MYOPIA
By Loquei
(Warning: this story contains non-consensual tickling)
Not for the first time that day, Gemma wished she’d put her contacts in. She could see a little without them, but anything beyond her height of five foot two began to blur. In short, she could see every detail of her sneakers if she looked down, so she reckoned that was about the extent of her range.
Returning home from college, the streets were a blur, the passers-by melded into view and disappeared just as quickly in the evening rain, and she found her way home by instinct as much as observation. She was careful: road crossings were taken with patience, she moved aside for everyone, and politeness helped her through many situations where a lack of sight could have caused a problem.
It was after dark when she arrived at her apartment, slipped the key in the communal front door and made her way up the stairs. Once inside her room, she froze- something was very, very wrong. The familiar had been altered, something didn’t smell as it should, and a sense emerged, a feeling that she was not alone. A figure appeared from the nearby bathroom and snapped his arm out. She could tell he wore dark clothing and a balaclava, and her heart hammered as much at the shock as the very real and distinct crackle of the Taser that came into sharp focus at the furthest point of her focal range.
“Do not make a noise and you will not be harmed” he instructed. His voice was quiet, soft and professional without an accent. He wasn’t very tall, wasn’t too muscular, and had no identifiable characteristics at all- medium height, average build, soft voice, dark clothing: he could have been anyone.
“Who are you?” she stammered, wondering whether to scream.
“If that intake of breath fills your lungs, I will Taser you” he warned, gently. “For the purposes of this moment you may call me Brink. If you follow my commands, you will not be hurt. If you resist, this will go badly for you…”
“Please!” she blurted, feet pushing back against the door as if the very act could take her through the wood, down the stairs and out into the night, “I don’t have any money, I’m a college student, my parents pay for everything and they’ve used our savings to send me here, we can’t pay any ransom…”
“Turn around” he instructed, pulling her shoulder. Unwilling to lose sight of him but not daring to look, Gemma felt his hand on her shoulder and suddenly the undulating patterns of the wooden door came into sharp view. The shoulders of her jacket were seized and pulled downwards, off her arms. Hearing accentuated by years of myopia, she heard the fabric rustle to the floorboards. “Give me your hands” he said, gently. “I will not hurt you unless you make a sound.”
“What are you going to…” she began, a thousand scenarios flying through her mind. Could she yell? He would see her chest expand, and no- the Taser would rob her of any chance to warn her neighbours. The recently married young couple, Tom and Gill, lived across the hall and whilst Tom was away, Gill would be home soon.
Gloved hands pulled her hair back from her shoulders and gathered them in a band, an improvised ponytail. The gloves then took hold of her wrists and pulled them behind where something cut into her skin to the point of discomfort, a hasty rip of a serrated plastic edge, and suddenly her wrists were encased in a zip tie.
“Please!” she begged, not daring to speak up, “I don’t have anything…”
His fingers pushed a ball into her mouth and she nearly gagged as he paused, held it in place, and stroked the back of her head.
“Accept it, don’t choke” he said, “fix your teeth around the front and settle the ball in place.”
She did as she was told, her choking stopped, and Brink pulled the straps behind her head to fasten the gag in place. She was turned, guided, straining against the gag and led gently into her living room where he had pulled a dining chair into the centre of the floor. Panic flew through her mind, her feet felt hot in her shoes, the blood rushed inward to fuel the organs and her fight or flight response would have taken her far from the room if she was allowed.
The seat of the chair was against the back of her knees and his hands pushed her down before he glided behind, pulled her hands through the backrest and cuffed them to a bar on the supporting frame. Unable to stand, she could only watch and squirm as he moved about the room, blurring when he passed beyond her distinct vision and returning to focus soon after to crouch by her side.
Something drew her left ankle to the leg of the chair, then he moved around, caught hold of her right leg and she saw a length of chord in his hands. His fingers probed inside the hem of her jeans and pushed her sock down before he tied the second chord around her right ankle, strapping her to the right leg of the chair. Finally, he moved behind her and rested his hands on her trembling shoulders.
“I know your first instinct is to be afraid, to fear the unknown, to wonder what I am going to do with you” he modulated his voice, calm, rich, even possessive. “The truth is, you have no control over what I do. I can do anything. I could do everything. I can elicit any reaction from you- starting with this.”
His fingers touched her neck and stroked the sides, under the jaw, down to the cleft of her breastbone and to the sides underneath her collar as the feeling of undulating terror gave way to…squirming? He tickled. Her head moved reflexively in an attempt to stave off the feeing but wherever her head moved, his fingers played somewhere else. Relentless, teasing, probing; his fingers found the sensitive skin on her neck and her response followed. When he tired of this, he traced his fingers down her squirming neck, stroked her back and found her Rhomboids, between her spine and scapula. Suddenly, he dug in. Tight muscle bunched by adrenalin suddenly found its tension a disadvantage as his fingers stroked gently, fingertips pushing and tracing and with it, the building sensation that suddenly forced her to buck in the chair. A laugh escaped her lips: how could she laugh when terrified?
“The stimulus that brings fear also brings laughter in times of emotional stress” Brink said, as if reading her thoughts, “ever wondered why some people laugh and others react in horror at sudden misfortune? I prefer laughter…”
Gemma writhed, fighting harsh sobs of breath through the ball gag that gathered drool, draining and spooling onto her lap as he dug into her Rhomboids with deadly effect, bringing involuntary laughter without mirth. Her t-shirt offered little protection and soon his hands graced sideways and in terror, she thought “not the ribs, no please, not the…”
He stroked her ribs, probing, kneading, engendering spasmodic reflexes and unforeseen reactions of laughter as one emotional response took the place of another. She fought the smile: how could she smile? This man had burgled her, subdued her, tied her and was now ticking her! Convulsing against her restraints, he showed no mercy but a calculating escalation in his attentions, designed to slowly shift her fear and tenseness to relaxation and mirth. Helpless to the endorphins that flooded her system, powerless to the serotonin that escalated in her blood, she began to laugh through the gag, to pant in mirth without enjoyment. Endless waves of heightened tickling crashed through her system until her t-shirt stuck to her body, the soles of her feet scrunched in her socks, the jeans stuck to her legs and her forehead speckled in perspiration.
Brink paused, retreated as she slumped in the chair and returned within her focal range with a bottle of water. He slipped a straw into the corner of her mouth past the ball gag and gently squirted- not so much as to choke her, but sufficient for her to gulp the water in relief. He stepped back, placed the bottle by the Taser, and appraised her. Just beyond her focal range, he seemed calculating, appraising, and then spoke the words that delivered a knife blow to her heart.
“I think, it’s time we had you in bare feet.”
Part two to follow.
By Loquei
(Warning: this story contains non-consensual tickling)
Not for the first time that day, Gemma wished she’d put her contacts in. She could see a little without them, but anything beyond her height of five foot two began to blur. In short, she could see every detail of her sneakers if she looked down, so she reckoned that was about the extent of her range.
Returning home from college, the streets were a blur, the passers-by melded into view and disappeared just as quickly in the evening rain, and she found her way home by instinct as much as observation. She was careful: road crossings were taken with patience, she moved aside for everyone, and politeness helped her through many situations where a lack of sight could have caused a problem.
It was after dark when she arrived at her apartment, slipped the key in the communal front door and made her way up the stairs. Once inside her room, she froze- something was very, very wrong. The familiar had been altered, something didn’t smell as it should, and a sense emerged, a feeling that she was not alone. A figure appeared from the nearby bathroom and snapped his arm out. She could tell he wore dark clothing and a balaclava, and her heart hammered as much at the shock as the very real and distinct crackle of the Taser that came into sharp focus at the furthest point of her focal range.
“Do not make a noise and you will not be harmed” he instructed. His voice was quiet, soft and professional without an accent. He wasn’t very tall, wasn’t too muscular, and had no identifiable characteristics at all- medium height, average build, soft voice, dark clothing: he could have been anyone.
“Who are you?” she stammered, wondering whether to scream.
“If that intake of breath fills your lungs, I will Taser you” he warned, gently. “For the purposes of this moment you may call me Brink. If you follow my commands, you will not be hurt. If you resist, this will go badly for you…”
“Please!” she blurted, feet pushing back against the door as if the very act could take her through the wood, down the stairs and out into the night, “I don’t have any money, I’m a college student, my parents pay for everything and they’ve used our savings to send me here, we can’t pay any ransom…”
“Turn around” he instructed, pulling her shoulder. Unwilling to lose sight of him but not daring to look, Gemma felt his hand on her shoulder and suddenly the undulating patterns of the wooden door came into sharp view. The shoulders of her jacket were seized and pulled downwards, off her arms. Hearing accentuated by years of myopia, she heard the fabric rustle to the floorboards. “Give me your hands” he said, gently. “I will not hurt you unless you make a sound.”
“What are you going to…” she began, a thousand scenarios flying through her mind. Could she yell? He would see her chest expand, and no- the Taser would rob her of any chance to warn her neighbours. The recently married young couple, Tom and Gill, lived across the hall and whilst Tom was away, Gill would be home soon.
Gloved hands pulled her hair back from her shoulders and gathered them in a band, an improvised ponytail. The gloves then took hold of her wrists and pulled them behind where something cut into her skin to the point of discomfort, a hasty rip of a serrated plastic edge, and suddenly her wrists were encased in a zip tie.
“Please!” she begged, not daring to speak up, “I don’t have anything…”
His fingers pushed a ball into her mouth and she nearly gagged as he paused, held it in place, and stroked the back of her head.
“Accept it, don’t choke” he said, “fix your teeth around the front and settle the ball in place.”
She did as she was told, her choking stopped, and Brink pulled the straps behind her head to fasten the gag in place. She was turned, guided, straining against the gag and led gently into her living room where he had pulled a dining chair into the centre of the floor. Panic flew through her mind, her feet felt hot in her shoes, the blood rushed inward to fuel the organs and her fight or flight response would have taken her far from the room if she was allowed.
The seat of the chair was against the back of her knees and his hands pushed her down before he glided behind, pulled her hands through the backrest and cuffed them to a bar on the supporting frame. Unable to stand, she could only watch and squirm as he moved about the room, blurring when he passed beyond her distinct vision and returning to focus soon after to crouch by her side.
Something drew her left ankle to the leg of the chair, then he moved around, caught hold of her right leg and she saw a length of chord in his hands. His fingers probed inside the hem of her jeans and pushed her sock down before he tied the second chord around her right ankle, strapping her to the right leg of the chair. Finally, he moved behind her and rested his hands on her trembling shoulders.
“I know your first instinct is to be afraid, to fear the unknown, to wonder what I am going to do with you” he modulated his voice, calm, rich, even possessive. “The truth is, you have no control over what I do. I can do anything. I could do everything. I can elicit any reaction from you- starting with this.”
His fingers touched her neck and stroked the sides, under the jaw, down to the cleft of her breastbone and to the sides underneath her collar as the feeling of undulating terror gave way to…squirming? He tickled. Her head moved reflexively in an attempt to stave off the feeing but wherever her head moved, his fingers played somewhere else. Relentless, teasing, probing; his fingers found the sensitive skin on her neck and her response followed. When he tired of this, he traced his fingers down her squirming neck, stroked her back and found her Rhomboids, between her spine and scapula. Suddenly, he dug in. Tight muscle bunched by adrenalin suddenly found its tension a disadvantage as his fingers stroked gently, fingertips pushing and tracing and with it, the building sensation that suddenly forced her to buck in the chair. A laugh escaped her lips: how could she laugh when terrified?
“The stimulus that brings fear also brings laughter in times of emotional stress” Brink said, as if reading her thoughts, “ever wondered why some people laugh and others react in horror at sudden misfortune? I prefer laughter…”
Gemma writhed, fighting harsh sobs of breath through the ball gag that gathered drool, draining and spooling onto her lap as he dug into her Rhomboids with deadly effect, bringing involuntary laughter without mirth. Her t-shirt offered little protection and soon his hands graced sideways and in terror, she thought “not the ribs, no please, not the…”
He stroked her ribs, probing, kneading, engendering spasmodic reflexes and unforeseen reactions of laughter as one emotional response took the place of another. She fought the smile: how could she smile? This man had burgled her, subdued her, tied her and was now ticking her! Convulsing against her restraints, he showed no mercy but a calculating escalation in his attentions, designed to slowly shift her fear and tenseness to relaxation and mirth. Helpless to the endorphins that flooded her system, powerless to the serotonin that escalated in her blood, she began to laugh through the gag, to pant in mirth without enjoyment. Endless waves of heightened tickling crashed through her system until her t-shirt stuck to her body, the soles of her feet scrunched in her socks, the jeans stuck to her legs and her forehead speckled in perspiration.
Brink paused, retreated as she slumped in the chair and returned within her focal range with a bottle of water. He slipped a straw into the corner of her mouth past the ball gag and gently squirted- not so much as to choke her, but sufficient for her to gulp the water in relief. He stepped back, placed the bottle by the Taser, and appraised her. Just beyond her focal range, he seemed calculating, appraising, and then spoke the words that delivered a knife blow to her heart.
“I think, it’s time we had you in bare feet.”
Part two to follow.
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