View Full Version : The Hades Installation
04-17-2001, 02:13 PM
The Hades Installation
1 : Introduction
Another boring day in another boring week in another boring year of a goddamn boring life... Priss Jenkins pried open her sleep-clotted eyes and sat up groggily. As she wiped her face to get at least a semblance of alertness, she wondered if this day would be worth getting up to or if she should just stay in bed. Ever since she had finished her educational career and moved out off her parents house, she had been doing the odd job here and there, barely able to afford the ridiculously high rent for this walk-in closet her landlord called an apartment. Yesterday she had quit the job in the paper factory after her boss started getting a little too close for comfort. Not that she couldn't understand his indiscretions - she was really cute, in a tomboyish sort of way. She kept her raven black hair cut short and preferred pants to skirts, sneakers to high heals for her slender, size six feet, and T-shirts to tank tops... Not because she was a lesbian, but because she preferred casual clothes over expensive stuff that served only to restrict her freedom of movement and attracted the wrong sort of attention anyway. She stood only 5'8'' tall, was slim almost to the point of being sinewy, but not quite so. Her bosom was small, but not flat, her behind petite, but not bony. Everything about her had a certain luscious firmness to it. In her icy blue eyes sparkled the fire of a headstrong character, even now that they were slightly dulled from sleep. Her lean face looked innocent enough, until she smiled. At that point it took on an impish quality that made most people take a step back in fear of what she might be up to. Priss was 26 years old now, and even though she had had her fair share of affairs, she was single to this day. She just wasn't made for this life, it seemed. She just preferred being by herself, outside of societies' rat race.
After forcing herself out of bed and under her claustrophobic shower, she began to feel more alive and at least able to tackle the monumental task of preparing breakfast. Which consisted of a lot of coffee and a few cigarettes. Well, she could still eat something after she had read the 'Help Wanted' section of the papers. Leafing through it, she decided against being a prostitute (yet again), and hairdresser or cashier at the supermarket didn't sound like heaven, either. Then her eyes that were skimming crosswise about the classifieds came to an abrupt halt on an add that seemed ... different. It read :
Are you ready to step out of everyday life ?
Ready to retreat from the life you are living now ?
Ready for a job that requires absolute security ?
If you are interested, call :
Priss thought it over. The ad didn't mention a high pay, or anything about conditions, or anything at all about what kind of job this was anyway. But it was just this absence of any tangible information that chimed a bell somewhere inside her. She had always been the spontaneous, risk taking one. So she came to a decision that should change her life forever, and made the call.
2 : On the phone
'Hi ! My name is Priss Jenkins, I'm calling about the ad ?'
'Ben Ghelom. Are you serious about this ?'
'Well, I guess so. I mean, I don't really know anything about the job, so I can't say just how serious I am, right ?'
'Do not view it as a job, Priss Jenkins. View it as a commitment.'
'And what would you mean by that, Mr. ... Geelomm ?'
'Ghelom. I mean that this commitment will last for a long time, during which you will have no contact to outside civilization. Furthermore, you will be sworn to uphold secrecy about your activities. Your work assignment might well include sensitive issues that my and possibly you future employees can not afford to fall into the hands of outsiders.'
'Keen ! Is this sorta like that Biosphere project or some secret agent stuff or something ?'
'Close, but not quite, Priss Jenkins. I do not intend to disclose anything further about the commitment on the telephone. If you are interested, we will meet in person and discuss matters more in depth.'
'Hmm... I dunno. This is all weird. And would you stop calling me Priss Jenkins ? A simple Priss will be fine !'
'If that is your desire, Priss, then I shall henceforth address you thus. I assure you that by meeting me you will not commit yourself just yet. I merely want to assess you in person, so that we may find out if this... job... is fitting for you.'
'Well, Mr. Jelom...'
'Ghelom, Priss. It is pronounced Ghelom.'
'Fine, Mr. Ghelom. So, I'm game. Where do we meet ?'
'I am overjoyed, Priss. If you can arrange it, we will meet in the Maxime Hotel on 5th street.'
'Well. Great. And when would that be ?'
'Today, if that is acceptable to you. Can you manage to be there at four pm ?'
'Four pm ?!? That's just three hours from now ! Don't I have to bring anything like a picture or write anything about me or what ?'
'No, Priss. Since you will be there in person, I do not see what sense bringing a photograph would make. And this whole meeting is only necessary to evaluate your qualification for the... job... so we can well do without anything written about yourself..'
'Well, then it's no problem, I guess. I'm gonna be there, Mr. Ghelom.'
'I thank you, Priss. Please be punctual.'
3 : Meeting with a strange man
Priss hung up. That Ghelom guy sounded funny, way too educated to be a native english speaker. He had so carefully avoided an accent that it seemed comical. Well, it was time to plan things. She rummaged through her wardrobe, thinking about what kind of impression she would want to make. Something atypically sexy, maybe ? Or perhaps more in the direction of the working class style ? After almost thirty minutes, her squalid room was filled to the brim with the contents of her closet. 'Ah, what the hell...' she thought, 'if they want me, they better know me', and she just put on stuff she wore everyday. A frayed, stone washed jeans, a Ramones T-shirt and some sandals. It was way too hot outside for tennis shoes or socks, and she never wore nylons, so she slipped into the sandals barefoot. Her feet enjoyed their freedom, and she wriggled her slender, straight toes to make the sandals fit just right. After all these preparations, she went back into the kitchen, emptied her coffee and fixed herself some pasta. Then, she watched TV until it was time to leave.
She took the bus to the station on 5th, then walked the rest of the way to the Maxime. On the way, a small pebble got caught inside her right sandal, and she had to stop and remove it. Her feet were way too sensitive to tolerate it. That was why she never walked barefoot, she just couldn't stand the sensations. Especially when she walked across grass. As a child she had abhorred this because the leaves would tickle her so much.
When she entered the Maxime, she immediately recognized Mr. Ghelom. He was clad in a business suit, quite expensive, and had a completely neutral look on his clean shaven face. She guessed him to be in his forties, but he was in good shape for his age. His hair war a darkish blond, with a little gray at the temples. His eyes were gray as well, and were right now fixed on her as she stood inside the lobby just behind the doors. He radiated an air of irritation. 'You are late, Priss', he said in a gravely tone. Priss looked at her wristwatch. It was four fifteen. 'Well, sorry, Mr. Ghelom. The bus...' 'No apologies, Priss. I am certain that latency will not be an issue in the future.' 'Well, I'm sure glad you aren't mad about it...' 'No, I am not. Shall we retire to a room to discuss matters further ?'
Priss stopped dead in her tracks. 'Hey Mr., if you actually think you can just take me to your room...' 'No, Priss. You have misunderstood. I have no intention of courting you. Nor do I crave you in my private accommodations. I merely wish to suggest we take seating in a separate room in the bar, so that we might discuss matters without any unwanted outsiders within hearing range. You will have the opportunity to leave at any time.'
That comment made Priss relax. 'Okay, what are we waiting for then ?'
They walked toward the bar. Strangely, the hotel was almost empty. Only the employees were present. A bored looking barkeeper leaned behind his counter, absentmindedly sorting some bottles. In front of the counter, a single patron was nursing some steaming hot liquid, probably coffee. On the wall opposite the bar counter were several booth-like rooms, with curtains separating them from the main hall. Ghelom and Priss entered one of them and sat down. The barkeeper made as if to walk over to them, but Ghelom only waved and he slumped back against his counter. Ghelom drew the curtains shut.
'Well, you gonna tell me what kinda job this is now ?' Priss asked. 'Certainly. Of course, until you have agreed to accept it, I can still not provide you with exact details, so that security may be preserved. However, I shall now answer any questions you may have, as long as they do not compromise the secrecy I have been sworn to.'
Priss considered for a moment. 'Well, what did you mean by me being isolated from society for a long time ? How isolated and how long ?' 'You will not engage any contacts to the outside world during the course of your assignment. You may choose to fraternize with your co-workers or engage in any sort of social interaction with them, but you may not leave the facility. The minimum time of a work assignment in our organization is four years.'
'That's a long time...' Priss thought it over. She didn't have any contacts right now anyway, and she really could stand a timeout. But then again... 'What if I get bored ? Or if I want to quit ?' 'I am afraid that aborting the contract is not an option, Priss. When you sign it, you are bound to stay in our employ for at least the minimum time. Concerning your hypothetical boredom, I can assure you that we have a large amount of entertainment available at the facility, ranging from cable television through computers to books and many more. We even have a heated pool and a movie theater.' 'Well... I need to know what sort of work this is going to be. I wouldn't want to sign anything that binds me for such a long time without knowing anything about what it means.' 'Quite reasonable. The assignment consists mainly of a kind of guard duty. You would be well advised to imagine a conglomerate of a nurse and a night watch employee when you try to visualize your assignment.'
'That sounds cool to me...' It rather sounded a little weird, but suddenly Priss smiled, and threw overboard all reservations. This just might be it, the job she had been looking for all her life. So if she threw it away now, it might never come back. And after all, what fun was there in life without any risk ? 'Okay, man, if the pay is alright and you still want me, you can count me in !'
'I am overjoyed to hear that, Priss. Yes, we still wish to employ you. And the pay is six thousand dollars per month, in addition to free room, entertainment and provisions, and bonus payment for late time assignments.'
Priss couldn't believe her ears. 'Cool ! Where do I sign ?' 'Come to the airfield tomorrow at eight pm. I advice you to take care of your belongings for the time being, as you will be away for a long period. If you have any trouble dealing with real estate, I can provide you with the address of a very reliable broker.'
'Nah, that won't be necessary. I can take care of it. But could you forward me some cash ? I'm gonna need to buy stuff and pay my landlord...' 'No trouble at all, Priss.' Ghelom handed her an envelope he took from inside his jacket. 'I am sure this will cover your needs. It will be deducted from your pay, of course.' 'Sure thing...' Priss tore open the envelope. Inside were three thousand dollar bills. 'Wow ! Cool ! How do you know I won't just take this and leave ?' 'We trust you, Priss. I will have to go now. Be punctual tomorrow.' 'I sure as hell will ! See ya, Mr. Ghelom !' Priss smiled her impish smile as Ghelom stood up to leave. It had no effect on him.
4 : Airborne
Priss took care of things. She quit her rent contract, paying her landlord in advance for three months so he wouldn't ask any questions, and packed up. She cancelled any accounts she had and took care that nothing would be amiss for the next four years, or ever, if she considered it. Then, she got ready to leave, taking the bus to the airport. She had put on the same outfit as yesterday, because she had forgotten to leave anything out for the next day and all her stuff was now packed into suitcases that came close exploding. She reached the airport on time, and was quite proud of herself. Ghelom awaited her in the meeting hall. 'I see you are on time, Priss. Please follow me, we shall take a Lear Jet to our destination.'
As they went through first the hall, then a long row of corridors blissfully empty of the crowds usually found in airports, Priss could just about restrain herself from hopping up and down with joy. A Lear Jet ! This was too cool to be true ! They left the corridors after what seemed like miles of anonymous hallways and entered the airfield, a long way off from the commercial flights. Just before them stood their transport : An ivory colored Lear Jet, looking possibly more expensive then it was. The integrated stairway had been extended, and Priss could see the luxurious interior, which was held in fresh, bright colors. Very plush. They entered the machine and took seat on a table in the passenger cabin, which looked more like the lobby of a luxury hotel than the interior of an airplane.
Mr. Ghelom's voice pulled Priss' attention away from the obvious displays of wealth surrounding her. 'If you would consider filling out your contract now, Priss ?' She looked down. On the table before her was a thick binder full of forms. 'Oh man, where do I sign this ?!?' she exclaimed. 'Priss, you really should read it first. It contains in-depth information about your assignment.' Priss sighed and started to read. She didn't even make the first page when the Jet started to move. As it took off, she had just cleared page three. It took her the entire flight to read halfway through the document, and afterwards she was none the wiser. This stuff was written in such a crooked way that it could mean anything. 'We will be landing soon, Priss.' Ghelom reminded her. 'Listen, man, you just tell me where to sign and I will, okay ? I don't wanna read all this !' 'If you wish... Sign...', Ghelom started leafing through the pages, '...here.' She did just as the jet touched down. Ghelom took the binder and placed it in a briefcase standing beside him. 'Welcome to the facility. I will remain on board, if you do not mind. There are things I must attend to elsewhere. As you enter, you will meet your direct superior, Mr. Mel Kensington. He will explain further.' Priss looked out of the window. They were in the middle of some desert. The Jet had landed on a well maintained, but small runway beside a bunker-like building. 'In there ?!? That's gotta be a joke !' 'Priss, the facility is subterranean. That is just the entryway. Please go now.'
Priss left the Jet and began walking towards the building, periodically looking over her shoulder, until the Jet turned about and began picking up speed, to take off as it reached the far end of the runway. Ghelom had not even said goodbye, so she hadn't either. She reached the building, hearing the dull roar of huge air vents. A door opened. She entered.
04-17-2001, 02:14 PM
5 : The Facility
Inside was an elevator and little more. She saw gigantic pipes, of a huge air condition maybe, that ran into some device in the back of the bunker. She entered the elevator, and immediately the doors closed and it began to descent swiftly. She had time to reconsider her decision to come here, but somehow she was still certain that she had done the right thing. If anything bad should happen, she would find a way out, she was sure of that. Still, it was creepy here.
The doors opened, snapping her thoughts back to reality. In front of the elevator stood a very peculiar figure. The man was small and scrawny, his moist blue eyes comically enlarged by the huge glasses that balanced on his nose. He was clad in a white scientist lab coat, complete with a bunch of pens in the chest pocket, a manual of some sort in one side pocket and a lump of undefinable junk in the other. He might be in his fifties, but she couldn't really tell. His complexion was pale, and he was totally bald. If he had had hair and a better composure, he might even have been called handsome, but this way he merely looked funny. Priss forcibly suppressed a giggle and made an effort to keep her face straight. 'Are you Mel Kensington ? I'm Priss, Priss Jenkins. Your new employee ?'
The man smiled. 'Yes, indeed. I am Mr. Kensington. If I may call you Priss, you may call me Mel.' 'Okay, Mel.' 'I trust you have read the contract and manual ?' 'Well, to be honest, no. I didn't get most of the babble inside. Could you explain what I'll have to do here ? What is this place, anyway ?'
Priss looked at her surroundings. She was standing in a neutral looking room, with only the elevator and another metal door leading out of it. The walls were painted white, the floor was some sort of artificial marble. On the ceiling were a few fluorescent lights. The only sound that could be heard was the buzzing of the lights and the hiss of the air condition. 'Before I explain, let us go into the lobby, Priss. It is so uncomfortable here.' He went to the door opposite the elevator and opened it by touching a panel beside it. Priss followed him. Behind the door was a lobby, not uncomfortably equipped with a few potted plants, a small bar and several armchairs. The floor was covered with plush carpeting, the walls and ceiling with fake wooden panels. Several standing lamps shed a comforting light. Soft music played in the background. Several doors lead out of the room, labeled 'Elevator', 'Offices', 'Quarters', 'Staff Entertainment' and 'Wards'. Mel sat down in one of the armchairs, motioning Priss to take a seat one facing him. She sat down, relaxing instantly. Now it was his turn to muster her, it seemed. He eyed her up and down, not lecherous, but interested. His eyes remained on her sandal clad feet for a little longer than anywhere else, however. Then, he sat up jerkily. 'Well, Priss, I guess it's time to explain everything to you.' 'Yes, I suppose so. What is this place and what will be my job ?'
'Well, what is this place ? It is called the Hades Installation, after the legendary greek underworld. It was founded by a private organization. It has nothing to do with the government or anything. One day some very smart persons with a lot of money at their disposal as well as the greed for more had a brilliant idea. There was so much trouble in the world, so many people holding a grudge against so many others, and this in a world where money supposedly solves everything. So they acquired this really great plot of real estate and built this facility. Here, people can deposit others who they want to... vanish... from society without killing them. They have to take care of the... removal... of these persons from society and pay us a ridiculous amount of money to keep their personified troubles in custody.'
Priss ogled at this. 'So this is some sort of a prison ?'
'No, Priss, not quite. It was, at first. But then, every single person who deposited somebody else here requested that we make the subject's stay here as uncomfortable as possible. They left the details to us. So we had to think of a way to do so without killing the subjects, because we don't want blood on our hands.'
'What are you doing to them ?' Priss asked anxiously. She was already certain that she would get out of here at the first possible opportunity. These people were obviously nuts.
'You will learn shortly, we will visit the wards after this talk.' 'So what do I do here ?' 'You will be a guard and part time janitor, unless you qualify for the administration of the subjects' treatment. Let us go now, I see you are eager to learn more about this place.'
Mel stood up and began to walk towards the door labeled 'Wards'. Priss thought about making a break for the elevator, but then decided that this would only leave her standing in the middle of a desert without any means of transportation. She would first have to find out about the possibilities to leave here in relative safety. So she followed him. Behind the door was a stark metal room illuminated be fluorescent lights. Two door led out of it, the left one labeled 'Celebrity Ward', the right one 'Mundane Ward'. Mel turned toward the left one and touched the plate beside it. 'I am sure you will find this very entertaining, as well as informative', he smiled as the door swooshed open.
6 : Celebrity Ward, Door One
Behind the door lay a long corridor with a multitude of doors set into the walls. The corridor was clad out in the same metal as the small room they came out of, and lightened in the same way. The only sound that could be heard was the soft hiss of the A/C and the buzz of the lights, just as in the elevator room. Beside each door was a small monitor with green reading on it. 'This is where we keep the female celebrities that are brought to us', Mel explained. 'The Screen contains information about their person, the reason for their stay, who brought them here and the time of their stay with us. We keep the male celebrities in a hallway parallel to this one. The mundane ward is structured similarly. Shall we take a short tour around ?' Without waiting for an answer, he went toward the first door. Priss followed him hesitantly, glancing at the screen before he opened the door.
NAME : JENNY MC CARTHY
REASON FOR STAY : CAUSED PUBLIC UPROAR BY INSULTING THE PRESIDENT
BROUGHT IN BY : POLICE OF WASHINGTON DC
DURATION OF STAY : 4.2 YEARS
Priss remembered that incident. Jenny Mc Carthy had called the ruling President a lying scumbag in an interview, and had been arrested. She had been supposedly killed in an accident, when the prison bus transporting her into custody had gone over a cliff. So this was were she had ended up.
The door swooshed open, and immediately screaming laughter filled the hallway. It was so loud that Priss covered her ears with her hands. She then saw Mel handing her a set of earplugs. He had obviously inserted a pair himself while she had been staring at the monitor. She took them and put them into her ears, reducing the sound level to a bearable level. She then followed him into the room.
Inside stood something closely resembling a dentists chair, to which Jenny was strapped. She was clad in a one-piece garment that was glistening with sweat, her hair was sticking to her head in disheveled lumps, and her face was contorted in agonized laughter. Straps ran to and fro across her body, securing her tightly. Her waist was covered by something which closely resembled a huge metal diaper, holding her hips down and completely covering her lower body. Her ankles were bound by large metal cuffs. But these cuffs were not just bindings, the also housed the devilish device which kept Jenny in her state of torment. A multitude of articulated metal arms reached out from the bands, around her bare feet, which were writhing like crazy. All the arms ended in stiff feathers that were wildly tickling Jenny's tortured soles. Attached to the top of each foot was a sensor that ran back into the bands holding her ankles, telling the feathers exactly were her feet were going, so that they could sustain their prolonged tickle torture of the poor woman's bare soles. Priss swallowed hard. She remembered the reading at the door. Over four years. This poor woman had been undergoing a constant feathering of her ticklish soles for over four years. She could not imagine how that would feel. Suddenly Mel touched her arm, and she jerked around, startled. 'Let's go outside ! There is more you need to see !!!' He yelled over the gales of laughter coming from the tortured woman in the infernal device. Priss followed hurriedly, eager to get away from this site of terror. Outside, Mel closed the door, and after the echoes of tortured mirth faded away, it was silent once again in the hallway. Priss moved to remove the earplugs, but Mel stopped her. 'You will need them during the whole tour, Priss ! It gets louder from here !' Priss shivered. Louder ? 'Jenny has it easy, believe me ! Some others are off far worse !'
Priss didn't want to think about that. However, there was one detail she couldn't get out of her mind. 'What was that diaper-thing ?' Mel laughed. 'Waste disposal ! This way she never needs to leave her hot seat to go to the bathroom ! These things are standard issue !'
7 : Celebrity Ward, Door Two
They reached the next door. Priss read :
NAME : GEENA DAVIS
REASON FOR STAY : ACTRESS IN THREE CONSECUTIVE FLOPPED MOVIES, PRODUCERS WISHED TO CUT LOSSES BY RECEIVING INSURANCE
BROUGHT IN BY : PRODUCERS OF THIRD MOVIE
DURATZION OF STAY : 2.8 YEARS
The door opened, and once again insane laughter filled the hallway. Geena was tied to a metal rack, her huge, bare feet firmly secured on one side by padded metal stocks. She was wearing the same one-piece garment Jenny had been wearing, and she too was secured around the waist with the waste disposal diaper-thing. In front of her feet were some machines, one holding multiple rotating brushes in it's articulate arms, the other one equipped with water jets. The jets were blasting merrily away at her left sole, which was totally drenched and seemed to be slightly wrinkly from all the moisture, her other sole was practically vanishing beneath the brushes that were rotating at breakneck speed. Geena was in bad shape, obviously too weak to struggle against her bonds. Her only questionable relief were the tortured gales of laughter she filled the room with, and she made ample use of it. 'That's what you get if you have larger insurance sums on your head then acting ability !' Mel yelled gleefully. Geena only responded by trying to articulate her screams of forced, tortured laughter : 'PLEEEEEEEEASE !!! AAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAA NOOOOOO !!!! MERCYYYYYYYYY !!! AAAAHAHAA PLEAAAAHAHAAA NOOOOOO !!! NOOHOHOHOOOOOHAHAHAHAH !!! MYYYHHHHAHAHAHA FEEEEHEHEHEEEEEEET !!!! PLEEEEEEAAAAASEEEEEHEHEHEEEEE ! AAAHAHAA AAAAA !!!'
Mel grinned. 'Isn't it pathetic ?!?' He yelled over Geenas pleadings. 'Just adorable !!!' He moved to leave the room. Geena somehow noticed this through her tear filled, swollen eyes. 'NOOOOHOOHOHOOOHAHAHA ! DOOOHOHONT LEAAHAHAHA LEAHAHA LEEEEEHAHAHAHA -gasp- LEEEHEAVE MEEEEHEHE HEEEEHEHE HEEEHEHE HEEEEEE HEEERE !!! PLEEEEEEHEHEEEEASE ! AAAHAHAHAAAA ! NOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO ! IT TEEEHEHEEEEECKLES ! THE FEEEHEHEEEET ! GOHOOOHOOHOHOHOOOD !!! TEEEHECKLES MEEEHEHEEEE MY FEEHEHEEET ! AAHAHAAA !'
The door closed. They wordlessly progressed to the next room, Mel grinning sadistically, Priss pale as a sheet.
8 : Celebrity Ward, Door Three
NAME : DEMI MOORE
REASON FOR STAY : BEING UNTRUE, RIDICULING THE NAVY SEALS
BROUGHT IN BY : HUSBAND, UNITED STATES NAVY SEALS
DURATION OF STAY : 2.9 YEARS
Before he opened the door, Mel explained this to Priss. 'Demi was brought in by her husband, but somehow the Seals got wind of it and decided that after that abysmal GI Jane movie they wanted to share his expenses, if they would be allowed to... partake... in her treatment here.' 'What do you mean by that ?' Priss asked, already dreading the answer. 'Well, wait and see !' Mel exclaimed as he opened the door.
No laughter this time. Inside the small room, Demi was strapped into some sort of contraption. She was lying on her belly, clad in a one-piecer. Her back, her hips and her legs were tied to a lever-like board, with the junction at the ankles. Her hands were tied to the floor just shoulder-wide beneath her heaving body. This contraption allowed her no movement but one : push-ups. However, she was clearly unable to perform any, as her naked, writhing feet protruded from the junction, and of course they were not left unattended. Two women in navy combat fatigues were squatting there, one beside each foot. They had uncharacteristically long nails for their normal profession, but these suited the task they had set out for here just fine, which was to gently scratch and tickle Demi's ultra sensitive soles, tickle torturing the helpless actress into conniptions. Beside the whole set up, within view of the ticklish prisoner, were two digital readings set in the floor : one was a clock, slowly ticking backwards in an agonizing countdown, the other simply read '0129' and didn't seem to change. The clock showed 'T-00.00.00.12.35.42', with the last two digits counting down the seconds. Mel touched her shoulder. 'As you can see, The Seals are here to prove that Demi isn't such a tough cookie after all. We gave her three years to do a measly 1000 push-ups, and what do we see ? She doesn't cut it. Well, we told her what was going to happen to her feet when she couldn't make it, and it sure looks like she will yearn to be back in this room soon enough.' 'What is going to happen ?' Priss asked with shaking voice. 'Something... interesting. I don't want to spoil all the surprises yet.' 'Why isn't she laughing ?' 'Go for yourself and look !' Mel said. Priss looked at the scene more closely, watched with terror filled eyes as the sharp nails of the two female drill sergeants were gingerly tickling Demi's twitching soles, causing her obvious agony. Demi tried to lift the inverted bench she was tied to from time to time, but each time she did, one of her torturers would draw a long nail rapidly back and forth across her slightly wrinkled sole, sometimes scratching just under the round toes and their short stems, or sometimes both of them would just start tickling her so rapidly their fingers swam to the view, causing her go slump back to the ground, her whole body heaving. It looked like she used most of her energy desperately trying to move her well - groomed feet out of the way of the tickling fingernails, but in vain : they stayed firmly over her flailing, twitching, insanely ticklish soles, causing all the torments of hell. Priss went around the contraption, looking at Demi's face. It was contorted in ticklish screams, of course, but her mouth and nose were covered with a mask that tempered into a thick tube leading into the lever she was tied to. She too, of course, was strapped into a waste disposal device. Priss went back to Mel after viewing the actress' plight for a few seconds. 'What is that mask ?' She asked in shocked curiosity. 'It's an oxygen mask and also allows us to nourish her. Most subjects have been rigged with these things to allow for non-stop 24-7 tickling during their stay.' He opened the door and stepped outside. 'Besides, it makes it much more ear-friendly in the treatment rooms. Good luck in the last twelve hours, ladies !' He called to the seals. Both looked up from their task, without slowing the torture of Demi's wriggling soles for one second, and one explained 'I would give you the thumbs up, but i seem to need my hands here.' Both exchanged an evil smile. 'But here is a salute to you !' They both started tickling so fast and intense that Priss couldn't believe it, obviously knowing just how and where on the sole their attentions gave the best results, because suddenly Demi's howling laughter could be heard despite the mask, and the tortured actress' bound body began to shake with unparalleled vigor. Mel greeted back. 'Let's see how long you two can keep up this pace, ladies !' Mel said with an evil glint in his eyes. One of the women shouted back over the commotion, 'I think we can keep it up for the rest of her stay here. Twelve and a half hours are nothing for a seal !' They both added their evil laughter to the tortured howls emitted by Demi, causing a mad symphony of tickle torture as the door swooshed shut. The hallway fell silent once more.
'Ready for the next one ?', Mel asked Priss as she swayed slightly. She didn't answer just yet. She had to help these women ! And she had to get away from here ! Outside she would be able to alert someone to this tickle hell on earth ! But first, she would have to tough it out. 'Sure thing. Why not ?' She said with forced smugness.
9 : Celebrity Ward, Door Four
NAME : MADONNA
REASON FOR STAY : SPREADING OBSCENE MATERIAL
BROUGHT IN BY : 'CITIZENS FOR MORAL HYGIENE'
DURATION OF STAY : 2.3 YEARS
Inside the room, it was almost silent except for soft slurping noises and the muffled laughter of the tormented terminally ticklish. Madonna was strapped to a table in a way similar to Geena Davis, except that a man sat by her feet reading a book, her face was cover by one of those masks with the pipe running into the rack she lay on, and two goats eagerly licking her soles. Her small, pretty feet didn't seem to move at all, though, which struck Priss as odd, given the look of wrecking laughing fits that distorted Madonna's face. If she was in such agony, why didn't she at least try to move her feet about ? She took a step closer to examine the contraption that held the ticklish celebrity down so that her feet could be used as a salt lick by the two goats, who seemed happy as pigs in a wallow while they treated Madonna to lightning fast staccato licks up and down and back and forth across the soles. Both feet were coated with salt, which was kept in a bucket beside the reading man, who looked up to acknowledge his visitors with a nod. Inside the bucket were a few stiff bristled brushes to apply the salt with. That alone would probably tickle as crazy, more than enough to drive anyone nuts. But two goats licking in this fashion - that must be utterly unbearable. She looked at Madonna's bound feet and saw the reason they didn't move : up the top of each foot ran a metal rod, which had five metal clamps attached to the ends of miniature articulate arms. Each of these clamps had closed sideways and from the top around one toe, thus holding it absolutely fast while allowing free access to it's downside and stem. Sideways out of the rod protruded four more arms, each reaching to the side of the foot, thus holding the entire sole completely motionless and fully accessible to any devilish, ticklish manipulation the torturers could think of. Priss felt bile in her throat. To be tickled on the feet was horrible, worse then death. But to be tickled without being able to even move a single toe, to be condemned to bear every single tormenting touch to the overly sensitized soles... that would be... unimaginable. She was shaken out of her terror by Mel's amused voice. 'Ingenious devices, these foot bonds, aren't they ? I take pride that I have developed them myself. I employ them quite often now. They seem to enhance the... experience... the subjects are undergoing quite well.' With a smirk he turned to the reading man. 'Leonard, I think those soles could well do with a fresh coating, don't you ?' Leonard looked up, leaned closely towards the soles, then nodded slowly. 'Not necessarily, Mr. Kensington, but it can't do no harm neither.' He made a small gesture towards the goats, who took a step back obediently. They were obviously used to this procedure. Madonna's laughter turned into a sigh of relief. Priss stared at her feet in disbelief They were beet red from the licking. She had never imagined that this color was possible on a human sole. 'Impressed ?' Mel asked. 'You will get used to soles this red. They don't get much redder, I'm afraid, though we are always trying to set a new record. Madonna is one of the best specimens we have so far...' He was interrupted by a shrill, muffled shriek coming from the bound singer. Leonard had begun running one of the brushes, now coated in salty solution but no less bristly, up and down her left sole, preparing another one with his other hand all the while. With the skill of a master of his profession he applied a thick coat of slimy goo on each foot, causing Madonna no end of ticklish agony. Her muffled screams reached a crescendo when he started working on her toes. However, these screams were still nothing compared to her roars when the goats had been licking her soles. Priss looked at the goats : they were greedily licking their lips, awaiting the next treat. 'This solution is not just salt', Mel explained. 'It also contains a biochemical reagent I have developed to toughen the skin without making the foot any less sensitive. This allows for these prolonged licking sessions, otherwise the wet but rough tongue of the goat would abrade the skin and soon the tickling would lead to an outright flaying. Now we can't have that, can we ?' He said with evil irony. 'You are quite the humanist, Mel.' Answered Priss sardonically. Leonard was done with the coating that moment and made another small gesture towards the goats. Both practically pounced onto Madonna's motionless, helpless soles. The one on the right foot began to dig into her toes immediately, darting it's tongue back and forth between the toes with lightning quickness, while the other one lapped up the salt covering her arch with long but firm drags. Priss thought she could hear a muffled 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO !!!!! AAAAAAAAHAHAAAAAAHAA !!!' before the gales of laughter lost any semblance to being articulate, but she could have been mistaken and didn't feel like asking. This time it was her who suggested 'Shall we go on, Mel ?' 'Certainly. There is still so much to see...' And so they went off. But nothing had prepared Priss for what was coming now.
04-17-2001, 02:15 PM
10 : Celebrity Ward, Door Five
NAME : DIANA OF WALES
REASON FOR STAY : HIGH TREASON
BROUGHT IN BY : REPRESENTATIVES OF THE ENGLISH CROWN
DURATION OF STAY : 8.1 YEARS
NAME : JANET JACKSON
REASON OF STAY : ENVY OF DELIVERER
BROUGHT IN BY : LATOYA JACKSON
DURATION OF STAY : 0.6 YEARS
Before Mel could open the door, Priss said, 'What's that supposed to mean ? Diana is dead, everybody knows that.' 'Yes, that's right. This is how we receive most of our celebrity subjects. An accident is feigned, and before you know it, they are cracking up in our custody. What do you think why the Queen didn't mourn and nobody ever saw Di's corpse ?' He opened the door.
Inside stood three huge metal caskets. They had rounded corners and a lot of dials and switches covering the surfaces. Out of one end of each one reached the head of a woman, her feet poked out of the other end, the toes held in place be those things Madonna had on as well. The mouths and noses of all three women were covered with those masks. Priss stared. In front of each bound bare foot sat a woman, deeply engrossed in her duty. It looked as if the three women were being subjected to pedicures and reflexology treatments ! But even stranger was the fact that there were three women being tickled out of their wits, while only two were listed at the door monitor. Priss looked at the distorted faces more closely. On the left was obviously Diana, for even though her trademark hairdo was in shambles and a mask covered half her face, the other two woman had long black hair and a dark complexion. She took a while to make out that the one in the middle was Janet, just now receiving a foot washing of the most ticklish kind as the two women attending her stroked her soft soles with soapy, bristly brushes while using other thin, bristle-covered implements to clean between her motionless toes. Her soles twitched slightly, which seemed to take an enormous effort to do in these special bonds. Diana's large feet were probably the best looking pair of ticklish soles Priss had ever seen ! The practically sparkled with cleanliness and were right now subjected to a prolonged reflexology session. Priss recalled that the former princess used to attend such sessions quite regularly during her lifetime on the surface, but they had probably not been as... stimulating... as this one. Besides each foot was a chart of a sole, obviously a scanned photograph of Diana's feet, which was filled with lines and notes marking certain areas of the sole. The women caring for those luscious soles were busy very gently stroking and prodding along them, spending exclusive time in the arch, and gingerly working their short fingernails underneath each toe, always following the lines depicted on the diagrams. Some of their most favorite routes on the poor woman's ticklish soles had grown faintly pink on the otherwise milky sole as the torturous fingers traced the most ticklish areas over and over again.
But who was the woman on the right ? Her feet were not treated to the gentle caresses the other two victims were being subjected to. The woman at her feet used devices resembling electrical toothbrushes to clean the soles and especially the toes. The instruments lying on a table besides them looked way more ticklish then anything lying by the side of the other four ticklers. She turned to Mel. 'Who's that ?' 'LaToya. Incredible, isn't it ?' Priss stared. Yes, It just might be. Were the woman not so disheveled by the constant tickle torture of her feet... More volume to the hair... the face unclenched... 'But what does she do here ? I thought I read that she brought Janet in !' 'Yes, and we were thankful for it. Did you know that Janet was rumored to have the most ticklish feet in Hollywood ? It's true !' 'And why is LaToya there, laughing her head off ?' 'She couldn't pay, Priss. She thought she could bargain. Well, we made her an offer she couldn't refuse... for long, when she was in here. Stay forever, and we will forget about the payment. After all, we can't have people forgetting to pay us for our services, right ?' Mel looked very pleased with himself. 'Oh by the way, see the contraptions they are in ?' 'Yes, hard to miss, aren't they.' 'Well, Priss, these are an assimilation of very capable diagnostic and medical systems. If we hadn't strapped them into these, they would be tickled to death in no time. These women are professionals.' Priss felt faint. Being unable to move even a toe, and even death was not an option... She had to get out of here, fast ! 'Shouldn't we be going ?' She asked nervously. 'Well, just let me admire the ladies handiwork for a while.' This earned him a joyful smile from all the female ticklers. 'Besides, Diana is the Celebrity we have had here for the longest time. I can't seem to tire of watching her peds getting petted.' So they stayed for five more minutes, watching as Diana's huge feet with the long slender toes and the faint pink traces on the milky soles were seemingly growing more ticklish by the second as the endless manipulation she had been undergoing for over eight years continuously tickled her to death, which was denied her by the machine she was bedded in. They watched as Janet's foot washing was over, only to be replaced by the most torturous pedicure ever had by any woman, as special, soft brushes caressed her feet and vibrating devices were used to tighten the skin of her arch. And they beheld LaToya Jackson's constant, never ending, unbearable tortures as the woman showed her why it was better to pay your bills by brushing, scratching and feathering her feet in such a rapid succession that she would have died after only a few minutes without the device keeping her soul inside her ticklish body. Finally, Mel was ready to leave, and they prepared to enter the next room.
11 : Celebrity Ward, Door Six
NAME : COURTNEY LOVE
REASON FOR STAY : SOILING THE MEMORY OF KURT COBAIN
BROUGHT IN BY : ANONYMOUS FANS OF MR. COBAIN
DURATION OF STAY : 0.4 YEARS
Courtney was lying on her back inside one of the devices keeping her from being tickled to death, her head pointing out towards the door, face covered by a mask, and her legs were protruding from the device about halfway down, tied to a metal ramp slanted 45 degrees upward. Since the tops of her feet were clearly visible towards the door, it was obvious that she also had been bound with a special foot and toe contraption. In front of her feet stood four men, dressed like surgeons, and four women in a nurse outfit. The 'doctors' were mumbling quietly among themselves, two standing in front of each bare sole, using strange looking devices to do unspeakable things to the soles and toes, judging from the roars of tortured mirth that forced their way even through the mask. 'See, I told you the earplugs would come in handy !' Shouted Mel over the commotion. Priss didn't hear him, though : She stared in morbid fascination as one of the 'doctors' received a new instrument from a 'nurse'. It looked like a long metal pole, and it had a tube leading somewhere behind the scene attached to one end and two metal prongs, framing something looking suspiciously like a metal feather, on the other. He touched a button on the device, and the feather thing between the prongs started to vibrate so fast it was no longer visible. At the same time, two steady streams of water shot from the prongs, sparking with electrical energy, to meet on the point the vibrating feather crossed midway. The whole area between the prongs was suddenly filled with electric sparks, but most were at the point where both water jets and the insanely fast swinging feather met. He began to bring it close towards Courtney's sole...
Suddenly Priss was jerked backwards out of the room, and the doors swooshed shut. She turned around angrily to face Mel and ask what he thought he was doing, as an ear shattering scream tore loose from inside the room they were in. Priss paled. How loud had Courtney just screamed to overcome both the mask and the soundproof doors ? Just as she wanted to say something, another scream followed. And another. And another. And then, a long succession of cries and screams that could have been laughter. Mel smiled smugly. 'Lets wait this out. The stabilizer will only keep her alive for about ten minutes of this, and the doctors know that. Here, have some chewing gum.' He gave her one. She started chewing absentmindedly, trying to ignore the hellish sounds of Courtney Love being tickled so intensely that only a machine could help her live through this. 'These things they are using now are the most intense implements we have', said Mel. 'It's a pity we can't get the stabilizers to put out more of a performance... I would love to see some of my subjects taking that kind of stimulation for a few years non stop. But one has to make do with what one's got... Besides, we can only afford two teams of foot doctors. The other one's idle, by the way. Maybe I'll send Demi there, when she's done with her push ups.'
'Those foot doctors... Why did Courtney get them ? I mean, what did she do ?!?' Priss asked in horror, still hearing the pitiful wailing from inside the torture chamber. 'She's not really that ticklish, that's the reason. As a matter of fact, even the goats couldn't bring a smile to her face. So we put her where she will be well entertained...'
After eight minutes, the doctors obviously stopped, because the noise died down quickly. 'Well, lucky Courtney. Now she has almost a full hour of normal treatment to recuperate until she gets it this way again' Mel smirked. 'Good thing for her that her soles aren't ticklish, don't you think ?' Priss' chewing gum had lost it's taste. She felt as if she was chewing on wax. 'Next room, please.' She managed to utter.
12 : Celebrity Ward, Door Seven
NAME : JOSIE BISSETT
REASON FOR STAY : BROKE EXCLUSIVE ACTRESS' CONTRACT FOR THE TV SHOE MELROSE PLACE
BROUGHT IN BY : PRODUCERS OF MELROSE PLACE
DURATION OF STAY : 3.2 YEARS
When the door opened, the quiet inside the room surprised Priss. She saw a huge stabilizer, with two slender legs sticking out of it. The feet belonging to those legs were lying on a footstool without any bonds. In front of each naked foot sat an oriental looking woman in traditional garbs. The woman were gently caressing each foot, it seemed. Josie's feet looked so soft and vulnerable just lying there, Priss had to fight the urge to tickle them herself. Suddenly she realized that the feet were not completely motionless. From time to time, one would move ever so slightly. A toe would twitch, or a small muscle spasm would show in a creamy arch. The women ignored this, it seemed, only continuing to stroke a fingernail up a smooth instep, scratching ever so slightly over the firm, round, pink balls of the feet, or dragging a few fingers up a low, soft arch. After the tickle terror she had seen in the last few rooms, this scene seemed almost peaceful.
'What's going on ? Ain't she ticklish ?' she asked Mel curiously. He grinned broadly, as were the two women all of the sudden. Mel pointed to a display blinking red on the side of the stabilizer. 'That light means the machine is at it's maximum capacity. Any more, and it won't be able to keep her alive.' 'But why aren't her feet moving at all ?' Priss asked, confused. She watched the two women stroking the tender feet ever so slowly, hypnotically... 'Well, Priss, these two specialists are performing a... ritual... called 'The death of the ten thousand strokes', long known to their people. As you can see by the reading, they are closing in on the last few of those ten thousand.' 'But why are her feet so calm ? If it tickles so much...' 'Well, one of the first effects of the ritual is to paralyze the feet. After that they begin to find out which areas are especially receptive to certain kinds of tickling. That's the first 2000 strokes. And after that, they take 7000 strokes to increase the ticklishness of the feet, which grow more sensitive which each one. In the last thousand, which you are witnessing right now, the victim dies. The torture was quite popular as a punishment for capital crimes in their country, until civilization moved in and repressed it.' 'Well, but if she doesn't die... I mean...' 'Yes, Priss, that is the major problem Josie has at the moment. Unfortunately for her, this method was developed during a period when devices like my stabilizers were unheard of. Poor ticklish thing...' Mel looked exquisitely amused. 'The best part is that she requested this. She wanted to be tickled without having her feet bound, gently, and without any implements. After hearing her constant begging while she was providing salt for the goats, I decided to let her have her wish. I even explained this torture to her. Seems like she had no respect for ancient oriental secrets, but these two lotus flowers have long fixed that, right ?' The woman didn't reply, only smiled mysteriously. Priss watched the feet that managed to twitch only once in a while, belying the light on the box, flashing red, that meant Josie was being tickled to death on her poor, soft, slender feet. The woman didn't so much as glance at the light; they merely subjected Josie's creamy soles to a torture of unbearable tickling that had been almost forgotten by mankind for centuries, only to be recovered to tickle and tickle and eternally tickle this young actress, and she had no hope of ever escaping the probing fingers that sent these unholy sensations up her legs by stroking her helpless tender soles and short, round, oh so ticklish toes.
Mel took Priss by the shoulder. 'Let's leave them alone... they don't like to share their secrets.' And they left for the next room.
13 : Celebrity Ward, Door Eight
NAME : JULIETTY LEWIS
REASON FOR STAY : BETRAYED HER CHURCH BY DISCLOSING INTERNAL DETAILS TO OUTSIDERS
BROUGHT IN BY : CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY
DURATION OF STAY : 2.1 YEARS
Priss looked at Mel disapprovingly. He merely grinned and said, 'Hey, I don't like those people either. But their money is as good as anybody's. Strictly business.' He opened the door. Juliette was lying on her back in a stabilizer, sure enough, and had only her mask covered face and her naked feet sticking out of it. Her feet were facing the door. Both were bound with a modified version of the bonding device Priss had seen earlier. These were animated, it seemed, for her left foot was bent as far down as possible, causing the entire, incredibly long sole to wrinkle, while her right foot was stretched out as far as possible, causing the sole to grow taut like a drum. Her feet were easily the longest Priss had yet seen, at least that was what they seemed like. Between the soles was a machine that extended articulate arms to the left and the right, the left ones tipped with cruel looking, bristly plastic barbs, the right ones ended in rotating, small, round brushes that seemed very soft. So her stretched out right sole was being polished by the brushes, while every tickling, bristly barb on the left was inserted into one of the wrinkles of her bare sole, moving back and forth inside, from left to right, from right to left... The brushes on the right side did a good job ! Her entire sole seemed to vibrate slightly as it was shined and polished without end, so much that Priss thought she must be able to see her reflection in it. It went on and on, slowly but steadily tickling Juliette's seemingly highly sensitized feet, for she too managed to howl with tortured laughter underneath her mask. But somehow, she even now managed to get a few recognizable, if somewhat muffled, words out between her screams. 'AAAAHAHAHAAAAHAHAHAAA !!!A AHAHA !!! AAAAHAAAA ! AAAAA ! O GGGOOOHOHOOOHOHOHOHOOHOOOHOOHOHOD !! I REPENT ! IHHHHIHHIHIHHIIIIHIHIIIIH ! IIHIHIIIHIIIIIHIIIHIIIII ! I REPEHEHEEHHEEEEHEEEHEEEHAHAHAAAHAAA ! PLEASE PLEEEEHEEHEEEHEEHESE !!! PLEEEEEEHEHEHEEE ! AAAHAHAAAAHAAA ! NOOOHOOOHOOO ! IIIIIHIIIIIIHIIII !!!! I REPEEHEEEEEHNT IIIIHIIIIHIIIIT !!!! SOOOOHOOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOHOO !!! SOOHOHOHOHOOOOOOREEEEEHEHEEEEHHEEE ! PLEEEEHEHEEEEEAAAAHAAAAAHAAA !'
And so it went on. Then suddenly the arms retracted. Priss started to ask what was happening, when it explained itself. The base the arms between the tortured soles were attached to turned 180 degrees, in effect switching their sides. At the same time, the bonds holding her left foot were firmly stretching it, showing a multitude of reddened lines running sideways across it, while her right sole was being bent. Then, the arms got active, resuming their activities with renewed vigor on their new location. Even before it started, it showed that this had happened very frequently to Juliette, and that she was not happy about it. 'NONOOONOOOOOO !!!! OH NOOO ! Please turn them off before it starts all over again !PLEASE ! I'll do anything ! PLEEEEASE !!! Oh god no ! It tickles worse when the feet are switched, oh god pleEEHEHEEEHEHEEE NOOOOOOHOHOHHO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH AAAAAAAAHHHH !!!!! NOOOOOOHOHOOOOOO AHHHHHAHHHHHHHH AHHAHHHHAHAHHHAAAHAHAHA ! AAAARGH !!! OH NOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOO !!!!'
Her screams were louder then before, as the brushes merrily started to polish the scratch marks of it's previous torture from the left sole, while the shiny gleam of the right sole was forcibly removed by dozens of barbs scratching inside it's wrinkles.
'Seen enough of her ? there is one more you need to see.' Said Mel. 'Yes', answered Priss softly, 'Let's take a look at the last one.'
14 : Celebrity Ward, Door Nine
NAME : SINEAD O'CONNOR
REASON FOR STAY : BLASPHEMY AND HERESY AGAINST THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH
BROUGHT IN BY : REPRESENTATIVES OF THE VATICAN
DURATION OF STAY : 3.4 YEARS
Sinead was also in a stabilizer. The setup looked similar to Juliette's, except Sinead's feet were bound by the classical foot and toes bonds rather then flexible ones. Her head with it's short haircut poked out of the other side. Surprisingly, she did not wear a mask, so her distorted face was clearly visible. 'She has probes inserted to replenish her blood with oxygen and her body with nutrients !' Mel shouted over the ruckus poor ticklish Sinead raised. In front of her motionless left foot was a robotic machine armed with something that resembled an upright plotter with a very sharp tipped pen. This fiendish device was rapidly scribbling on Sinead's taut sole, torturing her beyond belief. Even though it wrote with the speed of a maniac, it didn't seem to cover much, for it's progression down Sinead's tortured sole was very slow. This was no relief for poor Sinead, however, for her ticklish screams were easily the loudest Priss had heard yet, aside from the ones Courtney Love had produced, of course. The writing apparatus was not the end of the little Irish singers torments, though, for her other foot faced a similar device, only that this one held a small vibrating brush combined with a jet spraying soapy water instead of a pen inside it's plotter, rapidly using it to wash the foot, which was covered in ink about halfway up the sole. The rest of the sole, which was twitching desperately under the machine's ministrations, was reddened, as it had already been tickle cleaned by the infernal brush. Both devices had a mirror image of the respectively other one on their back side and were set on rotating platforms, so that once one foot was fully enscripted, it could be cleaned, and the other way around. Sinead's head, that was enclosed in soft cushioning surrounding it, whipped back and forth like crazy as her feet felt the torments of the damned in tickle hell. But not enough : Beside her head stood a priest in full garb and a nun in her habit. Both bent down over Sinead's face, yelling over her peals of tormented laughter. The priest yelled 'Do you repent your sins against thee holy church ? You may be granted salvation in the afterlife ! Repent, sinner ! Or suffer this fate forever !' while the nun only seemed to be tormenting poor Sinead with words : 'Fight the real enemy, yes ? Well, how about that enemy that is tickling your foot soles ? How about that ? Fight it, you little spunky leprechaun ! Does it help when I say Kootchi Kootchi Koooo ? Tickle tickle ! Bad girls get their feet tickled for ever and ever and ever, yes ! And tickled and tickled... are your poor soles ticklish, little girl ? Does the evil machine tickle your sweet feet ? Want it to stop, yes ? Well, no way ! It's going to just tickle tickle tickle your foot soles...' and so on. Sinead was not so eloquent. She managed to squeeze out a few, however, while the machines kept up their ceaseless tickling of her sensitive feet.
'HAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHAHA !!!! AAAAH !!!! AAAHHH !!!! AAAAH ! AH ! AH ! HAHAHAHAAHAHA ! NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOO ! NOOOOO NOHOHOOOO ! NO NO NO NOOOHOOOOHOOOHOHAHAHAHAAAAHAAA !!! HEEEEHEHEEE ! HEEEHEE ! EHE ! HEHE ! HEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAA !!! HEEEELP ! PLEEEEHEHEHEEEE ! HEEEEEHAAAAA !!! PLEEEEASE !!! I'M SOHOHOHOHOHOOOHOHOHO !!!! SOOOHOHOHAHAHAHA !!!! EHEHEEEEHEEEEHEEE !!! NOT THE FEEEEEEHEEEEEEHEEEET !!! PLEASE ! PLEEEEHEEHEEHEHEHEHEE ! I'M SOHOHOHO SOHOHOHO SOHOHOHO HOHOHO SOHOHOREEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEEE !!! PLEEEEEHEHEHEHEEE !!! NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO !!! TEEEEHEHEHEKLES !! TEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE !!! TEEEEHEHEHE !!! TEEEHEHEHEKLES SOOHOHOHOHO !!! AHAHHHHAHHHAAHAHAHAHAHA !!!! NOOOHOHOHO !!!'
But it seemed there would be no mercy for her. The priest smiled and said : 'Once you have said a hundred rosaries, I promise to stop the machines. Until then, your punishment will go on without stopping.'
And the nun chimed in : 'Come onnnnn, a hundred rosaries, girl ! You can do it ! It can't possibly tickle -that- much, now can it ? Or are your soles really that sensitive ? Does it really tickle so much ?'
'AAAHAHAHAAAA !!!! PLEEEEHEHEHE PLEEHEHE HEHEHE PLEEEHEHEHEASE !!!! CAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHA !!! AAAAHAHAHAHA !!! CAAAHAHANT SAIEEEHEHEHEHE !!! EHEHEHEE !!! SAYEHEHEE HEHE AHAHAHAA !!! A HUNDREEHEHEHEEE !!! HEEE !!! HUUNDREEEHEHEED !!! !PLEEEASEEE !!! TEEEEHEHEHEKLES TOOHOHOHOOOO MUAAHAHAHA ! MUAAHAHA ! AHAHAHAA !! MUAHAACH !!! CAHAHANT STAAAHAHAHA !!! STAAAAHAHAND IIIHIHIHIHIHIHIIIIT ! AAAAAHAHAHA AAAAAH AAAAH AAAHH !!!! PLEEEHEHEHEHEHHEEASE !!!! NOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHO NO NO NO NOHOHOHOHOHO !!!'
They turned to leave Sinead to her eternal damnation, when Priss asked, 'What is the machine writing, anyway ?' 'The bible. Page by page. Every known translation. And then it starts over. Fitting, don't you think ?' Mel answered, and the door closed.
15 : Surprise
They were back in the lobby. Mel looked at Priss inquisitively. 'And, what do you think ? Will you qualify as an administrator of their treatments or would you prefer to engage in sanitary duties ?' Priss suppressed a shudder. 'I'll try my luck as a janitor, if you don't mind...' Mel looked not at all disappointed. 'Well, I thought so. You see, I watched you closely during the tour, and I think I detected a certain... hesitation... when you viewed our methods. Could it be that you disapprove of them ?'
Priss looked panic stricken. 'No, no, it's just... I wasn't expecting... I mean, no, I don't disapprove, Mel !'
'Good for you !' Said Mel. 'At least, that's what I would have said if I would believe you... sorry, Priss. I cannot run the risk of you undermining my operation, maybe trying to escape here to warn someone... We can't have that.' Out of the door labeled 'Quarters' came two huge men in the habit of hospital orderlies and rapidly went over to Priss. She tried to run, but to no avail. One of men pressed a hypodermic needle to her throat, and she lost consciousness.
She awakened with the strange feeling of being encased in tubing. When she opened her eyes, she realized with horror that she was masked and lying in a stabilizer, her feet bound by the very bonds she had so learned to fear... and then, she grew aware of the figures in doctors robes and the nurses staring at her small, helpless, hypersensitive feet... her white and pink, luscious, so very ticklish soles... and her small, straight, slender toes as well... so helpless, so ticklish... Courtney Love hadn't been ticklish, but had screamed so much... The doctors grabbed instruments and turned toward her. She heard the sound from one of the two pronged ultra tickle devices firing up, felt the incredible tickling that only a few sprayed drops of water caused on her captive soles, and started screaming in terror. Then the doctors got to work, and all she was aware of for the next years was the incredibly torturous sensation of her feet being tickled, and being unable to die. Every hour or so, the ultra tickler sent her off for a brief visit in the depths of hell for five minutes, but the periods between were no relief. So ended Priss Jenkins short career as a professional tickler taking what she didn't want to give... and taking it in spades.
Mel stood outside Priss' door, listening to her screams and smiling evilly to himself. 'Looks like Demi isn't going here, after all... well, there are so many possibilities... I'm sure I will think of something.' And with this, he went down the corridor toward the celebrity ward, trying to figure out a new torment for Demi Moore and thinking on how he could improve his tickling devices. All in all, another splendid day in another splendid week in another splendid year of a goddamn splendid life !
If you liked this tale of ticklish torture, pay heed ! You can read more of my works, along with many other pieces of high quality fiction, in Tales From The Asylum, the ultimate resource for fiendish tickling fiction and art, and on the magazine's website -
06-12-2009, 04:35 PM
06-14-2009, 02:08 AM
05-25-2011, 12:20 PM
Love it. One of my favorite authors. Very influential :)
05-26-2011, 03:20 AM
Love it. One of my favorite authors. Very influential :)
06-04-2011, 08:58 PM
I wonder if they released Priss after four years, or if they just kept her as a "pet?"
06-04-2011, 10:56 PM
I remember this story. It's ancient. This qualifies as TMF archaeology.
06-07-2011, 01:29 AM
Ancient or not, this story is the shit :cool2:
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