PeterVincentTGVK
1st Level Red Feather
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- Jun 25, 2007
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Eager for feedback on this one. It features tropes that have become common with my other works (F/M, beautiful ler, resistance, genital tickling...) and has the incredibly generic setup as a spy interrogation story, but I wrote this a long time ago as a potential story for my "Valerie's Week Of Tickles" book and only recently revisited it to revise a couple of aspects. Unlike many of my stories, there isn't much to be found in ways of silliness or verbal teasing, with the focus instead being on suspense and how the lee perceives the events. As I said, I would love to know everyone's thoughts, especially in comparison to my other works.
Enjoy!
I should have seen it coming. I really should have.
The bar where I was supposed to meet Ivan was not just a random dive on the outskirts of town. It was a well known nightclub in the heart or Tennessee. It cost me 20 bucks just to get in… on a Monday. Ridiculous. But, I tried to make it work. I did as I was told. The plan was a simple trade. I had the money. He had the USB, supposedly. Simple enough. And my safe procurement of the information on that drive would make management very happy.
I had taken my seat at the bar and ordered a Jameson neat. I paid for the drink when the bartender delivered it. He was supposed to sit down beside me but after I took the drink, I quickly became aware of strange colors and the room became a blur. How could I have gotten drunk from one shot?
It had been doctored.
The bartender must have been one of them. I remember being carried out into a van, too inebriated to fight back. That’s the beauty of drugging someone at a bar, isn’t it? Drug them and just say that they had too much to drink. Rapists have used that trick long enough. And I’ll forever curse myself for falling for it.
I remember waking up on an examination table. There were two Asian ladies in gowns and face masks who were taking my temperature, testing my reflexes, and more or less giving me a full body physical. There was one point when one of them placed their stethoscope on my lower belly and I flinched. I heard her tell the other, in English, “Number 7”. I had no idea what that meant but I also was so drugged up at the time that I didn’t really care.
I did care the next day though, when I woke up, strapped to a metal chair in some kind of dungeon. I received multiple needle pokes while the old man in front of me asked me all kinds of questions about the USB. The thing about drug induced interrogation though, is that your subject becomes unreliable if the drugs end up impairing him too much. And right before I passed out, I saw the Asian nurse from before walk in and say something about “Number 7”.
When I awoke again, the I immediately filled with fear. There was a large man in a bloody apron approaching me with a pair of pliers and a hack saw. He reached over as if he was going to bring the saw to my wrist when the same Asian nurse once again came in, frantically explaining that he was not needed as they were going to use “Number 7”.
Another needle put me out once again.
As I awoke, I realized that I had lost track of time. Had I been under for a few hours or a few days? I couldn’t be sure. I knew that I was naked and I knew that I was strapped to a padded table with my arms above my head and my feet about two feet spread apart. I didn’t know where my clothes were but I was also having a difficult time understanding why I was tied to such a comfy table. It was as if my captors didn’t want me to be uncomfortable, which didn’t make much sense. The cushions did nothing to numb the terror I felt, though. What was this “Number 7?”. If it is something that they think is more reliable when it comes to extracting information than sawing parts off of someone… then again, perhaps they were worried that I might bleed out before telling them anything. Either way, I was glad that I wasn’t assembled in a garbage bag on it’s way to an incinerator but I was still quite alarmed about the whole thing.
There were two speakers on the walls to the left and right of me. When they came on, the sudden audio shock made me jump.
“Hello. We have brought you here for one reason and one reason only: Torture.”
Damn. I obviously knew that this was the case after the needles and the freaky apron guy, but now it appeared that whoever these people are, they had made their decision.
“You can tell us what we want to know now and save yourself… or you can hold your tongue and suffer.” The older female voice warned.
“Look, I think this is a mistake.” I tried to lie. “I just went to a bar. Is that a crime?”
“Tell us what we want to know and save yourself…” The voice repeated. “Or hold your tongue… and suffer.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. I swear to God.” I claimed. First rule of situations like this: Never talk right off the bat. I had worked over enough guys in my time to know that. Though admittedly this was my first time on the other side of the equation. I wasn’t sure how well I would be able to handle whatever they were going to dish out.
Just a couple of seconds later, the door to the room opened. In walked a young woman with auburn hair in a pixie cut and a lab coat buttoned almost fully. There were two large pockets on the coat as well, but it was hard to tell if there was anything in them. Her eyes were bright blue. Captivating. Her lips were thin but she moved with a sense of confidence that was quite attractive. Her face was more or less expressionless. And the name tag on her lab coat simply said “7”.
Number 7, it immediately hit me as being quite obvious. I had expected number 7 to be a method of torture, not a person. But it made sense. How many people in such a facility would show off their actual name?
I got the distinct impression that this was not the woman who had just been speaking to me over the speakers. It was much more likely that this was a doctor or technician of sorts who was following the orders of another. I watched as the short haired woman sat in a stool at the foot of the table I was bound to and pulled off her rubber exam gloves. I wanted to ask her what she was going to do but I realized that it might be showing fear to do so. I chose to hold my tongue. I looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. I didn’t know what was coming… but I was sure that it was really going to hurt.
It was a bit of a surprise when I felt her touch my feet. Her fingernails were sharp but she was barely touching me with them. It felt like tiny blades of grass were stroking at my heels. It was so gentle. At first it felt like a kind of itchy tickle. But after a little while, she added just the slightest amount of pressure. Now it definitely felt like more of a tickle.
Though I can drive, I have spent a pretty good deal of my life walking. Growing up in a smaller town, it was just easier to save on gas money that way. And as a result, my heels have become pretty tough. Though I could absolutely feel the touch, it was bearable, like having a centipede crawl along your arm. Noticeable to be sure, but not much beyond that.
The fingernails softly crept upwards towards to centers of my soles and continued their activities there now. I shifted a little and while I was aware that I had briefly scrunched my toes, I couldn’t help doing it. I looked down at her. Her poker face was totally lacking in expression. It was impossible to tell what she might have been thinking. The tickling was more effective in those spots to be sure. Judging from the tingles on my soles, she was likely tracing wrinkles with her nails at certain points and playing at my insteps during others.
I felt like laughing. Even smiling. But I didn’t want to show any weakness. God, those nails were deadly though. This woman must have been doing this kind of “work” for a long time. Once again, I felt like trying to speak to her, but I was afraid that if I did, a chuckle might escape me and reveal more than I wanted her to know. It was getting harder and harder to not physically react to the touches. Her nails stroked in millimeters. Each touch of a nail was brief and gentle, but all eight of them making contact with different patches of skin at the same time was nearly overwhelming. Though I couldn’t see her fingers actually making contact, it felt like I was being ever so slightly zapped by electric taps and quick caresses.
But I could take it. I knew I could.
Until the fingernails got near my toes.
Something happened. Something changed. A memory was awoken in me. How my mother used to play with me as a small boy, tickling my toes while singing This Little Piggy and other nursery songs. My feet were on the move now, despite how much I wanted them to remain still, I couldn’t help it. They were wagging and jerking this way and that to avoid the nails. But she was good at what she did. She didn’t leave them alone. She had to have been encouraged by the discovery.
The fingernails lightly scratched the pads of the toes. They poked at the stems when the toes weren’t scrunching and when they were, she merely targeted the tops of them. She didn’t move on from them. She stayed with them. She got at the webbing between them when she could and briskly brushed the tops of them with her palms every so often to offer a different sensation.
“Hehehehehehe…” I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. She had found a weak spot and wouldn’t leave it alone until she was able to get the reaction that she wanted. She continued to tickle my toes for what must have been another thirty seconds or so, keeping me giggling softly the whole time. When she finally stopped, I looked down to see her jotting something down in a small notepad. When she finished, she looked back up at me.
“You’re ticklish.” That was all that she said. It sounded more like an accusation than it did stating a fact. She got up off of her stool and moved over to the left side of the table. She brought her nails to me again, letting me feel them against my shins. The technique never changed, but the spots did. She would tickle the shins, then reach around to circle back, getting behind to my calves. This was somewhere between the itch on my heels and the wrinkles on my soles. It didn’t make me laugh, but goosebumps were apparent and my legs would jerk a little every so often. This went on for a little while as she moved upwards, not wanting to leave even a single patch of skin untested. It didn’t seem to bother her that I wasn’t laughing when being tickled there. Then again, it was still so hard to read her face.
When the fingernails got to my knees, I grimaced and tried to suppress a few snickers with only partial success. The tickled around my kneecaps in a circular motion, like having a number of little feet march laps around them. Then they reached underneath again to get behind the knees, tracing my hamstrings and of course, the thin skin between them. This was the itchiest of the tickles yet. I wasn’t laughing outright or anything but I still would have done anything to be able to swat those damn hands away.
Her fingernails continued their journey North. And as I was to discover, I get a little more sensitive the higher it goes. She tickled the tops of my thighs, still not changing technique. There had to have been a psychological reason for her not switching up the way that she touched. It was as if she wanted me to know how she was going to touch me everywhere. That it wouldn’t adjust or develop in any way. I could expect to be touched the same way all over. The tops of my thighs were ticklish to be sure, but it was when the fingers marched up and down my inner thighs that I cracked again.
“Hahahahahaha…”
7 was once again encouraged. When she found a spot that was capable of extracting giggles, she developed a curiosity. An intrinsic need to know more about it. She knew that my inner thighs were tender, but she wanted specifics. She would tease different patches here and there. The closer she got to my privates, the more it tickled. And the softer the nails touched, the more I tried to escape them. The giggling was sporadic depending on where she was currently concentrating her efforts. But it was when she made her way to the tops of my legs, where they met my torso, that I yelped. I was instantly embarrassed at the sound I had made, but she didn’t seem to even acknowledge it. She just pulled out her pad again and took note. It was clear that she was wanting to keep a record of the most susceptible areas.
I was semi erect, I noticed. An apparent byproduct of the physical teasing of my skin. And she was pretty good looking. She started again at the base of my penis. The fingernails scuttled around the base of the member and played a little in the small tufts of hair. The smile on my face was more a result of ticklishness than pleasure. I couldn’t remember ever being tickled there by anyone. I was a stranger to the sensations. 7’s savvy and skill in addition to my inexperience in handling such feelings was a deadly combination. She tickled up the length of my penis, her nails appearing to follow the veins to an extent. When they touched the underside just beneath my head, I twitched. She touched this area a few more times and received the same reaction each time. Though she was torturing me, I found myself becoming even more stiff. I had a full on rager before too long. It was at this point that I noticed the top two buttons of her coat were undone and could see just a little bit of her cleavage. She clearly knew that she was having that effect on me, but whether or not she felt pride at her womanly abilities to arouse a man was not something that was exposed to me. She was still so inscrutable. So ambiguous and unreadable.
She held my erection in one hand and I felt her fingernail method on my scrotum, spidering at the seam.
“Hehehehehehehehe…” I was utterly unprepared for how it would feel. It was worse than when she tickled my toes. The giggles escaped right off the bat. I can’t speak for other guys, but when I become hard, my scrotum pulls my testicles inwards. It creates an effect where, similar to how an erection exposes every little bit one’s penis to the naked eye, my scrotum fashions into a single ball of flesh when I am hard or even if it’s chilly. It juts out in a way. You can see all of it, the sides, underneath, perhaps even get a glimpse of my perineum. As my ankles were spread those couple of feet apart, I knew that 7 could see all that she might have wanted to.
For the first time, I saw the slightest smirk on 7’s face. She was amused. Perhaps she had expected my reaction. The nails crawled all over my balls, and I even felt a single one ever so briefly tickle my perineum. But when those honed, prickly fingernails touched the underside of my scrotum, creeping so gently, she was treated to the first outright laugh.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA…” I was really struggling for the first time in the session. Not jerking or twitching a little bit, but actively yanking on my bonds and trying to free my arms and legs while rocking my hips from side to side. Her smirk grew into an eye-catching simper as she focused on that spot, teasing it mercilessly with those grass blade touches. She continued to tickle there for another twenty seconds before letting go of me. She made another note on her pad, clearing her throat and wiping the smile from her face. It was time for her to be professional again. She popped her knuckles and wiggled her fingers in the air for a moment or two, similar to how one might stretch their legs before running a marathon. Then she started to lower them towards my belly.
“No…” I said it before I could stop myself. It was the first time I had spoken since 7 had entered the room. There was no strength in the plead. It was a whimper from a frightened boy more than a demand from a grown man.
“What was that?” I heard the older woman’s voice emitting from the speakers again.
“It was nothing.” I lied.
“It didn’t sound like nothing. It sounded like someone is ready to talk.” The voice challenged.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked. “All I wanted to do was go to a bar and have a goddamn drink!”
“Just a drink?” The voice asked. “With ten thousand dollars in hundreds in your inner jacket pockets? You must have been planning to really paint the town. Either that or you had interest in purchasing something in that bar other than alcohol. All we want is the name of the person you were there to meet. Just tell us the name and we will release you. It’s as simple as it can be.”
I considered the offer. Giving up Ivan would guarantee my release. I believed that. But what repercussions would I be likely to face for turning him in? Would it be worth it? A measly tickle session wasn’t worse than two in the back of the head. I made my choice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Very well.” The woman’s voice said. “Number 7, as you were.”
I swallowed hard. This was going to be bad. The fingernails started just above my pubic hair and traveled upwards, little by little.
“Hahahahahahahahahaha…” I was rocking again from side to side. 7 actually gave out a quick, silent laugh. She was entertained by this. She wasn’t having to search for specific spots anymore. I was ticklish all over my tummy. My mom used to call it the place where my straight faces went to die. Nevertheless, 7 did take it upon herself to check everywhere. She tormented my lower tummy with gentle typing motions. She slid a finger into my bellybutton. My giggles reached a higher pitch while that nail was in there. She trailed my sides. The worst though, was when she fluttered her index fingernails on either side of my bellybutton and methodically moved outward from there. Once they were about two inches out from my navel, they found a sweet spot.
“HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“You’re ticklish.” She said once again. But it didn’t sound like an accusation anymore. Now it sounded like a singsong. She graciously stayed at those two spots for only a few more seconds before making yet another note in her book.
“Let me out of here, 7.” I requested. “I’ll make it worth your while somehow.”
“I can’t let you go.” She dismissed without a hint of emotion.
“Of course you can. Why can’t you, really?”
Her answer chilled me to the bone.
“Because you’re ticklish.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Her motives were not based in mercy. She WANTED to torture me. She wanted to keep me there. She probably didn’t want me to give Ivan up. It would mean that the fun for her was over.
Before I could even think of something else to say, it started again. This time the fingernails fluttered slowly up my ribs. Sometimes they would sweep back down a rib or two before climbing again, similar to a child playing hopscotch and jumping back a square or two before moving on forward again. I was still rocking back and forth but I wasn’t giggling. Not until she got under my arms.
She had started at my feet maybe twenty minutes earlier. And over the course of her exploration, I had started sweating. This made the skin under my arms fairly slick. The nails tickled through the tufts of hair in a similar manner as she had with my pubic hair. It was driving me crazy. No loud laughter but the giggles were frenetic. She appeared to make a game of tickling from halfway up my biceps inching towards my underarms, seeing how close to them she could get before I let a giggle out.
There was evidently one or two more places to check after that. She moved the nails out and up the sides of my neck, teasing there and behind my ears. I shook my head a good deal but didn’t laugh. And when she trailed her whispery fingers down to my collarbone and my nipples, I felt arousal more than anything else.
Soon, she stopped.
I had made it.
I had survived the entire tickle search without giving up Ivan. I felt proud of myself. 7 had done her best, and while she had me on the run once or twice, I hadn’t broken. I hadn’t talked.
“How are you feeling?” The older woman’s voice sounded on either wall.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” I laughed. “Hell, your pathetic needle expert couldn’t get anything out of me. Your Hostel-looking dude in the bloody apron didn’t get a chance because he would have likely had me in 100 different pieces before getting anything meaningful out of me and this… this is your notorious Number 7??? Ha! Those two Asian bitches really built her up, too. I thought I was going to be face to face with the Devil herself but nope, just a little tickle time. In fact, I’m happy. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It’s liberating! Like getting a release. You know, I recall reading somewhere that laughter is really healthy. Stress relief and all of that good stuff. So thank you, but it looks like ya’ll ain’t gonna get your man after all…”
“You misunderstand.” The voice replied.
“I misunderstand what?”
“The session doesn’t just end after a certain amount of time.” The voice explained. “Didn’t you notice 7 taking her notes? She was mapping out a plan of attack for the REAL torture. What we call Phase 2.”
I felt my heart sink a little as I looked back up at 7, who just smirked and gave me a brief wave of her hand as if to say hello.
“You can either give us the name of your contact, or we can begin. And believe me when I say that nobody has ever not talked during Phase 2. Not in the twelve years that 7 has been with us. So how about it? Will you talk now and show your nerves some mercy?”
“You don’t understand.” I tried to reason with the older woman. “I don’t know who he works for. I don’t know what will happen to me if I talk. I can’t take the risks.”
“What if I told you that we could keep you here, in another part of this facility, where you would be treated as a valued guest and given every hospitality while we tracked this man down and took care of all of those so-called risks? Would you tell us then?”
“I don’t believe you.” I shook my head. “If it was that easy, torture wouldn’t be necessary. I could have woken up in an actual bedroom, greeted with a cup of coffee and a simple conversation and I would have had no reason not to tell you.”
“Except you wouldn’t have believed us.” The voice answered. “And then we would have had to bring you into this room anyways so… 7… show our friend here why torture is necessary.”
That was all 7 needed to hear. She moved over a little, bending her head down and placing her lips around my bellybutton. I tensed, expecting a raspberry. But instead, she slid the tip of her tongue into the depression.
“HEHEHEHEHEHE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” It felt so warm and wet and ticklish at the same time. That I could feel her breath from her nose on that sensitive skin every time she exhaled made it tickle even more. The tongue barely moved. It just slowly licked and wiggled and probed. At one point, she pushed it into the navel about as much as she could… paused a few seconds for suspense, quickly withdrew it and then gave me the raspberry I had originally anticipated.
“The name of your contact?” The voice asked. I just shook my head no as I laughed.
“7?”
7 left my bellybutton alone. She raised a finger at me as if to say “Wait just a moment” and dug her hands into those two large pockets in her lab coat. She pulled out two thin objects. They looked at first like two slender pocket pointers, like what a teacher might extend to point to different verses or equations on a chalkboard during a lecture. Except that the ends of them were pointy. Not sharp, but pointy. She leaned over the table, with one in each hand, leaning on me a little as if to keep me in place. Then she attacked those two sweet spots on my tummy that were such a distance from my bellybutton.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” This was far worse than when she had used her fingernails on those spots. These tools were clearly designed for this exclusive purpose. This wasn’t a tickle at my heels or my nipples, this was a calculated attack on two of my most ticklish spots and I was completely beside myself.
“The name?” I barely heard the voice ask again.
“NOOO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“7?”
My lovely tormentor stopped, putting the tools back in her pockets and pulling out a new one. It looked like she had just cut the finger off of a child’s glove. It was just a small piece of fabric that might partially cover one of her fingers. She put it on her right index finger and moved back over to her stool at the foot of the table. She then spread the big and second toes of my right foot as much as she could and slid the soft, slightly bristly finger between the toes.
“JESUS CHRIHIHIHIIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” At last I understood my predicament. She already knew all of my most ticklish spots. The notes she had been making weren’t just keeping a record of them. She was determining the best ways to exploit them during Phase 2. The finger slid in and out, sometimes she would wiggle it or shift it, poking it in random directions so that it brushed equally over the webbing and the stems of the toes.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“The name?” I heard the voice again.
“NEVERRRRR!
“7?”
I saw 7’s face as she stopped. She knew what she had to do. She almost looked sorry for me. But at the same time, oddly eager. She got up off of the stool and moved back to where she had been standing before, on my right near the middle of my body. She removed the fabric from her finger. She then used her other hand to softly tickle my penis again.
“Hehehehehehe…” I could only lay there and take it until I was hard again. Then she started to actually masturbate me with that hand. She had the expertise of a seasoned prostitute. Soon, I was not only hard as a rock, but I was almost ready to cum. That was when she held the penis, pulling it upward a little. I realized that in doing so, she revealed my balls just a little bit more than she had earlier. She gave me a look that begged to know if I was truly ready for what she was going to do.
I wasn’t.
I don’t know what other little toys or tools that she had in those pockets. What else that she could have tortured me with. But when she looked down at me, into my eyes, with that same smirk I had so briefly seen before, I knew I was in a lot of trouble.
The fingernails found the underside of my balls again. It wasn’t difficult with as turned on as I was for her to reach them. She could probably even see at least part of my hole at that point. The very tips of those knowing nails were hardly even moving. But every slight maneuver sent such incredibly shocking tickles right up my body, devastating me even more so than the ball tickling had before.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Talk.”
“NOOO!”
“Talk or it won’t stop.” As the voice commanded, 7 licked one of the fingers holding my cock and inserted it into my bellybutton again.
“Ticklish…” I heard 7 quietly say one more time, almost solemnly.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“It will never stop.”
“IVAN GORSHAV!”
I don’t remember much after that. I woke up in a rather comfy bed. I didn’t know where I was until it hit me.
I was still in the facility. In a nice room. In a comfy bed. There was a cup of hot coffee beside the bed on a small table.
The older woman hadn’t lied.
I could have talked… and saved myself…
Dunno if I’ll ever forgive myself for that… or if there was a part of me…
That I secretly enjoyed it.
Enjoy!
I should have seen it coming. I really should have.
The bar where I was supposed to meet Ivan was not just a random dive on the outskirts of town. It was a well known nightclub in the heart or Tennessee. It cost me 20 bucks just to get in… on a Monday. Ridiculous. But, I tried to make it work. I did as I was told. The plan was a simple trade. I had the money. He had the USB, supposedly. Simple enough. And my safe procurement of the information on that drive would make management very happy.
I had taken my seat at the bar and ordered a Jameson neat. I paid for the drink when the bartender delivered it. He was supposed to sit down beside me but after I took the drink, I quickly became aware of strange colors and the room became a blur. How could I have gotten drunk from one shot?
It had been doctored.
The bartender must have been one of them. I remember being carried out into a van, too inebriated to fight back. That’s the beauty of drugging someone at a bar, isn’t it? Drug them and just say that they had too much to drink. Rapists have used that trick long enough. And I’ll forever curse myself for falling for it.
I remember waking up on an examination table. There were two Asian ladies in gowns and face masks who were taking my temperature, testing my reflexes, and more or less giving me a full body physical. There was one point when one of them placed their stethoscope on my lower belly and I flinched. I heard her tell the other, in English, “Number 7”. I had no idea what that meant but I also was so drugged up at the time that I didn’t really care.
I did care the next day though, when I woke up, strapped to a metal chair in some kind of dungeon. I received multiple needle pokes while the old man in front of me asked me all kinds of questions about the USB. The thing about drug induced interrogation though, is that your subject becomes unreliable if the drugs end up impairing him too much. And right before I passed out, I saw the Asian nurse from before walk in and say something about “Number 7”.
When I awoke again, the I immediately filled with fear. There was a large man in a bloody apron approaching me with a pair of pliers and a hack saw. He reached over as if he was going to bring the saw to my wrist when the same Asian nurse once again came in, frantically explaining that he was not needed as they were going to use “Number 7”.
Another needle put me out once again.
As I awoke, I realized that I had lost track of time. Had I been under for a few hours or a few days? I couldn’t be sure. I knew that I was naked and I knew that I was strapped to a padded table with my arms above my head and my feet about two feet spread apart. I didn’t know where my clothes were but I was also having a difficult time understanding why I was tied to such a comfy table. It was as if my captors didn’t want me to be uncomfortable, which didn’t make much sense. The cushions did nothing to numb the terror I felt, though. What was this “Number 7?”. If it is something that they think is more reliable when it comes to extracting information than sawing parts off of someone… then again, perhaps they were worried that I might bleed out before telling them anything. Either way, I was glad that I wasn’t assembled in a garbage bag on it’s way to an incinerator but I was still quite alarmed about the whole thing.
There were two speakers on the walls to the left and right of me. When they came on, the sudden audio shock made me jump.
“Hello. We have brought you here for one reason and one reason only: Torture.”
Damn. I obviously knew that this was the case after the needles and the freaky apron guy, but now it appeared that whoever these people are, they had made their decision.
“You can tell us what we want to know now and save yourself… or you can hold your tongue and suffer.” The older female voice warned.
“Look, I think this is a mistake.” I tried to lie. “I just went to a bar. Is that a crime?”
“Tell us what we want to know and save yourself…” The voice repeated. “Or hold your tongue… and suffer.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. I swear to God.” I claimed. First rule of situations like this: Never talk right off the bat. I had worked over enough guys in my time to know that. Though admittedly this was my first time on the other side of the equation. I wasn’t sure how well I would be able to handle whatever they were going to dish out.
Just a couple of seconds later, the door to the room opened. In walked a young woman with auburn hair in a pixie cut and a lab coat buttoned almost fully. There were two large pockets on the coat as well, but it was hard to tell if there was anything in them. Her eyes were bright blue. Captivating. Her lips were thin but she moved with a sense of confidence that was quite attractive. Her face was more or less expressionless. And the name tag on her lab coat simply said “7”.
Number 7, it immediately hit me as being quite obvious. I had expected number 7 to be a method of torture, not a person. But it made sense. How many people in such a facility would show off their actual name?
I got the distinct impression that this was not the woman who had just been speaking to me over the speakers. It was much more likely that this was a doctor or technician of sorts who was following the orders of another. I watched as the short haired woman sat in a stool at the foot of the table I was bound to and pulled off her rubber exam gloves. I wanted to ask her what she was going to do but I realized that it might be showing fear to do so. I chose to hold my tongue. I looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. I didn’t know what was coming… but I was sure that it was really going to hurt.
It was a bit of a surprise when I felt her touch my feet. Her fingernails were sharp but she was barely touching me with them. It felt like tiny blades of grass were stroking at my heels. It was so gentle. At first it felt like a kind of itchy tickle. But after a little while, she added just the slightest amount of pressure. Now it definitely felt like more of a tickle.
Though I can drive, I have spent a pretty good deal of my life walking. Growing up in a smaller town, it was just easier to save on gas money that way. And as a result, my heels have become pretty tough. Though I could absolutely feel the touch, it was bearable, like having a centipede crawl along your arm. Noticeable to be sure, but not much beyond that.
The fingernails softly crept upwards towards to centers of my soles and continued their activities there now. I shifted a little and while I was aware that I had briefly scrunched my toes, I couldn’t help doing it. I looked down at her. Her poker face was totally lacking in expression. It was impossible to tell what she might have been thinking. The tickling was more effective in those spots to be sure. Judging from the tingles on my soles, she was likely tracing wrinkles with her nails at certain points and playing at my insteps during others.
I felt like laughing. Even smiling. But I didn’t want to show any weakness. God, those nails were deadly though. This woman must have been doing this kind of “work” for a long time. Once again, I felt like trying to speak to her, but I was afraid that if I did, a chuckle might escape me and reveal more than I wanted her to know. It was getting harder and harder to not physically react to the touches. Her nails stroked in millimeters. Each touch of a nail was brief and gentle, but all eight of them making contact with different patches of skin at the same time was nearly overwhelming. Though I couldn’t see her fingers actually making contact, it felt like I was being ever so slightly zapped by electric taps and quick caresses.
But I could take it. I knew I could.
Until the fingernails got near my toes.
Something happened. Something changed. A memory was awoken in me. How my mother used to play with me as a small boy, tickling my toes while singing This Little Piggy and other nursery songs. My feet were on the move now, despite how much I wanted them to remain still, I couldn’t help it. They were wagging and jerking this way and that to avoid the nails. But she was good at what she did. She didn’t leave them alone. She had to have been encouraged by the discovery.
The fingernails lightly scratched the pads of the toes. They poked at the stems when the toes weren’t scrunching and when they were, she merely targeted the tops of them. She didn’t move on from them. She stayed with them. She got at the webbing between them when she could and briskly brushed the tops of them with her palms every so often to offer a different sensation.
“Hehehehehehe…” I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. She had found a weak spot and wouldn’t leave it alone until she was able to get the reaction that she wanted. She continued to tickle my toes for what must have been another thirty seconds or so, keeping me giggling softly the whole time. When she finally stopped, I looked down to see her jotting something down in a small notepad. When she finished, she looked back up at me.
“You’re ticklish.” That was all that she said. It sounded more like an accusation than it did stating a fact. She got up off of her stool and moved over to the left side of the table. She brought her nails to me again, letting me feel them against my shins. The technique never changed, but the spots did. She would tickle the shins, then reach around to circle back, getting behind to my calves. This was somewhere between the itch on my heels and the wrinkles on my soles. It didn’t make me laugh, but goosebumps were apparent and my legs would jerk a little every so often. This went on for a little while as she moved upwards, not wanting to leave even a single patch of skin untested. It didn’t seem to bother her that I wasn’t laughing when being tickled there. Then again, it was still so hard to read her face.
When the fingernails got to my knees, I grimaced and tried to suppress a few snickers with only partial success. The tickled around my kneecaps in a circular motion, like having a number of little feet march laps around them. Then they reached underneath again to get behind the knees, tracing my hamstrings and of course, the thin skin between them. This was the itchiest of the tickles yet. I wasn’t laughing outright or anything but I still would have done anything to be able to swat those damn hands away.
Her fingernails continued their journey North. And as I was to discover, I get a little more sensitive the higher it goes. She tickled the tops of my thighs, still not changing technique. There had to have been a psychological reason for her not switching up the way that she touched. It was as if she wanted me to know how she was going to touch me everywhere. That it wouldn’t adjust or develop in any way. I could expect to be touched the same way all over. The tops of my thighs were ticklish to be sure, but it was when the fingers marched up and down my inner thighs that I cracked again.
“Hahahahahaha…”
7 was once again encouraged. When she found a spot that was capable of extracting giggles, she developed a curiosity. An intrinsic need to know more about it. She knew that my inner thighs were tender, but she wanted specifics. She would tease different patches here and there. The closer she got to my privates, the more it tickled. And the softer the nails touched, the more I tried to escape them. The giggling was sporadic depending on where she was currently concentrating her efforts. But it was when she made her way to the tops of my legs, where they met my torso, that I yelped. I was instantly embarrassed at the sound I had made, but she didn’t seem to even acknowledge it. She just pulled out her pad again and took note. It was clear that she was wanting to keep a record of the most susceptible areas.
I was semi erect, I noticed. An apparent byproduct of the physical teasing of my skin. And she was pretty good looking. She started again at the base of my penis. The fingernails scuttled around the base of the member and played a little in the small tufts of hair. The smile on my face was more a result of ticklishness than pleasure. I couldn’t remember ever being tickled there by anyone. I was a stranger to the sensations. 7’s savvy and skill in addition to my inexperience in handling such feelings was a deadly combination. She tickled up the length of my penis, her nails appearing to follow the veins to an extent. When they touched the underside just beneath my head, I twitched. She touched this area a few more times and received the same reaction each time. Though she was torturing me, I found myself becoming even more stiff. I had a full on rager before too long. It was at this point that I noticed the top two buttons of her coat were undone and could see just a little bit of her cleavage. She clearly knew that she was having that effect on me, but whether or not she felt pride at her womanly abilities to arouse a man was not something that was exposed to me. She was still so inscrutable. So ambiguous and unreadable.
She held my erection in one hand and I felt her fingernail method on my scrotum, spidering at the seam.
“Hehehehehehehehe…” I was utterly unprepared for how it would feel. It was worse than when she tickled my toes. The giggles escaped right off the bat. I can’t speak for other guys, but when I become hard, my scrotum pulls my testicles inwards. It creates an effect where, similar to how an erection exposes every little bit one’s penis to the naked eye, my scrotum fashions into a single ball of flesh when I am hard or even if it’s chilly. It juts out in a way. You can see all of it, the sides, underneath, perhaps even get a glimpse of my perineum. As my ankles were spread those couple of feet apart, I knew that 7 could see all that she might have wanted to.
For the first time, I saw the slightest smirk on 7’s face. She was amused. Perhaps she had expected my reaction. The nails crawled all over my balls, and I even felt a single one ever so briefly tickle my perineum. But when those honed, prickly fingernails touched the underside of my scrotum, creeping so gently, she was treated to the first outright laugh.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA…” I was really struggling for the first time in the session. Not jerking or twitching a little bit, but actively yanking on my bonds and trying to free my arms and legs while rocking my hips from side to side. Her smirk grew into an eye-catching simper as she focused on that spot, teasing it mercilessly with those grass blade touches. She continued to tickle there for another twenty seconds before letting go of me. She made another note on her pad, clearing her throat and wiping the smile from her face. It was time for her to be professional again. She popped her knuckles and wiggled her fingers in the air for a moment or two, similar to how one might stretch their legs before running a marathon. Then she started to lower them towards my belly.
“No…” I said it before I could stop myself. It was the first time I had spoken since 7 had entered the room. There was no strength in the plead. It was a whimper from a frightened boy more than a demand from a grown man.
“What was that?” I heard the older woman’s voice emitting from the speakers again.
“It was nothing.” I lied.
“It didn’t sound like nothing. It sounded like someone is ready to talk.” The voice challenged.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked. “All I wanted to do was go to a bar and have a goddamn drink!”
“Just a drink?” The voice asked. “With ten thousand dollars in hundreds in your inner jacket pockets? You must have been planning to really paint the town. Either that or you had interest in purchasing something in that bar other than alcohol. All we want is the name of the person you were there to meet. Just tell us the name and we will release you. It’s as simple as it can be.”
I considered the offer. Giving up Ivan would guarantee my release. I believed that. But what repercussions would I be likely to face for turning him in? Would it be worth it? A measly tickle session wasn’t worse than two in the back of the head. I made my choice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Very well.” The woman’s voice said. “Number 7, as you were.”
I swallowed hard. This was going to be bad. The fingernails started just above my pubic hair and traveled upwards, little by little.
“Hahahahahahahahahaha…” I was rocking again from side to side. 7 actually gave out a quick, silent laugh. She was entertained by this. She wasn’t having to search for specific spots anymore. I was ticklish all over my tummy. My mom used to call it the place where my straight faces went to die. Nevertheless, 7 did take it upon herself to check everywhere. She tormented my lower tummy with gentle typing motions. She slid a finger into my bellybutton. My giggles reached a higher pitch while that nail was in there. She trailed my sides. The worst though, was when she fluttered her index fingernails on either side of my bellybutton and methodically moved outward from there. Once they were about two inches out from my navel, they found a sweet spot.
“HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“You’re ticklish.” She said once again. But it didn’t sound like an accusation anymore. Now it sounded like a singsong. She graciously stayed at those two spots for only a few more seconds before making yet another note in her book.
“Let me out of here, 7.” I requested. “I’ll make it worth your while somehow.”
“I can’t let you go.” She dismissed without a hint of emotion.
“Of course you can. Why can’t you, really?”
Her answer chilled me to the bone.
“Because you’re ticklish.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Her motives were not based in mercy. She WANTED to torture me. She wanted to keep me there. She probably didn’t want me to give Ivan up. It would mean that the fun for her was over.
Before I could even think of something else to say, it started again. This time the fingernails fluttered slowly up my ribs. Sometimes they would sweep back down a rib or two before climbing again, similar to a child playing hopscotch and jumping back a square or two before moving on forward again. I was still rocking back and forth but I wasn’t giggling. Not until she got under my arms.
She had started at my feet maybe twenty minutes earlier. And over the course of her exploration, I had started sweating. This made the skin under my arms fairly slick. The nails tickled through the tufts of hair in a similar manner as she had with my pubic hair. It was driving me crazy. No loud laughter but the giggles were frenetic. She appeared to make a game of tickling from halfway up my biceps inching towards my underarms, seeing how close to them she could get before I let a giggle out.
There was evidently one or two more places to check after that. She moved the nails out and up the sides of my neck, teasing there and behind my ears. I shook my head a good deal but didn’t laugh. And when she trailed her whispery fingers down to my collarbone and my nipples, I felt arousal more than anything else.
Soon, she stopped.
I had made it.
I had survived the entire tickle search without giving up Ivan. I felt proud of myself. 7 had done her best, and while she had me on the run once or twice, I hadn’t broken. I hadn’t talked.
“How are you feeling?” The older woman’s voice sounded on either wall.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” I laughed. “Hell, your pathetic needle expert couldn’t get anything out of me. Your Hostel-looking dude in the bloody apron didn’t get a chance because he would have likely had me in 100 different pieces before getting anything meaningful out of me and this… this is your notorious Number 7??? Ha! Those two Asian bitches really built her up, too. I thought I was going to be face to face with the Devil herself but nope, just a little tickle time. In fact, I’m happy. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It’s liberating! Like getting a release. You know, I recall reading somewhere that laughter is really healthy. Stress relief and all of that good stuff. So thank you, but it looks like ya’ll ain’t gonna get your man after all…”
“You misunderstand.” The voice replied.
“I misunderstand what?”
“The session doesn’t just end after a certain amount of time.” The voice explained. “Didn’t you notice 7 taking her notes? She was mapping out a plan of attack for the REAL torture. What we call Phase 2.”
I felt my heart sink a little as I looked back up at 7, who just smirked and gave me a brief wave of her hand as if to say hello.
“You can either give us the name of your contact, or we can begin. And believe me when I say that nobody has ever not talked during Phase 2. Not in the twelve years that 7 has been with us. So how about it? Will you talk now and show your nerves some mercy?”
“You don’t understand.” I tried to reason with the older woman. “I don’t know who he works for. I don’t know what will happen to me if I talk. I can’t take the risks.”
“What if I told you that we could keep you here, in another part of this facility, where you would be treated as a valued guest and given every hospitality while we tracked this man down and took care of all of those so-called risks? Would you tell us then?”
“I don’t believe you.” I shook my head. “If it was that easy, torture wouldn’t be necessary. I could have woken up in an actual bedroom, greeted with a cup of coffee and a simple conversation and I would have had no reason not to tell you.”
“Except you wouldn’t have believed us.” The voice answered. “And then we would have had to bring you into this room anyways so… 7… show our friend here why torture is necessary.”
That was all 7 needed to hear. She moved over a little, bending her head down and placing her lips around my bellybutton. I tensed, expecting a raspberry. But instead, she slid the tip of her tongue into the depression.
“HEHEHEHEHEHE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” It felt so warm and wet and ticklish at the same time. That I could feel her breath from her nose on that sensitive skin every time she exhaled made it tickle even more. The tongue barely moved. It just slowly licked and wiggled and probed. At one point, she pushed it into the navel about as much as she could… paused a few seconds for suspense, quickly withdrew it and then gave me the raspberry I had originally anticipated.
“The name of your contact?” The voice asked. I just shook my head no as I laughed.
“7?”
7 left my bellybutton alone. She raised a finger at me as if to say “Wait just a moment” and dug her hands into those two large pockets in her lab coat. She pulled out two thin objects. They looked at first like two slender pocket pointers, like what a teacher might extend to point to different verses or equations on a chalkboard during a lecture. Except that the ends of them were pointy. Not sharp, but pointy. She leaned over the table, with one in each hand, leaning on me a little as if to keep me in place. Then she attacked those two sweet spots on my tummy that were such a distance from my bellybutton.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” This was far worse than when she had used her fingernails on those spots. These tools were clearly designed for this exclusive purpose. This wasn’t a tickle at my heels or my nipples, this was a calculated attack on two of my most ticklish spots and I was completely beside myself.
“The name?” I barely heard the voice ask again.
“NOOO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“7?”
My lovely tormentor stopped, putting the tools back in her pockets and pulling out a new one. It looked like she had just cut the finger off of a child’s glove. It was just a small piece of fabric that might partially cover one of her fingers. She put it on her right index finger and moved back over to her stool at the foot of the table. She then spread the big and second toes of my right foot as much as she could and slid the soft, slightly bristly finger between the toes.
“JESUS CHRIHIHIHIIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” At last I understood my predicament. She already knew all of my most ticklish spots. The notes she had been making weren’t just keeping a record of them. She was determining the best ways to exploit them during Phase 2. The finger slid in and out, sometimes she would wiggle it or shift it, poking it in random directions so that it brushed equally over the webbing and the stems of the toes.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“The name?” I heard the voice again.
“NEVERRRRR!
“7?”
I saw 7’s face as she stopped. She knew what she had to do. She almost looked sorry for me. But at the same time, oddly eager. She got up off of the stool and moved back to where she had been standing before, on my right near the middle of my body. She removed the fabric from her finger. She then used her other hand to softly tickle my penis again.
“Hehehehehehe…” I could only lay there and take it until I was hard again. Then she started to actually masturbate me with that hand. She had the expertise of a seasoned prostitute. Soon, I was not only hard as a rock, but I was almost ready to cum. That was when she held the penis, pulling it upward a little. I realized that in doing so, she revealed my balls just a little bit more than she had earlier. She gave me a look that begged to know if I was truly ready for what she was going to do.
I wasn’t.
I don’t know what other little toys or tools that she had in those pockets. What else that she could have tortured me with. But when she looked down at me, into my eyes, with that same smirk I had so briefly seen before, I knew I was in a lot of trouble.
The fingernails found the underside of my balls again. It wasn’t difficult with as turned on as I was for her to reach them. She could probably even see at least part of my hole at that point. The very tips of those knowing nails were hardly even moving. But every slight maneuver sent such incredibly shocking tickles right up my body, devastating me even more so than the ball tickling had before.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Talk.”
“NOOO!”
“Talk or it won’t stop.” As the voice commanded, 7 licked one of the fingers holding my cock and inserted it into my bellybutton again.
“Ticklish…” I heard 7 quietly say one more time, almost solemnly.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“It will never stop.”
“IVAN GORSHAV!”
I don’t remember much after that. I woke up in a rather comfy bed. I didn’t know where I was until it hit me.
I was still in the facility. In a nice room. In a comfy bed. There was a cup of hot coffee beside the bed on a small table.
The older woman hadn’t lied.
I could have talked… and saved myself…
Dunno if I’ll ever forgive myself for that… or if there was a part of me…
That I secretly enjoyed it.
