CLASSIC: The Perils of Linda I, by Malasfan

[Ace Riley]

A Classic, I'm a true fan of Malasfan's stories. I think there are too few of them, and it's a pity he seems to have vanished from the face of the earth. If anyone knows where I can get more stories from him, let me know.

I'm posting this for those folk who have yet to explore the fine world of Google for stories, due to Ticklingforum.com being so efficient a stop for all our needs. :)

Note: This is Not my Work, and all credit should go to it's original author.


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The Perils of Linda


Part 1


"But, Daddy!" whined Linda, "I didn’t agree to that!"

"Actually you did, I’m afraid."

"Yeah, Linda," said her sister Karen. "You said you that if you didn’t repay the loan,
you’d agree to any punishment I specified."

"But...."

"Actually it’s not a bad idea," interjected their mother Doris. "It might help business.
What do you think, George?"

"Hmmm. It might at that. At the very least, it will teach Linda to honor commitments,
and it wouldn’t hurt her to help out at the museum once in a while."

"I spend my Saturday’s giving tours there to earn some extra money," said Karen. "Then I
lend it to you to go shopping with while I’m there earning some more for myself."

"I said I’d pay you back." Linda had planned to go shopping this Saturday morning, and
was dressed comfortably in her new white spaghetti-strap sundress for what the
weatherman had projected to be an unseasonably hot Spring day. "There is no way I’m
going to help out by spending Saturday afternoon in that gloomy museum, especially not
in that section" Her put her fists on her hips for emphasis.

"Yes you will, Linda Elaine Johnson," said her mother, "and there will be no further
arguments about it." That was all there was to it. When her mother used all three names,
it meant the discussion was over.

Linda looked pleadingly at her sister, and said, "Come on, Karen, cut me some slack on
this."

"No way, Linda. You said you’d pay the money back by Saturday, and what do you do?
You go and buy that dress with it, that’s what."

Linda looked at her mother, and saw she was not going to get any sympathy from her.
Nor from her father either, who was just putting on his suit coat for another Saturday as
curator and owner of the museum.

"Oh, well, I guess," she said, letting her arms move out and fall against her thighs in a
dismissive gesture. I’ll go get changed." She started to leave.

"No need to get changed. You look fine like that," said her mother.

"Oh, no. There’s no way I’m spending Saturday in the torture chamber dressed like this."

"Why not, Linda," giggled Karen. "You don’t think anything about going to the mall
dressed like that."

"That’s different!"

"What’s so different about it?" asked her father.

"It...it just is." What had she gotten herself into? She hadn’t thought Karen was serious
when she demanded that Linda act as a model to demonstrate the torture devices in the
museum. She shuddered at the thought.

"Nobody’s going to hurt you, dear," said her mother. "It’s just make-believe."

"I know that. It’s just that...well, you know. Shopping and being tortured are two
different things."

"I might disagree with you there," said Mr. Johnson, but clammed up when he saw his
wife’s withering look.

"Come on, Linda," said her sister happily, "it’ll be fun being tortured."

"Yeah, right."

Her eleven-year-old brother Bobby came bounding down the stairs and said, "Who’s
going to be tortured?" Like all eleven-year-old boys, he was fascinated with torture.

"Nobody," said Linda.

"Linda is going to be tortured at the museum."

Bobby’s eyes grew wide with a newfound respect for his big sister. "Wow!" he said. "I’m
going to tell Eddie." Then he ran out the door.

"Thanks a lot, Karen."

"Anytime."


As they stood before the solid unvarnished oak door, Linda said, "I don’t know about
this."

Her father opened it and Karen and their mother each took one of Linda’s arms and led
her inside, where there were several torture devices from the middle ages. Chains hung
from one wall, near another was an X-frame, and in the center of the room was a rack.
"I’ll go open the front doors for business," said their father.

"Let’s chain her to the wall for openers," said Karen. "How does that sound?"

"Yeah, great," answered Linda as they led her to the wall. They turned her around so that
her back was to the wall below two opened manacles. Nervously, she rubbed the
goosebumps on her arms as Karen got the key.

Karen lifted one of Linda’s arms and placed her wrist in a manacle, locking it in place with
a cast iron key. She did the same to her other arm, then stepped back to look at her sister.
Linda’s arms were held high over head like a damsel in distress in a movie. The iron
manacles were cold and heavy against her wrists. She wrapped her fingers around the
chains, then wondered why damsels always did that. For some reason, it just seemed the
natural thing to do.

Stooping down, Karen took a set of leg irons attached together with a short chain, and
locked her feet into place. "There, that should hold you."

"We simply have to get picture of this," said Doris.

"Mom! This is so embarrassing." It would have been bad enough being chained to a wall
without wearing a low-cut sundress.

"Nonsense, you look lovely."

Just then the door opened and her father walked in, looking at his poor daughter with
amusement. "Now, Linda. Isn’t it better to hang out here than at some boring mall?" He
chuckled, pleased at his wit.

Her father had a strange sense of humor, Linda thought. "Very funny." No it wasn’t
better to be chained to a wall with her family laughing at her than shopping. Already, she
was getting restless and wanted to be set free.

As if reading her thoughts, her father said as if giving a lecture, "These manacles, as well
as the other torture devices, are replicas of the kind used during the Spanish Inquisition.
Although not the originals, they are fully functional."

Linda looked up at her manacled wrists and shook the chains, making a rattling sound.
"That’s nice to know."

"Come on, ladies, I need a little help with a display."

"All right," said Doris. "Don’t go anywhere, Linda. We’ll be back in a bit."

Linda sighed and tried shifting to get comfortable, but the chains held her arms up high
with about three feet separating each wrist. There was no way she was going to get loose;
the chains were set securely into a stone wall. The metal shackles were also heavy around
her ankles. How did girls in movies act so nonchalant about being chained up like this? It
was downright irritating! Every time she moved, there was a metallic rattling sound.
Sooner or later a visitor was going to come in here, possibly a guided tour, and see her in
this predicament. How embarrassing! She rattled the chains in frustration when the door
opened and her brother Bobby and his creepy friend Eddie came in.

"See?" said Bobby. "Pay up."

"No way," said Eddie, looking at the chained Linda in awe. His eyes travelled up and
down her slim frame.

Oh, great. Just what the day needed. Two pre-adolescent brats staring at her body, one
of them her brother.

Both of them tentatively walked toward her until they stood in front of her, silently staring
at the sight in disbelief. "Cool, Linda," said her little brother, visibly impressed.

"What are you little dweebs staring at?"

"Pay up, Eddie."

Eddie shrugged and said, "You said she was being tortured. Nobody’s torturing her."

"What the hell do you call this?" said Linda, waving her arms what little she could wave
them. The room was filled with the clanking of chains.

"Those chains aren’t even real."

"Yes they are," said Bobby defensively. He didn’t like anybody questioning his family’s
honor by suggesting anything in the museum was fake. "Aren’t they, Linda? Aren’t the
chains real?"

"Yes, you brat. Would I be standing here like this if they weren’t? Now get out of here."

But neither boy looked like they were going to leave anytime soon. Eddie’s eyes kept
scanning her bare skin, from her cleavage up and down her bare arms. As he licked his
lips, Linda could almost see his mind working. Without glancing away from Linda’s
scantily-clad body, he said, "Are you sure she can’t get loose, Bobby?"

Bobby boasted, "Nobody could escape from this dungeon!"

"Good. Let’s tickle her then." His stare had settled on her bare left underarm.

"Eddie!" said Linda. "Don’t you dare!"

"I don’t know," said Bobby doubtfully.

"What’s she going to do about it?" Eddie reached up and touched her arm just above her
armpit, then stroked down until it reached her upper side. She jerked away best she could
and let out a feminine shriek that delighted Eddie. Linda didn’t know that Eddie was
always torturing his little sister this way, and was positively ecstatic at the possibility of
doing it to a grown woman.

"Eddie, maybe we shouldn’t do this," but the sound of her voice when Eddie had touched
her underarm had Bobby intrigued.

Slowly, Eddie reached for her other underarm. Linda tried to escape the probing finger by
moving to the side, but there was very little freedom of movement and Eddie caused her
to shriek again as the small finger stroked her smooth underarm.

"Try it, Bobby."

"Bobby! Don’t you dare."

But the sight of his older sister in the sundress with her arms chained high over her head
exposing her bare underarms, coupled with the prospect of hearing another delightful
shriek won out over his conscience. He wouldn’t get another chance like this. He
reached up and barely touched his sister’s underarm, enjoying the way it stretched out as
she tensed and tried to move away. It was warm and smooth to the touch. It felt nice.
Because he only touched it, she let out a whimper instead of a shriek.

"See? She likes it," said Eddie happily.

"Yeah," said Bobby in wonderment.

"I do not! Mom! Daddy! Help me! Karen!" Linda looked pleadingly at both boys, then
screamed as Eddie wiggled a finger at her underarm.

"You’re sister’s real ticklish. Let’s do a blitz on her."

Bobby still had some doubts about torturing his sister. He wasn’t by nature cruel toward
her. In fact, he felt right now that he had the coolest sister in the world, chained up as she
was. There were also areas where he knew he shouldn’t touch her, such as her breasts,
but he didn’t think her underarms were such an area. If they were then why was she
chained while wearing that dress? This thought process took about a second and a half to
complete, at the conclusion of which he said, "Okay. Tickle blitz!"

"Noooo," shouted Linda as both smiling boys reached for an underarm and worked their
fingers up and down rapidly. The sounds of laughter and clanking chains as she tried to
jerk free filled the chamber. With both arms held high, there was nothing she could do to
stop the assault on her underarms. She could not pull her arms down, nor could she
protect herself with her hands. It was agony, brought on by the fingers working their way
from her upper sides to her upper arms. "Help me!!!" she managed to scream between
bursts of laughter. The door finally opened, and her parents, sister, and a woman she
didn’t know with a camera came in, but before the boys stopped the stranger had taken a
snapshot of her being tickled.

"Bobby, stop that right now!" said her mother.

Mercifully the tickling stopped as Bobby and Eddie realized they were caught. Bobby felt
embarrassed, as he looked at Linda trying to catch her breath, her wrists still firmly in the
manacles. The chains really were genuine. Before, he hadn’t been sure.

"Let me out of these things!" yelled Linda. "Did you see what those brats were doing to
me?"

Karen said, "Linda, this is Sandy Daniels from the Midtown Reader. She’s doing a story
on the museum." The Midtown Reader was the local alternative weekly free paper.

"Yeah, Linda," said Sandy. "That was a great shot of you and the kids. I’ll need you to
sign a release form so I can print it."

"When hell freezes over," said Linda. "I don’t want the whole town to see me like this."

"Come on, Linda," said her mother. "We need all of the publicity we can get."

Karen had an idea. "Maybe we can persuade her to sign it."

"How?" asked her mother.

"Well...this is a torture chamber."

Linda was aghast. "Karen!"

"She does have a point, Linda. We could always put you on the rack, stretch you out
tightly, and give you a tickling you’d never forget."

"Mom!" Linda gasped as she looked at the evil-looking wooden device in the middle of
the room, equipped with stocks for the feet and ropes with leather cuffs attached to a
roller at the other end.

"Will you sign it, Linda?" asked Karen, who smiled wickedly as she looked back at the
dreaded device. "Or will it be the rack? Keep in mind we’ll take your shoes off as soon as
you’re in place." She left the rest unsaid.

Linda weighed her options, which seemed extremely limited at this point in time. The
prospect of being attached to that thing and having her own family work on her feet was
more than she could take. It had been bad enough being chained with her underarms
exposed for those two brats to tickle. The rack would be even worse. "Oh, all right, but I
don’t want to be put on that thing."

"Agreed." Karen got the key and unlocked the right cuff, letting Linda’s arm down so she
could sign the release form that Sandy had on a clipboard. Once it was signed, Karen
reattached her arm.

Linda sighed in resignation. At least she had escaped the rack.



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Part 2


"Aunt Vivian!" Linda ran across the living room and hugged her mother’s sister. "I had
no idea you were coming." She had just returned from the movies.

"It was a surprise, Linda," said her mother.

Her brother Bobby was in the room, as was her father with his head buried behind the
paper. Linda saw that her aunt was holding the Midtown Reader in her hand. "Oh, no. I
have never been so embarrassed in my life!" Her picture was right smack dab on the
cover, which wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been a photograph of her chained to a
wall in a spaghetti-strap sundress. To make matters worse, her little brother and his
creepy friend Eddie were standing on either side of her and tickling her under her arms.
She looked at her parents and aunt with a defeated look. "I can’t go anywhere in this
town without people laughing and pointing at me. How could you show it to her, Mom?"

"It is a good picture, Dear. Come on, have a sense of humor."

"Yes, Linda," said her father, "Attendance at the museum doubled today--people were
asking where the girl in the Reader was."

"Well, you can tell them I’m not setting foot in that museum again, especially not in the
dungeon. I spent an entire day chained to that wall with people walking through and
staring at me."

"Yeah," said Bobby with pride. "Linda was being tortured."

"And you and your bratty friend Eddie did your best to help."

"I only wish I had been there to give you a good tickling myself," said Aunt Vivian.
"Remember when I used to tickle you and your sister when you were kids?"

"Yes," giggled Linda. "Whenever we wore our bathing suits, you’d tell us to come over
so you could tickle us. You always said that little girls in bathing suits deserved a good
tickling." She smiled as she remembered how she and Karen had shyly approached Aunt
Vivian and ran away squealing as she tickled their ribs with her long nails, only to come
forward again for some more. And Linda saw that Aunt Vivian’s nails were longer than
ever, and painted bright red. "That was fun."

"Obviously your little brother thought you needed a good tickling too. I don’t know the
story behind this, but I’m sure you deserved that."

‘I don’t think anybody deserved that," said Linda. "God, it’s warm in here."

"Why don’t you go change into your bathing suit?" asked her mother.

"Oh, no. Uh uh." Linda said with a laugh. I’m too big for a tickling from Aunt Vivian.

"You’re never too big for that, Linda," said her aunt. "That’s wonderful idea your mother
just had. I’ve missed tickling my niece." She sat down on the couch.

Her mother said, "Oh, come on, be a sport. What do you think, George?"

"Hmmm," was all he said. He didn’t approve of Linda’s bathing suits. "We don’t need
her running around here damn near naked."

That decided it for her. "Oh, all right." What harm would it do anyway? It really was
quite hot in here, after all.

As Linda walked up the stairs to change, her mother and aunt exchanged conspiratorial
glances. Turning off the air conditioner had worked.




A half hour later--it always took Linda forever to change clothes--she emerged from her
bedroom in a strapless black bikini to find her mother waiting outside her door.

"It took you long enough."

"Oh, Mom." Then she saw that her mother was holding a length of rope in her hand.
"What’s that for?"

"Turn around and put your hands behind you."

"Mother!"

Her mother raised an eyebrow, and said, "You said you were too big for a tickling, so I
thought it might make it easier for your aunt if your hands were tied."

"That isn’t necessary."

The raised eyebrow inched higher. Linda sighed and turned around, placing her hands
behind her back. Oh, well, she thought. At least her hands wouldn’t be above her head
this time, and it would surely get a reaction from her father.

Her mother wrapped the rope around her daughter’s wrists and tied a square knot. Then,
she wrapped the remaining lengths a few times between her wrists, effectively forming the
bonds into two separate loops. She tied another knot. "There, that will hold you. Vivian
used to tie me up and torment me all the time when we were kids."

"Really?" She was surprised at this revelation. "Didn’t that bother you?"

"No, I didn’t mind. Sometimes she took my clothes off first. That’s when I got a really
good tickling."

Linda smiled at the thought of her mother being stripped, tied, and tickled by Aunt Vivian.
"I wish I could have seen that. Didn’t you ever tell Grandma?"

"No, I never did." She placed her hands on Linda’s bare shoulders. "Let’s go."

Linda couldn’t help giggling at this, being tied up in this bikini in front of her family. It
was better than being chained up in front of strangers, like she had been at the museum.
She tried working free, but it was impossible. Her mother took Linda by her arm to
steady her and guided her down the stairs, and into the living room. "Hi, Daddy," she
said, giggling some more.

Her father looked up from the newspaper, shook his head, and returned to reading the
sports section.

Delightedly, Aunt Vivian stood from the couch, clasped her hands, and said, "My, my. If
there was ever a girl asking to be tickled, that is it. Come over here, girl, and I’ll give you
something to giggle about."

Linda hesitated, then thought what the hell, it had been fun when she was a child.

Bobby saw the rope holding Linda’s hands behind her back and said, "Linda’s tied up!"

"No kidding, Einstein, how’d you figure that one out?" she answered, slowly approaching
her aunt, extremely conscious of her bare midriff and her inability to protect herself.

"Come a little closer...that’s it." Aunt Vivian reached toward Linda’s sides with her long
nails, but before she could even touch her niece, Linda stepped back out of reach with a
yelp.

Anticipating this, her mother had moved behind her and blocked Linda’s retreat by placing
her hands on her bare back. "Now, now. There’ll be none of that."

Again, Linda approached Aunt Vivian, and this time, she touched Linda’s sides, tweaking
them gently. She shrieked, bent over forward, and retreated, only to be stopped again by
her mother who grabbed the back of her bikini strap.

"Now, Linda, if you insist on running away like that, I’m going to remove your top."

"You wouldn’t," Linda said uncertainly. My, God, her father and brother were in the
room.

Her mother pulled on the two loose ends, untying the knot, and the two straps fell free.
The only thing preventing the top from falling off completely was her arms holding it
against her sides. "Mother!"

"Now, are you going to let Aunt Vivian tickle you?"

"Okay, okay, just tie it back on!"

Her mother tied the top back on, then reached around Linda’s bound arms and tickled her
stomach, causing her to lurch forward and fall on the couch next to Aunt Vivian who
didn’t pass up the opportunity. She placed both hands on Linda’s bare upper chest and
pushed her down onto her back; then, she straddled Linda’s hips and dug her fingers into
her sides.

The screaming was unbelievable. Aunt Vivian scratched her fingernails up and down
Linda’s sides, across her stomach, sometimes using her soft fingers instead, always
changing the style and direction of the tickling. Linda tried to sit up or throw herself off
the couch, but the tickling rendered her so helpless, she was powerless to resist.

Her father and brother got up from their chairs to stand over and watch the two women
on the couch. This was fascinating.

Linda’s eyes bulged and her breath came in gasps. She struggled against the rope holding
her hands, but her mother had tied the knots well. Aunt Vivian was working her way up
and down Linda’s sides, but had kept the tickling confined to the area between the two
pieces of her bikini.

It was when her fingers wandered above the bikini top and scratched Linda’s upper sides
that Linda did the unthinkable. With a scream, she lifted both bare legs, clamped Aunt
Vivian’s shoulders between her calves, and threw her onto the floor where she landed
unceremoniously in a heap.

"Linda!" shouted her mother as she bent over Aunt Vivian, who was struggling to get up.

"I’m fine, don’t fret over me."

Her brother Bobby said, "Linda’s real ticklish up there."

Aunt Vivian, back on her feet and brushing herself off, said, "Oh, she is, is she?"

Linda, her hands still bound securely behind her, had rolled into a fetal position, trying to
recover her breath.

"That was terrible, Linda," said her father.

"Untie me, somebody." Linda was still curled up on her side, moving both arms in a futile
attempt to get free.

"Not so fast, young lady. What in the world are we going to do about this?" said her
mother. Then she got that smile, that diabolical smile, that Linda new all too well. It was
that annoying smile of satisfaction her mother got when she had decided on a punishment
that she knew Linda wouldn’t like one little bit.



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Part 3


Linda didn’t try to get loose for one simple reason: Her mother had untied her bikini top
again, leaving Linda to hold it in place with her arms, which were still secured behind her
back. In addition, her mother had gotten another length of rope and had wrapped around
her middle, just below her dangerously loose bikini top, had ran it between her bound
arms, and had attached Linda in a sitting position to a wooden column in the living room.
They had then left the room, leaving her alone with Bobby.

Bobby was sitting on the couch watching a movie called Blood of Dracula’s Castle, in
which were several girls chained to walls with their arms over their heads. Every one of
the girls wore a sleeveless dress or top, and Bobby sat attentively, leaning forward with his
chin in his hand. The poor girl wearing the least was being menaced by a guy with a knife.

"Look, Linda," he said, "they’re chained up with their underarms showing, just like you
were."

"Yeah, you little creep," said the bound Linda, who mercifully was tied with her own bare
arms behind her back, "but they don’t have two little cretins tickling them."

"They should."

Linda thought the girls were lucky they didn’t have Bobby and his creepy friend Eddie to
deal with. Actually, she was grateful the movie kept him occupied. If he wasn’t so
absorbed with chained girls on the TV screen, he might find some way to torment his
sister who was bound for real in the same room. And she was wearing a heck of a lot less
than they were. But having a healthy ego, she also found it irritating. Kids, she thought.
"Hey, squirt, how about untying me."

Bobby looked at her for a second, pondered her request, concluded that he liked her that
way, and said, "Nah. Mom told me not to untie you." His gaze returned to the TV.

"Since when do you listen to her?" Linda already knew the answer, that he obeyed their
mother when it was something he wanted to do anyway. And what kid wouldn’t want to
leave his big sister tied up?

The inevitable commercial break came, and Bobby shifted his gaze to his sister, his
eleven-year-old brain processing three bits of knowledge: a) That she was securely tied
up. b) That she was damn near naked, and half of what she was wearing was precariously
close to falling off. c) That on the mantle there was a decorative vase in which were
several feathers.

This was almost as good as the movie. He got up and retrieved a particularly long feather,
and idly twirled it between his fingers, then looked at his bound sister.

"Bobby, no." she said, trying to sound authoritative. With a mischievous smile, he slowly
walked toward her. "Bobby, don’t you dare."

Stooping down beside her, careful to avoid her legs after seeing what she had done to
Aunt Vivian, he slowly stroked the end of the feather along her collarbone, which caused
her to twitch her shoulder.

"Bobby, don’t do that."

But he did that again, and again she twitched, a simple movement that Bobby found he
liked. He repeated it on her other bare shoulder, and that shoulder dutifully twitched.

"You stupid twerp."

Bobby thought about that for a second, then said, "Smarter than you."

"How do you figure?"

"You’re the one who let Mom tie you up in a bikini. You’re tied up, and I’ve got a
feather. Who’s stupid?"

He had a point, she conceded. If she were so smart, she wouldn’t be tied to a column.

To emphasize his point, Bobby stroked the feather across her abdomen, between her bikini
top and the rope securing her to the column. She giggled in response, squirming. The
bikini top slipped slightly.

Next he drew the feather across her chest, causing more giggles, but this time she held still
lest the top slip some more.

"You like torturing me, don’t you."

Bobby shrugged and circled her navel. "I suppose." He ran the feather in decreasing
circles toward her navel, then stuck the tip inside it and twirled."

Linda gritted her teeth and looked up at the ceiling, conscious of two things: There was a
feather inside her navel, and the rope holding her hands behind her back.

A very bad combination.

"Heeheeheehee."

"Does that tickle?"

"Yes heehee." Then she yelled, "Get away from me, you little shithead!"

"Linda! That’s no way to speak to your little brother." Her mother, father, and Aunt
Vivian had just passed through the doorway.

"The little moron is driving me crazy!"

Her mother came over and untied the rope holding her to the column, and Linda leaned
forward. Then her mother tied her dangerously loose bikini strap. Expecting to have her
hands untied, Linda remained leaning forward, but instead her mother tied the rope that
had been holding her against the column to the rope between her wrists. Her aunt and
mother each grabbed an arm and hefted her to her feet, her mother holding the stray rope
like a leash.

"Enough is enough. Untie me."

"Not so fast, young lady. There’s still the matter of you throwing your aunt on the floor.

"I couldn’t help it! She was tickling me, and I lost control."

"Well, we’ve found a way to solve that."

"Huh?"

They led the reluctant Linda out toward the backyard and down the path to the large
garage which had been converted to a storehouse for the museum artifacts not currently
on display. Her father opened the side door, and beckoned the three women in. Once
inside, Linda gasped and tried to break free, but her mother and aunt had anticipated this
and had tightened their grip.

Right in the middle of the room, directly under the fluorescent lights, was the torture rack
from the dungeon.



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Part 4


They stood before the rack, letting Linda get a good look at the device that she was going
to be attached to. It was made of wood, with stocks for the feet at one end, a roller with a
lever for turning at the other. Around the roller were two ropes, to which were attached
leather cuffs with metal buckles which were open and waiting on the flat wooden boards.
She was conscious of wearing no more than a tiny strapless black bikini, and that her
hands were tied behind her back.

"What is that thing doing here?"

Her father said, "I rotate exhibits at the museum regularly, it was time to rotate the rack.
It’s been here before."

"Please don’t put me on that thing," she whined.

Aunt Vivian said happily, "Take a good look at it, Linda, and think about being stretched
out on it with all of us here to see you." This was half the fun, letting a victim anticipate
what was going to happen to her.

Linda looked pleadingly at her mother, but saw no sympathy. She looked at her father
and said, "Why are you going along with this, Daddy?"

"Maybe it will teach you not to run around damn near naked. A little stretch on the rack
won’t hurt you. See, I placed some padding in the footholes so it won’t hurt your ankles."

"How thoughtful."

Her mother said, "Yes, and Aunt Vivian suggested another modification." They dragged
Linda around to the foot-end of the rack, where her mother pointed to four eye-bolts set
above and to each side of the footholes.

Linda started to ask what they were for, then gasped as she understood. "Why are you
doing this to me, Mom?"

"Because every time I ever mention some torment your Aunt inflicted on me when we
were kids, you think it was funny. Now you’re going to experience it firsthand."

"I’ll bet she never put you on a rack," Linda said indignantly.

"No, but if we had had one, I’m sure she would have."

"You’re right about that, little sister."

Her mother dragged a small stepladder over to the side of the rack. "Enough talk, up you
go."

"No," she whined.

Aunt Vivian said, "Well, your mother sure would have taken this better than you."

That statement hurt Linda’s pride, so she gave in to the inevitable, vowing to herself to
withstand whatever Aunt Vivian had in store for her. She stepped up the ladder turned
around, and sat demurely on the rack. Aunt Vivian lifted the upper part of the stock and
her mother took both ankles and placed them in the footholes, while Linda lay back on her
bound wrists. Gently Aunt Vivian lowered the stock; once in place she pushed a wooden
pin through a hole at the edge, locking it in place.

Aunt Vivian took Linda’s bare shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position, allowing her
mother to untie her hands. Rubbing her wrists, Linda lay back down and placed her hands
over her head, feeling the rough boards against her bare back.

"What a brave girl," said Aunt Vivian, as her younger sister placed one of her daughter’s
wrists in the cuff and fastened it. A second later, the other wrist was secured, leaving
Linda lying on her back with her arms held high, elbows slightly bent outward.

Linda thought that her little brother would really be impressed. "Go get Bobby. I want
him to see this."

"Sure, why not?" said her mother. "Somebody get Bobby, please."

Linda’s father, not really wanting to see anymore, went to get him.

Her mother grabbed the lever that turned the roller, and moved it one notch. Linda felt
her arms pulled higher. A couple of more turns placed some slight tension on her body,
and there was a creaking sound from the rack. Another notch, and she gasped. Her
mother felt one of the ropes, and decided one more notch would do the trick. This time,
Linda moaned as her body was stretched tightly. The leather cuffs pulled at her wrists,
while the padded stock held her feet. She was nearly immobile, but not in any pain.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot about your feet." Linda giggled as her mother removed her
flip-flops and tied her big toes to the inner eye-bolts. She repeated it with her little toes,
leaving her daughter’s feet bent back and her toes splayed outward.

Bobby appeared at the door, but his reaction was not something Linda expected. "Don’t
hurt Linda! It was my fault she called me a dirty word." He ran over to his sister’s side.

"It’s okay, squirt, nobody’s hurting me. I just thought you’d get a kick out of seeing this."

He looked up and down her stretched bikini-clad body, saw her ankles trapped in the
stock, and the cuffs around her wrists. Her legs were held slightly farther apart than her
hips, her arms a little wider apart than her shoulders. She didn’t look like she could move
very much at all. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure. Thanks. This is better than that movie, huh?"

"Yeah." He started at her bare underarms, understanding she could do nothing to cover
them up. He wanted to touch them, but didn’t because his mother and aunt were there.

She smiled at him and said, "I thought you’d be impressed."

"Run along now, Bobby," said her mother. Then to Aunt Vivian, "George and I are going
out for a little while. I’ll leave you two alone." She gave Aunt Vivian a wink, and left her
alone with Linda, closing the door behind her.

Once alone, Aunt Vivian said, "What a wonderful device, girl. This is going to be fun."

"Fun for who?"

"That’s ‘Fun for Whom?’ Linda." Still at the foot of the rack, she decided to start at
Linda’s feet. She raked her nails across Linda’s stretched soles, and was rewarded by a
shriek. Smiling, she did it again, and watched Linda’s entire body jerk as she screamed.

Taking one fingernail, she touched Linda’s sole, causing her to stiffen and squeeze her
eyes shut. "I’m not even tickling you."

"You’re going to."

"You’re right."

Linda screamed and laughed like a madwoman as Aunt Vivian rippled her nails up and
down and across Linda’s soles. Her toes wiggled as she tried to curl them, to protect her
feet, but there was nothing she could do to stop the nails from scratching her feet. It
seemed like forever to the helpless Linda, but in reality it was only about a minute. When
Aunt Vivian ceased, Linda lay there gasping, her chest heaving. "My, my, aren’t we
ticklish. We’re going to have a lot of fun."

Between gasps, Linda managed to say, "Why are you doing this, Aunt Vivian?"

"Because I love tickling girls, no other reason than that. I always have, why I don’t
know." She walked around the rack and looked down into Linda’s eyes, saw her face
framed by her bare arms. "I know your ribs are ticklish," she said as she tweaked them."

"Hahaha."

"But judging by your reaction earlier, you’re more ticklish up here." She scritched Linda’s
upper sides above her bikini strap, and the racked girl erupted in laughter and shouts.
"You can’t kick this time."

Screaming, Linda tried to thrash back and forth, but was only able to move a little bit,
lifting her upper back slightly off the boards. Aunt Vivian saw this, and got the timing just
right. As Linda lifted away from her aunt, her aunt reached one hand quickly under
Linda’s warm bare back, grabbed a free end of the bow holding her bikini strap in place,
pulled it loose, and snapped the top off, leaving Linda’s breasts bouncing free.

"Aunt Vivian, put it back on,!" shouted Linda. She was absolutely aghast at this
development.

"Now isn’t that much nicer?" Aunt Vivian was holding the black top up in triumph.

"No!" She lifted her head and looked at her completely naked upper body, and saw to her
horror that her nipples were erect.

"You’ll be much more comfortable with that off." She set the top down next to Linda and
raked her nails from Linda’s upper arms, through her armpits, and down her sides.

"Nohahahahahaha." She arched her back, then fell back down.

"How do you feel, Linda?"

"Helpless, naked, and tormented!" she shouted. "How am I supposed to feel?"

"But aren’t you enjoying it, just a little bit?" She placed a nail in Linda’s right underarm,
and traced a circle.

"NO! Heeheehee"

"Why did you want Bobby to see you on the rack?"

Linda thought about it, and wasn’t sure herself. Was it because he had been infatuated
with the girls chained up in the movie, to the point of ignoring her when she was tied up in
the living room? The difference was that they had all worn sleeveless clothing, and had
been chained up with their bare underarms exposed, while she had not. He had liked that.
Now she was, and had wanted him to be impressed with her. She had almost hoped he
would tickle her, just a little.

"I...I’m not sure."

"Why did you change into a bikini, with very little protest?"

That was easy. "It irritates Daddy."

Aunt Vivian nodded in understanding. Then she left the racked, naked Linda and went
back to the house.

Linda tried to pull loose, but there was nothing she could do. Her feet were tightly
clamped, and her wrists were tightly held over her head. She was extremely aware of
being topless, of having her breasts exposed without being able to cover them up in any
way. And, of course, there was Aunt Vivian and her fingernails. That was the worst.
Pure torture, and it was humiliating being helpless not to laugh and shout when she ran
them across her skin. A minute later, Aunt Vivian returned with two feathers in her hand.
Linda lifted her head, then dropped it as she saw what was coming next, resigned to more
torment.

Aunt Vivian paused over her anguished victim, then with the feathers, circled each nipple.

"Heeheeheehee."

"Why did you let your mother tie you up?"

"Heehee, I don’t know."

Aunt Vivian set the feather down and raked her fingernails down Linda’s bare underarms.

"Nooohahahaha."

"Don’t you know?"

"Well, I thought it might be fun to be tied up while wearing a bikini."

"Why?"

"I’m not sure, something to do with being helpless, with a lot of bare skin exposed."

She picked up the feathers again, and tickled Linda’s nipples, which were larger than
before. "What are you now?"

"Heeheehee. Helpless, with a lot of bare skin exposed."

"Then you should be happy to be in this situation."

"Nohahaha," she said, squirming under the feathers circling her breasts.

"Sure you are, it’s what you wanted, only more of it. Just look at your nipples, they’re
huge."

Linda blushed deeply. She had hoped Aunt Vivian wouldn’t have noticed.

"It’s nothing to be ashamed of," she said with understanding.

"They’re always that size."

Aunt Vivian promptly dropped the feathers, then determinedly moved to the end of the
rack where she started in on Linda’s bare feet with both hands, raking her fingernails
down, across, and diagonally on her soles. The sounds filling the storeroom went beyond
simple laughter. Instead they were a mixture of screaming, gasping, and attempted
begging which never quite became coherent. Also there was the sound of creaking wood
as the sturdy rack withstood the tensions of a tortured body trying fruitlessly to break free.

After what seemed like an eternity to the thrashing Linda, the fingernails stopped tickling
her feet, and she became limp except for her naked heaving chest as she tried to catch her
breath. She closed her eyes with a moan.

"Please understand, Linda, that I will not tolerate any lies."

Linda opened her eyes and saw Aunt Vivian standing over her, sternly looking down at
her face.

"O-Okay. I won’t"

"Good. Now, as I was saying, enlarged nipples are nothing to be ashamed of. It just
means you are enjoying yourself." Gently, with thumb and index finger of each hand, she
gave each nipple a playful squeeze.

Linda drew in her breath with a gasp and stiffened. She reddened and said weakly,
"Don’t."

"There’s really no way you can stop me, dear, not stretched out and helpless as you are."
Again she squeezed Linda’s growing nipples, rolling them back and forth between her
fingers. Linda moved her head back and forth and moaned, arching her back and letting
herself fall back. Still rolling the nipples, Aunt Vivian used the other three fingers of each
hand to scratch Linda’s sides, which caused the poor girl to buck upwards with laughter.
Seeing that Linda seemed to be squirming a bit too much, and that her elbows were
slightly bent, she stopped the tweaking and tickling.

"Oh, dear, it looks like these old ropes are stretching a bit. Or else you are." She
chuckled at her own humor. "Either way, I’m going to have to tighten you up." She
grasped the lever with both hands, and moved the roller a notch.

"No, Aunt Vivian. Please don’t stretch me any more."

"One more notch, and that should do it. I didn’t hear any creaking that time." Another
move of the lever, and her niece winced as her body was stretched almost to the point of
pain. "Perfect. It’s important to keep up the tension. It adds to the helplessness by
restricting your movement. And being helpless is really the worst part of this, isn’t it?"

Linda thought about it, wondering what was the worst part of it. Not wanting to disagree
with her aunt, she said, "Yes, Aunt Vivian." She closed her eyes, only to feel the light
sensation of fingernails touching her underarms.

"Nooo," she whimpered, opening her eyes to see Aunt Vivian’s long nails resting on her
bare underarms. Her breath came in short shallow gasps of fear.

It happened without warning. Her aunt skittered her nails up and down Linda’s
underarms. Linda screamed and laughed and tried to move, but was so tightly stretched
she couldn’t. It was agony, and all thoughts of her breasts being exposed faded as her
concentration shifted to her underarms. That was the worst part of it, being tied up with
her underarms exposed and a gleeful tickler working her torture.

Aunt Vivian kept up the torture, watching Linda’s bare breasts bouncing like Jello as she
shrieked at the fingernails scratching her underarms. Linda’s face was twisted and
contorted as she laughed. When the screams were weakening, she ceased and Linda
became still, her huge nipples rising up and down as her breathing returned to normal.

Aunt Vivian kindly stroked Linda’s hair and said, "In addition to being helpless, it’s
important for the victim to be stripped of her clothing as you are. Lift your head and look
at your body, Linda."

Linda scanned her stretched bare body, naked except for her bikini bottom, from her
smooth underarms to her breasts with their enlarged nipples to her stomach--also her bare
legs which disappeared into the wooden stock. Embarrassed, she let her head drop back.
But there was another feeling as well, a feeling she did not completely understand, nor
even fully admit to herself:

She wanted to touch herself.

"I think you’ve had enough for now, Linda." Her aunt found the catch that held the roller
in place and released it. Linda’s body became slack, and she lay there limply with a
relieved expression, her arms still over her head. Aunt Vivian unbuckled one wrist then
the other.

"Thank you," said Linda, modestly covering her breasts. Aunt Vivian picked up the bikini
top, and Linda dropped her hands while her aunt helped her sit up, then tie the top in
place. She took Linda’s hand and helped her down from the dreaded torture rack. All
Linda wanted now was to go to her bedroom and touch herself.

Aunt Vivian led the exhausted Linda back into the living room, where Bobby was still
watching TV. "Aunt Vivian," he said, "Dad called and said they ran into some friends and
won’t be home until later."

"Oh, is that so? In that case, I need some advice from you, Bobby."

Bobby was still watching the tube. "Huh?"

"What should we do with Linda in the meantime?"

That got his attention, and Linda could guess what was coming next. Letting the TV
screen release his attention, he looked at Linda still dressed in only that bikini, and realized
that whatever he said would happen to her. She visibly slumped because she knew what
he was going to recommend, which caused him to giggle at the thought of his older sister
actually living the role of a damsel in distress, all on his say so.

"Tie her up," he said.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Part 5
"Tie me up?" she asked incredulously. "Again? What do you think I’ve been all evening?"
Little brothers, she thought. It really wasn’t surprising. What little brother wouldn’t want
his older sister tied up? Then she looked at the television screen that had been holding his
attention. It was the conclusion of that silly movie he’d been watching before, Blood of
Dracula’s Castle. There was a girl in a white sleeveless dress tied to a pole, her arms over
her head, with some huge monstrous freak menacing her.

"You probably think that should be me, don’t you."

Aunt Vivian said, "Come on, Linda, it won’t hurt to humor the boy."

"Yeah, Aunt Vivian, tie her to the column like that girl in the movie." He giggled at the
thought, his eyes glued to the screen.

What the hell was wrong with this kid? thought Linda. Here she was in a tiny black
strapless bikini, having just been released from a rack in the garage, and his eyes were
glued to some dumb actress in a grade Z movie, all because she was tied to a pole. Sure
he was just a kid, and her brother, but no girl in a bikini liked to be ignored by somebody
more interested in the television. She walked over and stood between him and the TV.
"Hey, you little moron," she said while leaning toward him.

"Out of the way, Linda." He scooted over on the couch to get a better view.

Linda went to the television and yanked the plug out of the socket.

"Hey, I’m watching that!"

"Not any more, you little freak." She held out her wrists to Aunt Vivian and said, "Tie me
up."

There was plenty of rope lying around from when Linda had been tied earlier, and Aunt
Vivian took a piece and wrapped it around her niece’s wrists, tying the ends together.
Then she took a much longer piece and wrapped it around the rope between her wrists,
leaving two long dangling ends. Linda went to the column, stood with her bare back
against it, and lifted both arms up high over her head. Bobby was now watching his sister,
the television forgotten.

Aunt Vivian had to get a step ladder to tie the two ends of rope to the column, but she did
by pulling up as far as she could and wrapping the ends several times around the column
so they wouldn’t slip. After she had tied them securely, she stepped down.

Bobby got up off the couch and approached his bound sister, looking first at the rope
holding her wrists, then down her bare arms to her exposed underarms. "Well, it seems
we’ve finally captured Agent Linda," he said in a new persona.

"Agent Linda?"

"Yes, you are my prisoner now, and you have information that I require."

"God, I can’t believe this. You are such a little dork."

"You’re defiance won’t last long, my dear, in fact you will soon be begging to talk."

"Okay, I give up, what do you want to know?"

"You’re AOL password."

"Forget it, shrimp."

Bobby slowly walked around the column his sister was tied to. It was about nine inches
wide, and standing behind her he could see the sides of her naked back and her arms held
high over her head. He reached around it and poked her sides with his index fingers,
causing her to lurch and shriek. She hadn’t been expecting that. He returned to face her,
noting her indignant expression. "Will you tell me the password, or will it be torture?"
Actually, he didn’t care diddly squat about the password. He just wanted to demand
something she would be adamant about not revealing. That way he could torture her
good.

Linda looked up at her bound wrists, and had to admit she had gotten herself into this
predicament because he had been ignoring her. Now he wasn’t and she wished he was.
"You’re not getting that password." What the hell, she might as well play along with it,
show him who was more stubborn. "I’ll never reveal it, no matter how you torture me."

Bobby placed one finger on her bare underarm, feeling her immediately stiffen. "The
password."

God, it was hard to be defiant, she thought, when tied to a column with her arms up and
wearing nothing but a bikini and a grubby little finger in her underarm. "Uh uh," she said,
shaking her head. Another finger touched her other underarm, and she gasped, her entire
body tense.

"Last chance, my dear. The password."

"Never."

Bobby didn’t even try tickling her, but the effect was the same as he quietly explored her
underarms with his index fingers. The result was giggling and squirming from Agent
Linda, but no matter how she moved, his fingers followed her, stroking in circles, up and
down, left and right, simply seeing how her underarms felt under his fingers. This was
better than when he and Eddie had unmercifully tickled her in the dungeon: for one thing,
when two people tickled one, you never knew who was causing the laughter. Now it was
one on one, and he knew that he alone was causing it. After a couple of minutes, he
stopped.

"Had enough?"

"No, you little loser."

This time he probed her underarms with all his fingers, causing more laughing than before.
Since torturing her in the dungeon, he had been fascinated by women’s underarms. They
wore tank tops, sundresses, tube tops, all manner of clothing that left their arms bare.
They didn’t seem to think anything about showing them as they smoothed their hair,
reached up for groceries on high shelves, or waved to friends, but as soon as they were
touched, their arms came down immediately with a squeal. And sometimes in moves like
the one just shown, or like Linda, they were tied up helplessly but still didn’t seem to think
anything of it.

Until they were tickled.

Linda was laughing and shaking her head as if that would take her mind off it, but Bobby
just continued rubbing her bare underarms. He liked the way the rope looked around her
wrists, liked the way her bare arms looked on each side of her face, liked the way her
strapless bikini top left her chest completely bare, liked the way her underarms made
smooth hollows above her bikini top. Some girls didn’t look so good, carelessly leaving
stubble under their arms, but Linda always made sure she looked nice. She looked good
enough to be in a movie. Again he stopped, and Linda leaned her head wearily against her
right arm with a slight smile on her face. Bobby thought this was a good sign.

"Getting tired?"

"Bored is more like it. Is that the best you can do? Hahahahahaha."

Bobby increased the intensity this time by rippling his fingers more, noting her laughter
was louder now. And she wasn’t begging at all, not like she had in the dungeon. For a
change of pace, he switched to tickling her the warm skin of her chest above the bikini
top. She laughed at that too, but it was more of a soft laugh, not as extreme as when he
tickled her underarms. That was okay, however, a laugh was a laugh. From her chest he
rippled to her underarms, up her biceps, and down again. As he did, her laugh turned to a
shriek and she tossed her head back, swaying away from the column. Once again, he
tickled her from her chest to her arms, and when she arched her back, he quickly dug his
fingers into her ribs, and ran his fingers all over her bare midriff, continuing his attack for a
couple of minutes. When he stopped, he stepped back and looked at his breathless sister,
still tied securely and helplessly to the column.

She looked down at him, conscious of her bare arms still held over her head and said,
"You little monster!" It wasn’t that it was worse on her midriff, it was just that she hadn’t
expected it. The little creep was still staring at her bound body, but his expression was
one of...of what? Then she realized it was admiration. The little brat was actually proud
of her.

"I hope you appreciate this, you little dingus. How many girls let themselves get tied up
and tortured by their little brothers?"

Then she yelped as Bobby reached for her again, but she never expected what he did. Her
little brother wrapped his arms around her and held his head against her bare chest. Even
less expected was what he said.

"You’re the greatest, Linda."

"I know. You’re okay yourself. Enough of the mushy stuff, okay?"

"How sweet," said Aunt Vivian. Startled, both Linda and Bobby looked at her. They had
forgotten she was even in the room. "He’s fond of you, Linda."

"You could have fooled me. He’s been tormenting me all evening."

"He wouldn’t torment you if he didn’t like you."

Bobby felt the warm skin of her back and decided it was indeed enough of the mushy
stuff. He released her and poked her belly like she was the Pillsbury Doughboy and got a
brief laugh. They hadn’t heard the car pull up, and were surprised when the front door
opened and their parents came in.

"Hi, everybody," said their mother, as if Linda wasn’t tied to a column in nothing but a
bikini.

Never one to waste an opportunity to irritate her father, who criticized her choice of
clothing regularly, she said brightly, "Hi, Daddy!"

Her father just looked, shook his head, and picked up the remote control, assuming the
natural duties of any male in front of the tube.

"Hey, what’s wrong with the TV?"

"Linda unplugged it," said Bobby. "Didn’t you, Linda?" He poked her bare underarm in
emphasis.

"Hee hee, yes. Is somebody going to untie me now?"

"That’s certainly a good reason to tie somebody up." He got on his knees and plugged the
television back in, then returned to his recliner and turned on Leno.

Her mother said, "It’s past your bedtime, Bobby."

"Okay. Good night, Linda." He gave her one last tweak on her ribs before running up the
stairs.

"Is somebody going to untie me?"

Her father said, "Looks like a good show tonight."

"Hey!" said Linda, hoping to get somebody’s attention.

"Be quiet, Linda, your father’s watching television." Her mother sat on the couch.

"But--"

"Shhhh."

"Help, somebody."

Aunt Vivian was never one to hesitate to do the right thing. She went to a kitchen drawer
and came back with a piece of duct tape, placing it over Linda’s mouth.

"Hmmmmph."



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Part 6
Linda awoke from the dream--the same dream she’d had the last night, the dream where
she was being stretched on the rack and tickled until she fainted, except instead of fainting,
she woke up and found to her disappointment that she was in her own bed. Strange how
she had thought it a terrifying experience when her aunt had done just that to her two days
ago, but in her dream she longed for it again. She moaned softly and turned onto her side
and clutched her pillow, not understanding her feelings.

She pushed the covers down to her feet and lay on her back, stretching her arms over her
head and grasping the brass headboard, imagining she was tied to it. But is was no good
because she wasn’t tied and there wasn’t anybody to touch her. She tried tickling her
stomach but it just didn’t work and besides, she had to let go of the headboard to do it
which spoiled the feeling.

She grasped the headboard again, wishing somebody was there to tickle her into insanity.
Eventually she fell asleep.





The next day, Linda’s parents, brother, and sister left for a two day vacation, leaving her
alone with Aunt Vivian. The memories of the dreams were still vivid in Linda’s memory,
and she found that she was as restless during the day as she was at night. Sitting in the
center of the couch, wearing an old red tank top and short frayed cutoffs, Linda looked
away from the television screen down at her wrists. "It looks like the marks are almost
gone now."

Her aunt looked up from her easy chair. "What was that?"

"The marks where the ropes chafed my wrists."

"That must have been uncomfortable."

Linda stretched her bare arms out along the top of the couch and said, "No big deal."
Linda casually looked back at the TV without really seeing it, aware that the tank top left
her underarms and upper sides exposed.

Aunt Vivian got up from her chair and walked around the back of the couch, standing
directly behind Linda. She gently took Linda’s forearms in her hands and lifted her arms
over her head to see her wrists. Linda’s breath caught in a small gasp as she felt her arms
lifted high; she made no effort to pull them down. She wore no bra underneath the tank
top, and she was aware of her nipples growing harder, pushing visibly against the red
fabric. Sadly, she thought, as she arched her back slightly to feel the cloth against her
breasts, there was nobody else to see her or touch her under her arms.

What was happening to her?

"Oh, yes," said Aunt Vivian, "it’s almost faded completely, you poor dear." She let go of
Linda’s forearms, allowing her to rub her wrists as she had when she had finally been
untied from the column a couple of days ago.

Noticing the obvious reaction of her niece, Aunt Vivian remained behind her and ran her
index fingernail up her bare arm and shoulder until it reached the shoulder strap of her
tank top. Liking the sensation, Linda lifted her shoulder as the nail touched her bare skin.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Linda?"

"No," she said uncertainly, "I don’t think so."

"You’re not wearing very much clothing. You know you can confide in me, don’t you?"

"It’s a hot day, that’s all," she lied.

"Are you sure?"

"Well...no." She was embarrassed to find herself blushing, and equally embarrassed that
she didn’t have the nerve to tell Aunt Vivian what was on her mind.

Aunt Vivian placed two fingers under Linda’s shoulder straps and felt the warm skin
against the back of her fingers. Leaning forward, she whispered, "If there’s anything you
want to say, it’s all right."

Barely aware she was saying it, it was out before she could stop herself. "Will you tickle
me again."

"Of course. Lift your arms up."

Slowly, Linda lifted her arms up, knowing what was coming next. When they were all the
way up, Aunt Vivian ran her fingernails from Linda’s shoulders and skittered them
outwards, but long before they reached her bare underarms, Linda pulled her arms down
in a panic.

"Now, Linda, that won’t do at all. You said you wanted to be tickled, but it doesn’t look
like you really do."

"I-I can’t help it," she said, her arms clamped tightly to her sides. "I do want to be tickled,
I really do."

"You’re not being very cooperative."

"I’m sorry, Aunt Vivian."

"Let’s try it again."

Linda nervously lifted her arms up again, her entire body tense. Aunt Vivian reached
around her niece and placed her fingers in her smooth warm underarms, but no sooner had
she touched her than Linda pulled her arms down with a shriek, clamping the fingers in
place. Her aunt wiggled them and, with a scream, Linda pulled away, leaning forward
with her arms tightly against her sides.

"Giving up, Aunt Vivian said, "This just isn’t working out."

I-I guess you’ll have to tie me up, like maybe...to my bed. I mean, if you think it’s too
much trouble, I’ll--"

"I’ll be happy to, Linda."

Linda had a mental image of herself squirming helplessly spread-eagled on her own bed,
her wrists and ankles tightly secured to the bedframe, the thin tank top exposing her
ticklish underarms to her aunt who would not be merciful. There would be no pulling
away then. She felt dizzy with the thought, and afraid too.

"Go up to your room then," Aunt Vivian said sternly.


Linda lay down on her single bed with its brass headboard and reached her arms up high,
shivering at the anticipation of being bound there, but at the sound of footsteps coming up
the stairs jumped quickly out of bed. Aunt Vivian, with a coil of clothesline and sewing
scissors in her hand, entered the room. Without saying a word, she slowly and
deliberately cut four long pieces of the clothesline, letting them fall ominously on the
bedspread.

"Take off your clothes," she commanded.

"My clothes, Aunt Vivian? I’m already wearing a tank top."

"Your clothes, young lady." Aunt Vivian was a very experienced tickler, and knew that if
the subject wanted to be tickled and had dressed accordingly, it was necessary to demand
she take off more. Otherwise, the tickle session was on the victim’s terms, and that just
wasn’t satisfactory.

Reluctantly, Linda took off her tank top, dropped it on the floor, and chastely covered her
breasts. Oh well, she had been topless that last time Aunt Vivian had tortured her and she
had survived that.

"Your cutoffs too."

"I-I can’t do that. Let’s just forget this, I’ve changed my mind." She reached down for
the tank top, but Aunt Vivian picked it up first and held it away from her.

"Oh, very well, girl. Leave them on. Get on the bed the way you are."

Relieved, Linda lay on her back with her arms over her breasts.

"Assume the position."

Blushing, she lifted her arms up and out toward the bedframe. She watched with curiosity
as Aunt Vivian took one wrist and tied a piece of rope around it and secured the other end
to the outermost of the brass tubing. Linda gave the rope a tug, finding it secure. Aunt
Vivian did the same with her other arm. Then she unbuttoned Linda’s cutoffs and pulled
them down and off, throwing them next to the discarded tank top.

"Aunt Vivian, you said...."

Next came her panties, leaving Linda completely nude on the bed. She pulled at the ropes
holding her wrists, trying to get free, but figured out quickly the best way to escape. She
slid up on the bed and tried to untie the knots where the rope was attached to the
headboard, something girls tied to beds in movies never seemed to figure out.

"We’ll have none of that, young lady," said Aunt Vivian, grabbing Linda’s feet and pulling
toward the end of the bed. Quickly she tied a rope around an ankle and secured it to the
foot of the bed, then did the same with the other. Linda’s nude body was now stretched
out very tightly in an X.

"Let me go! Let me go now!" Linda thrashed around, hoping one of her extremities
would come loose. None did.

Aunt Vivian impassively watched her niece’s struggling, knowing it would die down after
a few moments. She was now just grunting, the struggling growing weaker. A minute
later, she lay there limply out of breath. Aunt Vivian sat on the bed next to Linda, who
looked up angrily.

"I didn’t want to be stripped."

Ignoring her statement, Aunt Vivian traced one long fingernail from Linda’s throat, down
between her breasts, circling her navel, stopping right before reaching her pubic hair. This
elicited some giggles, but the anger could be heard in them.

"Now, we’re going to have a nice little talk, girl."

"No." Again she tried pulling free, her hands clenched in fists, jerking spasmodically at the
ropes, and again she settled down.

Aunt Vivian felt the ropes around Linda’s wrists. "Not too tight, are they? No, they’re
just right." She ran her fingernails down Linda’s bare arms, which made Linda angrily
giggle again, then shriek as the passed through the hollows of her underarms, and down
her sides. But she didn’t stop there. She continued down Linda’s hips, legs, stopping at
her bound ankles. It was important the victim be reminded of her nudity, and that the
tormentor could touch her anywhere, anytime she wanted. Aunt Vivian placed one hand
on the inside of Linda’s bare thigh and caressed it, causing her to squirm slightly, although
not as strongly as before. "Are you ready for that talk now?"

"Talk about what?"

"About you helping out at the museum."

"Doing what?" she asked suspiciously, knowing the answer.

"Demonstrating the devices in the dungeon, just like you did before."

"No way, I’m doing that again with all those people gawking at me like they did."

"Stubborn, stubborn, aren’t you. Well I think I can change your mind."

"How, by tickling me?" Dumb question, she knew as she asked it.

"That and other torture. Be back in a minute." With that she left the room and went
downstairs.

Linda looked up at one bound wrist then the other. No, this definitely wasn’t like
television actresses tied to beds, where they had about two feet of slack, but were too
dumb to figure out to how to get loose. She was centered on the bed in such a way as to
make it impossible to even touch the bedframe with her hands or feet, and there was very
little slack. She narrowed her hands as much as she could and rotated them, trying to slip
one free. A minute later she was no closer to freedom when Aunt Vivian returned with a
bucket which she set on the floor next to Linda’s bed. She tried to see what was in it, but
couldn’t, which her aunt had planned. "What-what’s in the bucket?" she asked nervously.

"Oh, just a little surprise. Have you reconsidered?" She gave one of Linda’s nipples a
little squeeze.

"No."

"Very well then. Aunt Vivian reached into the bucket and picked up a plastic sandwich
bag full of crushed ice. Linda’s eyes grew wide at the sight. "We’ll just place this under
your back, Linda."

"Please, no." Linda tried to push against the bed, but Aunt Vivian simply pushed down on
the bed itself which made a valley for her to slide the ice into, leaving it under Linda’s bare
back Linda arched her back to escape the cold, trying to keep her weight on her head and
heels, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The result left her bare underarms stretched
tightly, and Aunt Vivian scratched them with her long fingernails. Linda screamed and fell
back against the cold ice. As soon as her bare back touched the cold ice, Aunt Vivian
stopped tickling her. It wasn’t long before the cold caused Linda to arch her back again,
which immediately prompted Aunt Vivian to rake her sides. Again Linda fell back down,
making loud animal-like noises.

When Linda lifted her back again, Aunt Vivian mercifully removed the ice bag. "It’s
okay," she said soothingly, "settle down for a moment and rest."
Linda let herself relax, still aware of the cold spot on the bed covers. "Yes, I know."
Aunt Vivian stroked Linda’s forehead. "Just relax a moment."

This is actually torture, thought Linda, real torture, not play torture like she had put up
with from her goofy little brother. Here I am completely naked and spread-eagled, tied to
my bed, I can’t get loose, and I’m being tortured. And the reason for the torture is to get
me to agree to be tortured at the museum. How ironic! I wonder if this has ever
happened to anybody before.

"Well, what do you think, Linda?"

"Forget it. I’m not going to be put on display as if I’m part of an exhibit for everybody to
stare at."

Aunt Vivian reached into the bucket and pulled out two small plastic bags, smaller than
the other, the kind people put small nuts and bolts into. Inside the zipped bags was more
crushed ice. She set them on the bed next to Linda, and took out some duct tape.
Casually, she tore off a piece of tape and stuck it to one of the bags. She did the same
with the other. "Are you sure, dear?"

Linda clenched her teeth, knowing what was about to happen, but unwilling to give in.
"Get on with it," she said.

Picking up one of the bags, Aunt Vivian taped it over on of Linda’s nipples. The effect
was not unexpected. Linda started whimpering in short little bursts, squirming to escape
the inescapable cold. A second later the other bag was applied. They felt cold and hot at
the same time, freezing and burning her bare breasts, numbing them somewhat, but not
enough to stop the agony centered on her nipples. She tried to pull her hands free,
wanting more than anything to yank the bags off her cold breasts, the rope biting into her
wrists.

Aunt Vivian went to the foot of the bed and wiggled Linda’s big toe. "Don’t worry,
they’ll melt soon. But until they do, I just think I’ll tickle your foot." With that statement,
she pulled back on Linda’s toes and began scratching her sole.

Linda’s whimpering changed into gasps and shrieks which transcended laughter, her bare
leg twitching convulsively as the nails tickled the bottom of her foot, but the rope around
her ankle kept it in place. All she could think about was the agony in her breasts and her
foot. At the foot of her bed she could see Aunt Vivian calmly scratching her foot as the
ice in the bags melted, leaving smaller chunks swimming in cold water. Her tortured
wailing filled her own ears as she waited for the chunks of ice to disappear. Eventually
they did, leaving rippling bags of ice cold water still taped to her breasts, and Aunt Vivian
finally stopped, leaving the nude spread-eagled Linda weakly moaning with her eyes
closed.

She opened them to find the room empty, but the bags still taped in place, still miserably
cold. Downstairs water was running, then shut off. A minute later Aunt Vivian returned
with two more sandwich bags of water which she set down on the bed.

"We’ll just remove these now," said Aunt Vivian as she ripped the tape from Linda’s
breasts, causing a shout as the tape came free from her skin. "I’ve poured warm water in
these." Then she picked up the two new bags and applied them to Linda’s cold breasts.

Linda let out a deafening scream because the warm water following the cold felt scalding
hot, even though it wasn’t. Aunt Vivian held them in place until the screaming stopped,
knowing that Linda’s nerve endings had adjusted to the warmth from the bag. She
removed the bags and looked at the limp bound girl. Her filled with pride for her niece,
when Linda, staring up at the ceiling, simply said:

"The answer is still no." She turned her head to look at her aunt.

Aunt Vivian looked at Linda’s face, then down at her bare underarm inches away, and ran
a nail down it. Linda tried to stay defiant, but her mouth turned up in a smile. So did
Aunt Vivian’s, as she decided on the next torture. She climbed on the bed and straddled
Linda’s hips and placed her fingernails in Linda’s sides, noting the fear in her eyes. Then
she started to tickle Linda like she had never been tickled before.

Without mercy or pause, she ran her fingernails across every inch of skin that was ticklish,
her abdomen, her underarms, around her breasts, up and down her sides. Linda shrieked
and tried desperately to pull her hands free, but as always, Aunt Vivian had tied her too
well. One did not escape when tied by Aunt Vivian, and Linda knew it. "I’m not going to
stop, Linda. Not until you agree."

"No," Linda managed to say through the other unintelligible sounds that only a girl being
tickled unmercifully can make.

But she was weakening, Aunt Vivian knew. Looking down at her niece’s contorted
expression, as her fingers incessantly tickled her bare skin, she could see the signs. The
shrieking was becoming quieter and her head was tossing less. Instead of trying to pull
her bound wrists free, she was only opening and closing her fingers, and even that was
slowing down. No stranger to tickling people, Aunt Vivian knew it was quite possible
that Linda had forgotten why she was being tortured, or that she was unable to say she
had had enough. It was time to remind her, so she stopped.

"The dungeon?"

The hesitation was obvious, but Linda whispered, "No."

Aunt Vivian began scratching Linda’s bare underarms again, and this time Linda
screamed, "OKAY."

"What was that?"

"Okay, I’ll do it!" she screamed, although weakly. "I’ll let people come in and see me in
chains, clamped on torture devices, anything, but just don’t tickle me anymore! Untie me
and let me put on some clothes!"

"Are you sure?"

"YES!" she shouted with considerable energy. Then quietly, "Just let me go."

Aunt Vivian got up off of Linda and stood next to the bed, looking down at her. The poor
girl was completely disheveled, her hair a mess, her limp body stretched out helplessly and
not moving except for her heaving breasts as she caught her breath. "Just one more thing,
sweetie."

"What?" asked Linda weakly.

Aunt Vivian picked up the phone and pressed the buttons. "I’m calling your parents at
their hotel, and you’re going to tell them you will work at the museum." That way Linda
wouldn’t change her mind as soon as she was released. She placed the receiver next to
Linda’s ear.

"Oh, great. What if they aren’t there?"

"Then you stayed tied up."

Luckily the phone was answered by her mother.

"Mom? I’ve decided I want to help out at the museum...Yes, like before...I’m fine, yes,
goodbye." It was so embarrassing talking to her mother while tied naked to her bed,
although there was no way she could have known. Was there?

As Aunt Vivian started to untie her, she started to wonder.




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Epilogue


It was boring work--if one could call this work--but not necessarily more unpleasant than
flipping burgers or other menial jobs. It was inconvenient when she wanted to scratch an
itch, but that was a minor irritant, compared to what Aunt Vivian had done to get her to
agree to this. Rope bound her wrists behind her and around the wooden post, while more
rope was wrapped around her upper body holding it to the post as well. She was sitting
on a rough wooden bench, on which her mother had kindly placed a cushion. The simple
white cotton sleeveless dress with the hem just above her knees, sewn by her mother, was
not uncomfortable at all. It was low cut and showed off her lovely cleavage, which was
her own idea. Her father had objected to that, but as usual had lost the argument.

She looked at her bare legs where the ankles disappeared in the wooden stocks and
wiggled her toes a little, something she always did when visitors came in and saw her bare
feet. Nobody was in the dungeon at the moment, but that didn’t last long. A minute later,
her sister Karen came in with a family of four. Linda hoped her boredom looked like
suffering; she did like to play the part correctly.

"And this is the dungeon," said Karen, "one of the most popular exhibits in the museum.
As you can see, this wench is being punished." She gestured to Linda.

Linda looked at her sister with half open eyes. Wench?

The father looked lustily at the trapped girl in the museum, imagining her trying out the
other "equipment" in the dungeon, then looked at his wife, wondering if he could talk her
into something like this. The withering look she returned said clearly and silently, "Don’t
even think about it."

"Part of the punishment," continued Karen, "includes tickling the feet." She walked over
to Linda, whose eyes grew wide in fear. The stocks were big enough that Linda couldn’t
see her bare feet at all, which made it worse because she didn’t know exactly when it
would happen. Linda tensed as soon as Karen was in tickling range, and then screamed
and giggled when she felt the fingers on her soles, watching her legs twitch in a futile
effort to escape the tickling. Karen only kept it up a few seconds to demonstrate, and
when she stopped, Linda relaxed and let her head drop.

The two kids, a boy and girl about seven years of age, giggled at seeing somebody get
tickled, while the father, who loved feet, felt his pants tightening. He was about to ask
Karen for another demonstration, but his wife nudged him painfully in the ribs. No, he
wasn’t going to see Linda get any more punishment, and he wasn’t going to get any relief
from his wife that night if he wasn’t careful. Sometimes, life didn’t seem fair at all.

The little girl asked, "What is she being punished for?"

That question caught Karen by surprise. If there were only adults in the room, she would
have said it was for infidelity or other lewd conduct, but that wouldn’t do with kids
present. "She is guilty of...," said Karen, trying to think quickly, "of an indiscretion!"

The children’s eyes grew wide at that news, and they looked at each other in amazement.
Neither one thought to ask what an indiscretion was. At their age, the world was full of
words they didn’t understand, and this was just another. It had to be serious, however, for
the poor girl to be punished so badly.

The wife grabbed her husband’s arm, and nearly jerked him off his feet as she headed for
the door. "Come on kids," she said.

As soon as they were gone, Linda said, "Who are you calling a wench, bitch?"

"Bitch?"

"Yeah, bitch!" Anything to relieve the boredom, thought Linda, no matter how
inadvisable.

"Which one of us is tied up right now, wench?" Karen approached her menacingly, with
her hands like claws aiming for her sister’s feet.

"I am, only because I’m better at it...bitch. Hahahahahaha." Linda screamed and shrieked
as she felt the light agonizing touch on her soles. After a minute, Karen stopped.

"You want more of this? Huh?"

What the hell, it was close to closing time anyway. "You’re still a bitch....Ahhhhh.
Hahahah. Eeeeee...."


The End.

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