(this is my first tickling themed story, as you can tell by the slapdash tickling scenes and lazy descriptions, but here goes nothing anyway.)
A little introduction to those who don’t know the female in question. Her name is Nikki, a contestant on the UK Reality Show, Big Brother. She was recently evicted from the house for her moaning and her child-like fits. However, some people will call those things cute. And how cute Nikki is …
Nikki has just finished another interview. It’s the backlash of fame that comes from being on Big Brother. She exits the building and runs down the steps. One of the TV Studios employees opens the car door for her and slams it after she enters. Me … I step on the gas pedal. “Where am I taking you?” I say to her, while staring at her through the overhead mirror. She responds: “Take me back to my house. I haven’t seen enough of my family … and I hope Dave is alright.” “Dave is fine.” I reply. Dave is her usual driver. But he recently fell sick so I had to fill in. But don’t worry, he will be better soon enough. I take another look at her, admiring her beauty as she fiddles with her makeup and mini-mirror. “How’s life been treating you Miss …”, “Don’t be silly. Call me Nikki.” She cut me off, I guess she doesn’t like being addressed in such a way. “Okay then. How has life been treating you Nikki.” She slaps down her mirror and drops it into her handbag. “Well, what can I say? For a few weeks I will be little miss popular.” That’s usually the case. She’ll be famous for a while, and then she’ll go Z-List. “Drop me off here thanks.” No way, I’m not stopping. “I said you can drop me off here.” she repeats. “I know what you said.” I reply, in a tone of voice which seemed to scare her a little. “Then why won’t you stop?” She says, in a terrified fashion, and I reply with a smile. She screams and tries to open the car door, but she isn’t going nowhere. I have fitted this car with a lot of things and those doors and windows will remain shut. And the interior is completely sound proof, no one is going to hear her. Something else I’ve added … Pink gas starts squirting through pipes installed. I put on a mask as the gas takes over the entirety of the inside. Nikki coughs, screams more, violently kicks the back of my seat, before slowly weakening and falling asleep. She is mine …
She wakes up a few hours later. She recognises this place … it is the Big Brother house .. No. It is a replica of the house. I made it especially for her so she would feel at home. But, there is not much chance of that. She realises the position she is in. Most of her clothes are gone, leaving her in just an undershirt and her hot pants. And her feet … firmly locked in some padded stocks. The stocks themselves are attached to a padded leather bench, where she lies. She starts to throw another one of her sexy fits, just for me to see. It is time for me to show my face. I enter the room, and straight away she sees me walking down the stairs into the cellar. She asks who I am, in a scared voice. She is crying. I tell her to calm down, but she has already switched from crying to shouting again. She asks what I think I am doing …
“Nikki, Nikki, Nikki. I brought you here because I love you.”
That doesn’t go down well with her. She wants out.
“Let me out you sick bastard!”
“Now Now. No need for those words. I am not going to harm you.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
The golden question. She isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed I guess. Her position is appartant to you and I, and surely a sex-mad girl like herself would realise what is about to happen. I walk over to the bench, licking my lips as I do so. I head straight for her feet. Seeing them in those high heels makes me want to eat them up, but I have to refrain myself from such behaviour, I have a celebrity with me. She once again asks me what I am doing, and I respond with another smile as I begin to unstrap her left heel. She sits up, getting a little angry, slapping me with her free hands. I step back, I knew I should have bound her arms, but I thought I wouldn’t need to. I walk back to the side of the bench, grabbing her wrist as I do so. I reach under the table and push up a padded bar. I press her arm against it and trigger the shackles. I go to the other side of the bench and repeat the process. Both arms are now bound. She is helpless. Before I go back to her heels though, I adjust the bench, as she now forced into a seated position. She now has a back rest, and that’s the least I can offer her.
“Now. If you are comfortable I can get back to my task.”
She looks extremely confused. And once again scared as I throw her left shoe off of her beautiful foot. I unstrap the right, and throw that off.
“Please! Please tell me what you are going to do.”
I take a good look at both of her pretty, exposed, defenceless soles and realise that she is going to find out one way or another. I reach down to just under the bench where my ‘Tools’ are found. Pulling out the best instrument for the ‘introduction’. A nice, soft, white feather. I bring it up into her eye sight and spin it between my finger and thumb in a taunting fashion. Her eyes widen … I think that tells the story.
She begs me not to, but God help me if I am missing out on this opportunity. I bring the feather down to meet with the soft skin of her sole, and I gently bring it down to her heel. The slow approach assures her pleasure instead of pain. I bring the feather back up to just below her sweet little toes. I look up, seeing her face flinch, trying to hold in her reactions. I begin to speed up slightly, forcing her to hold in more laughter. And then slow down again, perlonging the torturous ordeal. She begins to let out a few giggles. I keep on moving the feather up and down her sole gently, being amazing by he sudden change from anger, to laughter. I continue with this format for a few more minutes before I switch to her other foot. Something she isn’t prepared for. She begins to let out cute little streams of laughter. Not wild, but it is only the first steps of her tickling. I begin to circle the feather around the ball of her foot, meanwhile bringing my hand up to tickle her free foot. That triggers a rather loud laugh. I work on one foot with the feather and the other with my fingers, throwing her into permanent laughter. I switch foot from time to time. Nothing fancy right now. I finally stop to her relief and place the feather back with the rest of my tools. She breathes deeply, more of a sigh of relief. We lock eyes for the first time since I started.
“Okay. You are done. Now let me go!” She says to me. Oh, she doesn’t realise that I have only been at it for a half hour. There is so much more to come.
“No Nikki. You aren’t going no where just yet.” I laugh, evilly. “I have so much more planned.”
She gasps in shock. “Please! Let me go!” She cries. “I can’t stand the tickling. Please don’t put me through it. What do you want? Money? I’ll give you it if you just let me go.”
I laugh. “The only thing I want from you Nikki – is your laughter.”
That was it, break over. I head back to the tools. Pulling out a bigger, stiffer feather. She continues to beg in a half cry, but she soon changes her tune when I begin to scrape the feather up and down her soles again. She goes back to her sexy laugh. After a few more minutes of sole tickling, I can see she I getting a little distressed, and that is the last thing I want. I pull back, letting her get a breather, but soon step back in to get to work on those toes. I gently rub the feather on the tips of them, then go under them. She begins to wiggle her feet around more now. And also begins to clench her toes, preventing be from getting in between those toes of hers. So I stop. I leave the feather right on top of the stocks, just to tell her that I wasn’t yet done. I run up stairs. While I am gone, she begins to scream and yell for help. I re-enter the cellar.
“No use my darling. I have made this cellar sound proof.”
She drops her face in depression at the news that there is no chance of being rescued just yet. But her face soon came back up when she noticed the spring I had in my hand. She has no idea what I am to do. I thread the spring around both her big toes and tie a knot with the loose ends. No way is her toes getting away now. Picking the feather back up I give her a glance to say “You are all mine! There is no escape!” and she responds with a distressed stare. But she soon is forced to close her eyes once a re-start with the feather. She doesn’t want to see the pleasure on my face as I go to work. More laughter from her as a tickle her soles again, then go down to the underrated bare heels of her feet and then back up to her toes for more treatment. This time I get in between those beautiful digits, right into the sensitive areas. She gives me more of her sexy laugh as I finish up.
“Thank God” she lets out. Glad I have stopped. I give her one final smile before un-shackling her hands. Her face lights up, she thinks I am letting her go free. How mistaken she is. Instead I go back to the stocks. There is a digital clock there. I set a timer.
“I am setting this to unlock in 90 seconds. When you are unlocked you can do what you want. Have a cup of tea, go to the toilet, have a shower, eat, what ever you want. This house is almost exactly like the Big Brother house. I am off now and I will be back tomorrow morning.”
She nods. She understands. And she really doesn’t feel like struggling now. She realises I am not sick, I am letting her out of her bounds to roam free around an area that she had spent the last 8 weeks in anyway. I let the clock run and exit the cellar, locking the door behind me. I will be back to her in good time.
Next morning I wake up. I cook a nice big breakfast for us. I am to take it down to her, but first I need to see what she is doing. I enter a new room, a security room. Full of a number of TVs looking into the cellar. She is in the shower. I use the controls from inside the room to lock her in the bathroom while I go down to put her breakfast down on the table for her. I exit again, and go back to my security room. She realises straight away that I came in, so was already trying to get out, but when I finally unlocked the door she was surprised to find a breakfast. I decided to talk to her through the speakers.
“Enjoy.” I said. But to no response. She gets right to eating. “No thank you?” Still no answer. “How did you sleep.” She looks a little angry. Hearing my voice again was enough to do that. She knows I had kidnapped her and I am now tickle torturing her against her will. She gets up, picking up the half-eaten breakfast and throws it violently at the wall. She screams: “LET ME OUT YOU FUCK!” She throws one of her classic fits, as seen on TV. Though how much I find them cute, I don’t want her to be this way when all I want to do is bond with her.
“Please calm down Nikki. Or else you know what will happen.”
She looks up, finding a camera. She screams into it “LET ME OUT!” again. I have no choice. As in the car, I pump the pink sleeping gas into the room. Knocking her out. It is another few hours before she wakes up. By then I have her locked in the stocks again. But, that isn’t what is at fault. After reading the paper, it is a front page story: “BB NIKKI GONE MISSING!” All I need. The only way to stop the publicity is to let her go, but fat chance of that happening. Instead, I decide to take a risk. I am going to get her to phone home and say she is alright. I go into the cellar and tell her.
“Nikki. The press have made a big deal on you going missing. Now, for your family’s sake I suggest you phone home and tell them you are fine.” She looks at me weirdly. “Before I give you the phone though I am going to remind you that you do not know where you are and my phones lines are protected by a technology which makes them untraceable. So if you phone home and tell them that someone has kidnapped you and won’t let you go you will put your family under emotional distress and as the police won’t be able to find you I will have my way with you and be MUCH less hospitable towards you. Its down to you, darling.”
I give her the phone, unshackling her arms of course. I then leave the cellar and let her phone home. I watch through the security room to make sure she isn’t going to grass me out. I watched her talk calmly to her mother over the phone. She said that she had to go somewhere quickly. She apologised for not phoning. She said she was okay. And on top of that, she said she would be back in a weeks time. And did so in a calm voice. I went back down to the cellar afterwards, and thanked her.
“As a thank you, I am going to let you out of your stocks. And I am no longer going to tickle you if you don’t want me to.”
I set the timer again and walked off.
“If you aren’t going to tickle me anymore, then why won’t you just let me out?” She said to me as I was leaving. I turn to her and reply: “You said you would be another week. So I plan on keeping you here for another week.” I slam the door behind me just as she began to remove her legs from the stocks.
She lived down there for three more days, and then I got anxious. She was mine for the taking and I wasn’t tickling her as I planned. I needed to. When she was sleeping on the fourth night I went down into the cellar. I put a mask on her, which was connected to more sleeping gas, making sure she wouldn’t wake up. I brought down some papering products with me, and with them I cleaned her feet. I used various products on them that made them softer, and a lot more sensitive. After that I took her back to the bench and waited till morning.
She woke up to find herself face down on the leather. Her hands tied behind her back. Her feet in the stocks.
“What’s going on?” She said. I was right next to the bench. “You said you weren’t going to tickle me again.”
“I know my darling, but I couldn’t resist I apologies.”
I go to the stocks where her feet are. I give them a poke, resulting in a small fit of laughter. Her feet are generally softer and more ticklish thanks to my home pedicure. She begins to beg me even more, realising just how ticklish she was. But there was no use, in my frame of mind all I wanted to do is get those soles. I brought up my fingers and attacked her upside-down soles. I made them upside-down deliberately, it made them more exposed and defenceless. I used one hand to hold her foot in place while I tickled it with the other. I pulled out the feather again and begin to tickle the tips of her toes with it. She was by now in hysterics. I even pulled out a toothbrush from my tools and used it to really torture her. Scraping the bristles up and down her lovely soles, over the heels of her feet, and I got in between her toes to. I kept going crazy on them. It lasted for hours before it ended in her in total extacy. That was when I let her out. But, I repeated the same routine until the end of the week, when I brought back the mask to knock her out for one final time. I took her out of the cellar. Drove her to her parents house. But on the way I switched cars, to a police patrol car, and into a police uniform. I helped her to the front door, her parents thought I was a real police officer. I had a cup of tea and left her there. I left.
Reaching the police station I reached up to my face, grabbing my cheek and pulled it off my face. The whole rubber mask followed. It was a perfect plan. A police officer on holiday, a new car, his new house, and a rubber mask. No one will ever know …
A FEW WEEKS LATER – I just did my shopping. A woman walked past me, and a magazine fell out of my bag. I retrieved it and was about to call after her, but then I realised the front page story: “NIKKI REVEALS ALL”. I decided to take the magazine home and read it myself. In it: “Nikki went missing less than a month ago. She exclusively reveals that she was invited into a long-time friends dungeon for a full week of tickling pleasure.” I guess I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed that week then …
A little introduction to those who don’t know the female in question. Her name is Nikki, a contestant on the UK Reality Show, Big Brother. She was recently evicted from the house for her moaning and her child-like fits. However, some people will call those things cute. And how cute Nikki is …
Nikki has just finished another interview. It’s the backlash of fame that comes from being on Big Brother. She exits the building and runs down the steps. One of the TV Studios employees opens the car door for her and slams it after she enters. Me … I step on the gas pedal. “Where am I taking you?” I say to her, while staring at her through the overhead mirror. She responds: “Take me back to my house. I haven’t seen enough of my family … and I hope Dave is alright.” “Dave is fine.” I reply. Dave is her usual driver. But he recently fell sick so I had to fill in. But don’t worry, he will be better soon enough. I take another look at her, admiring her beauty as she fiddles with her makeup and mini-mirror. “How’s life been treating you Miss …”, “Don’t be silly. Call me Nikki.” She cut me off, I guess she doesn’t like being addressed in such a way. “Okay then. How has life been treating you Nikki.” She slaps down her mirror and drops it into her handbag. “Well, what can I say? For a few weeks I will be little miss popular.” That’s usually the case. She’ll be famous for a while, and then she’ll go Z-List. “Drop me off here thanks.” No way, I’m not stopping. “I said you can drop me off here.” she repeats. “I know what you said.” I reply, in a tone of voice which seemed to scare her a little. “Then why won’t you stop?” She says, in a terrified fashion, and I reply with a smile. She screams and tries to open the car door, but she isn’t going nowhere. I have fitted this car with a lot of things and those doors and windows will remain shut. And the interior is completely sound proof, no one is going to hear her. Something else I’ve added … Pink gas starts squirting through pipes installed. I put on a mask as the gas takes over the entirety of the inside. Nikki coughs, screams more, violently kicks the back of my seat, before slowly weakening and falling asleep. She is mine …
She wakes up a few hours later. She recognises this place … it is the Big Brother house .. No. It is a replica of the house. I made it especially for her so she would feel at home. But, there is not much chance of that. She realises the position she is in. Most of her clothes are gone, leaving her in just an undershirt and her hot pants. And her feet … firmly locked in some padded stocks. The stocks themselves are attached to a padded leather bench, where she lies. She starts to throw another one of her sexy fits, just for me to see. It is time for me to show my face. I enter the room, and straight away she sees me walking down the stairs into the cellar. She asks who I am, in a scared voice. She is crying. I tell her to calm down, but she has already switched from crying to shouting again. She asks what I think I am doing …
“Nikki, Nikki, Nikki. I brought you here because I love you.”
That doesn’t go down well with her. She wants out.
“Let me out you sick bastard!”
“Now Now. No need for those words. I am not going to harm you.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
The golden question. She isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed I guess. Her position is appartant to you and I, and surely a sex-mad girl like herself would realise what is about to happen. I walk over to the bench, licking my lips as I do so. I head straight for her feet. Seeing them in those high heels makes me want to eat them up, but I have to refrain myself from such behaviour, I have a celebrity with me. She once again asks me what I am doing, and I respond with another smile as I begin to unstrap her left heel. She sits up, getting a little angry, slapping me with her free hands. I step back, I knew I should have bound her arms, but I thought I wouldn’t need to. I walk back to the side of the bench, grabbing her wrist as I do so. I reach under the table and push up a padded bar. I press her arm against it and trigger the shackles. I go to the other side of the bench and repeat the process. Both arms are now bound. She is helpless. Before I go back to her heels though, I adjust the bench, as she now forced into a seated position. She now has a back rest, and that’s the least I can offer her.
“Now. If you are comfortable I can get back to my task.”
She looks extremely confused. And once again scared as I throw her left shoe off of her beautiful foot. I unstrap the right, and throw that off.
“Please! Please tell me what you are going to do.”
I take a good look at both of her pretty, exposed, defenceless soles and realise that she is going to find out one way or another. I reach down to just under the bench where my ‘Tools’ are found. Pulling out the best instrument for the ‘introduction’. A nice, soft, white feather. I bring it up into her eye sight and spin it between my finger and thumb in a taunting fashion. Her eyes widen … I think that tells the story.
She begs me not to, but God help me if I am missing out on this opportunity. I bring the feather down to meet with the soft skin of her sole, and I gently bring it down to her heel. The slow approach assures her pleasure instead of pain. I bring the feather back up to just below her sweet little toes. I look up, seeing her face flinch, trying to hold in her reactions. I begin to speed up slightly, forcing her to hold in more laughter. And then slow down again, perlonging the torturous ordeal. She begins to let out a few giggles. I keep on moving the feather up and down her sole gently, being amazing by he sudden change from anger, to laughter. I continue with this format for a few more minutes before I switch to her other foot. Something she isn’t prepared for. She begins to let out cute little streams of laughter. Not wild, but it is only the first steps of her tickling. I begin to circle the feather around the ball of her foot, meanwhile bringing my hand up to tickle her free foot. That triggers a rather loud laugh. I work on one foot with the feather and the other with my fingers, throwing her into permanent laughter. I switch foot from time to time. Nothing fancy right now. I finally stop to her relief and place the feather back with the rest of my tools. She breathes deeply, more of a sigh of relief. We lock eyes for the first time since I started.
“Okay. You are done. Now let me go!” She says to me. Oh, she doesn’t realise that I have only been at it for a half hour. There is so much more to come.
“No Nikki. You aren’t going no where just yet.” I laugh, evilly. “I have so much more planned.”
She gasps in shock. “Please! Let me go!” She cries. “I can’t stand the tickling. Please don’t put me through it. What do you want? Money? I’ll give you it if you just let me go.”
I laugh. “The only thing I want from you Nikki – is your laughter.”
That was it, break over. I head back to the tools. Pulling out a bigger, stiffer feather. She continues to beg in a half cry, but she soon changes her tune when I begin to scrape the feather up and down her soles again. She goes back to her sexy laugh. After a few more minutes of sole tickling, I can see she I getting a little distressed, and that is the last thing I want. I pull back, letting her get a breather, but soon step back in to get to work on those toes. I gently rub the feather on the tips of them, then go under them. She begins to wiggle her feet around more now. And also begins to clench her toes, preventing be from getting in between those toes of hers. So I stop. I leave the feather right on top of the stocks, just to tell her that I wasn’t yet done. I run up stairs. While I am gone, she begins to scream and yell for help. I re-enter the cellar.
“No use my darling. I have made this cellar sound proof.”
She drops her face in depression at the news that there is no chance of being rescued just yet. But her face soon came back up when she noticed the spring I had in my hand. She has no idea what I am to do. I thread the spring around both her big toes and tie a knot with the loose ends. No way is her toes getting away now. Picking the feather back up I give her a glance to say “You are all mine! There is no escape!” and she responds with a distressed stare. But she soon is forced to close her eyes once a re-start with the feather. She doesn’t want to see the pleasure on my face as I go to work. More laughter from her as a tickle her soles again, then go down to the underrated bare heels of her feet and then back up to her toes for more treatment. This time I get in between those beautiful digits, right into the sensitive areas. She gives me more of her sexy laugh as I finish up.
“Thank God” she lets out. Glad I have stopped. I give her one final smile before un-shackling her hands. Her face lights up, she thinks I am letting her go free. How mistaken she is. Instead I go back to the stocks. There is a digital clock there. I set a timer.
“I am setting this to unlock in 90 seconds. When you are unlocked you can do what you want. Have a cup of tea, go to the toilet, have a shower, eat, what ever you want. This house is almost exactly like the Big Brother house. I am off now and I will be back tomorrow morning.”
She nods. She understands. And she really doesn’t feel like struggling now. She realises I am not sick, I am letting her out of her bounds to roam free around an area that she had spent the last 8 weeks in anyway. I let the clock run and exit the cellar, locking the door behind me. I will be back to her in good time.
– – – – –
Next morning I wake up. I cook a nice big breakfast for us. I am to take it down to her, but first I need to see what she is doing. I enter a new room, a security room. Full of a number of TVs looking into the cellar. She is in the shower. I use the controls from inside the room to lock her in the bathroom while I go down to put her breakfast down on the table for her. I exit again, and go back to my security room. She realises straight away that I came in, so was already trying to get out, but when I finally unlocked the door she was surprised to find a breakfast. I decided to talk to her through the speakers.
“Enjoy.” I said. But to no response. She gets right to eating. “No thank you?” Still no answer. “How did you sleep.” She looks a little angry. Hearing my voice again was enough to do that. She knows I had kidnapped her and I am now tickle torturing her against her will. She gets up, picking up the half-eaten breakfast and throws it violently at the wall. She screams: “LET ME OUT YOU FUCK!” She throws one of her classic fits, as seen on TV. Though how much I find them cute, I don’t want her to be this way when all I want to do is bond with her.
“Please calm down Nikki. Or else you know what will happen.”
She looks up, finding a camera. She screams into it “LET ME OUT!” again. I have no choice. As in the car, I pump the pink sleeping gas into the room. Knocking her out. It is another few hours before she wakes up. By then I have her locked in the stocks again. But, that isn’t what is at fault. After reading the paper, it is a front page story: “BB NIKKI GONE MISSING!” All I need. The only way to stop the publicity is to let her go, but fat chance of that happening. Instead, I decide to take a risk. I am going to get her to phone home and say she is alright. I go into the cellar and tell her.
“Nikki. The press have made a big deal on you going missing. Now, for your family’s sake I suggest you phone home and tell them you are fine.” She looks at me weirdly. “Before I give you the phone though I am going to remind you that you do not know where you are and my phones lines are protected by a technology which makes them untraceable. So if you phone home and tell them that someone has kidnapped you and won’t let you go you will put your family under emotional distress and as the police won’t be able to find you I will have my way with you and be MUCH less hospitable towards you. Its down to you, darling.”
I give her the phone, unshackling her arms of course. I then leave the cellar and let her phone home. I watch through the security room to make sure she isn’t going to grass me out. I watched her talk calmly to her mother over the phone. She said that she had to go somewhere quickly. She apologised for not phoning. She said she was okay. And on top of that, she said she would be back in a weeks time. And did so in a calm voice. I went back down to the cellar afterwards, and thanked her.
“As a thank you, I am going to let you out of your stocks. And I am no longer going to tickle you if you don’t want me to.”
I set the timer again and walked off.
“If you aren’t going to tickle me anymore, then why won’t you just let me out?” She said to me as I was leaving. I turn to her and reply: “You said you would be another week. So I plan on keeping you here for another week.” I slam the door behind me just as she began to remove her legs from the stocks.
She lived down there for three more days, and then I got anxious. She was mine for the taking and I wasn’t tickling her as I planned. I needed to. When she was sleeping on the fourth night I went down into the cellar. I put a mask on her, which was connected to more sleeping gas, making sure she wouldn’t wake up. I brought down some papering products with me, and with them I cleaned her feet. I used various products on them that made them softer, and a lot more sensitive. After that I took her back to the bench and waited till morning.
She woke up to find herself face down on the leather. Her hands tied behind her back. Her feet in the stocks.
“What’s going on?” She said. I was right next to the bench. “You said you weren’t going to tickle me again.”
“I know my darling, but I couldn’t resist I apologies.”
I go to the stocks where her feet are. I give them a poke, resulting in a small fit of laughter. Her feet are generally softer and more ticklish thanks to my home pedicure. She begins to beg me even more, realising just how ticklish she was. But there was no use, in my frame of mind all I wanted to do is get those soles. I brought up my fingers and attacked her upside-down soles. I made them upside-down deliberately, it made them more exposed and defenceless. I used one hand to hold her foot in place while I tickled it with the other. I pulled out the feather again and begin to tickle the tips of her toes with it. She was by now in hysterics. I even pulled out a toothbrush from my tools and used it to really torture her. Scraping the bristles up and down her lovely soles, over the heels of her feet, and I got in between her toes to. I kept going crazy on them. It lasted for hours before it ended in her in total extacy. That was when I let her out. But, I repeated the same routine until the end of the week, when I brought back the mask to knock her out for one final time. I took her out of the cellar. Drove her to her parents house. But on the way I switched cars, to a police patrol car, and into a police uniform. I helped her to the front door, her parents thought I was a real police officer. I had a cup of tea and left her there. I left.
Reaching the police station I reached up to my face, grabbing my cheek and pulled it off my face. The whole rubber mask followed. It was a perfect plan. A police officer on holiday, a new car, his new house, and a rubber mask. No one will ever know …
A FEW WEEKS LATER – I just did my shopping. A woman walked past me, and a magazine fell out of my bag. I retrieved it and was about to call after her, but then I realised the front page story: “NIKKI REVEALS ALL”. I decided to take the magazine home and read it myself. In it: “Nikki went missing less than a month ago. She exclusively reveals that she was invited into a long-time friends dungeon for a full week of tickling pleasure.” I guess I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed that week then …
