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  1. #1

    Anna Kendrick TK: Pitch Perfect Laughter

    Anna Kendrick TK: Pitch Perfect Laughter

    O-O-O

    It was a sweltering summer’s day on the set of Pitch Perfect 3, as Anna Kendrick and Brittany Snow reclined on one of those special designated chairs for acting personnel in between takes. Anna wasn’t quite sure why the plot demanded a ‘bikini scene’, but after several years of working in Hollywood, she had just learned to accept it as something that inevitably happened with a predominantly female cast. She voiced her complaints to Brittany.

    “Yeah, tell me about it,” Brittany said, flicking a lock of auburn hair that had tumbled across her face. “It sucks having to prepare for these scenes…”

    “What do you mean?” Anna asked, gesturing with a slender hand. “You’re so slim and your body is gorgeous!”

    “I had to train hard in a gym for a month to get these abs!” Brittany, who was clad in a cherry-red two-piece bikini, said, shaking her head. “You’re lucky your character can get away with wearing a one-piece!” she said, aiming a poke at Anna’s stomach.

    As soon as Brittany’s scarlet-painted fingernail touched Anna’s torso, the dark-haired girl squealed. “Woah, stop! Cut it out!”

    “Ooooh,” Brittany said, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief, “sure sounds like someone is a lil ticklish!” Brittany stood up, reached out with both hands and gave Anna’s stomach a little squeeze, making Anna squeak in response. Anna’s black swimsuit did cover her stomach, but the fabric was far too thin to provide much protection as Brittany skittered her long nails up and down her sides.

    “BAHAHAHAH! Nohohoho, I’m nohohohot!” Anna desperately tried to lie, but it was obvious from the peals of laughter that she was more than a little sensitive around her stomach. Anna tried to twist away, but the taller Brittany kept her pinned down in the chair, constantly darting her hands through, under, and over Anna’s haphazard defences. Anna’s pale face was rapidly growing more and more flushed, as Brittany steadily laughed more and more. Some of the staff were giving them curious looks, but is sort of thing had already happened before on set, as most of the Pitch Perfect girls had already starred together in several movies and were all good friends. Likely, they assumed Brittany and Anna were sharing a few ‘laughs’. They never suspected that Brittany was tickling her surprisingly-ticklish friend practically to tears.

    In a desperate bid for survival, Anna tried to leap from her chair, but Brittany was too quick for her, reaching for Anna’s leg. The red-faced starlet fell to the floor, as Brittany tossed off a black flip-flop. “NO, NO, NOT THEHEHEHERE!” Anna cried, already giggling before the tickling even started. “Lehehehehe me gohohoho!”

    “Right after you tell me who’s a ticklish little girl!” Brittany said, tittering as her fingers began to skitter up and down the tiny bare foot.

    Anna held out for a few moments, as the thought of confessing to such a humiliating fact was too much to bear, but thankfully, Brittany relinquished control of Anna’s very soft and sensitive foot after a few parting tickles delivered up the arch. As Anna panted for breath, she saw why her mischievous friend had stopped. A staff member was walking towards them, looking a bit uneasy. “Erm, are you two ready to begin?” she asked.

    “Of course,” Brittany answered. “Right, Anna?” She aimed a prod at Anna’s flank, but this time the dark-haired girl was able to dodge it.

    Anna took a moment to compose herself before answering. She brushed a loose stray of dark hair out of her face and cleared her throat. “Of course, let’s do this.”

    O-O-O


    The last thing Anna remembered was she just finished her last scene and she had collapsed in her trailer, feeling exhausted from a hard day of work. Her throat was definitely sore from all the singing. She loved the Pitch Perfect series, but it was pretty stressful on her voice, as well as her body due to all the choreographed dancing.

    The room she woke up in looked like a cross between a recording studio and a B-movie horror set. There was a microphone in front of her face which looked fairly modern, similar to the ones they used in Pitch Perfect. The strange bondage she found herself in definitely didn’t belong there, however. She was strapped in what almost resembled a crucifix, except that her legs bent at a right angle at her waist instead of remaining straight.

    It was not a comforting way to wake up, as it was far from comfortable. The fact she had woken up in her undergarments, a black bra and matching panties, was more than a little bit distressing too. She had felt powerful and sexy in her bikini on set, but right now the feeling was that of supreme vulnerability. This dark, dismal room filled her with pusillanimity.

    “Hello?” Anna called, hearing her voice bounce back against her in this cold, sterile room. She could feel goosebumps forming on her pale skin. “Hello! Is anyone out there?”

    She tested her bonds. The leather was rigid and unyielding. Damnit, was she dreaming? How had she woken up in some gimp dungeon?

    “Anna Kendrick, the big star…” Anna stiffened as she heard a woman’s high-pitched voice drifting through the speakers overhead. “Too cool to speak to her fans…” the voice continued. Anna bristled at that. True, she didn’t have the best reputation when her ‘fans’ harassed her during her private time, but hey, what did you expect? It wasn’t like her character was a sunny ball of joy either.

    ”What do you want from me?” Anna shouted back, her voice cold and hard, the voice she used to scare assistants on set when she really, really wanted something done exactly the way she said. It was a voice that got her way.

    Anna heard laughter crackling in the speakers, another sound she didn’t care for, especially during a situation like this.

    “Why don’t we come and tell you in person?” said the voice, tittering.

    They kept Anna waiting for several minutes in a state of tense anticipation, another thing Anna absolutely despised. When you kept someone waiting, it was a power-play that your time was more valuable than theirs, and that you were so much more important than the other person that they would have to tolerate waiting. It was the same philosophy behind being fashionably late to a party – you were clearly so cool and popular that you had other things to do before this little shindig. You were oh so very important, after all.

    Anna was trying to move her neck down so she could use her nose to scratch an inch on her stomach when the door to her pseudo recording studio burst open, and four hooded, masked figures entered. They wore masks of bright silver which shrouded their faces, and aside from their hands, Anna could not make out any features of the four individuals, aside from the fact that they appeared to be women, based on body type and they way they jauntily strolled into the room. Only a girl could inject so much vigour into something as simple as walk. Anna had always read body language well, and there was no mistaking the excitement, the ecstasy in these four women’s gait. They were happy, which Anna had a feeling did not bode well for her. Somehow, she had a sense that what these ladies wanted and what Anna wanted would be two opposite ends of the spectrum.

    “About time you bitches got here,” Anna said, irascible from being kept waiting so long in this strange, dark, dank room. She wasn’t sure if it made sense to be so confrontational right off the bat, but she was pissed. And she had learned quickly in life that you tended to get what you wanted a lot quicker if you showed just how annoyed you were.

    “Well, someone’s feisty…” one of the hooded women said, chuckling. Her voice was young, husky, mocking, a woman used to getting her own way. “I guess Becca’s not just an act, eh?”

    “You said it, girl, “one of the other hooded women said, with the sassy ‘I don’t need no man’ tone favoured by many females of African-American descent. “I always figured she would be bitchy in real life too.”

    “I can’t wait to see how long she holds up,” a new voice said, young, bubbly, and over-excited. We could take bets!”

    “I wonder if she’ll last as long as the last one…” This was the fourth woman, speaking in an European accent not unlike some of Anna’s co-stars in Pitch Perfect 2. German? Austrian? Polish? Anna couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

    “Hold up? What are you talking about? Anna was not used to having her words ignored and she definitely didn’t like it. “Hey!”

    The girls giggled, a mocking laughter which bounced across the walls of the room, like the whole world was snickering at her. “Oh… you’ll know before long,” Husky said. “You aren’t our first.”

    “And you certainly won’t be our last,” Sassy said. Anna could hear the smug grin in her voice.

    “As long as there are arrogant, stuck-up bitches in the world, we’ll always be there to humble them,” Bubbly said, her high-pitched voice already grating to Anna’s nerves. This girl’s style of talking reminded Anna so much of some of the divas Anna had once had the misfortune of working with. It was a voice that suggested being born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth.

    “They are… how you say, deserving of the punishment they get,” Eurotrash said, admiring her nails. Anna noticed they were icy-blue and tapered, fitting well with the stereotype of filthy foreign hipster.

    “Have you worked it out, yet, Miss Kendrick?” Husky said, waving her hand and drawing her attention to a tray of utensils and assorted paraphernalia. Anna blinked in confusion, as her eyes trailed over the toothbrushes, forks, backscratchers, dusters, bottles of baby oil…

    It wasn’t till Anna saw the feathers some fluffy and some tough and stiff that she grasped just what these four villainous vixens had in store for her.

    "Oh. My. God." Anna froze, her eyes wide with shock. "No, no, no! No, you're not!"

    The four women laughed at her, Bubbly even had the audacious temerity to pat Anna condescendingly on the head, like she was some house pet. If Anna hadn’t been so shocked by the arsenal of tickle torture weaponry, she would have bit that hand. "Oh, yes, we are," Sassy said.

    “And believe me, honey, we are going to find all your spots,” Eurotrash added.

    "No! No! NO!" Anna had to admit, a seed of fear had been sprouting its roots from the second she found herself strapped to this cold, bare room, but now the seed had blossoming, had sprouted into a hulking, tangling, thorny thicket. And slithery, prickly vines were now reached up to her throat, choking the breath from her. Only this morning, though it felt like a lifetime ago, Brittany Snow had demonstrated the fact that Anna was still as ticklish as she had ever been. Being smaller than many of her peers, Anna had often bore the brunt of many a tickle attack in high school, with boys and girls piling on top of her and tickling her senseless, especially on her tummy or tiny feet. Anna still remembered this one time in gym class, where they had been using soft mats, the kind used for yoga. While Anna was doing some stretches while laying on her stomach, a few of her so-called friends had snuck up behind her and dropped a mat right across her ankles. They had then sat across the pat, firmly sandwiching Anna’s ankles between the two mats and went to town on her bare soles. Anna had pounded her fists and shouted at her friends to stop, but they had just giggled and told Anna how cute she was, tickling her even harder.

    Anna knew she was still astonishingly-ticklish, everywhere and anywhere on her body, and now she was lying there, tied to some weird crucifix thing, helpless to defend herself, and doomed to endure whatever ticklish onslaught these sick freaks had in mind for her.

    “Well, I think we’ve kept Miss High and Mighty waiting long enough, haven’t we, girls?” Husky said. “And we know she can’t stand to wait!”

    The girls laughed at her again, as they prowled closer. Anna twisted and writhed her body in panic as she tried to turn away from them, but like a fox set upon by hounds and riders from every direction, she had nowhere to go but into their clutches. They surrounded her, reaching out with their fingernails at her helpless, sensitive body. Anna couldn’t fail to notice how each of them had long, sharp nails that looked as they had been freshly-manicured. They looked like the perfect implements of inducing a mind-numbing state of unconditional laughter in victims.

    The first touch was slow, tender, almost a lover’s caress, Anna’s assailants were all masked, but she thought this was probably Sassy, as the hand was a darker skin than the others, resembling dark-chocolate.

    “We’ll play nice,” the woman said, as her purple fingernail teased its way closer. “Only one finger for now. But I’m warning you now… laugh and we’ll use more.” The long index finger slid up and down Anna’s right side, making the dark-haired starlet quiver and shake.

    Anna threw her body to the right, as far she could go in her confines, but it only led to putting her ticklish flanks into easy range of Husky, who was at Anna’s other side.

    “You can take it, right?” Husky asked, her voice low and almost seductive. “Tough girl like you… a little tickling should be nothing…” Husky poked and prodded with a rub, making Anna let loose a little gasp, the first sound she had made in response to their probing. As these two continued their slow movements, tiny beads of sweat began to form on Anna’s forehead, a result of the exertion from keeping her body in such a taut, tightly-wound state. Anna gnawed on her lower lip as she tried to keep her breathing slow, even, and regular. She was humiliated by the fact that these four nobodies had the power to touch her like this, and she did not want to give the them the satisfaction of laughing. She was Anna Kendrick, for God’s sake.

    Eurotrash, with her gaudy green fingernails, was experimentally tracing a fingernail up and down Anna’s arches, one stroke up the right foot, and then one up the left foot, monotonous yet so effective. Her hands were balled into fists, and her toes were scrunched down as she fought the urge to laugh. They wanted to twist towards each other, to protect each other's sensitive bottoms, but the weird foot bondage kept them too far apart for it to do either any good. Anna had to keep a straight face. If she could only keep herself together… then, maybe, just maybe, they would let her go. Once they discovered she wasn’t ticklish, that’s what they would do, right?

    Bubbly was at Anna’s right bicep, wiggling a fingernail up and down the length of her arm. It was clear where the final destination was, the hollows of Anna’s maddeningly-ticklish armpits, but Bubbly seemed content to make gradual, insidious progress there. She had started by dancing the fingernail from elbow to the middle of the arm, but currently she was right on the cusp of that terribly-ticklish spot. She giggled as Anna, her teeth gritted, jolted every time she went a bit lower

    Anna starting wiggling her toes in an effort to get her mind off the tickling. But it only seemed to make matters worse! It bolstered Eurotrash’s spirits, making her say something under her breath in a foreign language as her fingernail drew figure-eights and other shapes on Anna’s petite feet, seeming to delight in the way Anna’s feet were flapping, those tiny toes dancing.

    “Why don’t you laugh?” Bubbly advised, tapping Anna’s underarm. “We can all see you totally want to.” She giggled. She was right, Anna realised, might as she hated this insolent little brat. The laughter was starting to build up to an explosive crescendo inside her, Anna realised, as the four bitches continued their teasing touches. The sensation was starting to creep throughout her entire body, and she could hold it in no longer, especially as Sassy began to tease her fingernail around Anna’s pierced navel, tracing leisurely laps about that traumatisingly-ticklish spot.

    Anna had reached her limit and let out some tiny, reluctant giggles. The giggles promptly turned into straight, loud laughter within a moment, the way a dam’s miniscule crack instantly becomes a larger one.

    After revelling in the sounds of Anna’s laughter a while longer, the girls stopped, allowing Anna to catch her breath. They whooped and exchanged high-fives. As the tickling sensations left her body, Anna found herself panting as if she’d just been at the gym for hours. All that fighting, that resisting, had worn her out it seemed. Could she really take another attack? And that had only been with them using one finger…

    “You see, Anna,” Sassy said, cracking her knuckles, “fighting only makes it worse. Let’s demonstrate that fact for her, eh, girls?”

    “No, no, NOO!” Anna had time to say as they pounced on her again, this time without restraint of mercy. There was no chance, not even a sliver of resistance as the four cruel women broke straight through Anna’s defences immediately, as if Anna hadn’t even been trying. With eight pairs of hands, and forty wicked, devilish fingernails trawling all over Anna’s ticklish body, laughter overflowed from her lips like a popped bottle of champagne.

    Bubbly’s gaudy fingernails, each painted a different colour, raked up and down Anna’s underarms, spidering right in those devastatingly-sensitive hollows that were made completely exposed by the bondage. Anna yanked and twisted her hands, but she was closer to pulling her shoulder out than escaping, as Bubbly giggled and cooed as she had her way with famous Anna Kendrick’s famously-ticklish armpits.

    Eurotrash glided all of her fingers down both of Anna’s feet, and then up again, stroking and stroking Anna’s smooth soles as if they were a dress she was considering buying, yet only if she decided she liked the feel of the material. And it certainly seemed like Eurotrash was enjoying the touch of Anna’s silky-soft feet, as she laughed and tittered along with Anna.

    Husky’s touch was slow, delicate, precise, but no less effective for it. Anna didn’t know how she knew this, but just from the way Husky’s nails lightly skittered across Anna’s ribcage, Anna knew this was a woman who loved to tease. Anna imagined she had a dozen boys who would appear at a crook of her finger. But right now, Husky’s fingers were doing a different kind of teasing, as they caressed up and down Anna’s sides in a way that tickled, but almost in a tantalisingly sensual way.

    There was no such confusion with Sassy. Her fingers were a purple blur as they flew over Anna’s stomach, sending electric sensations jolting through Anna’s body. Even worse was the way the African-American woman would smirk and chuckle, making snide comments under her breath as Anna suffered under her ticklish ministrations.

    “Stahahahap! STAHAHAHAP!” Anna wailed, as tears of laughter began to form in the corners of her eyes. Her voice was already getting hoarse, as these four devilish women forced her to hit higher notes that she had to in any Pitch Perfect movie.

    “You know, we’d love to stay here and keep you company, but unfortunately, we’re very busy,” Sassy said, as she corkscrewed a finger into Anna’s navel, making the dark-haired girl writhe in pure ticklish agony. Sassy’s dark finger twisted and turned, making sure to torment every inch of those blazingly-ticklish belly button.

    “Yeah, we don’t have time to just sit around like you,” Bubbly added, and all four of them laughed at the lame joke. Anna laughed too, because it was the only thing she could do.

    The four women stood up, their shoes clacking on the floor as they left Anna, a perspiring, panting, panicked mess of a starlet.

    “We’ll be back later,” Sassy promised.

    “And we’ll be sure to tell our other guest you said hi,” Husky said, chuckling. “She’ll like that. You work with her, you know.”

    “Wha-what? What are you talking about?” Anna was too confused, her body too full of adrenaline and fear to make sense of things.

    “Your BFF, Brittany Snow is next door,” Bubbly said. “Let’s not keep her waiting, eh?”

    O-O-O


    O-O-O

    “Oh, Brittanyyyyy! We’re back! Did you miss us?” Bubbly said, as she entered Brittany’s cell, her three comrades in tow.

    “Oh, maybe, just a little… it’s awfully boring down here,” Brittany said, smiling. “Any chance you could get me a TV or something?” Brittany was cheerful, despite the fact she knew exactly what these four ladies had in mind for her. Brittany had already gone through their first, exploratory wave of tickle torment, after all. But Brittany had a secret that was allowing her to endure the tickling far better than her co-star, Anna Kendrick.

    Brittany’s comment made Sassy chuckle. “She sure knows how to stay positive, eh, girls? I respect that.” It was clear from Sassy’s comment that she thought that Brittany had little to be positive about, as Brittany, clad in only the skimpy bikini she had worn on set, was eagle-spread with her limbs firmly restrained by strong leather cuffs on each wrist and ankle as she lay on a table.

    Eurotrash did not seem to share this sentiment. “I’d like to wipe that cheesy grin from her face,” she said, as she reached for Brittany’s foot. Brittany’s red-painted toes tried to fight her off, as they attempted to close around her finger, which earned her a tickling between the toes.

    “Now, that’s a sentiment I share…” Husky purred, as she reached for a tube of baby oil. The four women worked together to lather Brittany’s entire body in the sensitising substance, as the redheaded woman cooed and giggled.

    “Well, now, this isn’t too baHAHAHAHAD!” Brittany’s whole body convulsed, as Eurotrash, clearly not happy with the way her captor seemed to be enjoying herself, took it upon herself to ruin such positive feelings by digging her nails right into Brittany’s armpits, which Eurotrash had been responsible for slathering in baby oil.

    Brittany thought she noticed the three other women rolling their eyes at their European comrade’s actions, but they followed her lead soon enough, as a giddy grin quickly blossomed on Brittany’s face.

    “I’m like so jealous at how soft and smooth your feet are,” Bubbly said, from Brittany’s right ankle. “They’re so soft that my nails just glide through them… I have to ask, what’s your secret?”

    The simple secret, which was common knowledge among showbiz circles, was that Brittany was known to… enjoy a foot massage a bit more than the average girl. Brittany had discovered in her teens that the feet were a sensual spot for her, even erogenous when… stimulated appropriately. One of those appropriate stimulants happened to be, coincidently, tickling.

    “HAHAHAHA, I’ll NEHEHEHEVER TEHEHEHELL!”

    “Really?” Bubbly replied. “Then I guess we’ll just have to tickle it out of you!” She scratched more furiously across Brittany’s right foot.

    “I have no qualms with that,” Husky added, from her post at Brittany’s left foot. Brittany couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something about the way this woman kept stroking her nails through the soft flesh of Brittany’s foot that was right on the cusp of pleasurable. Bubbly’s nails were too scratchy, but Husky’s fingers were teasing the sensitive flesh with delicate touches, and doing all kinds of unspeakable things to Brittany’s mind. For a brief, insane, moment, Brittany considered the proposition of being alone with Husky and those masterful, slender fingers stroking all over her body. The thought was almost–

    “NOHOHOHOHO!” Brittany howled, her body writhing as the tickling at her stomach and armpits intensified suddenly as Eurotrash and Sassy double-teamed Brittany’s spots, the two of them showing surprising synchronisation as they ambushed Brittany’s underarms, digging twenty ruthless fingernails into each one, before darting down to claw and poke at Brittany’s sides and tummy. Their teamwork was breathtaking, literally, as their tormenting touches drew the breath from Brittany’s lips, her laughing echoing across the walls of the sordid cell.

    “Time we took out some toys, methinks,” Sassy said, with a giggle, after a few minutes more of this, as Brittany’s face steadily grew as red as her voice. The others murmured their accord. Brittany was normally a fan of toys, and although more than a little part of her was excited at what diabolical devices were about to be unleashed on her ticklish body (hopefully mainly on her feet), she was also filled with a powerful sense of trepidation; like the wildest parties in New York, sometimes anything could happen, as things had a habit of escalating and escalating.


    The four teases rummaged about in their box of goodies, before passing out several long objects that Brittany couldn’t quite make out. When she felt one of them touch her soft, sensitive feet for the first time, however, there would be no mistaking the feeling.

    The wooden kiss of a backscratcher with slightly roughened fingers for maximum scratching was now stroking the tender flesh of her arches in a determined, aggressive motion, the way one might deal with a particularly persistent itch. Brittany owned something similar, possibly even by the same brand, she realised, as she glanced down through bleary eyes at the ticklish onslaught that was befalling her right foot.

    She was dimly aware that only one spot on her body was being tormented at the moment, though still so overwhelmed with sensations that she could hardly think. Her right foot flexed and twitched, reflexively trying to escape, but she felt Husky’s other hand grip the foot firmly and force it back, pulling the foot taut and extending the arch.

    “There’s nothing you can do to stop this,” Husky taunted, in a voice that was half-threat, half-seduction, “all you can only sit here and take it. Your feet belong to me and I’m not stopping till I’m good and ready...”

    The other foot curled and twisted and flapped in sympathetic, empathetic movements as being reminded of her helplessness seemed to make Brittany feel even more ticklish, if that was even possible. Right when her whole world was focused on the scritching at her poor right foot, the other girls struck. Feathers so fluffy and soft it was almost funny how they tickled and teased so maddeningly as they fluttered up and down Brittany’s midsection. The girls were all dual-wielding a pair of feathers and they seemed to be very ambidextrous with them, stroking and dragging the tools across all manner of delicate flesh. The feathers danced from spot to spot like nimble, mischievous birds, darting here, there, and everywhere, softly brushing and tantalising Brittany’s skin.

    They dusted and spun around Brittany’s underarms, as the redhead desperately tried to pull her arms down to protect them. They twirled and sawed along Brittany’s sides and ribcage, making her torso spasm and twist like she was some exotic belly dancer. They flicked and slipped inside Brittany’s stomach, making the starlet squeal her highest yet. They even had feathers for her other foot too, devilish, tricky feathers that caressed Brittany’s left foot with their light touch. It was pure jumpy torment, Brittany thought, as the feathers sent her body into a titillating frenzy, but the truth was, it was the backscratcher which was truly driving Brittany mad.

    The backscratcher had built up a good rhythm, a steady up and down stroke which revisited the same areas over and over again, the hypersensitive area from the top of the heel to the ball of the feet, where Brittany had always been most… responsive and receptive to touches.

    The backscratcher moved slowly, especially compared to the wild flurry of the feathers, but somehow that made it worse! The humdrum, monotonous scratching hit those hot spots again and again, making Brittany gasp and bite her lip each time the wooden fingers of the backscratcher would make contact with her secret spot, the sweet spot hidden right in the centre of the arch…

    “Ohohohohohoho! It tihihihihickles sohohoho MAHAHAHAHAMUCH!” Brittany was barely aware of what she was saying, as she laughed and laughed, feeling her body getting more and more flushed by the moment.

    “Honestly, I don’t get why you’re making such a fuss,” Husky said, as she continued to slowly apply more pressure to Brittany’s foot. “I know you’re enjoying this…”

    Brittany shook her head, but she honestly wasn’t sure whether it was in response to the question (an instinctive denial) or simply because a feather had found its way into her navel again, and was corkscrewing around and causing havoc.

    “Stop pretending… I could tickle you right here…” Husky said, scrubbing extra hard at Brittany’s arch, making the redhead throw her head back and squeal, “for days, and I know you would enjoy every second of it. Come on, let me hear you say how much you like it.”

    Brittany wanted to say it. She wanted to scream it to the heavens. But she couldn’t form words right now; she could barely think as wave after wave of ticklish agony swept through her body, exploding in her brain.

    “Sounds like she doesn’t want to say it,” Eurotrash sneered, from Brittany’s right shoulder, where the European woman was wielding the feathers like feather dusters to sweep all over the underarms.

    “Well, if you won’t say it… I guess we’ll just have to tickle you harder until you do,” Husky said, with a smile, as the four women bent to their task.

    O-O-O

    Anna Kendrick had always enjoyed singing.

    Even before her big break, she had been a frequent haunt of all the local karaoke bars in her hometown, so much that she had practically memorised all of the songs in their limited, out-of-date machines.

    She had walked the streets with a Walkman, singing under her breath, she had rode on trains with an MP3, humming her latest favourites, she had hit the gym with an iPod, rocking out to something with a good beat to pump her up for her work-out. Music had been always been a part of Anna’s life, but she had never imagined it could be used like this.

    She was in possibly the least comfortable singing position she had ever been in, and not just because of the tickle torture that was being inflicted upon her. She was kneeling on a cushioned, elevated bench, her shins balanced flatly and cuffs around her ankles and behind the knees keeping her firmly in place. There was a microphone stand bolted to the ground in front of her. There was a little loop near where the mike was, and Anna’s wrists were bound to it, so her arms were extended at a ninety-degree angle, just enough.

    Playing this ‘game’ had been Anna’s reward, though Anna struggled to imagine in what universe such torment could possibly constitute a boon of any kind. It was shocking to think how much she had begged and begged to be released from her bondage, only to find herself in a position that was just as bad. At least the straight-up tickling had been simple. All Anna had to do was take it. Indeed, the only thing she could do was sit and take it. But here, Anna had to exert effort, and something that usually came so easily to her, singing, suddenly took on a darker difficulty.

    The game involved Anna singing songs, almost invariably chosen by Brat Girl to be from Pitch Perfect or its various sequels. This in itself would have been a torture, of sorts, as Anna had sung and heard those songs so many times that she was getting sick of them, but there was a cruel twist to this song rendition.

    It was not as simple as merely singing the song, oh no, Bubbly and her music-loving companion, Feisty were armed with a feather each, which they were putting them to good use, distracting Anna as she tried desperately to complete her songs. The game was that Anna had to complete a song without an error to win, but naturally, the two bitches would make a beeline to Anna’s worst spots every time it looked like Anna might be able to pull it off. Every time Anna failed, the girls would put aside the feathers and simply tickle the shit out of Anna, everywhere and anywhere, with hands and all manner of diabolical tools.

    “I got my ticket for the long way round…” Anna began, her eyes focused on the little laptop in front of her, which helpfully played the song lyrics for her – Bubbly was merciful enough to have that to make it easier, at least. Bubbly wasn’t merciful enough to leave Anna’s stomach alone though, as she poked and prodded Anna’s toned sides with a feather. Anna felt her voice quavering – she sounded so terrible! That might be the worst part of it all, hearing her ugly, imperfect voice bouncing off the walls of this empty, featureless cell.

    “Two bottle whiskey for the way~” Anna said, trying to ignore Feisty’s feather stroking down her bare back, right along the small of the back. Anna’s one-piece swimwear had been replaced with something even skimpier, leaving even more flesh to be exposed and exploited by cruel feathers.

    “And I sure would like some sweet company,” Anna sang, trying to ignore the company of two feathers twirling under her armpits. She wanted to yank her arms down so badly, to save her terribly ticklish pits, but her wrists were secured strongly, so they stayed up, shaking as the feather teased the sensitive flesh around the hollows.

    “And I'm leaving tomorrow. What d'you say?” Anna couldn’t wait to leave the place, sucking in her breath in a dangerous gasp as a feather grazed down her sides, while the other feather flicked down her right foot, taking care to pass through the toes.

    “When I'm gone, when I'm gone~” Anna wanted to be gone so badly, gone from this torturous situation, gone from these crazy bitches, gone from the feathers questing all over her helpless body.

    “You're gonna miss me by my hair…” Anna’s sleek black hair was sticking to her head. “You're gonna miss me everywhere, oh, you're sure gonna miss me when I'm gone…”

    “You're gonna miss me by my walk~” Anna’s feet scrunched and wiggled, as Anna tried to focus on the music, on the scrolling lyrics in front of her, anything to take her mind off the feathers roaming her body with tickle-inducing abandon.

    “You're gonna miss me by my talk…” Anna’s voice cracked hideously as a feather darted inside her navel, almost ruining her song, but somehow she managed to continue concentrating enough to continue. There was just the chorus left now…

    “When I'm gone, when I'm gone…” The feathers were in full force now, striking without mercy, right at Anna’s absolutely worst spots.

    “You're gonna miss me when I'm gone… You're gonna miss me by my walk…” Anna felt sweat trickle down her brow. She was so close to victory she could practically taste it… “You're gonna miss me by my talk, ohhhhh.” Only one line left

    “You're gonna…” Anna felt the lurch of repressed laughter in her throat, a giggle that was right on the edge. The two cheating bitches had reversed the feathers, so they were using the sharp, scratchy end, delivering an insistent, throbbing tickling as opposed to the feathery, semi-tolerable tease which Anna had become accustomed to. One trenchant feather was scratching at Anna’s right underarm, right in the hollows, while the other was scratching under the big toe of Anna’s left foot. The two were competing competitively for which spots tormented Anna more me. “Mihihiss meheeehee when I'm gohahahaahaone!” Anna shouted the last few words as a single syllable, desperate to finish the song while she could still contain herself.

    She looked at her two torturers with more hope than expectation as the sound of the song faded. They looked at the each other and shook their heads, mock disappointment plastered on their smug faces.

    “You were close.”

    “Oh, so close.”

    “Better luck next time.”

    “There’s always next time, Anna.”

    Anna howled, partly out of ticklishness and partly out of frustration for messing up her lines at the critical junction. As she felt the two bitches dig their claws all over her pale body, she raged at music, at life, at the circumstances which led her to this dark, dreary place. Who would possibly enjoy such a twisted musical mockery of singing?

    O-O-O

    Dove Cameron had been over the moon when she got the singing invitation: a try-out for the next Pitch Perfect was a dream come true! She must have been the luckiest girl in the world! She posed in the mirror of her apartment before she left. Her blonde curls were perfectly set in place, and her beige short-skirt and matching sleeveless crop top accentuated her lithe, fit body well. Dove felt confident she was dressed to a T, dressed to impress. She wasn’t sure why she had been asked to wear something so skimpy for a singing audition, but she wasn’t about to question them. This could be her big break, after all!

    The audition, which Dove understood would be a singing audition, was in a recording centre just on the outskirts of town. Dove wasn’t sure why the producers would choose somewhere so out of the way, but she figured it was just to avoid noisy tabloid reporters. She understood that – it wouldn’t be fair to give her fans any false hope, after all!

    After she arrived at the place, she was welcomed into a small recording room, which pricked a little at Dove’s ego, but she went with it. She knew that producers respected actors and actresses who were willing to humble themselves, so this was probably just one of their little tests, to see if she was a diva and would throw a big hissy-fit. Well, Dove wasn’t about to fall for it!

    She sat down at a table in the little recording room, drumming her varnished nails on the desk and listening to the steady hum of the air conditioning unit as she waited for them to arrive. As her green eyes scanned the room, she started to have this niggling feeling in the back of her skull that something didn’t seem quite right about this whole thing. The more she looked at it, the less the centre and this room seemed to resemble a recording studio. If anything, this room resembled one of those police interrogation chambers from the movies, with its bland, minimalist design and the mirror that took up most of the wall on Dove’s right. Was it a two-way mirror? It was just as all these worrying, distressing thoughts were creeping into Dove’s mind that the too-clean smell of the air-conditioner suddenly struck her as smelling an awful lot like… Dove’s head slumped on the desk as she suddenly found herself feeling ever so sleepy… how could she be sleepy at a time like this? So tired…

    O-O-O

    “Welcome to your audition, sweetie!” the high-pitched voice rang in Dove’s ears, as she blinked herself awake.

    It sure didn’t look like any kind of audition Dove had ever attended. She was strapped into some kind of strange reclining chair, almost like one of those electric massage chairs she owned. Yet instead of her arms comfortably resting at her sides, they were stretched straight out from her body, like she was stabilising herself on a tightrope, using her arms for balance. There was a tiny part of her that hoped this was just some eccentric, unorthodox auditioning methods, but this part was rapidly shrinking, as she took in further details of her surroundings.

    The person who had spoke with that bubbly, cheerful inflection, was a cloaked woman who wore a silver, metal mask. She was flanked by two similarly dressed women, who towered over Dove with their arms crossed, looking far from friendly. It was clearly not the uniform of any respectable organisation!

    “What… what are you going to do to me?” Dove said, her voice quavering. Fear blossomed in her green eyes as they darted to each of the women in turn.

    The one who had spoken first laughed: a cheerful, artless laugh that suggested a frivolous and carefree attitude.

    “Don’t look so frightened! We’re not bad people at all!” Dove found that hard to believe. People in masks tended not to be good people, though she supposed there were exceptions, like Batman, though somehow she didn’t think these women were crimefighters.

    “Yes…” added the women on Bubbly’s right, “let us continue with the audition…” She spoke with a foreign accent that Dove couldn’t quite place. Eastern-European, perhaps?

    “Audition?” What kind of audition involves me tied up? And what did you do with my shoes?” Dove squirmed in her bonds, but they had bound her up tightly to the chair with liberal quantities of ducktape, and Dove made no progress on freeing herself.

    “Well… to make it big in Hollywood,” the third woman said, in a husky, sultry voice, “you have to be able to cope with a bit of…” she placed a sharp fingernail on Dove’s left foot and began to drag it ever so slowly upwards. “Pressure.”

    “So we’re going to have you do some singing for us… to see if you can handle a bit of duress…” Bubbly girl added gleefully.

    “You would not happen to be ticklish, no?” European lady said, as her index finger traced along Dove’s milky-white bicep.

    “N-no, of course not!” Dove lied, already feeling the teasing sensations scramble her mind, making her want to burst into giggles. But she had a premonition that doing so in front of these three women would be bad… very bad…

    “Well, then, let’s the audition began… here’s the rules… if you can get through a song without bursting into wild, crazy laughter, then we let you go. If you fail, we tickle you for ten minutes straight before letting you try again. Deal?”

    “Can I say no?”

    “Not really. I was just asking to be polite.”

    Dove sighed. “Then I accept.”

    “We’ll start with something simple… how about ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’?”

    For the first time since she had woken up in this strange, bizarre locale, Dove felt a burst of confidence and certainity. She could certainly get through such an easy song without any problems! Even if they were trying to distract her! Dove determinedly pushed the inconvenient, uncomfortable fact that she was quite possibly the most ticklish person on the planet from her mind. It was a nursery rhyme that barely lasted a minute! How hard could it be?

    The answer turned out to be: quite, quite hard indeed. Dove had barely gotten through the first sentence when a fit of giggles took her. A sharp nail scratchly lightly at the arch of her left foot had been enough to throw her off. Willing herself to stay composed, Dove scrunched her toes tightly shut as she tried to ignore it. She was only halfway through the second line when, with all her attention focusing on containing the ticklish sensations emanating from her soles, she let loose a squeak as a fingernail poked at her belly. The squeak promptly developed into full-blown laughter as, with Dove’s attention scattered and hazy, a third assault struck her under her arms, one fingernail grazing across her armpits being more than enough to utterly wreck Dove’s defences.

    “GAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP!” Dove managed to say, as she writhed about desperately in her bonds.

    “You lost the game, so now you must pay the price…” European lady s******ed, as she dug both hands full into Dove’s armpits, making the blonde girl toss her head back and explode with wild laughter.

    “Plehehehease, NOHOHOHO, NAHAHAHAT THEHEEHEHERE!” Dove howled, frantically tugging at her ankles in a frantic bid for freedom as Bubbly girl grabbed a foot with one hand, pulled the toes firmly back to extend the arch and pull the foot taut, and raked her long nails up and down the poor, helpless foot.

    “This’ll be good training for your voice,” the husky-voiced woman said, tittering, as she spidered her nails up and down Dove’s abdomen, paying careful attention to Dove’s stomach. “And a great workout for your abs, to boot. You should really be thanking us!”

    “Nohohoho! Plehehease! PLEHEHEASEEEE!” Dove’s voice screeched and broke, constantly rising as the tickling grew more and more intense. By the time the ten minutes were up, Dove’s carefully-composed blonde curls were a mess, and her face was flushed with haphazard laughter.

    ‘Well, I’ve got to say, we’re all certainly impressed with the strength of those lungs!” Bubbly girl said, chuckling and nodding over at her two friends. “I think we definitely want to sign you to a long-term contract!”

    Dove’s brain was too frazzled from the tickling to make sense of complex things like words right not. “Wha… what do you, do you mean?”

    “Hmmm, but it seems we can’t find any paper.”

    “What?”

    “We’ll have to make do, won’t we, ladies?” The three women clicked the pens on,

    “Let’s get about signing your new contract, shall we?”

    “Don’t worry, it’s the same one we have all our people sign,” she said, utterly failing in making Dove worry any less. The three women produced three sharp-looking ballpoint pens from their robes and gestured towards Dove’s restrained, scantily-clad body.

    “Don’t!” Dove pleaded. “Please for fuck’s sake! No! No more tickling!” She looked at them with eyes brimming with tears, but they seemed utterly indifferent to her suffering.

    “Try not to move too much,” Bubbly said, giggling, “or the ink might run and we’d have to start again…”

    Dove tried not to whimper as she felt a pen set down on her left sole, right on the ball of her arch. It tickled worse than nails, somehow. She burbled with laughter, again, as the pen began scratching precisely on her foot, setting the whole sole aflame with sensations. She felt another pen make its mark on her heaving stomach, while another pen scratched at her right armpit. Dove was desperately trying to keep still, but such a thing was easier said than done, especially when you were as ticklish as she was.

    All Dove could do was close her eyes, as laughter spilled hectically from her lips, as the three women scribed out every precise clause of this fictitious contract.

    “HUHUHUHURY UHAHAHAHAUP!”

    O-O-O

    Several hours ago, Anna had just finished having her contract ‘signed’, in a different cell of this secret underground facility

    “This looks like the worst kind of tattoo,” Anna griped, grimacing at staring at the words that covered her body.

    “Well, we have some good news for you then,” Bubbly said, giggling.

    “Though you maybe in your eyes, it’s bad news,” Eurotrash chortled.

    They produced a pair of sponges, scrub brushes, and a pail of water.

    “You fucking bitches…”

    O-O-O

    Several hours ago, Brittany Snow had just had her contract ‘signed’ too. finishing having their contracts ‘signed’. They were covered in black ink, their pale skins pink from the tickling they had endured.

    “I wish you could have spent more time on my feet,” Brittany said, giggling as she flexed her feet, admiring the black ink that they had every written on the tops of her feet along the insteps.

    “Oh, that can be arranged…” Feisty said, holding up several sponges, scrub brushes, and a pail of water.

    “You girls are diabolical…” Brittany whispered, her eyes widening. “I love it.”

  2. #2
    Anna Kendrick is super cute and hot - she definitely has to show more navel and get tickled there

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