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Hostage to Fate (m/f)

Kid Indy

TMF Expert
Joined
Oct 12, 2001
Messages
365
Points
18
Howdy, all. This one is my attempt to answer a vague, sorta-request a while back that someone write a story in which young men tickle a forty-ish woman. Well, here it is.

Please leave feedback! KI



Hostage to Fate

by

Kid Indy

9:45 AM, 21 April 2007--The news cameras and the reinforcements got there about the same time. The streets and sidewalks ceased to move with daily traffic, and the strange stasis of a news story set in. The police and the networks danced together as they set up a perimeter around the Smith tower, a thirty-story block of parking garage, professional offices, and high-end apartments.

Within minutes cameras deployed and squad cars surrounded the office building, and CNN switched to crisis mode. Within the first hour a domestic activist group, a branch of the Army of God, issued their demands, including the release of several suspects involved in an attack on Planned Parenthood headquarters and a transfer of ten million dollars into an anonymous bank account. Within two hours, news services informed the public that approximately seven hundred employees and clients remained in the towers, hostages to a homegrown terrorist group. They were releasing a few hostages each hour, but they promised to start killing hostages if radio were jammed or if any armed personnel breached the building.

On the twentieth floor, a lone gunman guarded five hostages at the McNeill Import Company corporate office. A hood covered his face, and what parts of his forearms showed under his sleeves were covered with poorly inked tattoos. His five hostages, three men and two women, sat with hands bound, keeping their eyes down so as not to touch him off. The guard was a taciturn one, only speaking to his walkie talkie when spoken to and pacing to his watch positions with mechanical regularity. A voice came over the radio:

"New order from headquarters, Walt. Send everyone but Jen Thomas up to floor twenty-six. The feds are going to try to spring her, and we don't want any other hostages taking hits. We'll send down reinforcements. Get ready for a fight."

Jennifer Thomas, hearing her name, froze in place. Walt, normally quiet, barked orders at the other four to head for the stair well and to head up two floors. "There'll be shooters in the stairwell, and we're two hundred feet off the ground, so don't try anything stupid." They kept their hands in front, heads down, and headed for the stairwell.

Now Jen was alone with the terrorist. In other circumstances she would have been a bit offended that a man, alone with her in the room, didn't notice her. She had lost little of her figure and none of her charm in the years that she built her import business since graduating college in the late eighties. Her conversation was quick and witty, and she had a way of timing a coy smile, a glance from her bright green orbs directly into a man's eyes, or a brush of her hand against his arm that could disarm men in all kinds of contexts. Those sorts of things did little to preserve her prior marriage, but they did work magic in business meetings and in other flirtations.

Now, of course, her hands were bound, her mouth shut out of fear, and her eyes on the floor. The man with the semiautomatic weapon hanging from a strap might still have noticed her gorgeous brown hair and generous curves and smooth, tan skin that her sleeveless dress displayed gloriously, but he only seemed interested in the mission.

Time passed. Jen didn't look up but could sense that something was wrong. The stairwell door opened, and she could hear Walt fumble for his weapon. She looked up in time to hear six silenced staccatto puffs of air and to see Walt crumble as six bullets passed through his torso. Two men in body armor rushed towards her, and one hauled her roughly to her high-heeled feet as another attached some kind of electronic device to Walt's communicator.

Both thin men hustled Jen out of her business's main office, into a hallway, and through a door on the other side, a high end beauty and makeup company's corporate office. She stumbled over her high heels as they went through the waiting room, and into an exam room. One signaled to the other to keep watch and activated a switch underneath one of the chairs. A wall panel slid to the side, exposing a short tunnel. Jen and the two men moved quickly through, and the secret panel closed behind them. Jen found herself in a room with metal walls, the ceiling undecorated, with conduits running here and there. The sturdy-feeling chair in which they sat Jen was accompanied by a cot in the corner and a small door opposite the entrance. Jen sat in silence a while, and the men sat on the floor, backs against the walls, silently.

After some time passed, Jen was starting to get worried and bored. She tried to introduce herself but just met silence. Finally she got up as best she could without the use of her hands and stood over the young men, looking down on them as she asked, "Are you some kind of SWAT team?" She had a sweet but worldly Southern accent.

The men, both in goggles and ski masks, looked at each other. The one who opened the secret room responded, "We work for someone much bigger than city PD."

"Well, could you at least tell me if you're here to save me or to steal me?"

Her captors looked at one another, and the taller one said, "We're here to make sure that you don't take a bullet from those goons. That's all you can know."

"Well, why don't you boys take this duct tape off of my hands, and we can wait here together."

The other spoke up. "No can do. We've got to leave you just as we found you. Orders, you know."

"Let me tell you boys something about orders. I'm ordering you to get this tape off of me or my lawyers are going to have a talk with your bosses."

The two looked at each other and shared a quiet chuckle. The short one again: "Your lawyers would never find us. So just sit tight, and we'll let you out when it's time to get out."

The tall one: "Sure is going to be a while. These hostage negotiations take forever, and we can't go anywhere."

"No, we can't. And stop grinning. I can see you grin through that mask. We just sit here and await further orders."

"What orders? We've got radio silence. Only our guys know we're in here, so we've got from now until the regular cops move out. We've got to have something to do while we wait."

"No, we just wait."

Jen spoke up again. "You mean the cops out there won't think to look in here?"

The tall one, whose voice was starting to grin, stood up and backed Jen towards the chair as he responded, "No, they won't. According to the building's schematics, there is no "in here." The architect was one of our insiders. Gave us this safe house in case we needed to stash any high-end merchandise. Soundproof and environmentally sealed. Nobody gets out unless someone comes in, and you have to know about it to get in."

"So we really are in here until whoever gives you boys your orders shows up."

The short one got up and spoke up again. "What's with this 'boys' nonsense? If you hadn't noticed, we just saved you from a terrorist gunman."

Jen sat back down in her chair. "How old are you boys?"

No answer.

"Come on, now. We're going to be in here a while. You don't have to tell me your names, just how old you are."

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-three."

"So you are boys, then. Now why don't you listen to a grown woman and let her go?"

They were silent for a moment, and Jen took that as a sign that they weren't going to untie her hands. Then the tall one spoke up again. "You remember what the Captain told us the other day?"

"About what?"

"About interrogation. You think that's for real?"

"Look, man, we're not touching our prisoner. She doesn't have any intel; we're just here to keep her alive."

"How do you know that? Why is it so important to keep this one alive, do you figure?"

"What do you mean, touch me? I'm an American citizen! I have rights, you know!"

The two looked at each other. The short one did not bother to hide a chuckle in his voice as he mimicked, "She has rahts, ya know, Dennis?"

The tall one joined in. "Ah'll just be-yut she thinks we'll git in trouble, don't she, Harry?"

Jen started to worry. She had their names now, but if they weren't lying, she had no power until someone retrieved them from the secret room. "Look, boys," (she cringed inwardly as that slipped), "why don't you just untie me for now, and we can all wait until your officers come to get you?"

Harry, the short one, leaned in and looked at her closely through his mirrored goggles. "You know, Dennis, I do wonder about what the Captain told us. He turned his eyes up to the ceiling to look at something. "But we don't have any of the gear he was talking about."

Dennis reached into one of his larger pockets and produced a small bag of makeup supplies from the office outside. "We can improvise."

"Dennis, have you always been such a ****ing klepto?"

Dennis was already pulling a length of cord, attached to a collapsable grappling hook, off of his equipment belt. "Comes in handy in moments like these." He gave the still-collapsed hook a short toss, looping it over a large pipe running along the ceiling. Jen looked up and realized that in this secret room, they didn't see the need for a drop ceiling or any other such decoration. "I'm no klepto, Harry. I'm just always prepared. Like the boy scouts, you know?" He left the cord hanging and looked down at Jen and poked her in the side, making her squirm. "Boy scouts? Get it? Want to call me boy again?"

"Look, why don't you just untie me, and we can wait--"

Dennis poked her in the side again, cutting her off and making her squeak just a bit. "No can do, Jenny." Jen was none too pleased at the bad Forrest Gump imitation. "Now do you want to call me boy again?"

"No, just leave me alone!"

Harry was now by her side as well. "She wants us icky boys to leave her alone! I thought you were a grown woman. Don't tell me you're afraid of a couple little boys now!" Jen now had her chair's back against the wall and one gunman on each side of her. Her muscles tensed as their faces came into her front-facing field of vision.

Dennis again: "Yes, Harry, I think we ought to try it out. Let's get her social security number or something."

"What do you mean, get my social security number?"

"We're going to make you tell us the number, and we're going to sell the digits to a credit card hacker."

Jen decided to flirt with the young men and lighten up the situation. "You boys must get bored awfully quickly. What would you want with my-- eep!" Dennis had lightly pinched her side through her dress, making her squirm against Harry. She knew that once a man started tickling her, especially in that spot that she couldn't stand to be tickled in, she would be a mess. She fretted as she realized that her bound hands would only be able to keep one boy's hands off of her at a time.

"What we want with your--" Harry paused to poke her other side, drawing not sound but a glare-- "is no business of yours. But we're going to make you very uncomfortable until you cough it up." With that he grabbed a handful of her side, just above the hip, making her swerve over into Dennis and drawing some ineffectual flailing of her tied hands. Her voice came out from between pressed lips, a protesting sound not unlike what irritated wives make when their husbands say stupid things at parties.

Her eyes shut for a second, but she gathered herself to make a voiced statement: "Stop that, please! I don't want you to do that!"

Dennis was not impressed. "She doesn't want us to do that. She doesn't want us to do that, Harry! Is that what you told the terrorist out there? 'I don't want you to point that gun at me?'"

Harry jumped in. "I think you're right, Dennis, and I think the captain might have been right. We've got some time to kill. Let's make a game of it!" He turned to face Jen. "If you can hold out without giving us your social within the next--" he looked at his watch-- "sixty minutes, we'll untie you until our people get here."

Jen couldn't be less thrilled with the idea. "Please don't do that, boys. Let's just stay here and be civil, and-- STO-O-OP!" Dennis had given her ribs a rough tickling squeeze.

"I like your idea, Harry. We'll see if we can break her in hour."

"What do you mean break me?"

"Interrogation talk. Break your resistance. Make you talk."

"What if I can't take that for sixty minutes?"

"If it works, it doesn't matter what you can take--it's just the character of human psychology that anyone, subject to that kind of thing, will break if it's really torture. You'll probably be giving us your social and your bank account number in ten minutes." He was lying, and he knew it, but he could read it in her eyes that he had her scared.

"Then what if I break in under an hour?"

"Then we'll see where we go from there. But we have to see if it happens first, right? If we make it happen, then we'll make... further plans."

Jen's panic was heightening her senses, just as her captors were planning. She absolutely hated the ticklish pokes and teases that the young men had given her to that point, and she was horrified that they might be tickling her sides for a full hour. "Please don't do this--Dennis? Harry? What can I say to convince you not to?"

"You can give us your social now, but who knows what comes after that?"

"Please, just untie me and let's wait this out!"

"Just give us your social, and this phase of things will be over."

"No, I'm not going to. Can we just wait?"

"Harry, did that sound like a refusal?"

"Sounded like one to me." Harry grabbed Jen's elbow and wrist and hauled her up to her feet. Dennis grabbed the cord and looped it between her hands, using her tape bonds to keep her hands above her head. She now hung from one of the ceiling-pipes, her high heeled shoes still on the ground but her elbows unable to come down below her shoulders.

"And in an interrogation scenario, what step follows refusal?" Harry unzipped the back of Jen's dress. She began to beg again, unheard.

Dennis answered the training question, "Incentive!" With that Dennis began to scratch and scrabble and poke and prod at Jen's vulnerable underarms. She squealed and begged, and her shoes lost their footing just a little, but she stayed on her feet as she twisted and attempted to avoid the tickling touches. Within a few seconds she felt Harry's cool hands slip between her dress and her body, and his fingers and thumbs began to press and slide across the surface of her belly and sides.

"NO! NO NO NO!" was all that came out of Jen before the overwhelming sensations turned her speaking voice into a bubbling giggle. She had learned through years of manipulating men how to use a coy giggle to disarm suspicion, and the sounds she heard herself making were like those, but these would not stop, save when a hand inside her dress would press on her bottom rib, sending into the air a shriek and nearly making her lose her balance. She danced something like the twist as her torso's reflexes tried to shake off the awful touches, and when her lungs had gotten used to the pattern of inhale, giggle, inhale, giggle, she even managed to try to negotiate: "Please! I'll give you my number! Just sto-o-o-op!"

They did stop, and Dennis and Harry both stepped back, Harry looking at his watch. Dennis spoke up: "What is it, then?"

Jen panted and looked pleadingly at Dennis. "Please don't make me--I just wanted you to stop."

Harry's tone behind her turned to one of mock outrage. "A lie! Dennis, do you remember what happens when a prisoner gets caught in a lie?" Jen felt Harry's hands start to make their way into her dress again.

"More incentive!" Harry started first this time, and this time Jen's knees buckled. She dropped, pulling her body taught at the end of the rope, giving Dennis a shot at her stretched-flat underarms. She screamed as he scratched at her ramped-up nerve endings. Adding to the tickling was a growing sense of indignity; these boys had no right to make a fool of her, a successful businesswoman, this way. No matter; her voice still found reasons to laugh, and she kept squealing and giggling and trying to get back on her feet for what seemed an interminable period. Finally she started begging again, promising the number if they would only stop.

Harry whispered in her ear as he kept working away at her belly: "Not this time, my dear. We're going to have to tickle you until we know you're honest. Are you honest?"

Jen's ticklishness and her pride just could not share the space that was her giggling body. "I'm honest! I'm honest!"

"Then say your number as you laugh."

She started to recite, and Dennis broke off the attack on her underarms and started jotting down digits as Harry kept working her midsection. When the ninth digit came out, Harry stopped, and she slowly steadied herself on her feet. Harry walked around to face her, looking at his watch. "Twelve minutes, Dennis. The Captain was right!"

Dennis put a finger under Jen's chin and pulled her line of sight up to look him in the eye. "Good. Now we can get to what I really want to know."

Jen's emotions had gone from panic to relief and now to despair. "What do you mean? I gave up. You won. Now leave me alone, please!"

Harry looked at his partner. "What are you talking about now?"

Dennis reached up and undid the knot on the cord, letting Jen slump down to the floor and sit with her back against the wall. Her dress was still unzipped in the back. "The Captain didn't tell us to rescue this one in particular just because she's good-looking. Something's up here, and I want to know what it is."

"Come on, Dennis. We don't have orders for this."

"Look, man. You might not realize this, but in the business we're in, the man could cut us loose any day. Don't you want some insurance?"

Harry was visibly torn. "We're not going to hurt her, right? I don't want to have to explain any marks."

"We're not going to hurt her a bit. She's still going to be a hot middle-aged woman when we're done--we'll just know a bit better where she's ticklish."

"Middle aged? I'm not middle aged! I'm-- EEP!" Harry squeezed her side, making her jump with renewed energy.

"Let the man finish his thought, now."

"I want you to tell us why powerful people would want to make sure you got out alive."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dennis. I'm just as confused as you are."

"Now let's see what we've got, shall we?" Dennis picked her up in his arms (a bit of a thrill for Jen--what had all that laughing done to her?) and set her down on her side, her hip and shoulder touching ground first. He rolled her over onto her belly so that her hands extended straight out in front of her and her exposed back felt the room's cool air. "Harry, sit on her back. She's going to want to get up, but you don't let her."

"Harry, please make him stop! Haven't you done enough here?"

"No, ma'am," (the jab at her increasingly pronounced Southern accent was not lost on her), "Now I'm getting curious myself." He squatted down, not putting his body weight on her back but keeping her from moving. He set his boots to the outsides of her thighs, and he and Dennis faced each other. She felt Dennis's hands start to remove her shoes, and when she started kicking, Harry's hands pressed her knees to the ground. The cool air on her hose was, she knew, only a prelude to the awful sensation that was coming.

Dennis, whom she now couldn't see, spoke again: "Last chance, Jennifer. Why would you be a matter of national security? Why you and not one of the other seven hundred?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! Please don't touch my feet!"

"If you don't know, then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" She felt one finger start to trace up one sole, and she closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, and a high-pitched growl welled up behind her closed lips. "Hey, Harry, don't just sit there! While I'm doing her feet, reach up inside that dress and get her thighs!"

"NO!" The voice came out of Jen like a possessing spirit.

Both men stopped moving entirely. Harry was the first to recover his senses. Hey, Dennis, you remember what the Captain told us?"

Dennis still sounded stunned. "What do you mean, man?"

"About the spot. Every woman's got a spot that makes her go nuts. You think her thighs are her spot?"

Jen, her heart pounding, tried to recover: "No, there's no spot, you perverts! I just don't want you sickos reaching up my dress!"

"She didn't say anything when you were inside her dress earlier, man. I think you just might have a goldmine there. I'll let you start, and I'll jump in when she gets good and ticklish. I want to know this chick's secrets!"

"Please, don't! Please don't! I'll do anything you want!"

"Then tell us why we're here."

"I don't know!"

"I don't believe you. Harry?" Harry got off of her back and, from her side, used one arm to wrap around Jen's midsection in a sort of wrestling hold. Her elbows and knees were on the floor, and she could move a little until Harry again rolled her onto her side and Dennis moved in to wrap an arm around her ankles. Now she could hammer on Harry's back, but her pinned shoulder wouldn't give her leverage. With the hand he'd wrapped her up with, he pulled up her dress, and she began to hammer ineffectively. He reestablished a firm grip around her waist. His other hand reached up her dress and in, and this time Jen went bananas. With only a few gentle strokes on her inner thigh, she was bucking like mad, the strength out of her arms and the dignity out of her professional demeanor. She kicked out of their hold completely, but she could only thrash ineffectually on the ground as Harry pinned her down.

"This is going to be a live one, Harry!" He grabbed his cord from the ceiling pipe and secured it to the cot's leg, which Jen could see from down there was bolted to the floor. Harry this time picked her up and set her down, this time on her back, on the cot. Dennis, quickly looping the cord in and out of the cot's legs, once again looped it through Jen's hand-ties and pulled tight, putting her hands above her head relative to the cot's pillow. "Harry, tie her feet down. I want to give her toes a good going-over!" Harry did so, using his own climbing cord to secure each foot, which stuck out beyond the end of the bed, to one leg. She could feel air between her thighs. "I'm still going to give you the goldmine, Harry. Get going on her whenever you want."

And get going Harry did. With Jen immobile, he began to skitter his fingertips over her nyloned inner thighs, and her hips bucked up and down as she laughed with wild abandon. Before too long she realized why Dennis had stolen a makeup kit: with ruthless, short strokes, he sawed away at the bottoms of her feet with a springy applicator brush. Her ex-husband, and now these boys, knew now that touching her torturously sensitive inner thighs did indeed send her over the edge, and those brushes on her feet, normally enough to make her promise anything, were tickling her into places where she would do anything. Harry's hands (still cool, by some freak of nature) would on occasion reach up even further, tweaking her hip line, sending her nearly into spasms as she laughed and squealed. As she laughed and squirmed and bucked and screamed, she heard to her own horror a screamed sentence in her own voice.

"ILAUNDERMONEYFORCHILEANTERRORISTSLEAVEMEALONE!!!!"

Harry and Dennis jumped back, shocked, unable to process what the distressed woman had confessed. They had become so engrossed in the torment, in pressing her body for every squeal she'd hidden since girlhood, every giggle that her years had forgotten, that they had forgotten that they were interrogators.

They also hadn't noticed that the three of them were not alone. Captain Barber, their field commander, had entered into the room behind them and had been watching the torture for the last five minutes or so of the cot-session. He spoke up, drawing all eyes to himself: "Good job, men. You've gotten the first bit of what we wanted."

Harry and Dennis sprang to their feet and stood at attention. (Parts of them were already.) Harry began the lies: "Sir, we have ascertained that the prisoner has ties with Chilean terrorist groups! We had no intention of touching the prisoner!"

Captain Barber, a man about Jen's age, looking every bit like he was in control of the situation, chuckled. "Of course you didn't, boys. And they're freedom fighers--they're on our side. The head honchos over at Army of God are going to be getting a couple million for the distraction and loss of personnel, and we've got an excuse to have some conversations with Thomas here. I see that you've already gotten acquainted."

"Sir, we're sorry, sir!"

"I'll say! I knew that once I put the idea in your head, your little ADD brains wouldn't be able to turn it loose. We already knew that she was supplying the Pinochet Brigade--they're our boys--but we need to know whether she's sharing that intel with anti-American factions in Chile. Do you boys think you could find that out for me?"

The two answered in unison, Full-Metal-Jacket style: "Sir, Yes Sir!"

"Good. We've got people on the cleaning crew in this building. They'll be stopping by to bring you food in" he gestured to the second door "and take waste out. We're still waiting on the local SWAT to clear out, but we've let the news people know that the ones that escaped got away with Miss Thomas here. You've got an indefinite span to accomplish your mission, and I've brought you some additional equipment." He dropped a black leather bag on the ground, and Jen could hear some kinds of tools knocking together. She winced. "Don't injure her, but I can see you've got her good and ticklish. Keep her that way, and she'll be singing for us in a couple days tops."

Jen, knowing she was hosed, spoke up. "A couple days?"

The captain retorted, "Yes, Miss Thomas. We need to know for sure, and these boys have been trained as professional interrogators. If you lie to them, they'll know it, and they'll get you in spots that will send you up the wall." The agents looked at each other and grinned. "If you've been playing by American rules, fine. We'll give these boys credit for rescuing you from the Army of God when you surface. You'll keep working for us and supplying our boys in Chile. If not, we'll just send you to Chile and let you tell the brigadier general about it--I'm sure he'll take you as a gift to grace one of his pleasure-houses when he finds out you're this pretty and that ticklish. Either way, the next few days should be a bunch of laughs for you."

Captain Barber turned on his heel and exited. Harry began to sort through the tools in the bag, and Dennis whispered to Jen, "Oh, this is going to be fun. It's time to have some fun with some boys!"
 
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Very nice!

I liked this story a great deal. I like the tickling under the half open dress, that was very tasty indeed. Please tell me there will be more adventures with Jen! :D
 
TickleMantis said:
Very nice!

I liked this story a great deal. I like the tickling under the half open dress, that was very tasty indeed. Please tell me there will be more adventures with Jen! :D
Thank you much. Actually, I think this one is going to stand as a one-shot deal. I kind of like the extra-wide-openness of the ending. It lets the shape of the story do the really intense tickling precisely the way the reader's imagination likes it.

That and I've got another story cooking, and I don't want to leave it to come back to this one. :p
 
Great story. I look forward to reading what you've got "cooking."
 
I'm pleased with the new one thus far. I won't predict when it'll be online, because that seems always to doom my projects, but I'm in the revision stages. :xpulcy:
 
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