Rachel was led to the middle of the room, the only room the miserable little windswept shack possessed, like most beach bungalows. From where curly hair told Rachel to stand, Rachel could see straight into Janet's eyes. Janet was directly in front of Rachel, and Rachel had a clear view of Janet's face and bare breasts and the soles of Janet's enormous feet. Janet's feet, that had endured so much at the hands (literally) of that sadist.
Like everything else about Janet, the bottoms of her feet were beautiful -- as smooth and flawless as Jeannie's or Rachel's soles in spite of Janet having about a quarter of a century's head-start on life. Rachel thought of her own mom's feet, so dry and rough around the edges, so callused across the balls and heels and even the bottom side of her toes, the result of 48 years of bare feet on hardwood floors and a driveway made out of broken clam and oyster shells like the floor of some trendy bar in the big city. Rachel's mom was always barefoot. Was that where Rachel developed the habit? Or was it Jeannie? From the day Rachel met Jeannie that girl was always coming out of her shoes. Rachel's mom went barefoot, yes, yet never off her own property. Jeannie was sans shoes wherever the lassie could get away with it. From the first day of kindergarten, when a five-year-old Jeannie stood in front of the school with her penny-loafers in her hand and her socks stuck in the shoes and asked Rachel where she lived and if she wanted to walk home with her, as with everything else, Rachel copied Jeannie in her dress (or lack of it).
Why was Janet so well-preserved? She MUST be rich, thought Rachel. Still, there was a rough-and-ready look about Janet, a look that spoke of a love for the outdoors that hadn't been quenched by age. It was not merely the magnificent suntan. Janet possessed an athletic look, like Jeannie, with her thick, well-toned legs, reasonably flat stomach and arms that held not an ounce of anything that didn't belong there. Was this Jeannie in 25 years? This body didn't come from a health club. It came from bicycling, sailboat racing, golf, tennis, early-morning swims in the cold ocean, anything that could make a woman sweat under the beating sun.
Curly hair walked behind Rachel untied the ropes that bound her hands. No easy task, as Jeannie's talents in bondage left a lot to be desired. Several minutes and a string of profanity later, curly hair succeeded in loosing the young woman from her binding. Freedom for Rachel's wrists didn't last long.
"Put your arms out in front of you," curly hair barked. Rachel put her hands behind her back and readied herself for a slap across the face that, to her astonishment, never came.
"C'mon sugarlips, do it!" curly hair commanded. "My friend here will be happy to break them off for you. You can be another Venus f---ing de Milo. Up to you."
Resistence was futile. Rachel put her arms out forward. Curly hair retied her wrists and ordered her to place her hands above her head. Rachel obeyed. Curly hair took a wooden chair, the only chair in the house, and set it under Rachel's bare butt. Curly hair, another rope in hand, stood on the chair and wrapped the rope underneath the rope that bound Rachel's wrists.
"Can you lift her up so that she's on her tiptoes?" curly hair asked. Half-breed nodded. He bear-hugged Rachel and raised her a few inches. Curly hair tossed the rope across a beam that ran across the room, some seven feet above the floor. He tied it off with a strong knot, leaving Rachel hanging by her arms, with only her toes, bent at an almost 90-degree angle from the rest of her bare feet, touching the floor of this beach house now a torture chamber for three unlucky women.
Curly hair took one more rope and loosely tied Rachel's ankles. Rachel winced in pain. Already her weight pulling down on her arms was hurting her shoulders. Her toes, her short little toes, were in excruciating agony, forced to support the rest of her body. Naked, bound, hanging (for all intents and purposes) from a rafter, Rachel wondered what more could happen to her.
She would wait for her answer. Curly hair ordered half-breed to untie Jeannie. He did so, but, as with Rachel when she was finally freed from her hogtying, left her wrists tied behind Jeannie's back. Curly hair snatched Jeannie by the arm and led her to a spot next to Rachel.
"I don't like this broad," curly hair said to half-breed in a Joe Pesci-sounding voice. "You know what she did? She tried to solicit me for sex. Doesn't that beat all? She thought I was stupid enough to fall for that. What's with these floosies anyway?"
Half-breed smiled and nodded. He found curly hair's hunting knife and sliced the string on the top half of Jeannie's bikini.
"you don't mind, do you?" Half-breed said. Was he asking curly hair for permission, or just taunting a helpless Jeannie? Curly hair stuck out his lower arm, palm up, in a gesture that said, "be my guest." Half breed did the same to the bottom piece of Jeannie's bathing suit. All three women were now as naked as they were on their birthdays.
"I'll bet if I were your cousin you'd want sex with me." Jeannie, too, got set for a hand across her face for such insolence. Curly hair just gave her a look of distain.
"See what I have to put up with," he said to half-breed. "Insults. Me? Just doing my job, and they treat me like I'm some kind of ogre."
The two then set about doing with Jeannie what they had done to Rachel. There was a problem. Jeannie, all six feet of her, could not be tied to the beam and forced to stand on her toes. The soles of her feet would be flat against the shack floor. Undeterred, curly hair tied her hands to the beam anyway, brough the small chair behind Jeannie and told half-breed to grab Jeannie's legs and make her kneel on the seat. He finished the job by tying Jeannie's ankles, all the while making snide comments about the enormity of Jeannie's feet.
"Put a gag in her," curly hair directed half-breed while pointing at Janet. "I don't want to hear another peep out of that one unless it's business."
Half-breed stuffed Janet's gag back in her mouth. Janet tried pursing her lips to avoid the action. Half-breed fixed that by pinching Janet's left nipple in a most ungentlemanly manner. Janet screamed, and the cloth was shoved in her and tied under her left ear.
"OK, Little Miss Femme Fatale," curly hair said to Jeannie. "Time to pay for your unfortunate mistakes."
Curly hair picked up the jar of the balm that cured pain by replacing it with a greater pain. He took the tongue depressor. He began applying the burning goo to Jeannie's most sensitive parts. Curly rubbed a liberal amount on the soles of her feet. He applied a bit to the crack of her behind, and filled her bellybutton with the stuff, and smeared a bit across the soft flesh of her stomach. He dabbed a little on each of Jeannie's nipples. He ended by slopping a goodly amount on both of her armpits. Jeannie was stoic. She said nothing and only wiggled her fingers against the beam as curly hair executed his horrible deed. There was now simply the waiting, the waiting, before the pain of fire seared Jeannie's naked flesh.
Rachel shivered. Was she next? Would this monster put the balm all over her bare body? Curly hair went behind Rachel and rubbed her belly softly with the palms of his hands. Slowly, gently, seductively. Rachel tried to stifle a moan. Curly hair caressed Rachel's hips...her waist...her sides...as Rachel wiggled in a pointless attempt to free herself from this demon's filthy hands. She bit her lip, supressed tears. Curly hair stroked her breasts, as Rachel feared. No, not the breasts. Off limits, buster! Yet she dared not incur his wrath. Curly kept at it, paying special attention to Rachel's nipples. Rachel began sniffling. Her nipples began hardening. It was more than she could bear.
"No," Rachel wimpered. "No...don't." Curly placed one hand on Rachel's right butt cheek while massaging her left breast with the other. "Oh, God, please help me," Rachel said in nearly a whisper.
Then curly hair changed tack. He began spider tickling Rachel's belly -- a bit slowly at first, gradually picking up steam. Rachel jerked as curly's fingertips assaulted the tender skin.
"Tsssshhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeee," Rachel blurted. "Ghhheeeeehhheeeeeeeeee." She twisted her body as the tickle attack continued, making her look like a bound ballarina performing a pirouette on her tiny bare toes. "Naaaaaaaaaa. Naaaaa-oooooooo. No! No! Staaaaaaappppp pleeeeeeeeeeeze. Hahahaha."
Curly walked in front of his victim. He had the feather with him and started working the tip of it inside Rachel's bellybutton with diligence.
"NO, NO, NO!!!!! Aaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha NO! NOT THERE!!! NAAAAAAH! Please please please ahahahahahahahaha naaaaaaaat there naaaaaaaaaaa."
Curly hair then began running the tip of the feather up and down Rachel's highly ticklish belly, from her cleavage down to where her pubic hair began. Rachel giggled, screamed, pleaded, contorted her helpless body as best she could to try to avoid the hideous feather. Up and down her torso, across her still erect nipples, around her armpits and under her chin. The laughter that filled the small gray room was now at an eardrum-splitting level.
"AaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAA," was all that could come from Rachel's mouth. She could no longer beg for mercy. "Ohhhhhh hahahahahahahahahahahaha." It seemed all to be one continuous sound. Even if Janet hadn't been silenced by a gag, she never could have been heard over Rachel's tortured screaming.
The poor girl danced on her tiptoes as curly hair directed the feather to all of Rachel's ticklish quarters.
Jeannie, meanwhile, was burning. The balm had taken effect. She said not a word, which wouldn't have mattered anyway in contest with her friend's anguished wails. But Jeannie was undergoing as much cruel torture as Rachel was enduring. Her feet were on fire, burning worse than any time she had run at full speed across blacktop on the hottest afternoons of July. She felt as if flames were licking her bellybutton, and glowing coals had been applied to her armpits and belly. She kicked her bound feet in an attempt to cool the blaze eating away at her naked soles. She twisted her upper body, this way, that way, yet made not a sound, determined not to give these amoral men the satisfaction of knowing what they had done to her.
Curly kept on tickling Rachel with a wild abandon. He went back behind her and let the feather strut its stuff up and down the crack of Rachel's fanny. Again the girl writhed violently and begged for it all to stop. Curly hair tickled her armpits, and the little folds behind Rachel's knees that would have made her jump it tickled so much if she had not been bound. Rachel tried kicking. She pulled on the ropes that tied her hands. She attempted to pull one leg out of the ropes that bound her feet. Nothing could save her. Nothing could let her escape as long as curly hair wanted Rachel to suffer the delicious agony of his feather.
"Hold it, stop," shouted half-breed. "Stop a second."
"What?" curly hair said idignantly, angry that his compadre had interrupted his fun.
"Wait," half-breed answered.
No sound except the late afternoon breeze. Jeannie looked out the paneless window to see shadows across the sandhills. Could she and Rachel have been these creeps' captives for hours? Then they all heard it. Humans. Voices that sailed on wind across the barren end of their isaland prison.
"RACHEL!!!!" came the sound. "WHERE ARE YOU???"
A pause.
"JEANNIE!!!!" came another voice. "JEANNIE!!!! RACHEL!!!!"
Like everything else about Janet, the bottoms of her feet were beautiful -- as smooth and flawless as Jeannie's or Rachel's soles in spite of Janet having about a quarter of a century's head-start on life. Rachel thought of her own mom's feet, so dry and rough around the edges, so callused across the balls and heels and even the bottom side of her toes, the result of 48 years of bare feet on hardwood floors and a driveway made out of broken clam and oyster shells like the floor of some trendy bar in the big city. Rachel's mom was always barefoot. Was that where Rachel developed the habit? Or was it Jeannie? From the day Rachel met Jeannie that girl was always coming out of her shoes. Rachel's mom went barefoot, yes, yet never off her own property. Jeannie was sans shoes wherever the lassie could get away with it. From the first day of kindergarten, when a five-year-old Jeannie stood in front of the school with her penny-loafers in her hand and her socks stuck in the shoes and asked Rachel where she lived and if she wanted to walk home with her, as with everything else, Rachel copied Jeannie in her dress (or lack of it).
Why was Janet so well-preserved? She MUST be rich, thought Rachel. Still, there was a rough-and-ready look about Janet, a look that spoke of a love for the outdoors that hadn't been quenched by age. It was not merely the magnificent suntan. Janet possessed an athletic look, like Jeannie, with her thick, well-toned legs, reasonably flat stomach and arms that held not an ounce of anything that didn't belong there. Was this Jeannie in 25 years? This body didn't come from a health club. It came from bicycling, sailboat racing, golf, tennis, early-morning swims in the cold ocean, anything that could make a woman sweat under the beating sun.
Curly hair walked behind Rachel untied the ropes that bound her hands. No easy task, as Jeannie's talents in bondage left a lot to be desired. Several minutes and a string of profanity later, curly hair succeeded in loosing the young woman from her binding. Freedom for Rachel's wrists didn't last long.
"Put your arms out in front of you," curly hair barked. Rachel put her hands behind her back and readied herself for a slap across the face that, to her astonishment, never came.
"C'mon sugarlips, do it!" curly hair commanded. "My friend here will be happy to break them off for you. You can be another Venus f---ing de Milo. Up to you."
Resistence was futile. Rachel put her arms out forward. Curly hair retied her wrists and ordered her to place her hands above her head. Rachel obeyed. Curly hair took a wooden chair, the only chair in the house, and set it under Rachel's bare butt. Curly hair, another rope in hand, stood on the chair and wrapped the rope underneath the rope that bound Rachel's wrists.
"Can you lift her up so that she's on her tiptoes?" curly hair asked. Half-breed nodded. He bear-hugged Rachel and raised her a few inches. Curly hair tossed the rope across a beam that ran across the room, some seven feet above the floor. He tied it off with a strong knot, leaving Rachel hanging by her arms, with only her toes, bent at an almost 90-degree angle from the rest of her bare feet, touching the floor of this beach house now a torture chamber for three unlucky women.
Curly hair took one more rope and loosely tied Rachel's ankles. Rachel winced in pain. Already her weight pulling down on her arms was hurting her shoulders. Her toes, her short little toes, were in excruciating agony, forced to support the rest of her body. Naked, bound, hanging (for all intents and purposes) from a rafter, Rachel wondered what more could happen to her.
She would wait for her answer. Curly hair ordered half-breed to untie Jeannie. He did so, but, as with Rachel when she was finally freed from her hogtying, left her wrists tied behind Jeannie's back. Curly hair snatched Jeannie by the arm and led her to a spot next to Rachel.
"I don't like this broad," curly hair said to half-breed in a Joe Pesci-sounding voice. "You know what she did? She tried to solicit me for sex. Doesn't that beat all? She thought I was stupid enough to fall for that. What's with these floosies anyway?"
Half-breed smiled and nodded. He found curly hair's hunting knife and sliced the string on the top half of Jeannie's bikini.
"you don't mind, do you?" Half-breed said. Was he asking curly hair for permission, or just taunting a helpless Jeannie? Curly hair stuck out his lower arm, palm up, in a gesture that said, "be my guest." Half breed did the same to the bottom piece of Jeannie's bathing suit. All three women were now as naked as they were on their birthdays.
"I'll bet if I were your cousin you'd want sex with me." Jeannie, too, got set for a hand across her face for such insolence. Curly hair just gave her a look of distain.
"See what I have to put up with," he said to half-breed. "Insults. Me? Just doing my job, and they treat me like I'm some kind of ogre."
The two then set about doing with Jeannie what they had done to Rachel. There was a problem. Jeannie, all six feet of her, could not be tied to the beam and forced to stand on her toes. The soles of her feet would be flat against the shack floor. Undeterred, curly hair tied her hands to the beam anyway, brough the small chair behind Jeannie and told half-breed to grab Jeannie's legs and make her kneel on the seat. He finished the job by tying Jeannie's ankles, all the while making snide comments about the enormity of Jeannie's feet.
"Put a gag in her," curly hair directed half-breed while pointing at Janet. "I don't want to hear another peep out of that one unless it's business."
Half-breed stuffed Janet's gag back in her mouth. Janet tried pursing her lips to avoid the action. Half-breed fixed that by pinching Janet's left nipple in a most ungentlemanly manner. Janet screamed, and the cloth was shoved in her and tied under her left ear.
"OK, Little Miss Femme Fatale," curly hair said to Jeannie. "Time to pay for your unfortunate mistakes."
Curly hair picked up the jar of the balm that cured pain by replacing it with a greater pain. He took the tongue depressor. He began applying the burning goo to Jeannie's most sensitive parts. Curly rubbed a liberal amount on the soles of her feet. He applied a bit to the crack of her behind, and filled her bellybutton with the stuff, and smeared a bit across the soft flesh of her stomach. He dabbed a little on each of Jeannie's nipples. He ended by slopping a goodly amount on both of her armpits. Jeannie was stoic. She said nothing and only wiggled her fingers against the beam as curly hair executed his horrible deed. There was now simply the waiting, the waiting, before the pain of fire seared Jeannie's naked flesh.
Rachel shivered. Was she next? Would this monster put the balm all over her bare body? Curly hair went behind Rachel and rubbed her belly softly with the palms of his hands. Slowly, gently, seductively. Rachel tried to stifle a moan. Curly hair caressed Rachel's hips...her waist...her sides...as Rachel wiggled in a pointless attempt to free herself from this demon's filthy hands. She bit her lip, supressed tears. Curly hair stroked her breasts, as Rachel feared. No, not the breasts. Off limits, buster! Yet she dared not incur his wrath. Curly kept at it, paying special attention to Rachel's nipples. Rachel began sniffling. Her nipples began hardening. It was more than she could bear.
"No," Rachel wimpered. "No...don't." Curly placed one hand on Rachel's right butt cheek while massaging her left breast with the other. "Oh, God, please help me," Rachel said in nearly a whisper.
Then curly hair changed tack. He began spider tickling Rachel's belly -- a bit slowly at first, gradually picking up steam. Rachel jerked as curly's fingertips assaulted the tender skin.
"Tsssshhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeee," Rachel blurted. "Ghhheeeeehhheeeeeeeeee." She twisted her body as the tickle attack continued, making her look like a bound ballarina performing a pirouette on her tiny bare toes. "Naaaaaaaaaa. Naaaaa-oooooooo. No! No! Staaaaaaappppp pleeeeeeeeeeeze. Hahahaha."
Curly walked in front of his victim. He had the feather with him and started working the tip of it inside Rachel's bellybutton with diligence.
"NO, NO, NO!!!!! Aaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha NO! NOT THERE!!! NAAAAAAH! Please please please ahahahahahahahaha naaaaaaaat there naaaaaaaaaaa."
Curly hair then began running the tip of the feather up and down Rachel's highly ticklish belly, from her cleavage down to where her pubic hair began. Rachel giggled, screamed, pleaded, contorted her helpless body as best she could to try to avoid the hideous feather. Up and down her torso, across her still erect nipples, around her armpits and under her chin. The laughter that filled the small gray room was now at an eardrum-splitting level.
"AaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAA," was all that could come from Rachel's mouth. She could no longer beg for mercy. "Ohhhhhh hahahahahahahahahahahaha." It seemed all to be one continuous sound. Even if Janet hadn't been silenced by a gag, she never could have been heard over Rachel's tortured screaming.
The poor girl danced on her tiptoes as curly hair directed the feather to all of Rachel's ticklish quarters.
Jeannie, meanwhile, was burning. The balm had taken effect. She said not a word, which wouldn't have mattered anyway in contest with her friend's anguished wails. But Jeannie was undergoing as much cruel torture as Rachel was enduring. Her feet were on fire, burning worse than any time she had run at full speed across blacktop on the hottest afternoons of July. She felt as if flames were licking her bellybutton, and glowing coals had been applied to her armpits and belly. She kicked her bound feet in an attempt to cool the blaze eating away at her naked soles. She twisted her upper body, this way, that way, yet made not a sound, determined not to give these amoral men the satisfaction of knowing what they had done to her.
Curly kept on tickling Rachel with a wild abandon. He went back behind her and let the feather strut its stuff up and down the crack of Rachel's fanny. Again the girl writhed violently and begged for it all to stop. Curly hair tickled her armpits, and the little folds behind Rachel's knees that would have made her jump it tickled so much if she had not been bound. Rachel tried kicking. She pulled on the ropes that tied her hands. She attempted to pull one leg out of the ropes that bound her feet. Nothing could save her. Nothing could let her escape as long as curly hair wanted Rachel to suffer the delicious agony of his feather.
"Hold it, stop," shouted half-breed. "Stop a second."
"What?" curly hair said idignantly, angry that his compadre had interrupted his fun.
"Wait," half-breed answered.
No sound except the late afternoon breeze. Jeannie looked out the paneless window to see shadows across the sandhills. Could she and Rachel have been these creeps' captives for hours? Then they all heard it. Humans. Voices that sailed on wind across the barren end of their isaland prison.
"RACHEL!!!!" came the sound. "WHERE ARE YOU???"
A pause.
"JEANNIE!!!!" came another voice. "JEANNIE!!!! RACHEL!!!!"
haha, still fantastic... who's coming now and will they be able to save the girls, or will they be the next victims?? And how many lees can these two guys handle? 
I'm hoping the girls will get some revenge on curly-hair and the half-breed once this is over, but either way, awesome... did you write all these at once as one story, or have you been writing them one chapter at a time? these cliffhanger endings are great
