Rachel froze. It almost didn't matter that she was hogtied. She froze. A feeling of undiluted fear gripped her body like it never had before. It was a little kid's fear, like walking home knowing you're in trouble and dreading the inevitable punishment. Her mouth, the mouth that had only seconds before insulted the man who had tied her up and tied up her best friend and had long before tied up some woman in her mid 40s whom he was torturing unmercifully, went dry. She felt her hands and feet become icy cold, freezing, and not merely because they were tightly bound in ropes that dug into Rachel's tender flesh. Her face went the opoposite way. Her cheeks were flushed, burning with a heat that must have rivaled the hell-fire sensation Janet, the torture victim, experienced when her curly-haired interrogator applied the muscle relaxer, that burning balm, to the bottoms of her naked feet.
Jeannie, hogtied on the cot next to Rachel, tried to scream through her gag. Janet, her gagged removed, pleaded for curly hair to leave Rachel alone. But what could stop him? He had promised his "boss" that he would torture Janet in ways that would leave no visible signs she had been tortured. Curly hair made no such deals for two curious young women who stumble onto something best done where no witnesses existed.
Curly hair gave Rachel a stare, a cold stare, yet not one filled with rage. A stare that said, "you've done it now." Oh, why did she call him that name? Why was she now suddenly so brazen? Was she trying to impress Jeannie, who had always been the gutsy one of the two best friends? Would Jeannie have called Janet's torturer a bastard, or something worse, had her gag come loose?
Curly's stare turned to a look of disgust. He turned his back to Rachel to go to his gym bag. He started walking toward Rachel, his bare feet creaking the old boards, making a sound reminiscent of some low-budget horror film. Curly hair carried in his right hand a hunting knife.
The eyes of both Jeannie and Rachel nearly popped out of their faces. Oh, God, no!!! Why had she opened her big mouth? Rachel, the girl Jeannie used to call "scardy cat" when they were 9 years old, who now, a decade later, was called "wimp" and "girly" by that same good friend. Rachel, diminutive Rachel -- five feet, five inches of inherent chickenhood -- of all people, would be responsible for their...
"No," wimpered Rachel as he buried her face in the cot.
"Oh, Lord, no," whispered Janet as curly hair passed her with the knife.
Strangled cries through the red cloth was all Jeannie could manage. Was Jeannie next for whatever curly hair was going to do to Rachel? Jeannie's eyes welled up with tears, which soon streamed down her round face and onto the gag.
Curly hair sat on the cot. He sighed. Sighed again. His sighs taunted Rachel, so helpless hogtied by his side.
"Bastard?" he asked in a soft voice. "Am I a bastard? That's not a nice thing to say. Do you know my parents? They were married when I was born."
Rachel could barely hear his punkish sarcasm. She knew he would delay her fate, as unbearable a torture as if she were being stretched on a rack. She sobbed pitifully, hoping against all that he would change his mind and think what additional charges he would incur other than kidnapping and assualt.
"Tough words for someone in your position. Someone so small, so helpless. So, naked. Oh, you're not naked. Let's fix that."
Curly hair slipped the knife under the string of the bottom half Rachel's tiny bikini. One good yank and the string broke. He grabbed it and pulled it out from unnder her crotch. He wasted no time in sliding the knife under one of the strings that held the top part of her suit onto her breasts. Rachel heard the snap, and felt her nipples rub the rough canvas of the cot as curly hair tore what was left of her bikini off her body and onto the floor of the shack.
"No great loss," he said. "You can always find another $20 bikini at Building 19. Now, for your punishment. We have no soap here, so I can't wash your dirty little mouth out with it."
Curly hair grabbed the little bit of rope that connected Rachel's bound hands with her bound ankles. Teasing was over. He began to spider tickle the soles of Rachel's size 8 feet.
"AHHHHHHHH....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....AAAAAAAAAAAA....NAAAAAAA!!!! PLEEEEEEEEEEZE NAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH....AH HA AH HAAAAAAAA....NOOOO
STAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPP...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...."
It didn't take long before Rachel was so hysterical from curly hair's sadistic tickling that she couldn't even muster a laugh. Her mouth gaped open, but nothing could come out. Jeannie's "mmmmmffffffff, UUUUFFFF" through her gag was the only sound through the shack. Janet thrashed violently, as if somehow she could break the ropes, as if she even had the strenght left, and rescue this naked, terrified little woman from the clutches of this evil creature.
On and on curly hair's fingertips danced across Rachel's cream-colored soles and under her chubby toes. All efforts at movement were futile. Curly hair's grip on the rope was unbreakable. Rachel's feet twitched madly, but curly's fingers continued to attack the most ticklish part of Rachels insanely ticklish body.
"nnnnnnnAAAAAAA...NAAAAAA...." Rachel screamed as the ordeal continued, her strength passing from her body as she was reduced to jelly. "Pleeeeeze, naaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...NO NO NO AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA...STAAAAAAAPPPPITTT PLEEEEEEEEZE."
After about 15 minutes, after what seemed to Rachel and even to Jeannie and Janet to be more like an hour, curly hair stopped. Rachel breathed deep breaths...gasps...her bare belly heaving like a bellows as she lay on her side. No one said a word. Jeannie was through trying to communicate through the gag that was now drenched in tears and spit. Janet's lower lip quivered. She was no longer struggling against the ropes that bound her to the table.
"Please, no more," Rachel finally managed to whisper.
"I didn't hear an, 'I'm sorry' out of you yet."
Rachel was silent.
"Can you say you're sorry for what you called me?"
"Never," declared Rachel in a now more forceful voice. "You're a prick!"
Janet was shocked. Rachel even shocked herself. From where was this sudden attack of guts coming? She could only imagine what Jeannie was thinking.
Curly gave one of his mocking sighs again. He said nothing, but got up and made his way over to the cot where Jeannie lay hogtied, her ankles crossed so as to leave her bare feet even more vulnerable. Rachel, with her ankles lashed together and her feet held side-by-side, could at least block one sole with the other. Jeannie was even more helpless, if curly hair was indeed on his way to tickling her feet.
Curly hair pulled Jeannie's cot a bit away from the wall and walked behind Jeannie's legs. He gazed at her huge feet and long, straight toes. Rachel suddenly felt awful. Curly hair was going to torture her best friend for something Rachel had said.
"Is your friend ticklish?" curly hair asked Rachel. "Maybe if I tickled her feet like I tickled your feet, you'll tell me how sorry you are for hurting my feelings."
Feelings? Yeah, right. A toilet seat is more sensitive, Rachel thought. But if he tickle-tortured Jeannie, could Rachel ever forgive herself?
"Don't," cried Janet. "Don't. Leave the girls alone. It's me you want. Don't tickle them, please."
"Well," said curly hair. "Maybe if you spilled it we could all get out of here?"
That wasn't going to happen. Janet telling this monster what he wanted to know would certainly not be the end of the story. Curly hair just letting them all walk away? Not likely. They knew it.
Curly hair stood over Jeannie. Jeannie's feet quivered as she saw out of the corner of her eye curly hair raising his arms and bending his elbows. Jeannie closed her eyes. She had never been tied up before, let alone had her feet tickled by a stranger. The 6-foot young woman braced for the agony that was just seconds away.
Jeannie, hogtied on the cot next to Rachel, tried to scream through her gag. Janet, her gagged removed, pleaded for curly hair to leave Rachel alone. But what could stop him? He had promised his "boss" that he would torture Janet in ways that would leave no visible signs she had been tortured. Curly hair made no such deals for two curious young women who stumble onto something best done where no witnesses existed.
Curly hair gave Rachel a stare, a cold stare, yet not one filled with rage. A stare that said, "you've done it now." Oh, why did she call him that name? Why was she now suddenly so brazen? Was she trying to impress Jeannie, who had always been the gutsy one of the two best friends? Would Jeannie have called Janet's torturer a bastard, or something worse, had her gag come loose?
Curly's stare turned to a look of disgust. He turned his back to Rachel to go to his gym bag. He started walking toward Rachel, his bare feet creaking the old boards, making a sound reminiscent of some low-budget horror film. Curly hair carried in his right hand a hunting knife.
The eyes of both Jeannie and Rachel nearly popped out of their faces. Oh, God, no!!! Why had she opened her big mouth? Rachel, the girl Jeannie used to call "scardy cat" when they were 9 years old, who now, a decade later, was called "wimp" and "girly" by that same good friend. Rachel, diminutive Rachel -- five feet, five inches of inherent chickenhood -- of all people, would be responsible for their...
"No," wimpered Rachel as he buried her face in the cot.
"Oh, Lord, no," whispered Janet as curly hair passed her with the knife.
Strangled cries through the red cloth was all Jeannie could manage. Was Jeannie next for whatever curly hair was going to do to Rachel? Jeannie's eyes welled up with tears, which soon streamed down her round face and onto the gag.
Curly hair sat on the cot. He sighed. Sighed again. His sighs taunted Rachel, so helpless hogtied by his side.
"Bastard?" he asked in a soft voice. "Am I a bastard? That's not a nice thing to say. Do you know my parents? They were married when I was born."
Rachel could barely hear his punkish sarcasm. She knew he would delay her fate, as unbearable a torture as if she were being stretched on a rack. She sobbed pitifully, hoping against all that he would change his mind and think what additional charges he would incur other than kidnapping and assualt.
"Tough words for someone in your position. Someone so small, so helpless. So, naked. Oh, you're not naked. Let's fix that."
Curly hair slipped the knife under the string of the bottom half Rachel's tiny bikini. One good yank and the string broke. He grabbed it and pulled it out from unnder her crotch. He wasted no time in sliding the knife under one of the strings that held the top part of her suit onto her breasts. Rachel heard the snap, and felt her nipples rub the rough canvas of the cot as curly hair tore what was left of her bikini off her body and onto the floor of the shack.
"No great loss," he said. "You can always find another $20 bikini at Building 19. Now, for your punishment. We have no soap here, so I can't wash your dirty little mouth out with it."
Curly hair grabbed the little bit of rope that connected Rachel's bound hands with her bound ankles. Teasing was over. He began to spider tickle the soles of Rachel's size 8 feet.
"AHHHHHHHH....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....AAAAAAAAAAAA....NAAAAAAA!!!! PLEEEEEEEEEEZE NAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH....AH HA AH HAAAAAAAA....NOOOO
STAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPP...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...."
It didn't take long before Rachel was so hysterical from curly hair's sadistic tickling that she couldn't even muster a laugh. Her mouth gaped open, but nothing could come out. Jeannie's "mmmmmffffffff, UUUUFFFF" through her gag was the only sound through the shack. Janet thrashed violently, as if somehow she could break the ropes, as if she even had the strenght left, and rescue this naked, terrified little woman from the clutches of this evil creature.
On and on curly hair's fingertips danced across Rachel's cream-colored soles and under her chubby toes. All efforts at movement were futile. Curly hair's grip on the rope was unbreakable. Rachel's feet twitched madly, but curly's fingers continued to attack the most ticklish part of Rachels insanely ticklish body.
"nnnnnnnAAAAAAA...NAAAAAA...." Rachel screamed as the ordeal continued, her strength passing from her body as she was reduced to jelly. "Pleeeeeze, naaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...NO NO NO AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA...STAAAAAAAPPPPITTT PLEEEEEEEEZE."
After about 15 minutes, after what seemed to Rachel and even to Jeannie and Janet to be more like an hour, curly hair stopped. Rachel breathed deep breaths...gasps...her bare belly heaving like a bellows as she lay on her side. No one said a word. Jeannie was through trying to communicate through the gag that was now drenched in tears and spit. Janet's lower lip quivered. She was no longer struggling against the ropes that bound her to the table.
"Please, no more," Rachel finally managed to whisper.
"I didn't hear an, 'I'm sorry' out of you yet."
Rachel was silent.
"Can you say you're sorry for what you called me?"
"Never," declared Rachel in a now more forceful voice. "You're a prick!"
Janet was shocked. Rachel even shocked herself. From where was this sudden attack of guts coming? She could only imagine what Jeannie was thinking.
Curly gave one of his mocking sighs again. He said nothing, but got up and made his way over to the cot where Jeannie lay hogtied, her ankles crossed so as to leave her bare feet even more vulnerable. Rachel, with her ankles lashed together and her feet held side-by-side, could at least block one sole with the other. Jeannie was even more helpless, if curly hair was indeed on his way to tickling her feet.
Curly hair pulled Jeannie's cot a bit away from the wall and walked behind Jeannie's legs. He gazed at her huge feet and long, straight toes. Rachel suddenly felt awful. Curly hair was going to torture her best friend for something Rachel had said.
"Is your friend ticklish?" curly hair asked Rachel. "Maybe if I tickled her feet like I tickled your feet, you'll tell me how sorry you are for hurting my feelings."
Feelings? Yeah, right. A toilet seat is more sensitive, Rachel thought. But if he tickle-tortured Jeannie, could Rachel ever forgive herself?
"Don't," cried Janet. "Don't. Leave the girls alone. It's me you want. Don't tickle them, please."
"Well," said curly hair. "Maybe if you spilled it we could all get out of here?"
That wasn't going to happen. Janet telling this monster what he wanted to know would certainly not be the end of the story. Curly hair just letting them all walk away? Not likely. They knew it.
Curly hair stood over Jeannie. Jeannie's feet quivered as she saw out of the corner of her eye curly hair raising his arms and bending his elbows. Jeannie closed her eyes. She had never been tied up before, let alone had her feet tickled by a stranger. The 6-foot young woman braced for the agony that was just seconds away.
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