrunch down, then they were welcome to do so, for he would content himself with tracing out the wrinkles of her arches till they opened up again. If the feet tried to hide behind one another, then that was fine as well, because that meant the toothbrush would have unfettered access to the tops of the feet around those delightfully sensitive instep and ankles. The simpatico boy’s mindset to life was very much take what you were given and don’t ask for more, and he applied this same mentality to the Enid’s feet. Every now and then, he added in his fingers into the mix, too. His nails grazed and brushed along the soles as well, adding a bit of supplementary damage to that hellish brush.
Enid squawked and shrieked under this fresh iniquitous indignity, the toothbrush proving to be brain-meltingly intense compared to the fingers, especially now that even the scant protection of socks had been stripped from her. Her pale brown hair grew messier and messier with every involuntary twist of her head in response to the atrocious toothbrush brushing away at her soft soles, and the temptation to give up her friends grew stronger and stronger. Tears crept out of the corners of her scrunched-closed eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
Things were no less better for Rosita. Unlike the more easy-going male tickler, the blonde in charge of providing Rosita with as much anguish as possible had a vastly different approach. She had decided to adopt a much more thorough and meticulous approach. Namely, she was going to map out every single out of Rosita’s fleshy brown toes, scrubbing those bubble-like digits till they were as clean as humanly possible. She held them together as she worked, pulling them away from their comrades if they tried to crunch up together in protective solidarity. Each and every toe got the vicious blonde’s full and unbridled attention to it, and she only moved onto the next digit in line when every spot there had tasted the relentless wrath of that toothbrush working all over its pad, tip, sides, webbing, and stem. And needless to say, the gaps between the toes were not spared either. Under and between the toes the toothbrush went, left foot, right foot, left again, right again, until every toe was pink and clean. And when it was discovered that Rosita’s middle toes were more sensitive of all, the blonde hit them both with such a savage scrubbing that the Hispanic woman’s mind was starting to fray. The blonde’s off-hand was also far from idle. She would scratch and rake her long fingernails on whichever foot wasn’t being abused by that toothbrush, for example, while her toes were being insistently teased by the toothbrush, the fingers were scribbling into the arches of her other foot, though sometimes she would double-team the same one to really bully that terrible ticklish tootsie.
Rosita’s shouting laughter turned almost feral when the base of her toes was being abused by that bristly, bristly brush. It became more grunts and yips than laughter, and she strained harder and harder against her bonds as an outlet for all her frustrated energy. The ropes bit into her skin, her diaphragm ached from so much forced mirth, and sweat trickled through her hair and stung her eyes, yet the toothbrush continued to be a blur across her wet, bare, terribly ticklish soles, with the tickling only ever stopping so the toothbrush could be resoaked in water to maximise the torment. The wood of the chair creaked from her straining, and once or twice, she threw her body to the side to try to escape those bristles, but even using all her energy she only achieved in moving the heavy chair less than an inch. Tears of laughter dripped down her face.
When the toothbrushes stopped at Negan’s gesture, the two girls were on the verge of breaking. “You think that was bad?” Negan asked and shook his head, chortling. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Let’s bring out the big guns, people.” The tormentors put down the toothbrushes and picked up scrub brushes. They were big, chunky things, a little bit larger than the palm of one’s hand. In terms of sheer mirth-inducing surface area alone, they looked close to a hundred times worse than the toothbrushes.
But thankfully, before the girls could be afflicted by such monstrous tools, they heard the sound of gunfire in the distance and then a much louder explosion.
“What the hell?” Negan said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What was that?”
“Salvation,” Enid murmured.
The next part whizzed past both girls. Maybe it was from exhaustion, maybe it was from the duress of tickling, or maybe it was just because they were both so thirsty, but it was hard to tell exactly what happened next. There was shouting, fighting, the distant groan of walkers, but after ten minutes, an hour, or maybe three, Negan fled with shouts and curses. The chairs that Enid and Rosita were bound to were lifted back into a seating position, and the ropes fells away.
Someone was hugging Enid and whispering in her ear. “You know I wouldn’t let you down,” said Carl, her hat-wearing boyfriend. “I know.”
“About time you guys got here,” Rosita said, groaning as she took her first unsteady steps after the eternal agony of being in that chair. She rubbed some feeling back into her calves, kicked the pail of water away, and reached for her shoes and socks. “But better late than never, I suppose. Thanks for the save.”
“We heard your cries from a while away,” Carl said. “Man, what were doing to you? Are you guys okay? You’re not bleeding or hurt or anything?”
Rosita and Enid shared a look. “We’ll tell you later. Let’s just say we were in a rather… ticklish situation.”
