Return to the late 1970's ... in Orange County, California ... as a spontaneous movement called "punk" reshapes the youth culture ...
" ... I heard somebody say 'Burn, Baby, Burn' ... Disco Inferno ... Burn, Baby skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek ... well, that is enough of that shit, motherfuckers! Welcome to the all new KFUK, your source for punk in this fucking shit hole we call L.A. ... disco is fucking dead ... the fucking corpse is starting to fucking stink, man! We are taking over this ...".
Angry ... betrayed .. confused ... the petulant blonde clicked the radio off. The youth culture was changing rapidly around Sandy Dawson and she did not like it. This "punk" or "new wave" or whatever they called the crap was EVERYWHERE! Now KDNC "Dance 98.6" was changing formats from disco to this new garbage. The Starwood Club - where she and Tony had won the Hustle contest - was playing this crap now! And these fucking people were starting to pop up everywhere - the mall, the boardwalk, she'd even seen a few on the lawn at Orange County Community College with their dirty clothes and fucked up hair. Why was this happening?!!
Throughout high school and three years of community college, Sandy Dawson had been at the cutting edge. Head cheerleader, prom queen, dated the captain of the football team. Part of her supremacy was attributable to her stunning good looks - golden tanned flawless skin, tight feline body with pert full breasts, mounds of lush honey colored hair. Part had been attributable to her unerring fashion sense ... and her Daddy's bank account! She made an indelible impression every time she climbed from her hot red Camaro sporting some new revealing outfit. Hours spent at the studio ensured that she was untouchable on the dance floor - her repertory was endless ... the Latin Hustle, the New York Hustle, the L.A. Hustle ... she was in every sense a disco diva ... and now at the ripe old age of twenty-two, she felt like a dinosaur!
She and her rapidly shrinking circle of friends raged against the loss of their social status. Some of these new freaks had had the effrontery to mock Sandy's clothes at the mall ... at the mall! The malls, the beach, the clubs ... these were her turf ... or they used to be!
"Hey, 'Disco Chick' ... change with the times or get left behind!" chuckled one amiable stoner as she'd passed him. "Fuck you!" she'd spat back, "Get a job, asshole!". Inexplicably and annoyingly, she could not get his words out of her head - even hours later. A chord had been struck. She despised these new people, their music, their clothes ... but she could not conceive of a world where Sandy Dawson was considered passe. Maybe she'd have to ...
No! She immediately put the very thought of it out of her head! This garbage was a fad! Disco would be back on top in no time! Weren't the Bee-Gee's getting ready to release a new album?
Six months later ...
Dateless! Again! Five weekends in a row! This just could not be happening! It ... it was impossible - Sandy Dawson an outsider? "B-but I was the prettiest ... most desired ... best dancer ...", she pouted to her reflection in the mirror. Unwelcome and unexpected, the words of the anonymous stoner came back to her ... "Change with the times or get ...".
The blonde tossed her head petulantly - she was just too damn hot to be ignored!
Later that evening ...
Sandy Dawson considered the crowd uncomfortably. Maybe coming back to the Starwood had been a bad idea? She searched in vain for a dance beat in the loud raucous music. She wrinkled her nose in undisguised disgust at the sweating thrashing mosh pit. This was dancing?
The gorgeous blonde stood out like a sore thumb. Accustomed only to compliments and covetous looks form the men and jealous glares from the women, tonight she was greeted by equal measures of stony silence and snide mockery ... "disco bitch", "valley girl", "Orange County c*nt" were just a few of the muttered insults. Resplendent in a silver tube top with spaghetti straps, white mini skirt and silver pumps, the blonde appeared like a bright diamond against the background of black and drab browns and greens favored by 99% of the mob.
Suddenly, her eyes focused on a face - familiar yet not familiar. Eric ... she'd gone to high school with her ... he was one of the geeks ...but ... but look at him now. His well muscled torso was bare ... as was his head. He was shaved bald! He returned her recognition and favored her with a half smile-half smirk. Sidling carefully around the edge of the mosh, Sandy made her way over. She smiled ... and he said ... something? The music was deafening! She inclined her head so he could speak into her ear.
"Yeah, I remember you from school ... I always wanted to fuck you brains out ...".
Sandy recoiled slightly and shot him a venomous look. "In your dreams, you fucking freak!" she sneered and turned on her heel to leave. The young man's lean muscular arm snaked out to grab .. her shoulder? No ... her ... her top!
Shriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkk ...
The blonde was spun a quarter turn like some silver top as her garment split and peeled from her body. Shocked, she found herself facing a leering Eric clad only in her lacy bra - he'd torn the top from her body! Grinning madly, he exulted, "You fucking cock tease!". Other punks chimed in, ranting about "fucking rich stuck up O.C. bitches coming down here slumming ...".
Raising her hands defensively, Sandy Dawson tried to sound confident and in control ... "Now you ... you keep away from me, you understand?". As she spoke, she began to backpedal slowly ... straight into the mosh!
Clad only in her bra and skirt, luscious blonde Sandy Dawson stumbled into a mob of writhing howling moshers!!! Some distinctly feminine shrieks could be heard over the combined din of the band and mob. A lacy white thong was tossed through the air. Slowly ... spontaneously ... the dancers began to drift outward ... leaving an open space in the center of the mosh ... a space which was unoccupied ... save for one!
Sobbing ... shattered ... Sandy Dawson trembled on unsteady legs; she was wearing silver high heeled pumps ... and nothing else!!! The cocky petulant disco diva had been STRIPPED - stripped bare naked! Shrieking with equal parts frustration and fear, humiliation and rage, she leaned her trunk forward and tried desperately to cover both her breasts and her vagina with her hands (to attempt to also cover her tight shapely bottom was out of the question!).
The band continued to rage as a barrage of taunts and insults engulfed the naked blonde. Slyly, a short thin girl in tattered black garb with a magenta streak through her hair stole up behind the shattered blonde. Delivering a short clapping slap to Sandy's invitingly displayed ass, the punk taunted her, "Dance, Bitch! You were bullshitting before about showing us some REAL dancing, well go ahead ... DANCE!". The punks took up the word as a chant. Soon the house lights had found the degrading spectacle and added to the blonde's humiliation by spotlighting her. Circled around her, dozens of punks clapped and chanted, "... DANCE ... DANCE ... DANCE ...".
"You ... you mother-fuckers!" Sandy half-shrieked half-sobbed, "L-Look what you've (sob) done to me! Quit fucking looking (whimper) at me ... help ... help ... won't somebody fucking help me?!!"
Some sort of disturbance was an hourly event at the Stardust, so it took some minutes before the club manager investigated the source of this particular disturbance, during which time Sandy Dawson did little more than shriek in glorious bare assed frustration! Eventually, the manager felt obliged to at least look in on this raucous ring of punks ... and was horrified. Shit like this could get him shut down ... or jailed! He cut the band's mikes and amps; the crowd became angry, bordering on the riotous. He pleaded, threatened and cajoled for the return of the girl's clothes .. and was booed and jeered. Beside himself with worry (for his own well-being and his club!), he was only to happy to grasp when a couple of female punks "volunteered" to help. Elbowing their way through the ring, they wrapped the naked blonde in a filthy blanket. "This way, girlie ...", they whispered soothingly to a distraught Sandy Dawson, "We'll take care of you!".
The shattered blonde was escorted to a side room, enduring further catcalls as she made her way through the jeering mob. Once in the room, a door shut and the noise of the mob and the band (as it ripped into its next number) subsided. The door was thick and the walls were liberally draped with blankets and mattresses to muffle outside sound. Some of the punks use it as a makeshift sound studio ... among other things. Indeed, in addition to some ancient recording equipment, the room was cluttered with curious odds and ends ... perhaps most curiously, a battered old salon chair!
The door slammed and everything ... changed. the punk girls, once comforting and solicitous were confrontational and contemptuous toward Sandy. "Fucking little 'valley girl' princess ... comes down here to shake her little titties in people's faces and then gets all upset when people decide to get a real look!", the speaker was a slightly stocky young woman with a pink Mowhawk haircut and heavily pierced ears - the others called her "Cill" (short for "Millicent", a name she cordially despised).
Sandy Dawson was thunderstruck - again. The change in mood was inexplicable - she thought the punks were ... helping her? She simply stared, moving her gaze from face to face in wide eyed open mouthed shock.
"Well, Little Miss Orange County Princess" snarled a scrawny girl the others called "Trude" (instantly recognizable by her hair - a purple fade - and the electrical tape covering her nipples), "You wanna find out what 'punk' is? You wanna gawk at people like some fucking freak show? You think that's FUNNY? We are gonna SHOW you what 'funny is, BITCH! Get her in the chair!".
The stunned blonde felt rough hands on her soft skin. She was manhandled over to the dilapidated salon chair and forced down. Too overwhelmed to protest, she gaped in silence as duct taped circled her wrists, ankles, waist and neck - very effectively restraining her into the chair. When she finally found her voice, Sandy stammered meekly, "Wh-What ... what are you gonna do to me?".
"Poor poor me ...'what are you gonna do to me?' ...", mocked one of the punks.
"What are we gonna do to you? You're in that big a hurry to find out?" Cil snarled, inches from the trembling blonde's face, "Well, let's not prolong the suspense! Alright, girls ... get her shoes off!".
Two female punks stationed by the bound blonde's ankles slid the high heeled silver pumps from Sandy's feet. The blonde flexed and unflexed her bare feet, seemingly self conscious about being bare foot - as incongruous as that might seem given that every other stitch of clothing had been stripped from her! Why on earth would she be concerned about being barefoot?
It was then that Sandy saw it! In her right hand a smirking Cil was twirling a long stiff...
"... FEATHER?!! Y-Y-You've got a f-f-f-feather?" stammered Sandy Dawson, dry-mouthed, "Oh ... oh you ...
you wouldn't ... y-y-y-you can't ... you're not gonna (ulp) ... TICKLE MY FEET?!!"
Sandy Dawson began to wriggle her long meticulously pedicured toes in dread and anticipation. Her toenails were polished a shocking pink and they seemed to sparkle, even in the dimly lit room.
"Oooooooooooooooohh, 'the princess' doesn't like the idea of that, does she?", chuckled Trude, pointing at the bound blonde's frantically wiggling toes, "Is miss oh-so gorgeous disco diva afwaid of having the big bad punks tickle her pretty piggie-wiggies? And after she fussed over them so much?"
"No ... no please ... I ... I'm begging you ...
d-d-d-don't ... don't do this to me ... y-you don't understand ... m-my feet ... they're ... they're very sensitive ... my feet are ... are ... are ... they're TICKLISH!!! Please ... I'm begging you ... don't do this ... don't ... tee hee hee hee hee ... oooooh no ... ha ha ha ha ha ... s-s-stop ... ha ha ha ...
p-p-p-please ...". Cil had slyly begun teasing Sandy Dawson's plush tender sole with the feather, sending subtle waves of nervous energy from her foot to her brain.
"What's the matter, disco-slut? You find something funny about this? You think it's funny to be stripped? You think it's funny to be shaking your sweet little ass in front of our guys? You like showin' off your body? You don't? then what the fuck are you giggling about, bitch?"
" ... n-n-no ... hoo hoo ha ha ha ... no, it's not ... ha ha .. th-that ... hee hee hee hee ... I ... ha ha ... I wasn't trying to s-s-steal your guys ... hoo hoo hoo hoo ... I-I don't think it's f-f-funny ... ha ha ha ha ha ... it's just that ... hee hee ... I'm ... I'm ... I'm TICKLISH!!!". The bound blonde wriggled her bare feet excitedly as the cruel feather mercilessly explored and excited the nerve rich flesh of her tender pampered soles; wringing increasingly frantic peals of laughter from the helpless victim.
Just as Sandy Dawson was tickled to the edges of sanity ... just when she imagined it could not be any worse ... through teary eyes she saw Trude, the punk with the purple fade ... hovering at her other foot ... a fluffy white feather in hand!
"Mind if I get some of this, Cil?", Trude chuckled, pointing toward Sandy's unassailed left foot, "I'll be your 'assistant tickler'!". With that, the purple haired punk began to ravishing the bare foot before her with obvious relish. The added unwelcome sensation caused the already addled blonde's brain to overload.
" ... HOO HOO HOO HOO HA HA ... AHA HA HA HA HA ... NO ... HEE HEE ... I CAN'T TAKE IT ... HA HA HA HA HA ... I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... IT TICKLES ... HA HA ... IT TICKLES ... HA HA ... IT TICKLES!!!".
"Damn right it tickles!" laughed Cil, "We may just tickle your skanky ass to death, bitch! But if we do let your ass go, are we ever gonna see you around here again?"
"... NO ... HA HA HA ... N-N-NEVER ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... HOO HOO HA HA HA ..."
"You won't come slumming around again, rich bitch, looking to pick up some stud?"
"... HEE HEE HEE HEE ... N-N-NO ... Y-YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN ... S-S-STOP ... AHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA ... P-P-PLEASE ... HEE HEE ... I C-C-CAN'T S-S-STAND IT ... I CAN'T S-S-STAND IT ...". Sandy's long agile toes were wriggling frantically as the two heartless punks mercilessly tickled her unbearably ticklish soles; driving the blonde further into a state of near hysteria. "... HOO HOO HA HA HA HA HA ... N-N-NO ... HA HA HA HA ... NO MORE ... HOO HOO HOO HOO ... NOT THE F-F-F-FEET ... AHA HA HA HA HA ... PLEASE ... HEE HEE HEE ... NOT MY FEET ... AHA HA HA HA HA ... I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ...
M-M-M-MY FEET ... HOO HOO HA HA HA HA ... THEY'RE ... HA HA ... THEY'RE TOO T-T-TICKLISH!!! AHA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAA ...".
Some minutes later ...
A naked shattered Sandy Dawson was shoved roughly into the garbage strewn alley behind the club by the jeering punks. "... and remember, glamor-puss, we catch your ass around here again and this little session will seem like a light lunch!". One of the punk girls noticed a group of gawking stoners, the joint all but forgotten as they gaped at the luscious nude blonde. "Hey, bitch ... looks like you got some new admirers ... have fun guys ..." and the club door slammed!
Sandy Dawson returned the slackers stare for a long moment and then ran - ran as fast as she could - bare breasts bobbling, bare feet slapping the pavement, she ran directionless - anything to get away form that place. Later, exhausted, she was able to flag down a car - trading the teenaged driver a blow job for a ride home. On arrival, she had to offer the promise of further sex to get the guy to loan her his T-shirt to wear in the lobby of her building. On reaching her apartment, she tried to plead to the guy that she'd been through enough ... but wound up swallowing a second load of nut cream before ruefully making her way to her bedroom ... sitting sleepless on the side of her bed as she relived her shattering experience in her mind ... as she would over and over for years to come!
" ... I heard somebody say 'Burn, Baby, Burn' ... Disco Inferno ... Burn, Baby skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek ... well, that is enough of that shit, motherfuckers! Welcome to the all new KFUK, your source for punk in this fucking shit hole we call L.A. ... disco is fucking dead ... the fucking corpse is starting to fucking stink, man! We are taking over this ...".
Angry ... betrayed .. confused ... the petulant blonde clicked the radio off. The youth culture was changing rapidly around Sandy Dawson and she did not like it. This "punk" or "new wave" or whatever they called the crap was EVERYWHERE! Now KDNC "Dance 98.6" was changing formats from disco to this new garbage. The Starwood Club - where she and Tony had won the Hustle contest - was playing this crap now! And these fucking people were starting to pop up everywhere - the mall, the boardwalk, she'd even seen a few on the lawn at Orange County Community College with their dirty clothes and fucked up hair. Why was this happening?!!
Throughout high school and three years of community college, Sandy Dawson had been at the cutting edge. Head cheerleader, prom queen, dated the captain of the football team. Part of her supremacy was attributable to her stunning good looks - golden tanned flawless skin, tight feline body with pert full breasts, mounds of lush honey colored hair. Part had been attributable to her unerring fashion sense ... and her Daddy's bank account! She made an indelible impression every time she climbed from her hot red Camaro sporting some new revealing outfit. Hours spent at the studio ensured that she was untouchable on the dance floor - her repertory was endless ... the Latin Hustle, the New York Hustle, the L.A. Hustle ... she was in every sense a disco diva ... and now at the ripe old age of twenty-two, she felt like a dinosaur!
She and her rapidly shrinking circle of friends raged against the loss of their social status. Some of these new freaks had had the effrontery to mock Sandy's clothes at the mall ... at the mall! The malls, the beach, the clubs ... these were her turf ... or they used to be!
"Hey, 'Disco Chick' ... change with the times or get left behind!" chuckled one amiable stoner as she'd passed him. "Fuck you!" she'd spat back, "Get a job, asshole!". Inexplicably and annoyingly, she could not get his words out of her head - even hours later. A chord had been struck. She despised these new people, their music, their clothes ... but she could not conceive of a world where Sandy Dawson was considered passe. Maybe she'd have to ...
No! She immediately put the very thought of it out of her head! This garbage was a fad! Disco would be back on top in no time! Weren't the Bee-Gee's getting ready to release a new album?
Six months later ...
Dateless! Again! Five weekends in a row! This just could not be happening! It ... it was impossible - Sandy Dawson an outsider? "B-but I was the prettiest ... most desired ... best dancer ...", she pouted to her reflection in the mirror. Unwelcome and unexpected, the words of the anonymous stoner came back to her ... "Change with the times or get ...".
The blonde tossed her head petulantly - she was just too damn hot to be ignored!
Later that evening ...
Sandy Dawson considered the crowd uncomfortably. Maybe coming back to the Starwood had been a bad idea? She searched in vain for a dance beat in the loud raucous music. She wrinkled her nose in undisguised disgust at the sweating thrashing mosh pit. This was dancing?
The gorgeous blonde stood out like a sore thumb. Accustomed only to compliments and covetous looks form the men and jealous glares from the women, tonight she was greeted by equal measures of stony silence and snide mockery ... "disco bitch", "valley girl", "Orange County c*nt" were just a few of the muttered insults. Resplendent in a silver tube top with spaghetti straps, white mini skirt and silver pumps, the blonde appeared like a bright diamond against the background of black and drab browns and greens favored by 99% of the mob.
Suddenly, her eyes focused on a face - familiar yet not familiar. Eric ... she'd gone to high school with her ... he was one of the geeks ...but ... but look at him now. His well muscled torso was bare ... as was his head. He was shaved bald! He returned her recognition and favored her with a half smile-half smirk. Sidling carefully around the edge of the mosh, Sandy made her way over. She smiled ... and he said ... something? The music was deafening! She inclined her head so he could speak into her ear.
"Yeah, I remember you from school ... I always wanted to fuck you brains out ...".
Sandy recoiled slightly and shot him a venomous look. "In your dreams, you fucking freak!" she sneered and turned on her heel to leave. The young man's lean muscular arm snaked out to grab .. her shoulder? No ... her ... her top!
Shriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkk ...
The blonde was spun a quarter turn like some silver top as her garment split and peeled from her body. Shocked, she found herself facing a leering Eric clad only in her lacy bra - he'd torn the top from her body! Grinning madly, he exulted, "You fucking cock tease!". Other punks chimed in, ranting about "fucking rich stuck up O.C. bitches coming down here slumming ...".
Raising her hands defensively, Sandy Dawson tried to sound confident and in control ... "Now you ... you keep away from me, you understand?". As she spoke, she began to backpedal slowly ... straight into the mosh!
Clad only in her bra and skirt, luscious blonde Sandy Dawson stumbled into a mob of writhing howling moshers!!! Some distinctly feminine shrieks could be heard over the combined din of the band and mob. A lacy white thong was tossed through the air. Slowly ... spontaneously ... the dancers began to drift outward ... leaving an open space in the center of the mosh ... a space which was unoccupied ... save for one!
Sobbing ... shattered ... Sandy Dawson trembled on unsteady legs; she was wearing silver high heeled pumps ... and nothing else!!! The cocky petulant disco diva had been STRIPPED - stripped bare naked! Shrieking with equal parts frustration and fear, humiliation and rage, she leaned her trunk forward and tried desperately to cover both her breasts and her vagina with her hands (to attempt to also cover her tight shapely bottom was out of the question!).
The band continued to rage as a barrage of taunts and insults engulfed the naked blonde. Slyly, a short thin girl in tattered black garb with a magenta streak through her hair stole up behind the shattered blonde. Delivering a short clapping slap to Sandy's invitingly displayed ass, the punk taunted her, "Dance, Bitch! You were bullshitting before about showing us some REAL dancing, well go ahead ... DANCE!". The punks took up the word as a chant. Soon the house lights had found the degrading spectacle and added to the blonde's humiliation by spotlighting her. Circled around her, dozens of punks clapped and chanted, "... DANCE ... DANCE ... DANCE ...".
"You ... you mother-fuckers!" Sandy half-shrieked half-sobbed, "L-Look what you've (sob) done to me! Quit fucking looking (whimper) at me ... help ... help ... won't somebody fucking help me?!!"
Some sort of disturbance was an hourly event at the Stardust, so it took some minutes before the club manager investigated the source of this particular disturbance, during which time Sandy Dawson did little more than shriek in glorious bare assed frustration! Eventually, the manager felt obliged to at least look in on this raucous ring of punks ... and was horrified. Shit like this could get him shut down ... or jailed! He cut the band's mikes and amps; the crowd became angry, bordering on the riotous. He pleaded, threatened and cajoled for the return of the girl's clothes .. and was booed and jeered. Beside himself with worry (for his own well-being and his club!), he was only to happy to grasp when a couple of female punks "volunteered" to help. Elbowing their way through the ring, they wrapped the naked blonde in a filthy blanket. "This way, girlie ...", they whispered soothingly to a distraught Sandy Dawson, "We'll take care of you!".
The shattered blonde was escorted to a side room, enduring further catcalls as she made her way through the jeering mob. Once in the room, a door shut and the noise of the mob and the band (as it ripped into its next number) subsided. The door was thick and the walls were liberally draped with blankets and mattresses to muffle outside sound. Some of the punks use it as a makeshift sound studio ... among other things. Indeed, in addition to some ancient recording equipment, the room was cluttered with curious odds and ends ... perhaps most curiously, a battered old salon chair!
The door slammed and everything ... changed. the punk girls, once comforting and solicitous were confrontational and contemptuous toward Sandy. "Fucking little 'valley girl' princess ... comes down here to shake her little titties in people's faces and then gets all upset when people decide to get a real look!", the speaker was a slightly stocky young woman with a pink Mowhawk haircut and heavily pierced ears - the others called her "Cill" (short for "Millicent", a name she cordially despised).
Sandy Dawson was thunderstruck - again. The change in mood was inexplicable - she thought the punks were ... helping her? She simply stared, moving her gaze from face to face in wide eyed open mouthed shock.
"Well, Little Miss Orange County Princess" snarled a scrawny girl the others called "Trude" (instantly recognizable by her hair - a purple fade - and the electrical tape covering her nipples), "You wanna find out what 'punk' is? You wanna gawk at people like some fucking freak show? You think that's FUNNY? We are gonna SHOW you what 'funny is, BITCH! Get her in the chair!".
The stunned blonde felt rough hands on her soft skin. She was manhandled over to the dilapidated salon chair and forced down. Too overwhelmed to protest, she gaped in silence as duct taped circled her wrists, ankles, waist and neck - very effectively restraining her into the chair. When she finally found her voice, Sandy stammered meekly, "Wh-What ... what are you gonna do to me?".
"Poor poor me ...'what are you gonna do to me?' ...", mocked one of the punks.
"What are we gonna do to you? You're in that big a hurry to find out?" Cil snarled, inches from the trembling blonde's face, "Well, let's not prolong the suspense! Alright, girls ... get her shoes off!".
Two female punks stationed by the bound blonde's ankles slid the high heeled silver pumps from Sandy's feet. The blonde flexed and unflexed her bare feet, seemingly self conscious about being bare foot - as incongruous as that might seem given that every other stitch of clothing had been stripped from her! Why on earth would she be concerned about being barefoot?
It was then that Sandy saw it! In her right hand a smirking Cil was twirling a long stiff...
"... FEATHER?!! Y-Y-You've got a f-f-f-feather?" stammered Sandy Dawson, dry-mouthed, "Oh ... oh you ...
you wouldn't ... y-y-y-you can't ... you're not gonna (ulp) ... TICKLE MY FEET?!!"
Sandy Dawson began to wriggle her long meticulously pedicured toes in dread and anticipation. Her toenails were polished a shocking pink and they seemed to sparkle, even in the dimly lit room.
"Oooooooooooooooohh, 'the princess' doesn't like the idea of that, does she?", chuckled Trude, pointing at the bound blonde's frantically wiggling toes, "Is miss oh-so gorgeous disco diva afwaid of having the big bad punks tickle her pretty piggie-wiggies? And after she fussed over them so much?"
"No ... no please ... I ... I'm begging you ...
d-d-d-don't ... don't do this to me ... y-you don't understand ... m-my feet ... they're ... they're very sensitive ... my feet are ... are ... are ... they're TICKLISH!!! Please ... I'm begging you ... don't do this ... don't ... tee hee hee hee hee ... oooooh no ... ha ha ha ha ha ... s-s-stop ... ha ha ha ...
p-p-p-please ...". Cil had slyly begun teasing Sandy Dawson's plush tender sole with the feather, sending subtle waves of nervous energy from her foot to her brain.
"What's the matter, disco-slut? You find something funny about this? You think it's funny to be stripped? You think it's funny to be shaking your sweet little ass in front of our guys? You like showin' off your body? You don't? then what the fuck are you giggling about, bitch?"
" ... n-n-no ... hoo hoo ha ha ha ... no, it's not ... ha ha .. th-that ... hee hee hee hee ... I ... ha ha ... I wasn't trying to s-s-steal your guys ... hoo hoo hoo hoo ... I-I don't think it's f-f-funny ... ha ha ha ha ha ... it's just that ... hee hee ... I'm ... I'm ... I'm TICKLISH!!!". The bound blonde wriggled her bare feet excitedly as the cruel feather mercilessly explored and excited the nerve rich flesh of her tender pampered soles; wringing increasingly frantic peals of laughter from the helpless victim.
Just as Sandy Dawson was tickled to the edges of sanity ... just when she imagined it could not be any worse ... through teary eyes she saw Trude, the punk with the purple fade ... hovering at her other foot ... a fluffy white feather in hand!
"Mind if I get some of this, Cil?", Trude chuckled, pointing toward Sandy's unassailed left foot, "I'll be your 'assistant tickler'!". With that, the purple haired punk began to ravishing the bare foot before her with obvious relish. The added unwelcome sensation caused the already addled blonde's brain to overload.
" ... HOO HOO HOO HOO HA HA ... AHA HA HA HA HA ... NO ... HEE HEE ... I CAN'T TAKE IT ... HA HA HA HA HA ... I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... IT TICKLES ... HA HA ... IT TICKLES ... HA HA ... IT TICKLES!!!".
"Damn right it tickles!" laughed Cil, "We may just tickle your skanky ass to death, bitch! But if we do let your ass go, are we ever gonna see you around here again?"
"... NO ... HA HA HA ... N-N-NEVER ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ... HOO HOO HA HA HA ..."
"You won't come slumming around again, rich bitch, looking to pick up some stud?"
"... HEE HEE HEE HEE ... N-N-NO ... Y-YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN ... S-S-STOP ... AHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA ... P-P-PLEASE ... HEE HEE ... I C-C-CAN'T S-S-STAND IT ... I CAN'T S-S-STAND IT ...". Sandy's long agile toes were wriggling frantically as the two heartless punks mercilessly tickled her unbearably ticklish soles; driving the blonde further into a state of near hysteria. "... HOO HOO HA HA HA HA HA ... N-N-NO ... HA HA HA HA ... NO MORE ... HOO HOO HOO HOO ... NOT THE F-F-F-FEET ... AHA HA HA HA HA ... PLEASE ... HEE HEE HEE ... NOT MY FEET ... AHA HA HA HA HA ... I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE ... HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE ...
M-M-M-MY FEET ... HOO HOO HA HA HA HA ... THEY'RE ... HA HA ... THEY'RE TOO T-T-TICKLISH!!! AHA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAA ...".
Some minutes later ...
A naked shattered Sandy Dawson was shoved roughly into the garbage strewn alley behind the club by the jeering punks. "... and remember, glamor-puss, we catch your ass around here again and this little session will seem like a light lunch!". One of the punk girls noticed a group of gawking stoners, the joint all but forgotten as they gaped at the luscious nude blonde. "Hey, bitch ... looks like you got some new admirers ... have fun guys ..." and the club door slammed!
Sandy Dawson returned the slackers stare for a long moment and then ran - ran as fast as she could - bare breasts bobbling, bare feet slapping the pavement, she ran directionless - anything to get away form that place. Later, exhausted, she was able to flag down a car - trading the teenaged driver a blow job for a ride home. On arrival, she had to offer the promise of further sex to get the guy to loan her his T-shirt to wear in the lobby of her building. On reaching her apartment, she tried to plead to the guy that she'd been through enough ... but wound up swallowing a second load of nut cream before ruefully making her way to her bedroom ... sitting sleepless on the side of her bed as she relived her shattering experience in her mind ... as she would over and over for years to come!
