Had this story done as a commission, it is about my wife. Hope you all enjoy and would love to hear your thoughts
It was late at night. Nikki peaked through the curtains of the front window, spying, for the fifth time in the last hour, if her husband was arriving. And yet, once again, she saw nothing. She was a bit worried. It was not like him to be so late. 23 years old, with brown hair with a faint streak of blonde in some places, with the hair barely reaching her back. Her face was plain, with some pimples spread throughout. She compensated it, however, with a rocking body, honed by her athletic activities. She wore pajamas, and the day was quite hot, so she chose her pink shorts and sleeveless shirt combo. Still, out of commodity, she worse socks.
She sighed, getting back to the sofa, and picking up the book she was reading. She was sleepy, and she was sure it was nothing. He had scored a new job recently, a job dealing with sensitive info of a big company, and it had taken him from home in the middle of night once. So maybe it was another situation like that. She looked at her cellphone – a single message, two hours ago, ‘Will return late, sleep well, love you’.
She shrugged her shoulders, using the motion to shrug the worries off her head too. Again, it was bound to be nothing. She would do better by going to sleep. And so, she went. She brushed her teeth, drank her water and laid in the bed, waiting for Morpheus to take her to the land of sleep.
It took a few minutes, but she was getting there, when a loud noise startled her. She sat in the bed, worried, before calming herself and falling back into the bed.
One minute later, she heard the noise again, and shot awake. There was no mistaking – the sound was inside the home.
Someone was breaking in.
For a moment, she panicked. Burglars. Or worse. She was just a lone woman, alone in the house. She wanted to cry. However, panic would only hinder her right now. She breathed in once, trying to recompose herself, and got up. She quickly locked the door of her room. It would probably attract the attention of the thieves, but it was better than trying to investigate herself. With the lock, she could buy herself time to call the police and…
She looked around. Her cellphone! Where was the cel—
The room. She left it in the living room.
She cursed. And then gasped, as she heard a loud knock at the door. Someone was slamming it, clearly trying to take it down. She fell to the floor, horrified.
“Open up, lady! Otherwise things will get worse!” A voice came from the other side, threatening. She cried, finally letting panic overtake her. Her imagination ran wild, wondering what would they do to her, and the scenarios her mind came up with make her cry even more.
Finally, the door gave in, and three men rushed into the room, guns raised, pointing at her. She lifted her hands, surrendering, but couldn’t stop sobbing.
“Shut up! Goddammit, shut her up, Kevin!” Ordered the man at the front, apparently the leader. The three of them wore ski masks and black hoodies and pants, being effectively undistinguishable. Still, the man who received the order grabbed a piece of cloth, picked up her head and forced her mouth open, gagging her with the cloth. Nikki was hyperventilating, absolutely terrified of what the man could do to her.
They dragged her to the bed, and she was still in too much shock to react in any manner. One of the men had a backpack, and 4 pairs of leather handcuffs came from within it. The criminals picked them, and started to pin Nikki down to the bed.
This action woke her up, and tried screaming, but the gag got in the way. She struggled, trying to break free from her captors, but they were too strong. They started with her hands, handcuffing each limb to one post of the bed, and then doing the same with the legs. Finally, she was spread in an X in her bed, tied really tight. She tried getting up, failed, and the horror of the situation finally settled in. She fell back, crying. However, she suddenly stopped when one of the thieves grabbed her by the chin and cheeks, angrily forcing her to face him. She stopped sobbing, if only out of fear.
“We have no time for bullshit, lady. I’m going to take out your gag; if you scream, we’ll blow your brains out, okay?”
She nodded quickly, eyes popping out of her skull. The man did so, and she also fulfilled her part.
“Very good. Now listen. We know your husband came home recently with some important documents from work. Just give us those documents, and everything will be fine”.
For a moment, she felt relieved – she was safe. She just needed to give them the papers.
But them, she remembered about those papers. Her husband was very excited on having them, and told her that they were important. He even jokingly admitted that he would probably be fired if he lost them. He was ordered to protect the documents, even at the cost of his own life.
She couldn’t simply give it to them. She had never seen her husband as happy with a job as he was right now. And, while she was sure he would rather lose the papers than lose her, she had a way of protecting her own life.
But first, she tried to bluff.
“I don’t know of any papers!”
“Don’t take us for fool, you took a decade thinking right now. Do you want to die?”
Well, she had been caught. She breathed in, trying to keep her calm.
“Very well, you got me. It’s in the safe behind that painting” She said, signaling with her head. “And if you kill me you will never know the password”. She finished, with confidence that surprised even herself. She sounded like a badass spy.
There was a moment of silence, before the bandit farther from her said “She’s good, boss”, making the leader of the criminals sigh.
“Very well. We have ways of making you talk, though. Ways that leave no marks”.
Nikki got confused when she heard about that. She expected some sort of torture to happen, and she hoped to hold on until her husband arrived. But a torture that leaves no marks? It actually made a bit of sense, thinking about it – if she showed up at the police after being tortured, a much stronger case of industrial espionage could be created. If the torture left no marks, it would be much harder to pin this on someone else…
But she still wondered what kind of tortures leaves no trails.
Wait, they couldn’t possibly mean…
Her train of thought was derailed when the man gagged her again. She tried to resist, but it was useless. Gagged and tied up, she waited to see whatever horrors her captors had in mind.
And her fears were confirmed when, moments after that, the leader rolled up her shirt, exposing her belly and slowly, very slowly, started circling just one finger around.
“Tell me something, girl, are you ticklish?”
She was. Deathly ticklish. Even this single finger was already making her twitch and squirm uncontrollably, giggling. However, she was smiling both outside and inside. Yes, she was awfully ticklish, and couldn’t handle it for much long, but she was also used to the feeling – her husband tickler her frequently. Nikki was not new to the sensations, and was confident that she could bear it better than the average woman would.
And also, she only needed to buy time. Soon her husband would arrive, and things would probably get better. Maybe he would notice there was something wrong and call the police.
She could only hope.
Her torturer added one finger, now using both pointers to tease her sides and navel. She squirmed left and right, trying to get some reprieve, but wherever she squirmed to, his fingers were always there to receiver her and tickle further. It was hard to think, but she had to – she had to formulate some sort of plan, some strategy to try to stall as much time as possible.
Three fingers now. She shuddered as they continued to slowly tease her sides. Her midsection in general was actually the least ticklish spot on her. Even if he came with all his fingers, she was sure she would be able to handle it. As if in response to the challenge, a fourth finger was added, and their pace increased, now lightly brushing her sides as well as moving around frantically. She continued to tremble and squirm in her bonds, giggling harder. Okay, maybe not as well as she hoped. Still, as long as she could keep him out of THAT spot, she had a chance of lasting however long it took.
Six fingers now, and the scrubbing got worse, now adding some scratches to the mix. Nikki needed to recognize the skill of the man. Honestly, he was even better than her husband. His fingers journeyed up, now hitting her ribs, and her giggles grew in frequency and pitch. Her ribs have always been a very soft spot on her. Eight fingers now, scratching and poking and prodding, and Nikki was starting to lose it. Her struggle intensified, now jerking left and right on the bed.
Suddenly, a pause. She needed a plan, fast. One came. Pretend some other spot was her weakspot. If she could fool him, she could make him lose time without suffering as much.
Then, 10 fingers, all suddenly into her armpits. She was caught by surprise and jumped in her bonds, falling back into the bad, uselessly. It was her chance though. She let her laughter loose and then added some, screaming as much as her gag allowed.
“NOHOHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHPPFFTT THHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHMMEHEHEH!!” ‘Not there’, she tried to falsely beg. Her armpits, truth be told, were ludicrously ticklish, her second worst spot with certainty. It would be horrible to endure her armpits being tickled for any long stretch of time. Still, she could bear it – she hoped so.
This idea was quickly changing, however, as the man added fury to the torture, tickling hard, digging deep into her exposed sides. She really wished she was wearing something with sleeves right now. Then, after tickling her like that for a few instants, he slowed down, opting instead to bring his five fingers up and down, up and down, meticulously, deliberately. It was also freaking horrible, and she squealed under the gag. She tried screaming harder, both for her little deception and to try to warn the neighbors, but it was hard to do so with the gag. The bastards thought of everything. In fact, what if her husband’s lateness was also by design? What if he, too, was captured, maybe being tortured, maybe not. If that was the case, then she was lost – there was no way she could endure the tickling through the entire night. She knew herself well enough to know this.
Yet, for his sake, she needed to try. Holding out and praying he came back was all she could do.
The torturer switched his pace suddenly, coming back to the harder squeezes, the deeper scratches. Once again, Nikki went ballistic, thrashing madly in her bonds. The way they locked her, using four short handcuffs, one for each limb, drastically reduced her mobility. Her squirming was very limited and, thus, her ability to escape the tickling, even if for a moment.
Things kept going like this for a few minutes, during which Nikki rediscovered how ticklish her armpits could truly be. The man seemed to be taking delight in torturing her, and started to tease her ticklishness.
“Lady, you don’t seem to be able to handle this. Give up now and spare yourself the suffering” He said, scratching her upper ribs.
She wanted to, but she could not. She needed to handle it.
“No? Very well. Boys, help me convince her” He ordered. The two other brutes, whose presence Nikki had mostly forgotten about until now, suddenly started tickling her ribs and sides. Godammit she had forgotten this could be a thing.
While they tickled her midsection, the leader went back for her armpits, and now Nikki was having her entire upperbody being tortured.
That was bad. She had been managing her endurance and was confident to be able to handle the torture for quite some time – but she didn’t account for the possibility of multiple ticklers. She was quickly feeling the enhanced torture take the toll on her. She was getting exhausted much quicker, and the overwhelming tickles were making it hard to think. If she could not think, she would not be able to outsmart them, and if that happened, she would be lost.
The situation was also terrible because it threw her out of her comfort zone. Getting tickled by one person is something she was used to, thanks to her little silly husband. Three people? That’s a new – and very uncomfortable – experience, and the torture was starting to overwhelm her.
The rationale was broken by one of the henchmen quickly brushing his fingers up and down her ribs, making her hips jump up and down in the table, trying to break free. This brought to the torturers the realization that her hips had escaped mostly untouched so far. This was quickly corrected as the other henchman started squeezing her hips. Her hips were not a region where her husband tickled often, and she was a bit surprised at how ticklish they were. She suddenly found herself jumping up and down, left and right and all over, trying to escape the terrible combination of hip and rib tickling, driving her lower upperbody insane.
But it was hard to focus on that when her extremely ticklish armpits were getting the workout of their lives. The henchmen were too rough, too unskilled. They could tickle, but not nearly as effectively as the leader, who was playing her armpits like a harp, extracting a song of giggles, laughter and snorts. It was surprising how he could play so effectively such an unstable instrument, considering how much Nikki was struggling thanks to all the tickling she was being forced to endure.
“PLEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHASSMMHMHMPFF NHMHMHMHMHOHOHMHMHMHM!” She screamed in despair.
Nikki was starting to become a mess. She needed a break, time to breath, to rest. Her arms and legs were hurting from pulling strongly against her bonds. Her stomach and chest hurt from all the laughter, from pushing out so much air for so much time. She was starting to feel her vision blur, her head spin, the signs of insufficient oxygenation. She was too busy being tickled to realize this, but if her torturers made the mistake of letting her faint, it would be terrible news for them.
She wasn’t in condition to realize this, but the leader of the torturers was, as he shouted a single “Stop”. Everything stopped, except him, that kept slowly, very slowly, sliding his fingers through her armpit. She was reduced to giggling and squirming, but the less overwhelming torture allowed her to, unfortunately, catch her breath. At first, she was thankful for the break, but slowly the realization hit her, that her only hope of actually escaping it had been robbed. Not only that, but even the ‘rest’ was not completely devoid of suffering, as the tickler at her armpits kept sliding his finger around, keeping her at edge. Bastard!
This went on for two minutes, until her breath pretty much normalized. Before returning to the full torture, though, the leader of the criminals signaled one of his henchmen with his head.
“Bring the tools. Time to have some fun” He said. Tools? This sounded bad.
Nikki’s fears were confirmed as the henchmen rose with the tools, but one made her heart sink. One of them was holding feathers and a cotton swab.
The second man had a vibrator.
The feathers were passed to the leader at her armpits. The vibrator was turned on. For a single instant, she had true peace.
In the next, she was in a very different sort of hell.
The feathers teased her armpits in the most horrid of manners. They were soft, unbearably soft, and each stroke seemed to titillate every nerve in her hollows, spreading everywhere. She was also pretty feather ticklish in general. It was like an annoying itch you cannot scratch, and the frustration builds and builds and builds until you are going up the walls.
The cotton swab went straight into her bellybutton, another area she was not used to being tickled in. Honestly, it didn’t tickle so much, but it was a bit annoying.
But none of these were her main concerns. When she saw the vibrator, she expected it to be employed to tickle her. It wasn’t. It went straight for her nether regions, to do its vibrator job, and that was both unexpected, shameful, and terribly effective. She was fighting hard to suppress the moans. She squirmed, trying to get away, but couldn’t and, shamefully – didn’t truly want it. She was feeling bad deep down at the fact that she was feeling that kind of pleasure from someone other than her husband.
And yet, she couldn’t fight against her own biology. Pleasure was starting to mix with the much lighter tickling, and both sensations were starting to become one. Not only that, but her excitement was making her more sensitive – every stroke of the feather seemed to tickle more, in a never ending escalation.
And the pleasure built and built, and now she could no longer suppress her ashamed moans, even though they mostly died in the gag. The feathering on her armpits was building frustration, which the vibrator helped to alleviate. She felt her moans growing stronger and stronger, as she approached something else…
And then the vibrator was abruptly taken out. The feather was discarded, and the torturer at her armpits started furiously tickling her armpits with his fingers. The man at her bellybutton, too, stopped with the swab, and tickled her sides and ribs.
Nikki screamed in frustration, as her horny mess was thrown into a ticklish hell, her entire body hypersensitive thanks to the vibrator. It was like receiving a bucket of cold water to the face.
The tool itself did not remain useless – instead, the vibrator was applied to her left ribs, making her scream and jump repeatedly to the left, trying to escape the extremely powerful sensation. She did not expect a vibrator to tickle as much, but the inhuman speed in which the device vibrated was extremely powerful for tickling the deepest nerves in her midsection. She howled and screamed, but her sounds were muffled, which was frustrating in itself. She wanted to let out her suffering in the form of voice, and yet, she was not allowed.
The hard tickling kept going for a few minutes, and the vibrator walked around, being passed from man to man. She cried when it was applied to her hypersensitive armpits, making her buckle wildly in place. She was honestly unsure what would be worse: The vibrators on her sensitized armpits, or just allowing them to tickle her weakest spot. At least the deception was probably being convincing, she guessed.
She wished to be able to speak. Her mind, instinctively, wanted to beg and plead – even if realistically it would lead to nothing, the irrational part of our brains is always hoping to find some sort of solidarity, some shard of humanity in the direst situations. It, at least, would give her some hope of eventually being listened and getting a short break. However, no such hope was allowed her.
She would also the gag off to be able to try to fool them, or to put in motion any other stalling tactic – but the thoughts didn’t cross her mind, as escaping or at least getting some reprieve from the tickling were her biggest priorities right now. And, thus, the tickle torture was starting to win the battle against her resolve. She was still not willing to betray her husband, though she doubted she would last many hours like that.
Finally, after many minutes tickling her hyper-sensitized skin, the torturers stopped. Nikki almost melted into the bed, unable to move a single muscle. She was exhausted, completely out of any energy – and yet she didn’t doubt she would soon be squirming again, somehow.
The gag went off (After another threat of shooting her if she screamed), finally allowing her to say something. Lucidity came back to her for a moment, and she decided to employ her strategy.
“Please… whatever you do… Just stop tickling my armpits…” She begged, crying. The tears were real and, honestly, a part of her was finding hard to employ this reverse-psychology with the intent to keep the armpit tickling going, horrible as it was. However, as ticklish as her armpits were, if he went to her worst spot, it would be much, much worse…
The lead torturer chuckled, and leaning forward, until he could whisper in her ear – which he did.
“Do you think we are stupid?” He asked, getting up and walking to the bottom of the bed.
No. This couldn’t be, could it? He saw through her plan?
And he was going… He was going… Oh god no…
“Wait, wait, please!” She started to beg, but the gag quickly went back, silencing her pleas. The torturers didn’t even bother asking if she wanted to give them the documents – they knew she was not broken enough yet.
But she soon would.
The leader of the bandits kneeled at the bottom of the bed, staring at her socked feet, and Nikki started squirming in panic.
She could not stand having her feet tickled. As ticklish as her armpits were, her feet were on a whole new level. Not even her husband was allowed near them.
“NHHMPPFF!!! PLHHEAMPF!” She tried to beg, doing her best to sit on the bed, and failing miserably.
The torturer grabbed the very tip of her socks, near the big toe – and just the touch of his hand into her toe made her feet buckle. She was afraid, he could almost smell it. And that was when he knew he had won. It was just a matter of time.
He started pulling them up, and just the feeling of the fabric brushing slowly against her soles triggered a giggling and squirming feet. Thanks to how tightly she was bound, Nikki could barely pull her feet, which left her completely at the mercy of her captor.
He stopped pulling the socks midway, leaving the bottom half of her feet uncovered, and the rest on.
“Let’s play a game” He said, picking up the feathers. “I’ll start tickling your feet. Every time you make noise, I’ll pull the socks up a little more. If the socks come off… the fun really starts.
This sounded counterproductive at first – time was of essence, and this would, essentially, favor Nikki. But the torturer knew what he was doing – he knew some mental games went a long way towards breaking someone’s will. It was an investment – perhaps a risky one, but he had a hutch she would not be able to hold her laughter at all.
Nikki, on the other hand, saw the opportunity, but was absurdly scared. Still, she needed to hold on – it could buy her some very precious minutes.
First slide of the feather into her soles, and she yelped. The socks were pushed a bit upwards. This time she prepared better, and lasted two strokes before screaming in ticklish shock. The socks were not like 60% out. She once again tried bracing in the one second she had between the failure and the new strokes, and almost broke her teeth trying to keep her mouth shut – but then her torturer flipped the feather around and used the sharp quill to scratch her soles, which extracted a sharp surprised scream. 75%. The feeling of her feet getting bared and about to be tickled started to freak her out. Panicked, she could not focus, and immediately started laughing and screamed as the feather made contact with her feet. 90% now. One swipe below her not visible toes, another scream, and the socks were off.
Her ‘reward’ was the immediate re-application of the feather’s quills into her soles, and that made her go insane. Nikki’s eyes popped open, she tried to get up in the bed, she tried to pull her feet, she tried anything to flee from the tickling. Her feet were too fucking ticklish. She could not handle it. The quills were small and sharp, applying maddening amounts of pressure. He was scratching her soles quickly, a frenzy flurry of torture, up and down, up and down, up and down her soles. Nikki wanted to scream, to beg, to please, and a small part of her wanted to give up. The gag prevented all of this – and she started trying to focus on what mattered. She could not give up. She needed to stay strong. Just one more minute. If she could survive one minute at a time, she could endure enough for her husband to arrive, hopefully.
But the tickling! Especially on her feet. She was freaking out. She hated when anyone touched her feet. Having it tickled was unbearable. She howled in the gag, and was squirming with such intensity that her ligaments where sending her protest signals, threatening to rupture at any moment.
One more minute endured. She could do this. She could…
The other henchmen re-joined the fray, tickling her armpits and her midsection with her fingers. The suddenness took Nikki by surprise, and her frantic laughter increased, screaming in high pitches and twitching desperately in her bonds.
That was too much! The sensations were completely overwhelming her. She tried to scream for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her out. And yet, she received none. Neither she received any mercy.
The tickles in her armpits were terrible, but also went largely unnoticed, drowned in the crushing feelings coming back from her feet. The torturer was back to using the soft end of the feathers on her feet, but even the light tickling was absolutely destroying her. They danced all around, teasing her soles, her arches, the sides and the balls of her feet, and everywhere was ticklish, everywhere was terrible, every stroke made her want to quit, to spare herself any more torture.
The human body, she was now convinced, was not made to withstand this. She actually wondered what kind of cruel god would create such a terrible sensation as her hyper ticklish feet. Whatever evolutionary purpose it served, it was not worth it. Not if it allowed her to be forced to withstand the torture she was going through.
The combination to the safe flashed in and out of her mind, as she tried to hold herself from giving up. She tried focusing on her husband, his happiness from the job, the importance of those documents, how dastardly it was for these men to try and take it by force of tickling. She could not give up yet.
Oh, fuck! Her torturer started swiping the feather between her ties. Each swipe was a shrilled scream of ticklish agony. She was not used to having her toes tickled, and it was freaking maddening.
“SSHTHTHTHTHHHOHOHMHMHMHMHPPPFF!!” She tried begging, but the gag prevented it again.
The feather then went below her toes. Three swipes, and Nikki almost shouted out the combination in the third. Sometimes, the gag could be a blessing, instead of a boon. She tried focusing on the sounds she could hear, trying to pick up the sound of her husband arriving. Or just trying to find anything to focus on and take her mind of the torture. Unfortunately, the most relevant sound was the sound of her muffled laughter, which immediately brought her back to the situation at hand. There was no escape, not even in the darkest corners of her mind.
She tried anything to not think of the tickling. She tried counting sheep – it worked at first, but quickly she noticed she was counting the strokes of the feather instead. She tried focusing on a small insect in the ceiling, but the thugs dug on her armpits, she screamed, and the insect, scared, flied away.
There was no escaping the tickling. She could only bear it. But bearing it was not an option. It was unbearable, it was maddening, it was horrible and torturous. She needed it to stop.
And she could make it stop. She only needed to give them the code to the safe.
But her husband would lose his job. He was so happy at his job. It brought so much stability to her life.
She needed to endure. However, she could not – her feet were far too ticklish.
Then, something changed – the torturer at her feet let go of the feather and started doing something much worse. He grabbed her right foot with both his hands, keeping it even more immobile than before.
And then he started licking it.
“OHOHMHMHMHMHMHMHM GHMHMHMHMHHMDDD NNHMHMHMHOHOhMHMHMH!!!!” She screamed behind the gag, driven mad by the sensation. The man started nibbling at her toes and licking below and between them, making Nikki’s muffled screams fill the room.
This new manner of tickling felt absurdly weird and wrong, but most of all, it tickled. It tickled like hell. To make matters worse, the man started tickling her other foot with his fingers, following her left foot around as it squirmed. The right foot stayed securely held by his other hand, while his mouth employed the torture.
“NHNHNHNHNHNHMMMPPPFF!! MHHHHHMhMHMHMPPPFFF!!!” She laughed and screamed, the numbers of the safe flashing even harder and more frequently in her mind.
She could not. She had toooooooooOOOOOHHHHH
Her mind was cut short as, once again the vibrator was applied. This time however, it was not coupled with light, soft tickling with the intent to tease. Instead, the pleasure mixed itself completely with the hard tickling brought forth by hands and tongues, to the point where she could barely differentiate the two, moaning from a lick to her foot and giggling from the sensations from her clitoris. Her mind started to melt, as it could not adequately process all the information.
And then something new was added. The lead torturer at her feet grabbed once again her foot, firmly, but what came next made her scream louder than ever before.
A hairbrush, with hard bristles, small rubber balls on their tips, found its way to her feet, brushing up and down furiously. She howled like an animal, and yet, continued to be repressed by the cloth on her mouth. She shook her head left and right, trying to get rid of the gag and finally scream free, but failed. Her feet tried buckling up and down, but the grasp of her torturer was too strong. She cried, tears rolling down her cheeks, in complete and utter despair. She started squirming violently, screaming and crying, like a child having a temper tantrum, as the tickling coupled with the vibrator finally started to break her. She did not want this anymore! She could not take this anymore! Her feet were too sensitive. Her hips started buckling softly and gyrating as the pleasure built to a climax, and once again moans appeared amidst the screams. She felt violated. She did not want to feel pleasure! Not amidst so much suffering. This was wrong. She did not want to enjoy anything in this horrific experience. Her screams became more frantic, more desperate, more frustrated. And yet, the pleasure, and she, once again, found herself longing for the release…
Who, once again, was denied, with the vibrator being taken off her crotch. She emitted a terrible sound, a screech of torment and suffering, of frustration and torture. Fucking bastards, why?! They were so cruel… She forced pleasure she did not want into her, and yet, at the worst moment, they stopped, leaving her in an absolutely messy state. And the tickling! It never stopped, never halted, never gave her a single moment to rest! She laughed and screamed, running out of air, her limbs aching terribly from all the forced – and forceful – struggle.
And the cycle kept going like this. Hard tickling all over her body, especially on her feet, and the vibrator being applied until she was near the climax, only to be removed at the direst moment. The leader of the criminals introduced another hairbrush and, sitting on her legs, started brushing both feet. Nikki barely had any energy left to scream.
She couldn’t take this any longer. Her husband would have to forgive her. Broken by tickling. She couldn’t fathom how she would explain the fact that she sold the company’s secrets to make the tickling stop. But he would understand. He had to. Though no one would ever truly understand what it was to be in her position. No one would ever understand how absolutely terrifying tickling could be, when employed with intent and skill.
She started to scream that she gave up and would yield the code, but once again, was faced with the gag. She had not thought of that before. She could not give up! She wanted to, there was nothing she wanted more than that, and yet, she was unable to.
“I GHGMGHMMMPPPFF!!! IHHIHIH GHIHIHIHMHMMHMHMHMHMHPPPPFFFFF!!!” She tried screaming, her eyes tearing up more and more. That couldn’t be happening. For the love of god, stop! Take out the gag! Let me give you what you want! Let me make this stop! PLEASE!
But the men were too focused on the task of breaking her completely to realize they had already done so. She could do nothing but continue to take the unbearable, screaming, laughing and squirming. She buckled with more energy than never, trying to bring their attention to her surrender.
It would still take five minutes before the leader decided she would be broken by now. He stopped, signaling his companions to do the same. He took off the gag, and Nikki didn’t waste a second.
“5621! 5621 is the combination! Please…. Stop, don’t tickle me anymore, p-lhehase!!” She said, still giggling, and sobbing uncontrollably, the pitch-perfect picture of a broken woman. The three men left her there, crying profoundly, and went to the safe. They inserted the combination and, indeed, it opened up, revealing it’s secrets – the family’s savings, as well as the documents. The thieves didn’t even touch the money – they just grabbed the papers, and left, leaving Nikki in shock, crying and giggling, her entire body aching absurdly, her genitals pulsating with unattended desire.
Only five minutes later, she heard the sounds of her husband arriving. Five minutes. She just needed to have endured five more minutes. Her cries intensified, as the regret hit her like a truck.
She traded her husband’s job for five less minutes of tickling.
And, worst of all, deep down, the most irrational part of her brain didn’t regret a thing. Five more minutes of that was not worth any price in the world.
Eventually, Nikki would recover. Amazingly, her husband was not fired – turns out his boss showed compassion for Nikki’s ordeal, even if she could not prove it had happened. The documents, however, where stolen, the plans of a business strategy. The knowledge it contained allowed one of the company’s rivals to expand much further into the market, and Nikki’s husband’s company suffered massive losses.
Still, life would find a way to fix itself. Nikki’s trauma would impact their love life for years to come, with Nikki freaking out and crying at the mere mention of tickling, and she would often wake in the middle of the night, thinking she had heard burglars, and fearing it would be those criminals again. Still, time heals all and, one day, Nikki may be able to lead a normal life again.
It was late at night. Nikki peaked through the curtains of the front window, spying, for the fifth time in the last hour, if her husband was arriving. And yet, once again, she saw nothing. She was a bit worried. It was not like him to be so late. 23 years old, with brown hair with a faint streak of blonde in some places, with the hair barely reaching her back. Her face was plain, with some pimples spread throughout. She compensated it, however, with a rocking body, honed by her athletic activities. She wore pajamas, and the day was quite hot, so she chose her pink shorts and sleeveless shirt combo. Still, out of commodity, she worse socks.
She sighed, getting back to the sofa, and picking up the book she was reading. She was sleepy, and she was sure it was nothing. He had scored a new job recently, a job dealing with sensitive info of a big company, and it had taken him from home in the middle of night once. So maybe it was another situation like that. She looked at her cellphone – a single message, two hours ago, ‘Will return late, sleep well, love you’.
She shrugged her shoulders, using the motion to shrug the worries off her head too. Again, it was bound to be nothing. She would do better by going to sleep. And so, she went. She brushed her teeth, drank her water and laid in the bed, waiting for Morpheus to take her to the land of sleep.
It took a few minutes, but she was getting there, when a loud noise startled her. She sat in the bed, worried, before calming herself and falling back into the bed.
One minute later, she heard the noise again, and shot awake. There was no mistaking – the sound was inside the home.
Someone was breaking in.
For a moment, she panicked. Burglars. Or worse. She was just a lone woman, alone in the house. She wanted to cry. However, panic would only hinder her right now. She breathed in once, trying to recompose herself, and got up. She quickly locked the door of her room. It would probably attract the attention of the thieves, but it was better than trying to investigate herself. With the lock, she could buy herself time to call the police and…
She looked around. Her cellphone! Where was the cel—
The room. She left it in the living room.
She cursed. And then gasped, as she heard a loud knock at the door. Someone was slamming it, clearly trying to take it down. She fell to the floor, horrified.
“Open up, lady! Otherwise things will get worse!” A voice came from the other side, threatening. She cried, finally letting panic overtake her. Her imagination ran wild, wondering what would they do to her, and the scenarios her mind came up with make her cry even more.
Finally, the door gave in, and three men rushed into the room, guns raised, pointing at her. She lifted her hands, surrendering, but couldn’t stop sobbing.
“Shut up! Goddammit, shut her up, Kevin!” Ordered the man at the front, apparently the leader. The three of them wore ski masks and black hoodies and pants, being effectively undistinguishable. Still, the man who received the order grabbed a piece of cloth, picked up her head and forced her mouth open, gagging her with the cloth. Nikki was hyperventilating, absolutely terrified of what the man could do to her.
They dragged her to the bed, and she was still in too much shock to react in any manner. One of the men had a backpack, and 4 pairs of leather handcuffs came from within it. The criminals picked them, and started to pin Nikki down to the bed.
This action woke her up, and tried screaming, but the gag got in the way. She struggled, trying to break free from her captors, but they were too strong. They started with her hands, handcuffing each limb to one post of the bed, and then doing the same with the legs. Finally, she was spread in an X in her bed, tied really tight. She tried getting up, failed, and the horror of the situation finally settled in. She fell back, crying. However, she suddenly stopped when one of the thieves grabbed her by the chin and cheeks, angrily forcing her to face him. She stopped sobbing, if only out of fear.
“We have no time for bullshit, lady. I’m going to take out your gag; if you scream, we’ll blow your brains out, okay?”
She nodded quickly, eyes popping out of her skull. The man did so, and she also fulfilled her part.
“Very good. Now listen. We know your husband came home recently with some important documents from work. Just give us those documents, and everything will be fine”.
For a moment, she felt relieved – she was safe. She just needed to give them the papers.
But them, she remembered about those papers. Her husband was very excited on having them, and told her that they were important. He even jokingly admitted that he would probably be fired if he lost them. He was ordered to protect the documents, even at the cost of his own life.
She couldn’t simply give it to them. She had never seen her husband as happy with a job as he was right now. And, while she was sure he would rather lose the papers than lose her, she had a way of protecting her own life.
But first, she tried to bluff.
“I don’t know of any papers!”
“Don’t take us for fool, you took a decade thinking right now. Do you want to die?”
Well, she had been caught. She breathed in, trying to keep her calm.
“Very well, you got me. It’s in the safe behind that painting” She said, signaling with her head. “And if you kill me you will never know the password”. She finished, with confidence that surprised even herself. She sounded like a badass spy.
There was a moment of silence, before the bandit farther from her said “She’s good, boss”, making the leader of the criminals sigh.
“Very well. We have ways of making you talk, though. Ways that leave no marks”.
Nikki got confused when she heard about that. She expected some sort of torture to happen, and she hoped to hold on until her husband arrived. But a torture that leaves no marks? It actually made a bit of sense, thinking about it – if she showed up at the police after being tortured, a much stronger case of industrial espionage could be created. If the torture left no marks, it would be much harder to pin this on someone else…
But she still wondered what kind of tortures leaves no trails.
Wait, they couldn’t possibly mean…
Her train of thought was derailed when the man gagged her again. She tried to resist, but it was useless. Gagged and tied up, she waited to see whatever horrors her captors had in mind.
And her fears were confirmed when, moments after that, the leader rolled up her shirt, exposing her belly and slowly, very slowly, started circling just one finger around.
“Tell me something, girl, are you ticklish?”
She was. Deathly ticklish. Even this single finger was already making her twitch and squirm uncontrollably, giggling. However, she was smiling both outside and inside. Yes, she was awfully ticklish, and couldn’t handle it for much long, but she was also used to the feeling – her husband tickler her frequently. Nikki was not new to the sensations, and was confident that she could bear it better than the average woman would.
And also, she only needed to buy time. Soon her husband would arrive, and things would probably get better. Maybe he would notice there was something wrong and call the police.
She could only hope.
Her torturer added one finger, now using both pointers to tease her sides and navel. She squirmed left and right, trying to get some reprieve, but wherever she squirmed to, his fingers were always there to receiver her and tickle further. It was hard to think, but she had to – she had to formulate some sort of plan, some strategy to try to stall as much time as possible.
Three fingers now. She shuddered as they continued to slowly tease her sides. Her midsection in general was actually the least ticklish spot on her. Even if he came with all his fingers, she was sure she would be able to handle it. As if in response to the challenge, a fourth finger was added, and their pace increased, now lightly brushing her sides as well as moving around frantically. She continued to tremble and squirm in her bonds, giggling harder. Okay, maybe not as well as she hoped. Still, as long as she could keep him out of THAT spot, she had a chance of lasting however long it took.
Six fingers now, and the scrubbing got worse, now adding some scratches to the mix. Nikki needed to recognize the skill of the man. Honestly, he was even better than her husband. His fingers journeyed up, now hitting her ribs, and her giggles grew in frequency and pitch. Her ribs have always been a very soft spot on her. Eight fingers now, scratching and poking and prodding, and Nikki was starting to lose it. Her struggle intensified, now jerking left and right on the bed.
Suddenly, a pause. She needed a plan, fast. One came. Pretend some other spot was her weakspot. If she could fool him, she could make him lose time without suffering as much.
Then, 10 fingers, all suddenly into her armpits. She was caught by surprise and jumped in her bonds, falling back into the bad, uselessly. It was her chance though. She let her laughter loose and then added some, screaming as much as her gag allowed.
“NOHOHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHPPFFTT THHRHRHRHRHRHRHRHMMEHEHEH!!” ‘Not there’, she tried to falsely beg. Her armpits, truth be told, were ludicrously ticklish, her second worst spot with certainty. It would be horrible to endure her armpits being tickled for any long stretch of time. Still, she could bear it – she hoped so.
This idea was quickly changing, however, as the man added fury to the torture, tickling hard, digging deep into her exposed sides. She really wished she was wearing something with sleeves right now. Then, after tickling her like that for a few instants, he slowed down, opting instead to bring his five fingers up and down, up and down, meticulously, deliberately. It was also freaking horrible, and she squealed under the gag. She tried screaming harder, both for her little deception and to try to warn the neighbors, but it was hard to do so with the gag. The bastards thought of everything. In fact, what if her husband’s lateness was also by design? What if he, too, was captured, maybe being tortured, maybe not. If that was the case, then she was lost – there was no way she could endure the tickling through the entire night. She knew herself well enough to know this.
Yet, for his sake, she needed to try. Holding out and praying he came back was all she could do.
The torturer switched his pace suddenly, coming back to the harder squeezes, the deeper scratches. Once again, Nikki went ballistic, thrashing madly in her bonds. The way they locked her, using four short handcuffs, one for each limb, drastically reduced her mobility. Her squirming was very limited and, thus, her ability to escape the tickling, even if for a moment.
Things kept going like this for a few minutes, during which Nikki rediscovered how ticklish her armpits could truly be. The man seemed to be taking delight in torturing her, and started to tease her ticklishness.
“Lady, you don’t seem to be able to handle this. Give up now and spare yourself the suffering” He said, scratching her upper ribs.
She wanted to, but she could not. She needed to handle it.
“No? Very well. Boys, help me convince her” He ordered. The two other brutes, whose presence Nikki had mostly forgotten about until now, suddenly started tickling her ribs and sides. Godammit she had forgotten this could be a thing.
While they tickled her midsection, the leader went back for her armpits, and now Nikki was having her entire upperbody being tortured.
That was bad. She had been managing her endurance and was confident to be able to handle the torture for quite some time – but she didn’t account for the possibility of multiple ticklers. She was quickly feeling the enhanced torture take the toll on her. She was getting exhausted much quicker, and the overwhelming tickles were making it hard to think. If she could not think, she would not be able to outsmart them, and if that happened, she would be lost.
The situation was also terrible because it threw her out of her comfort zone. Getting tickled by one person is something she was used to, thanks to her little silly husband. Three people? That’s a new – and very uncomfortable – experience, and the torture was starting to overwhelm her.
The rationale was broken by one of the henchmen quickly brushing his fingers up and down her ribs, making her hips jump up and down in the table, trying to break free. This brought to the torturers the realization that her hips had escaped mostly untouched so far. This was quickly corrected as the other henchman started squeezing her hips. Her hips were not a region where her husband tickled often, and she was a bit surprised at how ticklish they were. She suddenly found herself jumping up and down, left and right and all over, trying to escape the terrible combination of hip and rib tickling, driving her lower upperbody insane.
But it was hard to focus on that when her extremely ticklish armpits were getting the workout of their lives. The henchmen were too rough, too unskilled. They could tickle, but not nearly as effectively as the leader, who was playing her armpits like a harp, extracting a song of giggles, laughter and snorts. It was surprising how he could play so effectively such an unstable instrument, considering how much Nikki was struggling thanks to all the tickling she was being forced to endure.
“PLEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHASSMMHMHMPFF NHMHMHMHMHOHOHMHMHMHM!” She screamed in despair.
Nikki was starting to become a mess. She needed a break, time to breath, to rest. Her arms and legs were hurting from pulling strongly against her bonds. Her stomach and chest hurt from all the laughter, from pushing out so much air for so much time. She was starting to feel her vision blur, her head spin, the signs of insufficient oxygenation. She was too busy being tickled to realize this, but if her torturers made the mistake of letting her faint, it would be terrible news for them.
She wasn’t in condition to realize this, but the leader of the torturers was, as he shouted a single “Stop”. Everything stopped, except him, that kept slowly, very slowly, sliding his fingers through her armpit. She was reduced to giggling and squirming, but the less overwhelming torture allowed her to, unfortunately, catch her breath. At first, she was thankful for the break, but slowly the realization hit her, that her only hope of actually escaping it had been robbed. Not only that, but even the ‘rest’ was not completely devoid of suffering, as the tickler at her armpits kept sliding his finger around, keeping her at edge. Bastard!
This went on for two minutes, until her breath pretty much normalized. Before returning to the full torture, though, the leader of the criminals signaled one of his henchmen with his head.
“Bring the tools. Time to have some fun” He said. Tools? This sounded bad.
Nikki’s fears were confirmed as the henchmen rose with the tools, but one made her heart sink. One of them was holding feathers and a cotton swab.
The second man had a vibrator.
The feathers were passed to the leader at her armpits. The vibrator was turned on. For a single instant, she had true peace.
In the next, she was in a very different sort of hell.
The feathers teased her armpits in the most horrid of manners. They were soft, unbearably soft, and each stroke seemed to titillate every nerve in her hollows, spreading everywhere. She was also pretty feather ticklish in general. It was like an annoying itch you cannot scratch, and the frustration builds and builds and builds until you are going up the walls.
The cotton swab went straight into her bellybutton, another area she was not used to being tickled in. Honestly, it didn’t tickle so much, but it was a bit annoying.
But none of these were her main concerns. When she saw the vibrator, she expected it to be employed to tickle her. It wasn’t. It went straight for her nether regions, to do its vibrator job, and that was both unexpected, shameful, and terribly effective. She was fighting hard to suppress the moans. She squirmed, trying to get away, but couldn’t and, shamefully – didn’t truly want it. She was feeling bad deep down at the fact that she was feeling that kind of pleasure from someone other than her husband.
And yet, she couldn’t fight against her own biology. Pleasure was starting to mix with the much lighter tickling, and both sensations were starting to become one. Not only that, but her excitement was making her more sensitive – every stroke of the feather seemed to tickle more, in a never ending escalation.
And the pleasure built and built, and now she could no longer suppress her ashamed moans, even though they mostly died in the gag. The feathering on her armpits was building frustration, which the vibrator helped to alleviate. She felt her moans growing stronger and stronger, as she approached something else…
And then the vibrator was abruptly taken out. The feather was discarded, and the torturer at her armpits started furiously tickling her armpits with his fingers. The man at her bellybutton, too, stopped with the swab, and tickled her sides and ribs.
Nikki screamed in frustration, as her horny mess was thrown into a ticklish hell, her entire body hypersensitive thanks to the vibrator. It was like receiving a bucket of cold water to the face.
The tool itself did not remain useless – instead, the vibrator was applied to her left ribs, making her scream and jump repeatedly to the left, trying to escape the extremely powerful sensation. She did not expect a vibrator to tickle as much, but the inhuman speed in which the device vibrated was extremely powerful for tickling the deepest nerves in her midsection. She howled and screamed, but her sounds were muffled, which was frustrating in itself. She wanted to let out her suffering in the form of voice, and yet, she was not allowed.
The hard tickling kept going for a few minutes, and the vibrator walked around, being passed from man to man. She cried when it was applied to her hypersensitive armpits, making her buckle wildly in place. She was honestly unsure what would be worse: The vibrators on her sensitized armpits, or just allowing them to tickle her weakest spot. At least the deception was probably being convincing, she guessed.
She wished to be able to speak. Her mind, instinctively, wanted to beg and plead – even if realistically it would lead to nothing, the irrational part of our brains is always hoping to find some sort of solidarity, some shard of humanity in the direst situations. It, at least, would give her some hope of eventually being listened and getting a short break. However, no such hope was allowed her.
She would also the gag off to be able to try to fool them, or to put in motion any other stalling tactic – but the thoughts didn’t cross her mind, as escaping or at least getting some reprieve from the tickling were her biggest priorities right now. And, thus, the tickle torture was starting to win the battle against her resolve. She was still not willing to betray her husband, though she doubted she would last many hours like that.
Finally, after many minutes tickling her hyper-sensitized skin, the torturers stopped. Nikki almost melted into the bed, unable to move a single muscle. She was exhausted, completely out of any energy – and yet she didn’t doubt she would soon be squirming again, somehow.
The gag went off (After another threat of shooting her if she screamed), finally allowing her to say something. Lucidity came back to her for a moment, and she decided to employ her strategy.
“Please… whatever you do… Just stop tickling my armpits…” She begged, crying. The tears were real and, honestly, a part of her was finding hard to employ this reverse-psychology with the intent to keep the armpit tickling going, horrible as it was. However, as ticklish as her armpits were, if he went to her worst spot, it would be much, much worse…
The lead torturer chuckled, and leaning forward, until he could whisper in her ear – which he did.
“Do you think we are stupid?” He asked, getting up and walking to the bottom of the bed.
No. This couldn’t be, could it? He saw through her plan?
And he was going… He was going… Oh god no…
“Wait, wait, please!” She started to beg, but the gag quickly went back, silencing her pleas. The torturers didn’t even bother asking if she wanted to give them the documents – they knew she was not broken enough yet.
But she soon would.
The leader of the bandits kneeled at the bottom of the bed, staring at her socked feet, and Nikki started squirming in panic.
She could not stand having her feet tickled. As ticklish as her armpits were, her feet were on a whole new level. Not even her husband was allowed near them.
“NHHMPPFF!!! PLHHEAMPF!” She tried to beg, doing her best to sit on the bed, and failing miserably.
The torturer grabbed the very tip of her socks, near the big toe – and just the touch of his hand into her toe made her feet buckle. She was afraid, he could almost smell it. And that was when he knew he had won. It was just a matter of time.
He started pulling them up, and just the feeling of the fabric brushing slowly against her soles triggered a giggling and squirming feet. Thanks to how tightly she was bound, Nikki could barely pull her feet, which left her completely at the mercy of her captor.
He stopped pulling the socks midway, leaving the bottom half of her feet uncovered, and the rest on.
“Let’s play a game” He said, picking up the feathers. “I’ll start tickling your feet. Every time you make noise, I’ll pull the socks up a little more. If the socks come off… the fun really starts.
This sounded counterproductive at first – time was of essence, and this would, essentially, favor Nikki. But the torturer knew what he was doing – he knew some mental games went a long way towards breaking someone’s will. It was an investment – perhaps a risky one, but he had a hutch she would not be able to hold her laughter at all.
Nikki, on the other hand, saw the opportunity, but was absurdly scared. Still, she needed to hold on – it could buy her some very precious minutes.
First slide of the feather into her soles, and she yelped. The socks were pushed a bit upwards. This time she prepared better, and lasted two strokes before screaming in ticklish shock. The socks were not like 60% out. She once again tried bracing in the one second she had between the failure and the new strokes, and almost broke her teeth trying to keep her mouth shut – but then her torturer flipped the feather around and used the sharp quill to scratch her soles, which extracted a sharp surprised scream. 75%. The feeling of her feet getting bared and about to be tickled started to freak her out. Panicked, she could not focus, and immediately started laughing and screamed as the feather made contact with her feet. 90% now. One swipe below her not visible toes, another scream, and the socks were off.
Her ‘reward’ was the immediate re-application of the feather’s quills into her soles, and that made her go insane. Nikki’s eyes popped open, she tried to get up in the bed, she tried to pull her feet, she tried anything to flee from the tickling. Her feet were too fucking ticklish. She could not handle it. The quills were small and sharp, applying maddening amounts of pressure. He was scratching her soles quickly, a frenzy flurry of torture, up and down, up and down, up and down her soles. Nikki wanted to scream, to beg, to please, and a small part of her wanted to give up. The gag prevented all of this – and she started trying to focus on what mattered. She could not give up. She needed to stay strong. Just one more minute. If she could survive one minute at a time, she could endure enough for her husband to arrive, hopefully.
But the tickling! Especially on her feet. She was freaking out. She hated when anyone touched her feet. Having it tickled was unbearable. She howled in the gag, and was squirming with such intensity that her ligaments where sending her protest signals, threatening to rupture at any moment.
One more minute endured. She could do this. She could…
The other henchmen re-joined the fray, tickling her armpits and her midsection with her fingers. The suddenness took Nikki by surprise, and her frantic laughter increased, screaming in high pitches and twitching desperately in her bonds.
That was too much! The sensations were completely overwhelming her. She tried to scream for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her out. And yet, she received none. Neither she received any mercy.
The tickles in her armpits were terrible, but also went largely unnoticed, drowned in the crushing feelings coming back from her feet. The torturer was back to using the soft end of the feathers on her feet, but even the light tickling was absolutely destroying her. They danced all around, teasing her soles, her arches, the sides and the balls of her feet, and everywhere was ticklish, everywhere was terrible, every stroke made her want to quit, to spare herself any more torture.
The human body, she was now convinced, was not made to withstand this. She actually wondered what kind of cruel god would create such a terrible sensation as her hyper ticklish feet. Whatever evolutionary purpose it served, it was not worth it. Not if it allowed her to be forced to withstand the torture she was going through.
The combination to the safe flashed in and out of her mind, as she tried to hold herself from giving up. She tried focusing on her husband, his happiness from the job, the importance of those documents, how dastardly it was for these men to try and take it by force of tickling. She could not give up yet.
Oh, fuck! Her torturer started swiping the feather between her ties. Each swipe was a shrilled scream of ticklish agony. She was not used to having her toes tickled, and it was freaking maddening.
“SSHTHTHTHTHHHOHOHMHMHMHMHPPPFF!!” She tried begging, but the gag prevented it again.
The feather then went below her toes. Three swipes, and Nikki almost shouted out the combination in the third. Sometimes, the gag could be a blessing, instead of a boon. She tried focusing on the sounds she could hear, trying to pick up the sound of her husband arriving. Or just trying to find anything to focus on and take her mind of the torture. Unfortunately, the most relevant sound was the sound of her muffled laughter, which immediately brought her back to the situation at hand. There was no escape, not even in the darkest corners of her mind.
She tried anything to not think of the tickling. She tried counting sheep – it worked at first, but quickly she noticed she was counting the strokes of the feather instead. She tried focusing on a small insect in the ceiling, but the thugs dug on her armpits, she screamed, and the insect, scared, flied away.
There was no escaping the tickling. She could only bear it. But bearing it was not an option. It was unbearable, it was maddening, it was horrible and torturous. She needed it to stop.
And she could make it stop. She only needed to give them the code to the safe.
But her husband would lose his job. He was so happy at his job. It brought so much stability to her life.
She needed to endure. However, she could not – her feet were far too ticklish.
Then, something changed – the torturer at her feet let go of the feather and started doing something much worse. He grabbed her right foot with both his hands, keeping it even more immobile than before.
And then he started licking it.
“OHOHMHMHMHMHMHMHM GHMHMHMHMHHMDDD NNHMHMHMHOHOhMHMHMH!!!!” She screamed behind the gag, driven mad by the sensation. The man started nibbling at her toes and licking below and between them, making Nikki’s muffled screams fill the room.
This new manner of tickling felt absurdly weird and wrong, but most of all, it tickled. It tickled like hell. To make matters worse, the man started tickling her other foot with his fingers, following her left foot around as it squirmed. The right foot stayed securely held by his other hand, while his mouth employed the torture.
“NHNHNHNHNHNHMMMPPPFF!! MHHHHHMhMHMHMPPPFFF!!!” She laughed and screamed, the numbers of the safe flashing even harder and more frequently in her mind.
She could not. She had toooooooooOOOOOHHHHH
Her mind was cut short as, once again the vibrator was applied. This time however, it was not coupled with light, soft tickling with the intent to tease. Instead, the pleasure mixed itself completely with the hard tickling brought forth by hands and tongues, to the point where she could barely differentiate the two, moaning from a lick to her foot and giggling from the sensations from her clitoris. Her mind started to melt, as it could not adequately process all the information.
And then something new was added. The lead torturer at her feet grabbed once again her foot, firmly, but what came next made her scream louder than ever before.
A hairbrush, with hard bristles, small rubber balls on their tips, found its way to her feet, brushing up and down furiously. She howled like an animal, and yet, continued to be repressed by the cloth on her mouth. She shook her head left and right, trying to get rid of the gag and finally scream free, but failed. Her feet tried buckling up and down, but the grasp of her torturer was too strong. She cried, tears rolling down her cheeks, in complete and utter despair. She started squirming violently, screaming and crying, like a child having a temper tantrum, as the tickling coupled with the vibrator finally started to break her. She did not want this anymore! She could not take this anymore! Her feet were too sensitive. Her hips started buckling softly and gyrating as the pleasure built to a climax, and once again moans appeared amidst the screams. She felt violated. She did not want to feel pleasure! Not amidst so much suffering. This was wrong. She did not want to enjoy anything in this horrific experience. Her screams became more frantic, more desperate, more frustrated. And yet, the pleasure, and she, once again, found herself longing for the release…
Who, once again, was denied, with the vibrator being taken off her crotch. She emitted a terrible sound, a screech of torment and suffering, of frustration and torture. Fucking bastards, why?! They were so cruel… She forced pleasure she did not want into her, and yet, at the worst moment, they stopped, leaving her in an absolutely messy state. And the tickling! It never stopped, never halted, never gave her a single moment to rest! She laughed and screamed, running out of air, her limbs aching terribly from all the forced – and forceful – struggle.
And the cycle kept going like this. Hard tickling all over her body, especially on her feet, and the vibrator being applied until she was near the climax, only to be removed at the direst moment. The leader of the criminals introduced another hairbrush and, sitting on her legs, started brushing both feet. Nikki barely had any energy left to scream.
She couldn’t take this any longer. Her husband would have to forgive her. Broken by tickling. She couldn’t fathom how she would explain the fact that she sold the company’s secrets to make the tickling stop. But he would understand. He had to. Though no one would ever truly understand what it was to be in her position. No one would ever understand how absolutely terrifying tickling could be, when employed with intent and skill.
She started to scream that she gave up and would yield the code, but once again, was faced with the gag. She had not thought of that before. She could not give up! She wanted to, there was nothing she wanted more than that, and yet, she was unable to.
“I GHGMGHMMMPPPFF!!! IHHIHIH GHIHIHIHMHMMHMHMHMHMHPPPPFFFFF!!!” She tried screaming, her eyes tearing up more and more. That couldn’t be happening. For the love of god, stop! Take out the gag! Let me give you what you want! Let me make this stop! PLEASE!
But the men were too focused on the task of breaking her completely to realize they had already done so. She could do nothing but continue to take the unbearable, screaming, laughing and squirming. She buckled with more energy than never, trying to bring their attention to her surrender.
It would still take five minutes before the leader decided she would be broken by now. He stopped, signaling his companions to do the same. He took off the gag, and Nikki didn’t waste a second.
“5621! 5621 is the combination! Please…. Stop, don’t tickle me anymore, p-lhehase!!” She said, still giggling, and sobbing uncontrollably, the pitch-perfect picture of a broken woman. The three men left her there, crying profoundly, and went to the safe. They inserted the combination and, indeed, it opened up, revealing it’s secrets – the family’s savings, as well as the documents. The thieves didn’t even touch the money – they just grabbed the papers, and left, leaving Nikki in shock, crying and giggling, her entire body aching absurdly, her genitals pulsating with unattended desire.
Only five minutes later, she heard the sounds of her husband arriving. Five minutes. She just needed to have endured five more minutes. Her cries intensified, as the regret hit her like a truck.
She traded her husband’s job for five less minutes of tickling.
And, worst of all, deep down, the most irrational part of her brain didn’t regret a thing. Five more minutes of that was not worth any price in the world.
Eventually, Nikki would recover. Amazingly, her husband was not fired – turns out his boss showed compassion for Nikki’s ordeal, even if she could not prove it had happened. The documents, however, where stolen, the plans of a business strategy. The knowledge it contained allowed one of the company’s rivals to expand much further into the market, and Nikki’s husband’s company suffered massive losses.
Still, life would find a way to fix itself. Nikki’s trauma would impact their love life for years to come, with Nikki freaking out and crying at the mere mention of tickling, and she would often wake in the middle of the night, thinking she had heard burglars, and fearing it would be those criminals again. Still, time heals all and, one day, Nikki may be able to lead a normal life again.
