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Felicia the Cheerleader Part 11

jkb

2nd Level Red Feather
Joined
Aug 28, 2004
Messages
1,388
Points
38
A/N Well this part only came about a week later than planned. It was still supposed to be 2006 when I wrote this, but New Years and sickness prevented me from finishing this part until now. Well whatever the case, I now present you with the 11th installment of "Felicia the Cheerleader". Digitally remastered!

I really have nothing to say right now, except that I just noticed (having searched for "felicia the cheerleader" in the search bar) that most of my stories are posted in the wee hours of the morning. And what time is it now? Oh sweet Apollonius of Tyana, it sure is early!

Since Part 10 was so damned awesome (as evidenced by the whopping 3 comments it received), I've decided that I will link to it, so that all will be able to relish in the wonders of the past. http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=90567&highlight=felicia It seems to be the general formula for the series anyway. You know, a foreword, link to previous chapter, chapter # with */* thingy, oh you get the idea.

Well whatever the case, enjoy "Felicia the Cheerleader" Part 11:

Part 11 (MFF*/F)

One week had passed since Felicia was mercilessly tickle tortured by Natalie and Duugo, two of the staff members in Robert and Claudia’s BDSM club.

The next day, she was dragged into a pseudo-shower room by Helga, sobbing hysterically all the while. It was a cold, stone room in which Helga sprayed her with a garden hose before lathering her with soap and spraying her again. The muscular dominatrix had no words for the kidnapped high school cheerleader except “Move it, whore” and “If you don’t shut up, I will give you a beating that you may never recover from” and the rest of the usual rhetoric. Felicia didn’t quite stop crying, but Helga never hit her. She wanted the teenage girl to look good today. They had customers coming to “see” Felicia. Their first customers, in fact, for their special illegal BDSM sessions.

After shampooing and combing Felicia’s beautiful blonde hair, Helga applied scented body oil to her whole body, including her feet (raspberry scent. Yum), and then brought her out. She was as clean as she was whenever she took a shower at home, yet she was washed in the same manner that a dog, a car, or Bruce Willis in 12 Monkeys was washed. She didn’t know whether she was at the same level as an animal or an object, but she definitely was a prisoner. And this degrading act only further damaged her self-esteem; she was disgusting and not anywhere near as good as other people. Just about everyone she knew would say otherwise, but they weren’t here now, were they?

After that, she was taken to another room. This one was cold and sterile. The walls were made of concrete, as was the table she was put on. It looked like the inside of a concrete bomb shelter, giving world leaders further reason not to push the big red button. The naked 18 year old was chained on her stomach on the table, with the chains on each corner of the table, and a ball gag in her mouth. The table was big enough so that her small body was completely stretched out and she could barely move or struggle. She was then left alone with the first batch of customers for the day. There were 7 batches of customers, 3-6 people per batch, and each batch got 2 hours with her to do whatever they wanted to her (with the exception of rape or sodomy, mutilation, bodily harm, or anything that would leave a significant or permanent marks on her body. Pretty much, they were allowed to do anything to her that the U.S. Government classified as NOT torture). They were all men, most of them in their 40’s and 50’s and none of them good looking. Some were dressed in suits, others dressed in leather (standard S/M wear), and some wore nothing at all. A couple wore masks to hide their identities. For 14 straight hours, with only a few minutes break in between each session, she was tickled, groped, fondled, and spanked by these strange men, most of whom she had never seen in her life despite living in a small town (in reality, the club was in her county but not actually in the town she lived in, but shhh we’re trying to keep an aura of mystery here). Every part of her got hit with fingers, feathers, and tongues, and she cried the whole time. The worst was during the second session, when one customer, who unbeknownst to her was also a pedophile, dove his face right into her pussy. He was only wearing leather pants and was probably in his 70’s with those saggy old man tits, and he looked like a homeless bum on the street (gray hair with a huge beard that hasn’t been shaven, trimmed, or otherwise groomed in years), and he began licking her vagina and the little stretch of delicate flesh between her sex and her ass. His beard didn’t help at all, his hairs either making her itch or aiding his tongue in tickling the young cheerleader into hysterics.

The sessions all went very well for everybody but Felicia. The customers were divided on the issue of her constant crying. Some of them did enjoy it, mainly the ones that either were trying to make her suffer for the mere pleasure of seeing a young girl suffer, or the ones that had pedophilic tendencies and thought that her crying made her seem closer to 8 rather than 18. For the most part, however, the customers complained to Helga that the crying made the otherwise beautiful girl less attractive, though it was only a minor problem and they otherwise had nothing but overwhelmingly good comments about the session. You’d think that would make Helga happy, but nooooooo. She released Felicia and began screaming at the cowering cheerleader (after the guests had left, of course). She dragged Felicia by her hair back to her cell, threw her in, and told her that because of her lack of cooperation, she wouldn’t be getting dinner that night. Helga’s final words before closing and locking her cell door were, “And if you ever, EVER, do that again, if you ever cry and nearly ruin one of these sessions which we worked VERY hard to set up without attracting the attention of law enforcement, not only will you not get dinner, but you will get beaten, not tickled, but beaten so severely you won’t be able to move for at least a year!” With those chilling words, Felicia was left alone in her cell once again, shivering from the cold as she wrapped her arms around her naked body as she sat in the corner, only moving to brush aside a roach or spider that strayed too near.

The whole process occurred 3 more times during the week, with Felicia being taken to a different room, retrained in a different manner, tortured by different people, different numbers of people, and different numbers of 2 hour sessions each time. It was hellish for the high school captive, not knowing which day she would be left alone all day in a small roach infested cell without any human contact, and what days she would be scrubbed clean like a wild animal and presented to strange men as if she was a piece of meat to have fun with.

On this day, she found herself, as usual, sitting in the corner of her cell with nothing at all to do, save for reminiscing about better times, such as time spent with her family, or about all the cute guys from her school she wished she could have dated (believe it or not, she didn’t go on dates all that much before her captivity. Every guy in school wanted her, but most of the more attractive guys (football players and others who also doubled as cocky shits) didn’t want to waste their time on a girl who, if they were REALLY lucky, would only let them make out with her, especially when there was a host of other pretty girls ready and willing to put out for the star quarterback), when the cell door opened and Helga entered.

Felicia looked up at the giantess. After a moment, Helga motioned her towards the door. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s time for your daily dose of tickle torture.” She smiled cruelly.

Felicia felt her eyes tearing up as she got onto her knees. “Please, no more! Stop this already! You’ve proved your point. I’m sorry! What more do you want from me!?” she cried.

Helga walked over to the pretty blonde and kneeled in front of her. “Why, to suffer, of course. Just like you made Bobby and Ester suffer for their entire high school careers. And of course that’s not to mention the HUGE profit you’ve been generating for us.”

Felicia lowered her head, her eyes gazing at the disgusting dungeon floor. “Please, what would it take for you to let me go? Please, I’ll do anything you want! And I won’t tell the police anything that would incriminate you,” begged Felicia, fighting back tears. “Please, Mistress Helga, what do you want from me? What do you want me to do?”

Helga sneered, taking Felicia’s arm and standing her up. “I want you to keep laughing, young lady,” the large muscular ugly woman told the small slender pretty girl. “Keep laughing when the customers tickle your bare and exposed flesh. Make them want more of that young body of yours so they keep paying us so they could come and do whatever they want to you. Keep doing that and, maybe, one day, we’ll let you see your family again.”

Felicia said nothing in response. She wasn’t surprised that her attempt at reason failed, but she was thoroughly disheartened. It had reinforced what she had known for a long, long time. They only wanted to see her suffer that was all. Except now was different, actually. She was making them money. As long as she was unhappy, as long as her ordeal was hellish for her and pleasurable for the random perverts that came to see her in agony, there was more and more incentive for them to torture her. She wondered if a time would ever come when they moved away from tickling entirely, opting instead to cause her flat out pain, drawing blood or mutilating her body.

Helga walked her out of the room and locked the door behind her. The dominatrix led the cheerleader down the long hallway, the latter woman’s tiny bare feet in great pain from the corridor floor. The uneven stone floor, random debris, and jagged pieces stung her bare feet when she least expected it, and she even cried out a few times. Helga paid no heed to Felicia’s cries, in fact they seemed to motivate her to walk faster, as if to intentionally cause Felicia more pain.

Felicia was so accustomed at this point to being seen naked, and was focusing hard on keeping up with Helga while trying not to hurt her feet, that she didn’t even bother to cover up her breasts and vagina. She only folded her arms in front of her in that shy girl kind of way (alternatively the classic “brrr, I’m cold” arm fold). Within minutes, they had reached the door to the room they were heading to. It was one of those Asian sliding doors on buildings that you usually see in old Kung-fu movies (think of that door that Uma Thurman pushed open to fight Lucy Liu in Kill Bill Vol. 1). Helga stepped aside so Felicia could get in. The high school girl peered inside nervously, leaning forward. Her eyes darted left and right.

Inside was the cleanest room she had seen since the bathroom back at Robert and Claudia’s. It was a luxurious room, filled with very old paintings by Chinese and Japanese painters. There was a bed, a desk, and other pieces of furniture. The walls were painted red and there was an oval mirror on one side of the room. In one side of the room was something that looked strangely like an open casket, painted grayish black (or blackish grey, or faded black. I don’t know my colors), except one end was also half open. Felicia had no idea what it was. There were a few scattered restraining devices, including an X-frame, ropes attached to the bed, and a simple pair of stocks. In the middle of the room, meditating on a pillow, was Tao Yon Lin. The concubines were kneeling behind him, ready to service his every need. A light black cat sat in the corner, next to his food bowl. “Hey, Tao, I brought the girl!” called Helga. Tao didn’t move. “Tao? TAO! She’s ready any time you are!” repeated Helga. Still nothing. One of the concubines whispered something to him in Chinese. He slowly opened his eyes, stood up, and bowed to Helga. “I am so sorry, Mistress Helga. I was deep in meditation. I did not hear you two enter.”

“Not a problem, Tao,” said Helga, pushing Felicia into the room. She did not enter herself, as Tao insisted that no shoes were to be worn inside the room. “Here you are. Have fun with her.” She gave a mock bow, and then left, closing the screen door behind her.

Tao looked Felicia up and down, taking in the girl’s hot, naked body. Felicia’s arms were still crossed against her chest. “Now, young lady,” said Tao, “you are under my care for the time being. I will tickle torture you today, just as you have been tickle tortured in the past. Is that understood?’

Felicia hesitated for a moment, then said meekly, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said Tao. “Then you must know I have rules that must be followed. If you cooperate here, your ordeal here will go by much easier, and will be much easier to handle. If not, then there will be punishment. Is that understood?” Felicia nodded silently. “Good. First off, you shall always speak when I ask you to, and you shall be silent otherwise. You shall stand up straight with your arms at your sides”—he emphasized the last three words harshly, leading Felicia to suddenly stiffen her posture and leave her arms at her sides, like a military soldier at attention—“and when I am not speaking to you, you will remain on your knees. Your head will remain lowered; you will never look me in the eye. You will follow my every command, is that understood?”

Felicia hesitated for a moment, taking it all in. Tao snapped up straighter, bringing his arms crisply to his sides. “I asked you a question, woman! I expect you to answer! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD!?” “Y-yes, sir!” stammered a startled Felicia. Tao’s stern expression faded away as quickly as it appeared, and he seemed to relax. “Good,” he said. “Very good. Now, kneel over by the restraining box.”

Tao said something in Chinese to one of the concubines as Felicia took one look at the coffin-looking thingy and, fighting against every instinct in her body, followed Tao’s instructions to the letter. She got down on both her knees and lowered her head, straining her eyes to look at the box on her right. It was too far out of her range of vision, so she closed her eyes instead and began praying. “Please,” she silently mouthed to God, despite facing downward. “No more. God please, help me.”

“Stand up!” ordered Tao. Felicia promptly did so.

In front of her, the concubines stood carrying two large rolls of blue gauze. Felicia was completely confused. What did they need gauze for? Then suddenly, she thought back to the box she was standing next to. Her eyes went wide. They couldn’t. They wouldn’t.

“Are you familiar with Chinese Tickle Torture, young lady?” asked Tao.

“I-I’ve heard of it. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I have heard of it,” answered Felicia.

“Myth. Nothing more, nothing less,” answered Tao. “It is a term created by Victorians in their practice of adding the word ‘Chinese’ to anything they don’t understand. Until now that is. It took me months to conceive a method of tickling someone in a method that could literally drive them insane. But now my Chinese Tickle Torture is complete, and your torture is ready to begin. Now, you will endure the harshest of all forms of tickle torture ever conceived. True Chinese Tickle Torture.”

Felicia gulped, looking at the blue gauze.

“Now stand in that box,” he ordered.

Felicia hesitated for only a millisecond, not long enough to merit retribution from Tao, but you can see the fear in her blue eyes as she stepped in. Her bare foot stepped on something leathery when she stepped inside the box. Looking down, she saw that there were a number of leather straps built into the floor of the box. She also noticed that the floor of the box was raised a little bit, meaning that even though the box itself was at ground level (well it’s the second sub-basement, but whatever), if you stepped inside, you were standing about six inches off the floor. She noticed again the holes that were cut into one part of the box, where her feet would go if she laid down. Could they function as stocks of some sort?

Tao said something in Chinese, and both concubines approached her, already peeling the gauze of their respective rolls. “You will stand still as my concubines mummify you,” Tao told her in English. “Then we will begin.”

The concubine on Felicia’s right started to wrap the gauze around her hips and waist, covering every square centimeter of her body as she slowly moved upward. The other one bound Felicia’s ankles together, also moving upward. The 18 year old’s body was visibly trembling. She had never been mummified before, but she could only imagine how scary it could be. She shuddered at the thought of being wrapped from head to toe in the tape, and hoped that she wasn’t secretly claustrophobic and didn’t know it. She had seen the first part of “The Mummy” and had felt horrible for the people that were mummified alive (she would have felt even more horrible with no enjoyment whatsoever attached had it not been only a movie). She watched nervously as the gauze was wrapped around her stomach, and she instinctively bent her arms up to her chin and pressed them close to her body in that screaming-anime-girl kind of way. If you don’t know what I mean because you don’t watch anime, that’s not my problem. The concubine wrapped her arms up tight in that position, stopping at Felicia’s neck. The other one bound her knees together as she wrapped up Felicia’s smooth bare legs. The concubines helped her sit down, seeing as she would have a little trouble doing so on her own what with her arms and legs bound. Suddenly, Felicia felt gauze wrap around her neck. “Hey—,” she exclaimed, startled, but was cut off as the gauze wrapped around her mouth, silencing her protests. She thought they were going to leave her head unwrapped, but it looked like she was wrong. Her wide and terrified eyes darted back and forth as the gauze wrapped around them, and the world around her went completely dark. In the end, the only parts of her body that were left untouched by the blue mummy gauze were her nose and her feet.

She felt a hand on her chest ease her backward, while another hand kept her body steady by placing itself on her back. Another pair of hands gently took her mummified legs and straightened them. Her ankles were placed in the grooves (damn, that’s the word I’ve been looking for this whole time to describe those damn holes at the bottom side of the box) and the rest of her body was laying inside the box. She felt the leather straps suddenly being pulled out from under her, instead being wrapped around her and secured. Not only was she mummified, but now they were tying her down! She felt them secure her waist and just above her breasts, then her thighs, her knees, and finally her forehead. The only movement she could make, besides breathing if that counts, is wiggling her feet. Not that she actually did that to any noticeable extent, I was just trying to make conversation.

She could feel the coffin being closed with her inside. The lid was about an inch away from the tip of her nose; though she could not see it, she could kind of feel it in a sense. Besides, she could hear the coffin lid close. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but being mummified, tied down, and placed in a coffin as she was brought about a very real sense of panic for her. Her chest heaved under the strap that pinned it securely to the floor and she resisted the urge to cry out. The box was cut in a way so that, when it closed, her feet were in trapped in stocks. If her feet weren’t there, you would be able to see a hole shaped like a sideways number 8. Her bare feet were sticking through those holes, trapped together and waiting to be tickled. She couldn’t hear a thing; not only did she not know what Tao was planning or when he was going to strike (well, she kinda had a good guess that he was about to tickle her feet), but she wondered if the coffin was airtight. Did that mean if she laughed too much, she would run out of air and die? She whimpered softly, unsure of what was going to happen to her in that context. I’ll ruin it for you. No it’s not airtight (though it will be getting unbearably stuffy in there in the not-too-distant future since Felicia is going to be laughing for some reason), though it is soundproof. Although Felicia can’t hear anything, the coffin was equipped with an internal microphone and external speakers, so Tao and his concubines could hear almost every sound she made.

They definitely heard the startled—and terrified—shriek Felicia made as one of the concubines grabbed her big toes. Felicia instinctively thought that the tickling was about to start, but instead, she felt her big toes being pulled back. She felt a moment’s confusion when she felt twine against the base of her toes. Her eyes went wide with horror under the gauze as she felt the feminine hands tied the piece of twine around her big toes, effectively tying them together, and then suddenly she couldn’t move them at all. On the top of the box, just over her feet, were small metal eyelets. The twine that held her toes together was tied to one of the eyelets. She couldn’t move them at all! Unlike most tickle videos (though Felicia had never even heard of such a thing so she would not know) where a girl’s toes are tied with large amounts of twine that are hanging all over the place but down really seem to restrain the girl’s feet all that much, the concubines had used a very small amount of it, and they had used it effectively. Her toes were pulled as far back as they could be without hurting, and she could not move them AT ALL. For a moment, her other toes were able to move a little bit (when your big toes are completely tied back, your other toes can barely move at all. Try holding your pinky finger as far back as it can go. Now without letting go, see if you can touch your ring finger to the palm of your hand. Can’t do it, huh? Same thing here). That ended, however, when the concubines began expertly tying up her OTHER toes as well, even her little toes. Not only were each and every one of her toes bent backward and completely immobile, but they were spread out as much as possible. She couldn’t move them at all, not even the slightest inch, and believe me when I say she tried. What? How would I know she tried? Dude, I fucking wrote this story. I said she tried, so she tried. So there. Bitch.

Felicia was in quite a bind (no pun intended), and this may have been the worst possible situation she could have ever found herself in. Her tiny and beautiful bare feet, size 5 and creamy soft, were EXTREMELY EXTREMELY EXTREEEEEEEMELY ticklish! More so than any other part of her body. She would rather be gang tickled all over the rest of her body than have her feet tickled; it really was that bad. Though every part of her feet was ticklish, no part of her caused her more agony when tickled than her soles. It was her weak spot’s weak spot (her belly button functioned pretty much the same way on her stomach, which was her second most ticklish spot). She couldn’t stand to have someone attempt to tickle her completely unrestrained feet, so imagine someone tickling her COMPLETELY IMMOBILE feet. Not just restrained as in “oh we put them in cuffs”, no this is immobile to the point where you can’t even tell she’s trying to wiggle her toes. And she can’t even thrash around the rest of her body to block out even some of the tickling sensations. No, she’s mummified in gauze tape and strapped down to the point where she can’t move an inch. Literally. She can breathe. That’s about it. I’m not exaggerating. Oh, and add to the fact that not only can’t she see what’s coming (or more accurately, when it’s coming) but also can’t hear what her soon-to-be assailants are doing or laugh because of the gauze over her mouth (bottling up her ticklish agony inside of her rather than letting her release it, as is normal) only enhances the torture of something that is already torture enough to the poor young girl. Now I’m sure some of you here on a tickling-related forum reading a tickling-related story are probably thinking, “Boy that sounds really hot! I’d like to have my feet tickled like that too. What a lucky girl!” No, uh-uh. You guys LIKE tickling. Not only do you like it, but it turns you on. Now let me ask you, have you ever seen a person on this forum with a user name like “Felicia” or “FeliciaCheerleader696969” or anything like that? No, of course you haven’t. That’s because “FeliciaCheerleader696969” HATES to be tickled. So of course she’s not going to join a forum like TMF and talk incessantly about how wonderful tickling is. She hates being tickled. It hurts her, at least when its done with a modicum of intensity. So if you can liken being tied to a bed and tickled to being beaten up by the school bully, then you can liken this situation to someone taking a steel pipe and impaling her while simultaneously breaking her legs, crushing her arms into powder, plucking out one of her eyes, and repeatedly kicking her in the groin.

Maybe not EXACTLY like that, but trust me. This definitely amounts to a few human rights violations. If she were a prisoner of war, the Geneva Conventions would theoretically protect from this type of treatment, depending on the United Nations’ drive to actually enforce their own international laws.

She lay there in complete silence, her short accelerated breaths taking in the unbearably hot and stuffy air (another reason to add to the list of reasons of why getting her feet tickled like this sucks more than simply having a friend grab and tickle them). She wanted to cry, she could already feel her eyes watering. She whimpered loudly, but that and her breaths were the only sound she could hear. She tried moving her feet again, but they would not budge the slightest inch. She knew they were the only part of her body that was exposed. This wouldn’t be a “merciful” full body tickling, with most of the action centered away from her feet. No, Tao and his concubines were going to isolate and torture her most sensitive area. She could only realistically hope for two things: That they didn’t spend too much time on her soles, and that it would be over before she knew it.

She continued to lay there, waiting for the tickling to start. Nothing was happening. She knew better than to think she was lucky enough to be left alone, to be granted a brief respite from tickling. She knew better. They were trying to catch her off-guard. Her last defense was her own anticipation. To be completely relaxed and then be caught unawares would increase the tickling itself and decrease her ability to endure. She dealt with it often enough at school, with someone either taking a quick poke at her sides or (usually one of the football players) coming up from behind and giving her an all-out side and stomach tickling, even putting her in a big bear hug first. To onlookers that were lucky enough to pass by, it was quite a sexy sight to see one of their prettiest classmates (especially one that many a guy and boy in that high school had varying degrees of crushes on) squirming in ticklish agony and giggling the cutest and sweetest giggle a girl could possibly giggle, especially on the days that she was wearing her cheerleading uniform. Oh those were the days. But she knew now that they were just waiting, like buzzards circling around a dying man, for the right moment to swoop in and assault her. She knew that—

“MMMMMMFFFMMMMMMMMMMMGGGGHHHHH!!!!”

She screamed through the gauze over her mouth as long fingernails mercilessly assaulted her ticklish soles right then and there. Damnit, they didn’t even wait. At the same time, a pair of long-nailed hands each assaulted her restrained toes, and another pair attacked her sensitive heels. All 3 of them were attacking with two hands and none of them were holding back. That made 30 fingers tickling the most ticklish part of her body. It took one finger almost anywhere in her body to make her spastic, so you could imagine what 30 fingers (each with a long nail that is just perfect for tickling) against her unrestrained bare feet would do to her. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t know when it was coming (waiting to be tickled after her feet were tied up was the longest 1 minute and 58 seconds of her life).

Felicia would have been bucking and thrashing but she was mummified and strapped down, if you recall. All she could hear is her own muffled screams. Other than that, the world around her was pitch-black silence. The air was unbearably stuffy and humid. She desperately needed to get out of there and take a breath of fresh air. She needed to get some air period. The tickling was making it nearly impossible to breathe, and the humid air inside the coffin wasn’t making the breaths she was taking any more pleasant. Stuffy or fresh, her lungs were hurting for oxygen. Her chest shook with hysterical laughter, and all she could do was hope against hope that the merciless tickling would stop, at least for a moment.

For a girl as sweet as her, that’s done as much good for the world as she did in the short few years she’s been alive, you’d think God or fate or whatever would be kind enough to grant that, but no. The tickling just kept coming and coming. The fingernails tormenting her ticklish toes explored the areas between each one, sending the high school student into a frenzy. Another pair of hands tickled around her arch and her instep. The third pair tickled her soles and the balls of her feet. She couldn’t place which set of fingers belonged to which tickler, but right now her mind was in no shape to even try. She could barely remember her own name right now. All life was to her right now was a giant ticklish explosion (especially since there was no light or sound to otherwise define her current experience by anything other than the tickling she was enduring).

It felt like hours to her, but in reality it was only a few minutes. No, they didn’t stop. No, it was at this point that Felicia went into silent laughter for almost a full minute. The tickling fingernails traveled all around her feet, even the tops and her exposed ankles. A hand tickled underneath each anklebone (both the bones on the outside and on the inside), while the remaining 10 fingers traveled wildly all over her soles, balls, heels, arches, insteps, and toes. As a pair of hands scraped her heels while another attacked the tops of her feet just where the hard bone met the connecting ankle, that third pair of hands and grabbed between Felicia’s toes, a total of 8 fingers running around in those highly sensitive and ticklish place. The other two fingers, the thumbs, tickled the underside of her toes. This drove poor little Felicia wild.

“UUHHHHHHHHH-GGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!! (“Oh God”)” screamed Felicia in hysterics. The ticklish onslaught was too much for her. Despite the fact that it was “only tickling”, it was the truest definition of torture to her. This level of tickle torture was really something an experienced and hardened BDSM submissive should be handling, not some random high school student. Heck, even though she was 18, she wasn’t REALLY even an adult. If you knew her, you would know that she’s definitely not ready to go off into the world yet, so she’s definitely not prepared to endure such horrible torture. And her attitude towards other people and her mannerisms didn’t exactly exude an aura of “working stiff” or “career woman”. Trust me, she was too young to be kidnapped and tortured like this.

After about 10 minutes of this hell, Felicia was starting to get panicky. The combination of the tickle torture, the lack of sight and sound, complete inability to move, and the current breathing conditions made her desperate to get up out of the coffin. She couldn’t take this anymore. It HAD to stop!

And yet it didn’t. Time didn’t just slow to a crawl, but rather halted completely. There was no outside stimuli to even clue her in on how much time had passed. There was just tickling. Non-stop torturous tickling at an intensity she had never experienced.

20 more minutes had dragged on without her knowledge, but she experienced every painful second of it. Her throat was sore from laughing and her lungs were aching. The nails skittered up and down every inch of her ticklish feet. Not once did they stop or even slow down. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Hell, one couldn’t even classify what she was doing now as “taking it”. She was already pushed far passed her limits, but now she was just being tickled. She wasn’t taking anything or enduring anything or any other choice words that implied she was still hanging in there. Just because her feet were still being tickled doesn’t mean she was hanging in there.

It was roughly around the 45 minute mark that she suddenly for a brief moment received a brief break from tickling. Like literally a second and a half brief. That brief. She was about to start breathing a sigh of relief (that would be figuratively speaking, as the residual giggles from that bout of tickling would last quite a while) when suddenly the tickling started up as abruptly as it ended. Except this time, there were only three hands tickling her. The other 3 were replaced by long, stiff but soft feathers.

One feather stroked slowly up and down her left sole, long fingernails tickling her right sole with reckless abandon. Fingers and a feather skittered rapidly around the tops of her feet and her sensitive ankles unpredictably. Fingers tickled her right set of toes while a feather explored between her toes on her left foot. Inside the coffin, Felicia screamed like a woman going mad.

Time dragged on. Felicia couldn’t tell who was tickling her where, only that her ticklish feet were getting brutally and sadistically tortured like never before. Fingers and feathers were everywhere, and Tao had apparently perfected his Chinese Tickle Torture to an art form. About 30 minutes after they had begun tickling her with the feathers, they dropped them and resorted to their fingers. 10 minutes after that, they picked up the feathers again. It seemed every 5-10 minutes, they would switch off between using only their fingers and using feathers in conjunction with their fingers. If you can believe it, this actually heightened the tickling for Felicia (it’s tough to believe that it could have gotten any worse, and yet the cruel hand of fate swooped in and made things even tougher for this beautiful and innocent young girl) since she now didn’t know when those fingers tickling the underside of her toes would be replace by a feather tickling between them.

Tears and drool, not to mention sweat, were being absorbed by the gauze tape. She struggled frantically to break free of her restraints, but to no avail. The air was smelling even worse as the coffin began to smell like a gym locker from her sweat, and the gauze prevented her from breathing in through her mouth. Her toes were sore from her constantly trying to bend them. She wished she could at least wiggle her vulnerable bare feet, but they were trapped in the most vulnerable position they could possibly be in.

2 hours later and the tickling was still going on. Tao didn’t even slow down to let her catch her breath. She had long since run out of breath, yet somehow she was still conscious, still laughing and screaming and crying.

Believe it or not, the tickling was approaching the 3 and a half hour mark (that’s the problem with this type of storytelling. I really can’t illustrate truly how long it really felt to Felicia, I can only tell you that she was being tickled for about 3 ½ hours so far) and Felicia was not doing so well. She was feeling dizzy and the odor of her own sweat was making her sick. Her lungs fought to grab air wherever they could, but it was a painful act. Her stomach felt like the proverbial knot inside of it was pushing out of her like in that scene from “Alien” and/or “Spaceballs”, and her ribs felt like they were about to break apart trying to keep her lungs from expanding and exploding. The tickling was as intense as ever (as stated in the last paragraph. The “2 hours later” drove the story pretty much to about the 3 ½ hour mark, or a few minutes shy of it, rather). Every contact was an immense shock to her nervous system, as bad as the initial contact of any tickle assault, and she never knew what was going to tickle which part of her feet and when. She was still completely unable to move the slightest inch of her body, including her feet which were still frozen unmoving in the most vulnerable and ticklish position possible (as opposed to squirming around and trying to cover each other, like feet usually do when they are being tickled). There was no movement she could make to block out the tickling, nothing she could see or hear to distract her from the tickling. The whole world to her was one giant tickle spasm.

For a brief instant, there was a break in the tickling (seriously, a brief instant. Long enough to put something down right next to you and pick something else up that’s right next to you), and she let forth a low, primal, bloodcurdling, yet muffle scream, that through the speakers sounded something like, “MMMMMMGGGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!” It almost sounded like a gigantic moan that would come from a good masturbation session (or a forced orgasm session with Natalie), but no, it was a scream. She felt 6 very small and pointy objects, possibly feathers or rubber or something, vibrating all over her feet (I’ll just tell you, Tao and his concubines were each dual wielding TIB’s signature tickle tool). With surgical precision, they explored underneath and between her toes, the subtle wrinkles on her soles and the balls of her feet, her arches, and her ankles. These tools (I don’t know what they are called, so we’ll just call them “Tip Tools” because of the tip at the end that is used to tickle someone) were far worse than fingernails or feathers by a long shot. Heck they were even worse than the dreaded electric toothbrush. They attacked with the precision accuracy even feathers couldn’t claim to possess, yet required no effort on the part of the tickler as simply touching the vibrating tip of the Tip Tools onto the person’s skin was all that was needed to elicit laughter. Using one’s fingers required the tickler to exert effort in constantly moving his/her fingers around, which can get tiring (maybe only to a small degree, but still, one can’t do that forever), and even with a feather one would have to constantly move one’s hand up and down or side to side or whatever. But with the Tip Tools, one needed simply to touch the vibrating tip to the woman’s skin, and it took much less effort to slowly explore every inch of the bare foot to find the most sweetest spots and most ticklish nerve endings. For Felicia, it felt as if each individual nerve ending was being individually targeted, and the effects were explosive. She couldn’t take it anymore (she really couldn’t take it more or less within the first minute of tickling, let alone about 3½ hours later). Her eyes were wide open beneath the gauze and tears poured from their glands like small waterfalls. Trying to breathe through her laughter/screaming and swallow rather than drooling was nearly impossible, and drool soaked the gauze near her mouth while her lungs ached. Her chest and diaphragm were on fire from laughing so hard, and she wished she could just have a few seconds at least to get her saliva back in her mouth and the air back in her lungs.

Another 10 minutes passed by. Felicia felt like she was going to die. The Tip Tools explored every inch of her helpless and tiny bare feet, even the hard tops of her feet. There was not an inch left unexplored. All the young cheerleader wanted to do was to pass out, but her body, as beautiful as it was, cruelly refused her mind’s wishes. Somehow, despite it all, she stayed fully conscious and felt every torturous tickle that assaulted her feet. Oh my God, she wondered but without words actually forming in her mind, why do my feet have to be the most ticklish part of my body? Why couldn’t it be my wrists or something? Why do they have to tickle MY feet? Couldn’t they tickle me somewhere, ANYWHERE else?

It was around there that something else happened. An intense feeling between her legs that came about from the hours upon hours of hysterical laughter, one that needed to be released and would do so no matter what she did.

Felicia realized that she had to pee. Badly.

She began to panic, the tickle torture preventing her from forming a coherent thought in her mind. She couldn’t pee! She just couldn’t! Now, more than ever, she had to hold it in! The humid, stuffy air, mixed with the heavy smell of sweat, inside what she thought was an airtight coffin was bad enough on its own. To add the incredibly strong “scent” of urine to the mix, especially in this setting, would be torture even without the 3 Asians tickling her feet. Plus, to lay there, completely unable to move and mummified in gauze tape, in her own urine would be a hell of its own.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the type of pee that you can hold it in until later. This was something that you rush around frantically, making a fool of yourself as you desperately ask complete strangers where the bathroom is (like those people on those commercials). This was something that, when you finally find a toilet and start peeing, you pee for about a minute in a half while moaning in ecstasy. This was the type of “I really gotta go to the bathroom” that you consciously fight to hold in every single second until you find the Holy Grail that is the bathroom.

So of course when you are being sadistically tickled out of your mind on your most ticklish spot, and you are completely unable to move the slightest inch of your body, you’ve got what we call a bad situation on your hands.

If one had X-ray vision, they could see the look of sheer horror in Felicia’s pretty blue eyes. For a brief moment she wasn’t even laughing or screaming. Her teeth were clenched as she drew short, sharp breaths. She was desperately trying to hold in her urine. Her head was naturally trying to turn from side to side, but the forehead restraint prevented her from doing so. She tried to compose herself but couldn’t hold in her laughter anymore (luckily her pee was still inside her urethra) and she let out a booming, yet muffled. “MMMMMH-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-HHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” It’s hard to translate that sound into words as such, so I’ll just tell you that that was supposed to be a belly laugh.

If one were to walk into the room right now, they would see Tao and two nude concubines using Tip Tools (OK, seriously, there’s gotta be a more catchy name for these things. I’ll ask TIB later) to tickle a tiny pair of beautiful size 5 bare feet sticking out of a black box. They would see the feet tied together with the toes spread apart with such a minimal amount of rope that the feet would not move the slightest inch, yet they would clearly see that the feet are straining with all their might to move. Through the coffin’s speakers, they would hear the muffled screams of a young woman, and some laughter to go along with it. But even that wouldn’t tell the full horrible, HORRIBLE story that is Felicia’s. One has to experience it, but even someone who LOVES tickling would never want to.

Every minute was an eternity to her; nothing but tickle torture, an aching chest, the inability to breathe, the lingering smell of sweat, and a need to pee so bad that it hurt. As a positive note, her need to hold in her pee gave her something to take her mind off the tickling, but that was a small positive in one giant negative. The need to pee really made things worse. Much worse. Her voice went hoarse from screaming, and she continued to do so in silence (yeah, you read that right). Every second was another possibility to wet herself. Every second was another second of agony as she tried to hold it in. With every passing second, she felt herself more and more unable to hold in her urine, and she knew she was fighting a losing battle. She had no idea how long she had been holding in her urine (heck she didn’t even know how long she’d been tickled in this coffin), but it felt like forever. Time was just dragging on and she was losing her ability to hold it in.

And she had only been holding in for 30 seconds. Whoops, make that 35 now. 42. 46. You get the idea.

Time crept along. A minute. A minute and a half. Two minutes. Two and a half minutes. Three minutes. Each one an entire day for the helpless high school hottie. Another 35 minutes passed by before the tickling finally stopped. To Felicia, it was a moment to rejoice. She would have breathed a sigh of relief, but she was too busy still laughing hysterically (good ol’ residual laughter), plus she didn’t want to take her mind off holding in the urine.

Unfortunately, before she even had a chance to await for release, she felt warm liquid being poured all over her feet. It took her by surprise, and it actually felt kind of nice, but then she realized with horror what this liquid was.

Body massage oil!

Not the scented body oil that was mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, which is an everyday feminine skincare product. This stuff, the massage oil, would cover her whole body (well, I guess just her feet in this case). It would reduce the friction between her sensitive skin and whatever device or appendage was tickling her feet, allowing said device(s) and/or appendage(s) to simply glide over her flesh, unobstructed by the miniscule restrictive power of high school physics terminology. In other words, if you can believe it, the body massage oil was going to make Felicia’s feet MORE ticklish!

“NNN! NNNNN! PPPPP, NNNNNN!!!” (“No! NOO! PLEASE, NOOO!!!”), cried a panic-stricken Felicia. The poor blonde teen had no idea how she was going to survive this. She continued to plea through her mummification (despite the fact that she knew logically, though incorrectly, that they couldn’t hear her) as two pairs of hands rubbed the devilish and demonic liquid all over her sensitive feet, even rubbing it in between her toes. She tried with all her might to move her feet, but the twine held them in place. Whether she liked it or not, her slippery and uber-sensitive bare feet were going to be mercilessly tickle tortured, and there was nothing she could do except lie there with her toes bent back, spread apart, and her big toes tied together.

Suddenly, all at once, the 6 Tip Tools returned, attacking the tips of her toes, the balls of her feet, her soles, her insteps, and her heels. It was like they were surrounding her feet and attacking from all sides. They explored every inch of Felicia’s most ticklish spots, and with the massage oil, they glided over her feet with less resistance than ever.

Even though she had been tickled all over with massage oil before, no amount of experience could ever prepare her for it (especially in a situation like this). If you want to quantify it, the oil increased her ticklishness by about 50%, which is A LOT (though it’s really hard to accurately quantify this). Her mind was on fire as she screamed bloody murder at the top of her lungs (I always think of Red Vs. Blue when I think about someone screaming bloody murder. “Private Mickey was the first one to go. He was halfway across the base when he started screaming bloody murder.” “BLOODY MURDER! BLOODY MURDER!”). She was caught mid-breath when the Tip Tools started tickling her oiled up feet, so she felt like someone just punched her in the ribs. She focused with all her might to keep from urinating all over herself as her body shook with laughter.

Hold on. Her having to pee is making me have to pee. One second.

…………………………………………………………………………

I’m back. Where were we? Oh right. Yeah, so the Tip Tools are tickling Felicia’s immobile bare feet. She’s trying with all her might to hold it in. She began to pant heavily, the effort to keep her urine inside her body, as well as to focus on the effort rather than the tickling, and to endure the tickling itself, was taking more strength, energy, endurance, and willpower than she had in her body. But she had to keep her focus. She HAD to block out the tickling and concentrate on holding in her urine, no matter how long it takes. Otherwise, she’d be forced to lay in that coffin for God knows how long with nothing but the incredibly strong sense of pee constantly invading her nostrils.

Unfortunately, she was losing it. The tickling sensations exploded in her mind, pushing away her conscious efforts to hold in her urine as they turned her into a giggling mess of mummified female flesh. Slowly she began to lose the strength necessary to keep from peeing, and within about 5 minutes and 37.468 seconds (approximately 4 minutes and 20 seconds into the tickling session as a whole), her mind completely focused for a moment on the intense tickling her oiled-up feet were receiving. Losing control over her bladder, urine cascaded out of her vagina for almost a full minute. Felicia, in her hysteria, didn’t even notice she peed herself until about half a minute later, when during the tickling, she inhaled the oh-so-sweet aroma of urine and felt like vomiting. She also noticed the relief she felt in her bladder now that it was empty, but she also couldn’t ignore the warm liquid her pussy, inner thighs, ass, and upper hamstrings were laying in. She also noticed that the gauze tape around that area was also soaked. Of course, she really didn’t have time to focus too heavily on those things because as bad as they were, the tickling consumed her mind.

The Tip Tools, combined with the massage oil (yeah, I know I called it body oil in Part 8, and I know I used the term “body oil” to refer to the everyday hygiene product at the beginning of this chapter, but I don’t know my feminine skincare products. You all know what I mean, anyway) were really having their way with the poor blonde. The oil made her ticklish feet even more ticklish as the vibrating tickle toys explored the most sensitive part of the most sensitive part of her entire body—her soles. And the other ones that tormented her slippery toes were almost as bad—the difference between all the different parts of her feet in terms of ticklishness were miniscule. There was not a single part of her feet or ankles that did not receive a thorough workout, and it was more than Felicia could take.

As she laid there, mummified in a coffin that kept in the powerful odor of her own sweat and urine as she struggled through her ticklish hysteria to breathe in the air that would make asphyxiation an appealing choice for most people, the little 18 year old wondered to herself how long she had been tickled, and how much longer it would keep going one. Well, Felicia, I’ll give you a hint, despite the fact that you’ll never actually find out the answer to either question. 10 minutes after you pondered that question, the thought coming to you not in word form but rather in the desire to be freed from your torture, this would all be hitting the FIVE HOUR MARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That is a long time for someone as ticklish as Felicia to have her completely immobile bare feet tickled, especially if you’ve ever seen her friends tickle her feet and you know that she can only take it for about a minute at a time (and it is by far NOT a graceful minute, let me tell you). That’s why her friends know, unless they want to be mean and evil in that friendly not-so-mean-and-evil goofing around sort of way that friends are with each other, that tickling her feet is a no-no. At least not for more than a minute or so.

The dreaded 5 hour mark came and went, and Tao and his concubines had not let up at all. It was a wonder the poor girl was still even conscious. Felicia was teetering on the edge of insanity. It wasn’t until the 5 hour and 13th minute mark than the tickling finally stopped. It was about time, too. 6 Tip Tools tickling her slippery and oiled feet with surgical precision was too much for the young girl to handle, and she struggled to catch her breath during her brief respite from tickling, even if the only air to breathe smelled like sweat and piss.

Unfortunately, her relief was only a few seconds long. She felt something on her feet, something much more horrible than the Tip Tools, something warm and wet and disgusting, something that sent tickle impulses from her nerve endings to her brain where they exploded like atomic bombs.

It was a pair of tongues. Human tongues that could only belong to the concubines.

Felicia collapsed into violent spasms of laughter almost immediately. She was almost convulsing. Drool flowed from her mouth only to be absorbed by the gauze tape. The tongue on her right foot tickled underneath her sensitive toes while the tongue on her left foot tormented her ultrahypermegasuper ticklish sole. The oil allowed their tongues to glide effortlessly (or more effortlessly than they otherwise would have glided) over Felicia’s ticklish bare feet, and the saliva only perpetuated this (it also added an extra degree of DISGUSTING to the whole mix). The teenage girl mustered just enough brainpower to pray to God that the whole thing just end quickly.

The kind and merciful God, working in mysterious ways, denied her pitiful request and sentenced the poor innocent charitable girl who spent much of her free time volunteering at a hospital and homeless shelter simply for the sake of helping other people to more unbearable tickle torture. It just went on and on. The tongues licked between her toes, sliding across the balls of her feet before slowly and agonizingly stroking up and down her soles. They went from her insteps, down around her heels, and up her arches. Every inch of her feet were coated with human saliva, and as absolutely horrible as every single second was for her, nothing was worse than the slow torturous lines “drawn” up and down her soles. She was screaming and begging for mercy, this time to God rather than to her torturers, but the hellish torture wouldn’t stop. Whether you blame this on God, Tao Yon Lin, Robert and Claudia, or even if you’re one of those “blame the victim” scumbuckets who places the blame on Felicia, the powers that be allowed the hellish torture to continue for another hour, long enough for Felicia to wet herself again. She didn’t even have the energy to try to hold it in. Within two minutes of having to pee, she let it all out. She didn’t have any control over it, although she was aware that she had peed herself for a second time that day.

Well that came in the middle of approximately 60 minutes of tongue tickling (like I said in the last paragraph, if you were paying attention (I wasn’t. I originally wrote “another 40 minutes of tongue tickling” before I went back and proofread this horrendous mess)). Just as she felt herself slipping into blissful unconsciousness, the tongue tickling torture was terminated. The 18 year old struggled to breathe through her nose, the smell of urine and sweat assaulting her nostrils.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Felicia was trying to slow her heart rate, hoping that they were done with the tickling. She had no idea how long that dragged on, but it felt like she spent an entire day being tickled. Maybe they were going to let her out of this damn coffin already and throw her back into her cell so she could—

“M-M-MMMMMMMMMMMMMMFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!” she suddenly screamed into her gag. Whatever was assaulting her feet, it came without warning (mainly because she couldn’t see or her anything. She couldn’t tell what was tickling her feet now. It felt like a tongue, only one this time, but smaller and rougher than the tongues that were just assaulting her feet. But she had no idea what--

Of course! The cat! Remember? The black cat? You probably don’t even remember reading the one line where the cat was introduced, so I’ll just copy and paste it here to make things easier for you: “A light black cat sat in the corner, next to his food bowl.” There, now you remember. If it was the cat, though, then that meant that her feet were being licked by an ANIMAL!! Besides being extra disgusting, Felicia felt that was just sick and wrong.

Whatever the case, the cat’s rough tongue licked the balls of the poor girl’s feet, sending her into hysterics. She tried to withstand the horrible torment, but she couldn’t keep her slender little body from shaking with laughter. Her lungs were in pain as she laughed, and her laughter went silent as the tongue tickled her between her spread-out toes. Her eyes went wide under the gauze tape as the cat unknowingly tormented her sensitive soles, and her eyes began to tear (again, that is) as it attacked her naked heels. And the thought of not just having her feet tickled, but licked by an animal, added an extra degree of psychological torture against the helpless young girl.

For the next 10 minutes or so, the rough animal tongue attacked every single inch of the bottoms of Felicia’s sensitive bare feet. She could only mentally thank God when it was finally over. Panting heavily, she tried to recover from her ordeal. Suddenly overcome with the fear that another attack would be imminent, she immediately steeled herself for another attack. She didn’t want to be caught off-guard again.

Panic-stricken and waiting anxiously for the inevitable, she practically held her breath as she waited a minute, then two, then three, but there was nothing except the horrible odors trapped within the coffin and the tingly sensations on the bottoms of her feet that accompanied the slight chill from all the liquids that had found their way onto her feet. Oh, and let’s not forget whatever urine was still between her legs (most of it had either dried or been absorbed by the gauze tape). That was her entire world right now, but after a few minutes (which in her situation was indistinguishable from about a half hour), she allowed herself to relax, her body and mind exhausted and still reeling from her 6½ hour ordeal (rounding to the nearest half hour. I just really don’t feel like keeping track of the minutes right now). All she wanted was to get out of this coffin, but she didn’t have the energy to protest. She didn’t have the energy to fight, to struggle and scream, to beg and plead. She was too exhausted to do anything but relax and let sleep overcome her. She found herself FINALLY slipping into that blissful unconsciousness, too little too late.

End of Part 11

A/N Well that was fun. For Tao, that is, not Felicia. And for you, of course. Part 12 will be coming out sometime before Part 13 does. So before that happens, be sure to read and review, send me as many comments as possible, and show the world that "Felicia the Cheerleader" is the greatest piece of tickling fiction in the world through the sheer number of comments alone. Frankly, what I really want is an angry reply from one of those "This story is too intense and borders on rape" people. No, seriously, I'm not kidding.

Apparently, I broke the aforementioned "formula" in the last part, being 3/4 asleep and all, by not telling you to look out for "Felicia the Cheerleader" Part 11, or in some way mentioning the next part. Only a true perfectionist (who doubles as the writer of said story) would catch wind of this. So before I go, I want to make sure you all remember to be on the ever vigilant lookout for "Felicia the Cheerleader" Part 12. Goodnight everybody! No seriously, it's 5 AM and I'm going to sleep. Good friggin' night.
 
Felicia

I just finished reading the 11th installment, and I have to say that even after 11 chapters you've still managed to keep the intensity at a maximum. But you've put this poor girl through so much I'm really feeling sorry for her. It would be different if she actually deserved it. Is she ever going to be free? Will she be sane if and when she is? Most of all, are these SOB's going to get whats coming to them? It pisses me off to see these Jackasses get away with this stuff!!!! As much as I'm pulling for Felicia, I can't wait to see what happens next! Keep up the good work!


Dugan
 
dugan said:
I just finished reading the 11th installment, and I have to say that even after 11 chapters you've still managed to keep the intensity at a maximum. But you've put this poor girl through so much I'm really feeling sorry for her. It would be different if she actually deserved it. Is she ever going to be free? Will she be sane if and when she is? Most of all, are these SOB's going to get whats coming to them? It pisses me off to see these Jackasses get away with this stuff!!!! As much as I'm pulling for Felicia, I can't wait to see what happens next! Keep up the good work!


Dugan


You should feel sorry for her. She certainly doesn't deserve this. Heck, given the type of person she is, she doesn't even deserve to suffer a minor inconvenience, let alone sadistic torture of this nature.

As for your questions, I have the answers for them all. I'm not going to give them to you, but I do have them.

Glad you enjoyed it.
 
welll gesh poor Felicia...will her torment never end? she should have passed out long ago...your humour saved this one also from being thoroughly sadistic and cruel..i don't know anything about anime..so i had no idea of her position..also hmm could the tip tool be the hummingbird? a floss like device with a pointy thing at the end? fantastic installment as always..love the part where you took a break to pee yourself..lol you should have held out however, since poor Felicia tried to..
 
isabeau said:
welll gesh poor Felicia...will her torment never end? she should have passed out long ago...your humour saved this one also from being thoroughly sadistic and cruel..i don't know anything about anime..so i had no idea of her position..also hmm could the tip tool be the hummingbird? a floss like device with a pointy thing at the end? fantastic installment as always..love the part where you took a break to pee yourself..lol you should have held out however, since poor Felicia tried to..

Thank you, Isabeau, and I am glad you enjoyed this chapter. I'm glad you enjoyed the humor of this story as well as the sadism and cruelty, but I still say it was thoroughly sadistic and cruel either way.

If I had a picture of a screaming anime girl, I'd show you, but just picture a girl with her arms bent up to about her collarbone or chin with her knuckles pointed away from her. Screaming anime girls (when they are screaming about something disgusting like bugs or tentacles) tend to do that. Oh and is that device called the Hummingbird? I've never heard it called that. I'd go back and change it, but honestly I don't want to.

And hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.
 
Has Felicia been tortured too much? Will she ever escape or be set free? Will she ever regain her life or her sanilty? Can she really take anymore?

Who gives a rat's ass? :triangle: She's young, hot and ticklish. Works for me.

I really need to get my own "Felicia". :firedevil
 
Felicia the Cheerleader" is the greatest piece of tickling fiction in the world. that's true. the stories are very fantastic.
 
you take to long inbetween installments...anyway...

"Frankly, what I really want is an angry reply from one of those "This story is too intense and borders on rape" people. No, seriously, I'm not kidding."

meh it is intense but meh. The only angry reply I can give is that...YOU TAKE TO LONG NOW. And I can't be angry but feel sorry for the young girl.

sorry...but your just gonna have to get your angry reply somewhere else....
 
This story is too intense and borders on ra-- oh, I just can't stay mad at you! ;)

Great installment. It just gets worse and worse with no sign of letting up. I love it, and I wonder if she'll even survive to that day when they MAYBE allow her to see her parents.

My prediction: She'll get out, find her parents have moved or were murdered or something, realize she has nowhere to go and just goes back to Helga and stays there FOREVERRRRRRRRRRRR!!! OMGz!

Or not!
 
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