The tip of the feather felt like a needle as it fell in the fold between Janet's third and fourth toes. Rachel and Jeannie could tell Janet was laughing. The gag did nothing to mask that. A pleasant laughter, they thought, despite the fact Janet's upper body was rocking back and forth, to and fro, in a futile try to break the ropes that bound her so thoroughly and forced her to endure an exercise in sadism. Jeannie and Rachel craned their necks to see Janet's anguished face, no easy task considering how well curly hair and half-breed had hogtied them on the cots. Rachel had fallen to her side. Jeannie, with her ankles crossed and tied so tightly to the rope that bound her elbows, could do no such thing. She was stuck lying on her belly, listening to Janet become more hysterical as her torture continued.
"Uuuuuummmmmfffffffffff...mmmmfffff," came the sound from behind Janet's gag. "Rrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh."
The feather felt like a knife cutting the sensitive skin between Janet's toes, and curly hair was working it like a surgical instrument. Janet's laughter was becoming louder, her wriggling more violent, the look in her eyes more filled with terror. The girls thought Janet's muffled laughter was sounding more pained. What was that gooey stuff curly hair spread on the bottoms of Janet's feet, Jeannie wondered.
Rachel didn't wonder. She knew what that stuff was, and she shuddered merely thinking of someone applying it to the soles of a woman's bare feet. Her brother called it atomic balm. Rachel didn't know if that was a brand, or just a nickname for the jelly that burned the flesh with such unbearable heat. Ralph, her older brother and a former star football player at the small college he attended four hours away from his home, had pulled a muscle. The perscription: Liberal use of atomic balm, covered with cotton and gauze, and a half-hour of screaming agony. Rachel had never heard such wailing -- like a damned soul wandering the earth unburied -- for as long as that. After a half an hour, no more screaming. After two hours, off with the cotton and gauze and gone with the aching muscle. The stuff worked.
But to put it on healthy skin, especially a place as sensitive as the soles of the feet, was so cruel Rachel was sickened by the very idea.
On the tickling of Janet's toes continued. On and on she tried to scream out of the cotton handkerchief that closed her mouth and forced her to endure the tip of the horrible feather, in between her toes, under her toenails, over the tips and down the outside edge of her helpless feet. She contorted her upper body, in the vain hope that somehow someway she could get free of the monster who had brought her to shack to abuse her so brutally.
The tickling stopped. Had it been 20 minutes? To Rachel and Jeannie, it was longer than that. Janet was in tears, reduced to a sobbing mess with matted hair blocking her eyes, stained cheeks, a gag as wet from liquid from her eyes as much as from the saliva from her mouth. Curly hair took a towel from his gym bag and wiped the balm of Janet's feet. He moved towards her, looking to remove her gag, like he promised. This was it, Rachel and Jeannie thought. Would she talk?
The ring of a cell phone.
"Sorry," said curly hair. "Got to take this call."
Janet was left with the gag firmly in her mouth, soaked through with tears and drool.
"Yeah boss," curly hair said. "No, not yet ... Yeah, still working her over ... I don't know ... Maybe ... She's tough ... Yes I remember, no visible marks ... No blood, no bruises, no broken bones ... Hey, we're trying ... OK ... I'll talk to you later."
Rachel and Jeannie noticed Janet's eyes practically shoot from their sockets. The guy on the phone spoke in a loud voice, audible if not too intelligible. Had Janet recognized the voice? Did she know who was hiring these vile men to torture her for information she was obviously so unwilling to give away? And why did he not want her body to bear any visible signs of abuse? Curly hair did not see. His back was turned to his victim for the majority of the phone call. Janet knew the score. Would she spill it to curly?
The gags that silenced Jeannie and Janet were snug and effective. Rachel's however, was coming loose. All during the 20-minute ordeal Janet endured, Rachel was working the loose cloth -- biting and re-biting it, pushing it with her tongue, rubbing it against the cot. She could do this. What difference it would make was of no matter. Any small victory...
Curly hair put away the phone and went to Janet. Carefully her removed her gag. Janet's blubbering was replaced by heavy breathing and hard swallowing and gasps for precious air, even the musty air of the filthy shack.
"You ready to talk, my dear," curly hair asked as he lightly pinched the nipple of Janet's left breast.
"Go @#$% your mother!"
Curly hair slapped Janet across her face.
"Talk, damn you!"
Janet was silent. Curly hair slapped her again. Then gave her other cheek a slap with the back of his hand. Just then Rachel's gag came out of her mouth.
"Leave her alone you bastard!" Rachel blurted.
Curly hair bolted to attention.
"What was that?" He looked at Rachel. He used a menacing stare that send chills through Rachel's body. No one had ever looked at her like that. It was as if Satan himself was eyeing the hogtied young woman. His cruel eyes burned through Rachel, setting off a panic attack made all the more terrible by her being immobilized by the tight ropes around her wrists and ankles. He made a move in the direction of the tied-up strangers.
"Please," begged Janet. "Don't!!! They're just girls. Don't please!!!!!!"
Curly hair ignored her. He took another slow step towards the cots.
"Uuuuuummmmmfffffffffff...mmmmfffff," came the sound from behind Janet's gag. "Rrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh."
The feather felt like a knife cutting the sensitive skin between Janet's toes, and curly hair was working it like a surgical instrument. Janet's laughter was becoming louder, her wriggling more violent, the look in her eyes more filled with terror. The girls thought Janet's muffled laughter was sounding more pained. What was that gooey stuff curly hair spread on the bottoms of Janet's feet, Jeannie wondered.
Rachel didn't wonder. She knew what that stuff was, and she shuddered merely thinking of someone applying it to the soles of a woman's bare feet. Her brother called it atomic balm. Rachel didn't know if that was a brand, or just a nickname for the jelly that burned the flesh with such unbearable heat. Ralph, her older brother and a former star football player at the small college he attended four hours away from his home, had pulled a muscle. The perscription: Liberal use of atomic balm, covered with cotton and gauze, and a half-hour of screaming agony. Rachel had never heard such wailing -- like a damned soul wandering the earth unburied -- for as long as that. After a half an hour, no more screaming. After two hours, off with the cotton and gauze and gone with the aching muscle. The stuff worked.
But to put it on healthy skin, especially a place as sensitive as the soles of the feet, was so cruel Rachel was sickened by the very idea.
On the tickling of Janet's toes continued. On and on she tried to scream out of the cotton handkerchief that closed her mouth and forced her to endure the tip of the horrible feather, in between her toes, under her toenails, over the tips and down the outside edge of her helpless feet. She contorted her upper body, in the vain hope that somehow someway she could get free of the monster who had brought her to shack to abuse her so brutally.
The tickling stopped. Had it been 20 minutes? To Rachel and Jeannie, it was longer than that. Janet was in tears, reduced to a sobbing mess with matted hair blocking her eyes, stained cheeks, a gag as wet from liquid from her eyes as much as from the saliva from her mouth. Curly hair took a towel from his gym bag and wiped the balm of Janet's feet. He moved towards her, looking to remove her gag, like he promised. This was it, Rachel and Jeannie thought. Would she talk?
The ring of a cell phone.
"Sorry," said curly hair. "Got to take this call."
Janet was left with the gag firmly in her mouth, soaked through with tears and drool.
"Yeah boss," curly hair said. "No, not yet ... Yeah, still working her over ... I don't know ... Maybe ... She's tough ... Yes I remember, no visible marks ... No blood, no bruises, no broken bones ... Hey, we're trying ... OK ... I'll talk to you later."
Rachel and Jeannie noticed Janet's eyes practically shoot from their sockets. The guy on the phone spoke in a loud voice, audible if not too intelligible. Had Janet recognized the voice? Did she know who was hiring these vile men to torture her for information she was obviously so unwilling to give away? And why did he not want her body to bear any visible signs of abuse? Curly hair did not see. His back was turned to his victim for the majority of the phone call. Janet knew the score. Would she spill it to curly?
The gags that silenced Jeannie and Janet were snug and effective. Rachel's however, was coming loose. All during the 20-minute ordeal Janet endured, Rachel was working the loose cloth -- biting and re-biting it, pushing it with her tongue, rubbing it against the cot. She could do this. What difference it would make was of no matter. Any small victory...
Curly hair put away the phone and went to Janet. Carefully her removed her gag. Janet's blubbering was replaced by heavy breathing and hard swallowing and gasps for precious air, even the musty air of the filthy shack.
"You ready to talk, my dear," curly hair asked as he lightly pinched the nipple of Janet's left breast.
"Go @#$% your mother!"
Curly hair slapped Janet across her face.
"Talk, damn you!"
Janet was silent. Curly hair slapped her again. Then gave her other cheek a slap with the back of his hand. Just then Rachel's gag came out of her mouth.
"Leave her alone you bastard!" Rachel blurted.
Curly hair bolted to attention.
"What was that?" He looked at Rachel. He used a menacing stare that send chills through Rachel's body. No one had ever looked at her like that. It was as if Satan himself was eyeing the hogtied young woman. His cruel eyes burned through Rachel, setting off a panic attack made all the more terrible by her being immobilized by the tight ropes around her wrists and ankles. He made a move in the direction of the tied-up strangers.
"Please," begged Janet. "Don't!!! They're just girls. Don't please!!!!!!"
Curly hair ignored her. He took another slow step towards the cots.
