About 10 feet separated the open window through which Jeannie and Rachel peered and the wooden table on which the helpless woman sat tightly bound. Her thick, shoulder-length black was a disheveled mess that hung across her face and gave her the appearance that she had just risen from a half-day sleep. The look of despair, fatigue, however, suggested that she hadn't slept in a very long time.
Still, she was an incredibly handsome woman. The lines around her mouth, crow's feet around her eyes and a few small dimples on her butt and thighs told the world she was on the bad side of 40. Yet few women in their fifth decade of life would not sell their souls to Satan himself to look like this lady. Jeannie and Rachel could see, even in her tied-up state, that she was tall, with long thick legs and womanly hips. Her tummy had just a hint of a pot and her breasts, though sagging a bit, were the size and shape of balloons at a child's birthday party. Her feet, which her captor seemed to have made special efforts to immobilize, were huge, with long toes as straight as the highway between Dallas and Fort Worth. Even Jeannie, owner of size 11s herself, was amazed at the size of those feet.
And there was that tan. She was not only dark, but all-over tanned. Every portion of her bound body was the color of milk chocolate. And it seemed to have come from the sun, with none of the orange undertones so often seen in those who buy their tans in a booth. As dark and gorgeous as it was it was also a tad uneven, another sign that it came courtesy of the sun and not the mall. Where did she get such a color? Certainly not around here, Jeannie and Rachel assumed. Spring was endless days of heavy rains, scattered showers, low-lying clouds or sun mixed with clouds and temperatures in the 40s in the village they called home. Maybe she was rich, and got her tan in some exotic paradise that working-class gals like Jeannie and Rachel could only see in the travel section of the Sunday newspaper.
Rachel and Jeannie had come up on the narrow porch when the screaming and hystercal laughter was at its loudest. It was no wonder the woman's tormentor hadn't heard them. Now, they watched slackjawed as the man, with his curly sand-colored hair, muscular 20-something body and menacing scowl, leaned over his helpless captive.
"Please," she begged in a voice that suggested her ordeal had been endured for quite some time. "Please, no more...let me go, please. I won't tell anyone I promise."
"Janet, Janet," said the man in a voice of mock exasperation. "Tell me where it is and I'll let you go. What could be simpler?"
Janet stared at him, pursing her lips, though more in fear than defiance.
"Will you tell me?"
Janet gave her head a small shake.
"No?" He let out a forced sigh. "Janet, you know, I really enjoy doing this. If you don't tell me, it's no big deal to me. I could do this forever. But I know you won't be able to endure it forever, so just let's both be happy and you tell me."
"N-no," Janet stammered in a meek voice.
The man said nothing. He picked up a long feather, what appeared to be from a seagull's tail, sleek and pointed at the tip. He ran the point of the feather slowly up the sole of one of Janet's massive bare feet and down the sole of the other.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha noooooooooo hahahaha staaaaaaaaaapppppppp aaaaaaaahahahahahahaha...."
Jeannie and Rachel ducked under the eave, recoiling in the horror of what they were witnessing.
"Oh my God," whispered Rachel. "He's tickling her feet."
The girls kept their voices low, even if normal conversation could never have been heard over Janet's tortured screams.
Jeannie: "What are we going to do?"
Rachel: "Oh my God, she's tied up and he's tickling her feet oh God that poor woman ... oh God ... oh God..."
Jeannie: "Will you stop with the oh Gods. We have to do something."
Like motorists unable to look away from a four-car pile-up on the interstate, Rachel and Jeannie peeked back in the shack. Janet's upper body was rocking violently. Her hair was whipping her face like she was caught in a hurricane. She twitched her feet and wriggled her toes like a spastic in the clutches of a seizure, to little avail. The man and his insideous feather was torturing Janet without mercy.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA," Janet screamed, by now reduced to a barely-human pile of pity. " AAAAHHH -- AAAAHHH -- AAAAHHH -- STOP STOP!!!! Naaaaaa HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."
The feather danced along the folds between the victim's naked toes, then underneath those toes. The torment elicited a ghastly, strangled scream from Janet's throat. Surely, the young intruders thought, he was going to kill her. Rachel had heard about societies, Arabia and China, where concubines were tickle-tortured to death -- heart attacks, they suspected -- for not sleeping with the noblemen who bought them from the poor families more than willing to sell their teenage daughters to escape debt. If 13 year old girls could be tickled to death, surely this woman old enough to be Rachel's mom might die from such torture.
Rachel: "I've got my cell phone. We can call the police."
Jeannie: "We can't go all the way back there. The police will never be here in time."
Rachel: "JEAN--NNNNNNNN!!"
Jeannie: "We have to do something now. Don't you realize..."
Rachel: "Don't be stupid. We could get killed."
Jeannie: "Be brave for once in your life, will you. We have to stop this."
Rachel: "No, we can't."
Odd that Rachel would be the hesitant one. She was the gal with the feet that couldn't stand even the slightest tickling. Just the words "let's tickle Rachel's feet" would make her go berzerk. Jeannie was ticklish, too. Rachel had known that since they were in first grade together. She had seen just how ticklish her friend could be two summers ago, when she and Jeannie and their friend Lisa went on a triple date. Bobby drove. Rachel sat in the front seat. Jeannie was in the back, on the passenger's side, with Tom on the passenger's side against the door, Roger next to Jeannie on the other side and Lisa against the door on the driver's side. Jeannie kicked off her loafers, draped her legs across Roger's lap and rested her bare feet on Lisa's right thigh.
"For God's sake, Jean," Lisa shouted as she pushed Jeannie's feet off her and Roger tried pushing Jeannie's legs to the floor. "Get your big gunboats off my clean dress."
"My feet are as clean as your dress."
"I don't want your goddamned feet on me, OK."
Jeannie just smiled. "There's no legroom back here. I have to put my feet on you."
Lisa tickled the bottom of Jeannie's left foot.
"Tickle me all you want. I can take it."
Lisa: "Hey Rachel, is Jean here ticklish?"
Rachel: "I think so."
Tom: "I know so."
Tom grabbed Jeannie's arms and pinned them against him. That was Roger's cue to wrap his arms around Jeannie's legs. Lisa began spider tickling the soles of Jeannie's bare feet.
"Tcccchhhhhhhhhhh. Heeeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeee, tccccchhhhhh."
Lisa: "Hey Jeannie, I thought you weren't ticklish."
Jeannie: "I can hold it if I want."
Lisa continued spider tickling Jeannie's toes and feet. Jeannie kept her word for about 20 seconds, then could hold her mouth closed no longer and burst out laughing.
"Hahhahahahahahaha, ohhhhhhh hahahahahaha, gggggggaaaaaaaahahaha, aaaaaaaaaaa hahahahahahahahahaha..."
Jeannie squirmed with all her might, but Tom and Roger were too strong, and Lisa was having too much fun tickling her friend's big bare feet as the car rolled through the scrub-pine forests to the next town and the party they were to attend that night. Five miles and 20 minutes later, the six of them arrived at their destination Jeannie was let up.
"Does my hair look OK," Jeannie asked Rachel as she climbed from the back seat.
-----
Suddenly Janet stopped screaming. She panted heavily, her gasps broken with a few sobs of "Please, no more, please." The man approached her with the feather, looking as if he was about to do to her belly what he had done so viciously to her feet. Janet tried to pull away. The man then grabbed her left nipple and twisted it like the cap on a new bottle of Mad Dog wine.
"Owwwwwwwwwwwwww ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh NAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH," Janet wailed.
Rachel and Jeannie continued their debate -- discretion vs. valor. Just as Rachel was preparing her final argument for getting the hell out of there...
"Either one of you moves and I'll splatter your guts all over the side of this house!"
Still, she was an incredibly handsome woman. The lines around her mouth, crow's feet around her eyes and a few small dimples on her butt and thighs told the world she was on the bad side of 40. Yet few women in their fifth decade of life would not sell their souls to Satan himself to look like this lady. Jeannie and Rachel could see, even in her tied-up state, that she was tall, with long thick legs and womanly hips. Her tummy had just a hint of a pot and her breasts, though sagging a bit, were the size and shape of balloons at a child's birthday party. Her feet, which her captor seemed to have made special efforts to immobilize, were huge, with long toes as straight as the highway between Dallas and Fort Worth. Even Jeannie, owner of size 11s herself, was amazed at the size of those feet.
And there was that tan. She was not only dark, but all-over tanned. Every portion of her bound body was the color of milk chocolate. And it seemed to have come from the sun, with none of the orange undertones so often seen in those who buy their tans in a booth. As dark and gorgeous as it was it was also a tad uneven, another sign that it came courtesy of the sun and not the mall. Where did she get such a color? Certainly not around here, Jeannie and Rachel assumed. Spring was endless days of heavy rains, scattered showers, low-lying clouds or sun mixed with clouds and temperatures in the 40s in the village they called home. Maybe she was rich, and got her tan in some exotic paradise that working-class gals like Jeannie and Rachel could only see in the travel section of the Sunday newspaper.
Rachel and Jeannie had come up on the narrow porch when the screaming and hystercal laughter was at its loudest. It was no wonder the woman's tormentor hadn't heard them. Now, they watched slackjawed as the man, with his curly sand-colored hair, muscular 20-something body and menacing scowl, leaned over his helpless captive.
"Please," she begged in a voice that suggested her ordeal had been endured for quite some time. "Please, no more...let me go, please. I won't tell anyone I promise."
"Janet, Janet," said the man in a voice of mock exasperation. "Tell me where it is and I'll let you go. What could be simpler?"
Janet stared at him, pursing her lips, though more in fear than defiance.
"Will you tell me?"
Janet gave her head a small shake.
"No?" He let out a forced sigh. "Janet, you know, I really enjoy doing this. If you don't tell me, it's no big deal to me. I could do this forever. But I know you won't be able to endure it forever, so just let's both be happy and you tell me."
"N-no," Janet stammered in a meek voice.
The man said nothing. He picked up a long feather, what appeared to be from a seagull's tail, sleek and pointed at the tip. He ran the point of the feather slowly up the sole of one of Janet's massive bare feet and down the sole of the other.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha noooooooooo hahahaha staaaaaaaaaapppppppp aaaaaaaahahahahahahaha...."
Jeannie and Rachel ducked under the eave, recoiling in the horror of what they were witnessing.
"Oh my God," whispered Rachel. "He's tickling her feet."
The girls kept their voices low, even if normal conversation could never have been heard over Janet's tortured screams.
Jeannie: "What are we going to do?"
Rachel: "Oh my God, she's tied up and he's tickling her feet oh God that poor woman ... oh God ... oh God..."
Jeannie: "Will you stop with the oh Gods. We have to do something."
Like motorists unable to look away from a four-car pile-up on the interstate, Rachel and Jeannie peeked back in the shack. Janet's upper body was rocking violently. Her hair was whipping her face like she was caught in a hurricane. She twitched her feet and wriggled her toes like a spastic in the clutches of a seizure, to little avail. The man and his insideous feather was torturing Janet without mercy.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA," Janet screamed, by now reduced to a barely-human pile of pity. " AAAAHHH -- AAAAHHH -- AAAAHHH -- STOP STOP!!!! Naaaaaa HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."
The feather danced along the folds between the victim's naked toes, then underneath those toes. The torment elicited a ghastly, strangled scream from Janet's throat. Surely, the young intruders thought, he was going to kill her. Rachel had heard about societies, Arabia and China, where concubines were tickle-tortured to death -- heart attacks, they suspected -- for not sleeping with the noblemen who bought them from the poor families more than willing to sell their teenage daughters to escape debt. If 13 year old girls could be tickled to death, surely this woman old enough to be Rachel's mom might die from such torture.
Rachel: "I've got my cell phone. We can call the police."
Jeannie: "We can't go all the way back there. The police will never be here in time."
Rachel: "JEAN--NNNNNNNN!!"
Jeannie: "We have to do something now. Don't you realize..."
Rachel: "Don't be stupid. We could get killed."
Jeannie: "Be brave for once in your life, will you. We have to stop this."
Rachel: "No, we can't."
Odd that Rachel would be the hesitant one. She was the gal with the feet that couldn't stand even the slightest tickling. Just the words "let's tickle Rachel's feet" would make her go berzerk. Jeannie was ticklish, too. Rachel had known that since they were in first grade together. She had seen just how ticklish her friend could be two summers ago, when she and Jeannie and their friend Lisa went on a triple date. Bobby drove. Rachel sat in the front seat. Jeannie was in the back, on the passenger's side, with Tom on the passenger's side against the door, Roger next to Jeannie on the other side and Lisa against the door on the driver's side. Jeannie kicked off her loafers, draped her legs across Roger's lap and rested her bare feet on Lisa's right thigh.
"For God's sake, Jean," Lisa shouted as she pushed Jeannie's feet off her and Roger tried pushing Jeannie's legs to the floor. "Get your big gunboats off my clean dress."
"My feet are as clean as your dress."
"I don't want your goddamned feet on me, OK."
Jeannie just smiled. "There's no legroom back here. I have to put my feet on you."
Lisa tickled the bottom of Jeannie's left foot.
"Tickle me all you want. I can take it."
Lisa: "Hey Rachel, is Jean here ticklish?"
Rachel: "I think so."
Tom: "I know so."
Tom grabbed Jeannie's arms and pinned them against him. That was Roger's cue to wrap his arms around Jeannie's legs. Lisa began spider tickling the soles of Jeannie's bare feet.
"Tcccchhhhhhhhhhh. Heeeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeee, tccccchhhhhh."
Lisa: "Hey Jeannie, I thought you weren't ticklish."
Jeannie: "I can hold it if I want."
Lisa continued spider tickling Jeannie's toes and feet. Jeannie kept her word for about 20 seconds, then could hold her mouth closed no longer and burst out laughing.
"Hahhahahahahahaha, ohhhhhhh hahahahahaha, gggggggaaaaaaaahahaha, aaaaaaaaaaa hahahahahahahahahaha..."
Jeannie squirmed with all her might, but Tom and Roger were too strong, and Lisa was having too much fun tickling her friend's big bare feet as the car rolled through the scrub-pine forests to the next town and the party they were to attend that night. Five miles and 20 minutes later, the six of them arrived at their destination Jeannie was let up.
"Does my hair look OK," Jeannie asked Rachel as she climbed from the back seat.
-----
Suddenly Janet stopped screaming. She panted heavily, her gasps broken with a few sobs of "Please, no more, please." The man approached her with the feather, looking as if he was about to do to her belly what he had done so viciously to her feet. Janet tried to pull away. The man then grabbed her left nipple and twisted it like the cap on a new bottle of Mad Dog wine.
"Owwwwwwwwwwwwww ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh NAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH," Janet wailed.
Rachel and Jeannie continued their debate -- discretion vs. valor. Just as Rachel was preparing her final argument for getting the hell out of there...
"Either one of you moves and I'll splatter your guts all over the side of this house!"
Last edited:
