Chris31
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jan 3, 2019
- Messages
- 60
- Points
- 8
Note- I got this idea from a story by AjEdged called kinky cops police department. Here’s my version of tickle-jail! Hope you enjoy!
Tickle Jail
“So what did this one do?” inquired the young man, curiously peering into the peep-hole on the solid-metal cell-door. He was tall and thin, with blonde hair and smooth eyebrows that made him easy to look at. He was wearing the standard gray Prison Guard uniform, the same as the man he stood across from.
“She stole a car,” the other guard revealed, “they pulled her over for reckless driving only to find the vehicle stolen.” He was a bit heavy-set with a scruffy goatee. He pulled a latch on the door which opened a small viewing-window into the cell. It also allowed audio to come through on a small speaker.
Both guards looked through to see a young girl, maybe 20 years old, wearing a straitjacket with her feet locked behind a set of stocks. The poor girl had tears and mascara streaming down her face as she shook her head from side to side, struggling, wiggling her toes furiously, screaming at the rusted walls “It waahahahasssn’t stoohohoholen!”
“What’s wrong with her?” the blonde guard asked.
“Oh she says the car was registered in her mom’s name. It’ll take at least 24 hours for a proper investigation to make sure her story checks out. In the meantime, they’re charging her with Grand Theft Auto.”
“No, I mean, what’s wrong with her? Why is she freaking out?”
“Ah, Tom, you ready for this?” the pudgy man leaned in as he explained, “its itching-powder. They do it to all the new inmates. ‘spose to be a harmless gag but I hear the stuff strings like needles and fire-ants,” he gave a wink as he leaned back and shut the window, “its routine to rinse it off after about an hour but I think the arresting officer left a note with this one. She was particularly nasty, so I’m guessing they’ll leave ‘er in here over-night; give ‘er some time to think, haha!” the large man turned from the cell door without spending another thought and began to stroll forward as Tom followed.
“Now this little wench; don’t let her innocent eyes fool ya,”
“What did she…” Tom was cut off mid sentence when the hallway doors opened and two Officers approached. They were both in black suits and flashed their badges like Feds, only one did most of the talking.
“I’m agent Jacobs and this is agent Smith. We were told we could find two guards on cell-block eight, presuming that’s you…”
The pudgy guard spoke, as he had seniority, “Yes sir. That’s us. This is Tom with the cute face, and I’m Ernie. Nice to meetcha,” he said as he reached out for a handshake. Neither agent acknowledged his hand and he slowly, awkwardly brought it back in.
“We’re here for a prisoner transfer. We were told you have a medical ward? We’ll need a gurney with full body immobility…” the man-in-black began as he adjusted his glasses, while the other stared blankly at the opposite cell doors. Ernie just blinked as he nodded his head like he understood. “Well then, son, the gurney?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” the big guard turned to his partner, “alright Tom…” before he was cut off by one of the g-men.
“I’m sure you can handle the gurney by yourself,” said agent Jacobs, adjusting his glasses again. He glanced at Tom, “any chance we could bother you to stay behind? We were hoping you’d accompany us to interview a suspect.”
“Sure thing,” answered Tom. He turned to his partner, “you got the gurney?”
“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes!” Ernie strode off confidently leaving Tom behind with the two men-in-black as they began to brief Tom on the interview.
“We’ve actually got two interviews set up for today. Our first one should be pretty cut and dry. Here’s her case-file,” Jacobs handed Tom a clipboard containing a manila folder. Paper-clipped to the outside of the folder was the girl’s profile picture. She had shoulder-length, messy black hair with bangs and wore heavy mascara. She had a wild, rebellious spark in her eyes and a smirking grin that was just asking for trouble.
“Her name is Dacey Allen. Age 21, 5’6”, 125lbs approximate,” agent Smith rattled off as they slowly made their way down the hall.
Jacobs spoke dryly, “She’s got a rap-sheet a mile long. Mostly drugs. She’s a large consumer of marijuana and has been known to solicit on occasion.”
“Heh, didn’t they make that legal?” Tom asked as he thought about the joint he had hidden in his pocket.
“State-wide. Federally, the government can still prosecute,” said Smith as he briefly raised an eyebrow.
“Anyhow, we’re prosecuting this one to the fullest extent of the law,” continued Jacobs, “at the formal request of her mother who graciously signed the consent forms.”
“Consent to what?” Tom asked.
Smith threw the young guard a side-glance, “enhanced interrogation techniques.”
The three authority figures approached the door to the first holding room. Smith used a key and unlocked the latch as he pulled the door back. Dacey was already inside, strapped into a contraption. She was positioned like she was sitting in a bucket-seat, tilted back, with her legs in the air. Her feet protruded through a clear-plastic barrier and were held tight in full metal clamps that didn’t allow a single centimeter of movement; not even her poor little toes. She, like the first girl, was wearing a straitjacket and struggling furiously as the men walked in. A lady sat in a chair across from the poor immobilized girl, and she stood to greet them as they came through the doors, “Ah yes, the team has arrived.”
The lady was tall and just a bit heavy-set with long, curly, blonde hair. She shook their hands as she introduced herself to Tom, “I’m Ms. Susan, I’ll be interrogator for little miss Dacey today.” Tom noticed Dacey was gagged and glowing red with embarrassment and anger.
Jacobs chimed in, “I’ve known Ms. Susan, here, for six years. She’s one of our best. This shouldn’t take long.”
Smith added “We’re here as witnesses to record the final statement. With that aside, Susan will be doing most of the work, here.”
“Heh, thank you, agent Jacobs, agent Smith,” the lady winked at Tom as she said, “alright, shall we begin, then?”
Susan clicked record on a small device and then lifted her clip-board to make a few scratch marks with her pen before sauntering over to where Dacey lay struggling. As she removed her gag, the room filled with Dacey’s furious protests.
“Come on, this is too far! Just let me go! I didn’t consent to this shit!” she screamed in anger as she wriggled in the straitjacket.
“No, you didn’t,” Susan cooed, “you’re mom did. She suspects you of selling weed to your friends and she’s signed a consent form allowing us to find out.”
“That’s bullshit! I wanna talk to my lawyer!” the unruly girl shouted.
“I’m afraid your mother withdrew your representation. You’ll be provided with a public defender within the next 24 hours but, it says right here in clause 3499, section 7 that we’re legally able to proceed…” she looked up at the agents for a split second, “note that the time is now 4:37 and we will proceed with scheduled interrogation of Inmate 9821746312…”
“No, wait!” Dacey’s eyes lit up with fear, “Okay, please! Wait! What do you want?” There was a building sense of panic in her voice as Susan unrolled a bag of tools out on a little side-table. She pulled what looked like a sharp metal skewer and casually held it like a pen as she raised her hand to her prisoner’s poor immobilized foot. The bare foot, bright red and glowing with a silky softness, was twitching and jumping hard to no avail; those metal cages held them secure and exposed, every little toe outstretched and held firm. Her muscles bulged as her voice choked, “No, wait! I have a thing! You can’t touch my feet!” her legs started shaking and she finally broke down and began to cry, “Okaahahahay, pleeeeease!” tears began to stream her mascara as she shook her head back and forth, “Pleeeeaaase, don’t do this!”
Susan looked up at Tom as she spoke informatively, “so, it’s actually quite normal for a suspect to begin crying or even to claim that they can’t breathe during this process. But I reassure you, her vitals are fine, she’s fine, and it’s really not that bad. Remember, guys, it’s just tickling,” she said with a bit of a smirk.
The blonde lady started scratching the pointy stick up and down the girl’s soft, tender little foot eliciting a reaction unlike anything Tom had ever seen. The poor girl arched her back and her eyes went crossed for a second. Then she let out the most animalistic scream Tom had ever heard. It sent chills down his spine and he tried to put it out of his head. This was actually a bit disturbing and he wondered if it had gone a bit too far. But the blonde scratched away, ignoring the violently intense reactions as she spoke calmly, “oh yea, this one’s extremely reactive.”
“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!” Dacey drooled as she twisted in her white jacket, making weird chirping sounds as her eyes faded in and out. She immediately wet herself as a warm liquid began to dribble down to the floor beneath her.
Tom had never seen anyone react this way “Is she supposed to be drooling and peeing like that?” he asked as he looked over at Jacobs for reassurance.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said as he adjusted his glasses and glanced at Susan.
Susan just smiled, “Oh yes, some inmates will experience panic, yes. But panic isn’t a medical emergency. At most, it just results in a little pee; all totally normal responses.” Susan relentlessly scribbled with the skewers, one on each foot, causing the poor prisoner to go silent for a minute. When she finally caught her breath, she began screaming at the top of her lungs; no words, just a long continuous scream for about a minute before the begging started again, “STOOOOOOOOOOP STOOOOOOP PLEEEEEEEASE I NEEEEED IT TO STOOOOOOOPP!”
Susan looked back at Tom as she spoke, “So now we’ve entered into the ‘defiance’ stage. She’s gonna beg a little but it’s important to tickle through this. We want her to be compliant, not defiant. Isn’t that right, miss Dacey?”
The poor girl was now sobbing as she twisted and writhed, screaming and begging, she suddenly made eye contact with Tom and it broke his heart; he’ll never forget the horrified look on her face as she screamed, “HEEEELLLPPP!” before collapsing back into disparity. Susan laughed, “oh are we asking the guards for help, now? He’s not gonna help you, little miss Dacey. You’re going to have to confess!”
To which Dacey began screaming, “I CONFESS, I CONFESS!! JUST STOOOOP!!”
Susan laughed, “Oh no, sweetie, that won’t do. We need a real confession.”
“I SOLD WEED! I SOLD WEED, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR? HOLY FUCKIN SHIT STOP IM GONNA DIE!! IM SERIOUSLY GONNA DIE!!”
“We’ll try again until you get this right, sweetie. I’ve got all day, okay?” Susan just calmly scratched and poked and tickled the perfectly exposed bottoms of Dacey’s little feet mercilessly, consistently, almost emotionlessly as she scribbled harder and harder. It was obvious Susan was exceptionally good at her job.
“I SELLLL WEEEEED I SELLLL WEEEEED I’M SOORRRYYY I’M SORRRYYYYY!”
“To whom? We need names, miss Dacey.”
“FUUUUCK, I DUNO… I DUNO… JORDAN, JORDAN AND SAMANTHA! JORDAN AND SAMANTHA, I SELL TO THEM!! FUCKIN STOOOOOOP!!”
“Ok, we seem to be getting incomplete information here, so we need to change the questioning around a bit,” said the blonde dryly as she turned her attention back to her prisoner, “the tickling will not stop; do you understand me, Dacey? The tickling will not stop until you give me names…”
“JOOORRDAAAAN!!” her eyes bulged, horrified and desperate, “JORDAN JORDAN JORDAN!!”
“I obviously need last names, you little shit,” Susan laughed.
“JORDAN TAYLOR! JORDAN TAYLOR AND SAMANTHA JONES!! JORDAN TAYLOR AND SAMANTHA JONES!!”
“Now, you silly little brat, let’s get a real confession out of you… what did you do, miss Dacey? What did you do?” She dropped the skewers and dug into the poor girl’s feet with her fingernails sending her back into that crazy state of panic from earlier. She wet her pants for the second time as she struggled, relentlessly sobbing as tears flowed down her face. Every few seconds or so she would burst into a fit of rage and become extremely angry, only to break back down into crying and pleading belligerently. Susan knew the girl couldn’t talk, but kept tickling her anyway as she teased, “what did you do, miss Dacey?”
Tom finally spoke up, “Are you, uh, going to give her a chance to talk?”
Susan looked over at the agents and laughed, “aw, looks like our new guy is a bit of a softy, huh?” she directed her attention at Tom, “its okay, I’ve seen stronger men faint after watching one of these interrogation sessions. You’ve done really well keeping your composure in some pretty intense situations.”
“I just…” Tom stuttered, “she confessed. I don’t see why…”
“Well,” Susan cut him off, “technically we have at least another 4 hours of interrogation…”
Tom almost choked, “Four hours!? For what!? She confessed!”
“Well, we won’t know until we continue the interrogation…” Susan said with a sly grin.
Tom looked at the agents for reassurance, “she got the confession, right? She can stop?” The agents both let themselves grin as Jacobs had a chuckle, “Susan?” he said, “our guard, here, wants you to take her confession.”
“Aw, you got a real soft spot for this girl, huh? Let me give you some advice, Romeo, you can’t fix her!” Even agent Smith had a good laugh at that one, but soon after Susan brought her voice back to a more serious tone as she finally stopped her tickle assault on the poor girl’s feet. “Okay, okay. We can take her confession… Jacobs, can you clock it for me?”
“Time is approximately 4:48, suspect confession 1, Inmate 9821746312…”
“Dacey Allen, do you have something to tell us?” Susan said in a sweet, polite little way.
Dacey sobbed, “I’M SORRRYYY!”
“Dacey?” Susan raised her hand back up in a threatening manner and the girl snapped into focus. She steadied her voice and tried to calm her nerves, “I sold weed! I sold weed…”
“And who did you sell these illegal drugs to?” asked agent Smith in a stern tone.
“J… Jordan T… Taylor… And Samantha… um… Samantha Jones….” The poor girl was still crying and jumping and twitching and giggling and chirping… her eyes darted around the room like a crazy person’s. It was clear she was still in distress.
“Okay, so, we need to hear it from you, now,” Susan stared directly into Dacey’s sad, worried eyes as she asked, “what are you confessing today?”
“I…” the poor girl broke back down into tears as she cried through her confession, “I sold weed to Jordan Taylor… and I sold weed to Samantha Jones…”
“I see,” said Susan as she turned to the agents, “so do we have enough here?”
“I’d say that’s a wrap,” expressed agent Jacobs as he confirmed it with agent Smith.
Dacey lay whimpering and sputtering as her legs shook uncontrollably, tears still messing up her mascara, her pants stained with piss. Tom looked visibly relieved to see those poor rosy feet getting a minute to relax. They were still shaking and twitching and radiating with residual ticklishness as she cried to herself, head down, panting to catch her breath.
“Geesh. That was pretty intense, huh? Glad it’s over for her,” Tom panted, trying to catch his own breath.
Susan just glanced at the agents with a smirk. They seemed to reciprocate the message while Tom felt that he was left out of some kind of inside-joke. They just looked at each other grinning until Susan broke the silence, “Well, another confession for the books. Good work, gentlemen.”
“Good work yourself, Ms. Susan. You are a master of your craft!” Jacobs shook her hand and then agent Smith and Tom each said their goodbyes. They shook hands and as the three men left the room, Tom couldn’t help but feel like there was something he was missing. They walked out into the hallway and began in the direction of their next suspect. But Tom still had a question.
“So what’s really going on? Why did everybody just smile at each other back there?” he inquired.
Agent Smith raised an eyebrow at the question as Jacobs fixed his glasses, “it’s not over for her,” he said as a matter of fact.
Tom looked shocked at first before a slight bout of anger slid across his face as he stopped walking, “You lied to me?”
“No, no… nothing like that,” Jacobs reassured, “we weren’t lying about ending her interrogation. Susan will release her to her assigned cell block. But now she’s a snitch. And our policy has always been to send snitches to Cell Block Ten.”
“So what’s Cell Block Ten?” Tom felt even worse for the girl; this couldn’t be anything good.
“Um, maybe we should brief you on our next…”
“I can handle it, agent, just tell me!” Tom began to raise his voice, which made agent Smith take note.
Jacobs responded, “Okay, okay… Cell Block Ten is home to about 50 inmates; fifty of the world’s most dangerous ticklers. These are literally the meanest, cruelest, most sadistic fucks from anywhere and they haaaaate snitches,” he said as he winked at Tom, “they are gonna tear that girl’s soul from her ticklish little body tonight.”
Smith actually let out a slight chuckle as he added, “can you imagine? Being attacked by fifty people all at once, being held down and tickled continuously, non-stop…”
Tom could barely believe what he was hearing, “they’re just gonna leave her there all night?”
“It’s her assigned cell block,” agent Smith grinned, “she lives there, now.”
“Oh my God, that’s kind of fucked up…” Tom knew that girl wouldn’t make it one night before she ended up in the medical ward.
“Thought you could handle it,” Jacobs laughed, “Oh don’t fret over that little thing; she deserves what she’s about to get. Did you see that smirk on her profile photo? Let’s see if she still smirking after a night or two on Block Ten.” The two agents shared a laugh with each other as they carelessly moved on, “So, our next…” but agent Jacobs was cut off when they heard a voice from behind them. It was Ernie pushing the Immobilizer along merrily like a shopping-cart.
“Hey guys! Got the gurney!” the heavy set man approached.
“Good,” agent Smith replied, “we’ll need this for our next suspect. She’s actually our prisoner-transfer.”
“This one turned herself in; hard to believe considering the severity of the crime,” Jacobs handed Tom another manila folder with a photo clipped to the front. She was a tiny strawberry blonde with a mousey, worried expression. “She’s an 18 year old student who called in a bomb-threat to her high-school. She’s here under the assumption that she’s a witness giving a statement; has no idea she’s being charged, yet,” said Jacobs.
Agent Smith began firing off statistics, “Natalie Johnson, eighteen years old, 5’4”, 94 lbs., no signature on consent forms.”
Jacobs winked at Tom, “Oh, we don’t need a signature in this case. Bomb-threats now fall under the category of terrorism. Once we officially charge the suspect, we’ll need to transfer her to an off-site facility.”
“Isn’t that a bit much for a fake threat?” asked Tom.
Smith spoke in, “the idea is that it doesn’t matter whether the threat was real or not. We must always treat the treat as real. There are no practical jokes when it comes to terror. We’ll take her to an international interrogation facility where even the most taboo and illegal tickling techniques can be applied. She will be held and questioned over the course of a week,” said Smith completely emotionless.
“That’ll teach her how serious the situation really is,” added Jacobs as he centered his glasses.
Tom thought to himself, ‘holy fucking shit!” as Ernie stayed quiet, pushing along the squeaky restraining device. They rolled their way up to another room with a metal door. Jacob pulled a key and unlocked the latch before pulling the door back to reveal a much smaller room than before. It was actually quite cramped already with just the suspect and the interrogator. The suspect, the mousey blonde, was sitting up on what looked like a doctor’s table and the interrogator, who was a slim woman with long, silk-black hair and dark mysterious eyes, stood to greet her guests, “oh good evening! I’m Char, I’ll be leading the interrogation, come right in! Looks like everybody’s here, then? Wanna start?” she asked gleefully as she hovered her finger over a button on a tape-recorder.
“Who are they?” the scared blonde asked from the table, “is… is that my lawyer?”
The gothic interrogator dropped her finger on the record button before playfully saying, “nope! We’ll start the recording by explaining that in this very specific situation, we are not legally required to provide you with representation. Agent Smith, can we have a time-check?”
Smith replied, “time-check is 5:42. Confession one of suspect, not yet charged, Natalie Johnson, eighteen years old, 5’4”, 94 lbs…”
“Excuse me, not yet charged? I’m… I’m here to make a witness statement…” she fidgeted nervously on the table as she felt the eyeballs of the room, everybody was looking at her.
“Okay, Natalie,” Char approached the doctor’s table and laid her hand gently on her poor suspect’s knee, “give us your statement, then.”
“Um, Kelly… I saw Kelly, um…” the mousey girl glanced around the room, “why… why is nobody writing anything down? Why is everyone looking at me?”
“It’s okay, Natty girl, continue your statement,” Char cooed softly as she rubbed the girl’s back with her other hand, comforting her.
“Um, okay… so I saw Kelly uh, sneak into the school’s office… but that’s really all I saw! I didn’t actually see her or hear her call in the threat.”
“And this is Kelly…?” Char left the space empty for Natalie to fill.
“Oh, um… Kelly, uh… Mable? I think? Tall girl, black hair… What… What are you doing?” Natalie suddenly twitched as she pulled her legs in.
“Legs back down! Hold still! I need to take your shoes off. Keep talking. Who is Kelly?” the interrogator shot.
“My… my shoes? Wh… why my shoes?”
“Keep talking to me, Natty girl, who is Kelly Mable?” Char continued to untie and remove the tiny blonde’s sneakers as she squirmed nervously.
“Um, okay so… Kelly’s a senior in my class. Well, she’s not in any of my actual classes, just in my class, ya know? And uh… EEEEEEEEEKK!!” the girl suddenly jumped right off of the table and cowered in the corner.
“Hehehe, looks like I touched a tickle-spot, huh? Natty-girl, we’re going to need you to cooperate,” Char laughed playfully as she tapped the table with her long pointy fingernail.
“Of course, I’m so sorry! I just… I’m very, very ticklish… please be careful…” she slowly mounted the table and sat like before with her legs outstretched in front of her, this time without the protection of her shoes and socks. Her bare little feet twitched in the open air as her expression became more worried than ever, the cute blonde began again, “um… so… EEEEEK! Sorry! SoRRRYYYAHAHAH STOOPP!!” she began kicking and almost kicked Char in the face. She caught herself quick and brought her legs down, holding down her knees with her hands, “Shit, I’m sorry! You tickled me! I warned you! I’m sorry!”
“Oh, this won’t do, honey. We’re gonna need the straps! Agents?”
“The straps?” before the poor girl could blink, the two agents were on either side of her. Leather straps were placed around her arms and legs and pulled tight. It all happened so fast, she didn’t have the chance to struggle. She was now strapped tight to the doctors table with her bare little feet exposed. Her nervous eyes darted around at everyone in the room as she began to lightly, and ever-so-politely, tug at her restraints.
“Okay wait, I’m just here for a statement, right? Should I be tied down like this?”
“I assure you, this is all quite normal under the circumstances,” Char cooed, “Natty dear, calling in a bomb-threat to your school is a big deal…”
Natalie was shocked! Her face turned bright red and she became flustered as she shifted in her seat, “oh, no, no, no! There must be a mistake!”
“Natalie Johnson,” agent Smith spoke up, “you are under arrest by the federal government of the united states. We are gonna go ahead and charge you with terrorism, acts of terror domestic, fear tactics, inciting a riot…”
“No wait!” the poor girl protested, “right now? Like, I can’t go home?”
“Natalie Johnson, you are considered a domestic terrorist by the US government. You will be transported immediately to an off-shore facility where your interrogation will be… private and undocumented.”
Natalie erupted in tears as she begged and pleaded, “No! Please! I just need to go home! Mom! Pleeease!”
Char leaned in close as she peered into the blonde’s worried face, “Mommy can’t help you. Nor can your teachers or your boyfriend or your sisters… you’ve committed an act of terror. AN ACT OF TERROR, NATALIE! And now you’re going to understand the severity of your actions.” She leaned back as she signaled to the agents. They unlocked a mechanism on the table and wheels protruded from the bottom. Agent Smith and agent Jacobs then wheeled the table over to the door where they were greeted by a small group of about 5 guards. These guards didn’t look like the others though; they weren’t wearing the same uniforms. As a matter of fact, they weren’t wearing uniforms; they were in plain clothes and all had big bushy beards as if they’d been living in the woods.
“Take good care of her, boys,” agent Jacobs sent the poor blonde out and her pitiful crying and whimpering followed.
“They’re gonna break that girl in five minutes flat,” murmured Smith as he looked over at Jacobs. The man-in-black responded, “well, it won’t matter, she’ll spend the whole week being interrogated with the most unethical tickle methods known to man…”
“Wait,” intruded Tom, “If the table could turn into a transport-device, why did we need the gurney?”
“Oh, I honestly thought you’d never ask,” Jacobs signaled as about 5 guards rushed in and threw Tom violently against the wall. They searched him; one of the guards came up proudly holding the joint that the blonde boy had hidden in his pocket.
“Agent Smith had a feeling. And agent Smith is never wrong,” Jacobs said as he adjusted his glasses, “looks like you’ll be joining your little stoner girlfriend on Cell Block Ten.
Tom tried to struggle but 5 more guards came in to help strap him to the table. He kicked and yelled and screamed and fought hard to no avail as he was strapped to the Immobilizer with a look of pure dread on his face. He was swiftly gagged, and his shoes and socks were stripped. Ernie silently wheeled him away down a dark corridor and off to be taken to Cell Block Ten; where the tickle-horror that awaited him sent his mind into a panic. His dream job had turned into a hellish nightmare and his worst fear was about to come true. Tom was about to get tickled just as badly as the girls and he knew he was going to cry like a baby; he’d probably pee his pants! Tom was going to get tickled-destroyed on that cell block in front of all the girls in the prison and there was nothing he could do about it.
Deep in the dark recesses of Cell Block Ten, late at night, a group of about 20 ticklers had broken a poor man and were tickling him harder the harder he cried. A new prisoner walked along escorted by a more experienced girl. The newbie stopped to watch the spectacle as the poor man pissed his pants while he begged and pleaded.
“So, what did this one do?”
Tickle Jail
“So what did this one do?” inquired the young man, curiously peering into the peep-hole on the solid-metal cell-door. He was tall and thin, with blonde hair and smooth eyebrows that made him easy to look at. He was wearing the standard gray Prison Guard uniform, the same as the man he stood across from.
“She stole a car,” the other guard revealed, “they pulled her over for reckless driving only to find the vehicle stolen.” He was a bit heavy-set with a scruffy goatee. He pulled a latch on the door which opened a small viewing-window into the cell. It also allowed audio to come through on a small speaker.
Both guards looked through to see a young girl, maybe 20 years old, wearing a straitjacket with her feet locked behind a set of stocks. The poor girl had tears and mascara streaming down her face as she shook her head from side to side, struggling, wiggling her toes furiously, screaming at the rusted walls “It waahahahasssn’t stoohohoholen!”
“What’s wrong with her?” the blonde guard asked.
“Oh she says the car was registered in her mom’s name. It’ll take at least 24 hours for a proper investigation to make sure her story checks out. In the meantime, they’re charging her with Grand Theft Auto.”
“No, I mean, what’s wrong with her? Why is she freaking out?”
“Ah, Tom, you ready for this?” the pudgy man leaned in as he explained, “its itching-powder. They do it to all the new inmates. ‘spose to be a harmless gag but I hear the stuff strings like needles and fire-ants,” he gave a wink as he leaned back and shut the window, “its routine to rinse it off after about an hour but I think the arresting officer left a note with this one. She was particularly nasty, so I’m guessing they’ll leave ‘er in here over-night; give ‘er some time to think, haha!” the large man turned from the cell door without spending another thought and began to stroll forward as Tom followed.
“Now this little wench; don’t let her innocent eyes fool ya,”
“What did she…” Tom was cut off mid sentence when the hallway doors opened and two Officers approached. They were both in black suits and flashed their badges like Feds, only one did most of the talking.
“I’m agent Jacobs and this is agent Smith. We were told we could find two guards on cell-block eight, presuming that’s you…”
The pudgy guard spoke, as he had seniority, “Yes sir. That’s us. This is Tom with the cute face, and I’m Ernie. Nice to meetcha,” he said as he reached out for a handshake. Neither agent acknowledged his hand and he slowly, awkwardly brought it back in.
“We’re here for a prisoner transfer. We were told you have a medical ward? We’ll need a gurney with full body immobility…” the man-in-black began as he adjusted his glasses, while the other stared blankly at the opposite cell doors. Ernie just blinked as he nodded his head like he understood. “Well then, son, the gurney?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” the big guard turned to his partner, “alright Tom…” before he was cut off by one of the g-men.
“I’m sure you can handle the gurney by yourself,” said agent Jacobs, adjusting his glasses again. He glanced at Tom, “any chance we could bother you to stay behind? We were hoping you’d accompany us to interview a suspect.”
“Sure thing,” answered Tom. He turned to his partner, “you got the gurney?”
“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes!” Ernie strode off confidently leaving Tom behind with the two men-in-black as they began to brief Tom on the interview.
“We’ve actually got two interviews set up for today. Our first one should be pretty cut and dry. Here’s her case-file,” Jacobs handed Tom a clipboard containing a manila folder. Paper-clipped to the outside of the folder was the girl’s profile picture. She had shoulder-length, messy black hair with bangs and wore heavy mascara. She had a wild, rebellious spark in her eyes and a smirking grin that was just asking for trouble.
“Her name is Dacey Allen. Age 21, 5’6”, 125lbs approximate,” agent Smith rattled off as they slowly made their way down the hall.
Jacobs spoke dryly, “She’s got a rap-sheet a mile long. Mostly drugs. She’s a large consumer of marijuana and has been known to solicit on occasion.”
“Heh, didn’t they make that legal?” Tom asked as he thought about the joint he had hidden in his pocket.
“State-wide. Federally, the government can still prosecute,” said Smith as he briefly raised an eyebrow.
“Anyhow, we’re prosecuting this one to the fullest extent of the law,” continued Jacobs, “at the formal request of her mother who graciously signed the consent forms.”
“Consent to what?” Tom asked.
Smith threw the young guard a side-glance, “enhanced interrogation techniques.”
The three authority figures approached the door to the first holding room. Smith used a key and unlocked the latch as he pulled the door back. Dacey was already inside, strapped into a contraption. She was positioned like she was sitting in a bucket-seat, tilted back, with her legs in the air. Her feet protruded through a clear-plastic barrier and were held tight in full metal clamps that didn’t allow a single centimeter of movement; not even her poor little toes. She, like the first girl, was wearing a straitjacket and struggling furiously as the men walked in. A lady sat in a chair across from the poor immobilized girl, and she stood to greet them as they came through the doors, “Ah yes, the team has arrived.”
The lady was tall and just a bit heavy-set with long, curly, blonde hair. She shook their hands as she introduced herself to Tom, “I’m Ms. Susan, I’ll be interrogator for little miss Dacey today.” Tom noticed Dacey was gagged and glowing red with embarrassment and anger.
Jacobs chimed in, “I’ve known Ms. Susan, here, for six years. She’s one of our best. This shouldn’t take long.”
Smith added “We’re here as witnesses to record the final statement. With that aside, Susan will be doing most of the work, here.”
“Heh, thank you, agent Jacobs, agent Smith,” the lady winked at Tom as she said, “alright, shall we begin, then?”
Susan clicked record on a small device and then lifted her clip-board to make a few scratch marks with her pen before sauntering over to where Dacey lay struggling. As she removed her gag, the room filled with Dacey’s furious protests.
“Come on, this is too far! Just let me go! I didn’t consent to this shit!” she screamed in anger as she wriggled in the straitjacket.
“No, you didn’t,” Susan cooed, “you’re mom did. She suspects you of selling weed to your friends and she’s signed a consent form allowing us to find out.”
“That’s bullshit! I wanna talk to my lawyer!” the unruly girl shouted.
“I’m afraid your mother withdrew your representation. You’ll be provided with a public defender within the next 24 hours but, it says right here in clause 3499, section 7 that we’re legally able to proceed…” she looked up at the agents for a split second, “note that the time is now 4:37 and we will proceed with scheduled interrogation of Inmate 9821746312…”
“No, wait!” Dacey’s eyes lit up with fear, “Okay, please! Wait! What do you want?” There was a building sense of panic in her voice as Susan unrolled a bag of tools out on a little side-table. She pulled what looked like a sharp metal skewer and casually held it like a pen as she raised her hand to her prisoner’s poor immobilized foot. The bare foot, bright red and glowing with a silky softness, was twitching and jumping hard to no avail; those metal cages held them secure and exposed, every little toe outstretched and held firm. Her muscles bulged as her voice choked, “No, wait! I have a thing! You can’t touch my feet!” her legs started shaking and she finally broke down and began to cry, “Okaahahahay, pleeeeease!” tears began to stream her mascara as she shook her head back and forth, “Pleeeeaaase, don’t do this!”
Susan looked up at Tom as she spoke informatively, “so, it’s actually quite normal for a suspect to begin crying or even to claim that they can’t breathe during this process. But I reassure you, her vitals are fine, she’s fine, and it’s really not that bad. Remember, guys, it’s just tickling,” she said with a bit of a smirk.
The blonde lady started scratching the pointy stick up and down the girl’s soft, tender little foot eliciting a reaction unlike anything Tom had ever seen. The poor girl arched her back and her eyes went crossed for a second. Then she let out the most animalistic scream Tom had ever heard. It sent chills down his spine and he tried to put it out of his head. This was actually a bit disturbing and he wondered if it had gone a bit too far. But the blonde scratched away, ignoring the violently intense reactions as she spoke calmly, “oh yea, this one’s extremely reactive.”
“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!” Dacey drooled as she twisted in her white jacket, making weird chirping sounds as her eyes faded in and out. She immediately wet herself as a warm liquid began to dribble down to the floor beneath her.
Tom had never seen anyone react this way “Is she supposed to be drooling and peeing like that?” he asked as he looked over at Jacobs for reassurance.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said as he adjusted his glasses and glanced at Susan.
Susan just smiled, “Oh yes, some inmates will experience panic, yes. But panic isn’t a medical emergency. At most, it just results in a little pee; all totally normal responses.” Susan relentlessly scribbled with the skewers, one on each foot, causing the poor prisoner to go silent for a minute. When she finally caught her breath, she began screaming at the top of her lungs; no words, just a long continuous scream for about a minute before the begging started again, “STOOOOOOOOOOP STOOOOOOP PLEEEEEEEASE I NEEEEED IT TO STOOOOOOOPP!”
Susan looked back at Tom as she spoke, “So now we’ve entered into the ‘defiance’ stage. She’s gonna beg a little but it’s important to tickle through this. We want her to be compliant, not defiant. Isn’t that right, miss Dacey?”
The poor girl was now sobbing as she twisted and writhed, screaming and begging, she suddenly made eye contact with Tom and it broke his heart; he’ll never forget the horrified look on her face as she screamed, “HEEEELLLPPP!” before collapsing back into disparity. Susan laughed, “oh are we asking the guards for help, now? He’s not gonna help you, little miss Dacey. You’re going to have to confess!”
To which Dacey began screaming, “I CONFESS, I CONFESS!! JUST STOOOOP!!”
Susan laughed, “Oh no, sweetie, that won’t do. We need a real confession.”
“I SOLD WEED! I SOLD WEED, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR? HOLY FUCKIN SHIT STOP IM GONNA DIE!! IM SERIOUSLY GONNA DIE!!”
“We’ll try again until you get this right, sweetie. I’ve got all day, okay?” Susan just calmly scratched and poked and tickled the perfectly exposed bottoms of Dacey’s little feet mercilessly, consistently, almost emotionlessly as she scribbled harder and harder. It was obvious Susan was exceptionally good at her job.
“I SELLLL WEEEEED I SELLLL WEEEEED I’M SOORRRYYY I’M SORRRYYYYY!”
“To whom? We need names, miss Dacey.”
“FUUUUCK, I DUNO… I DUNO… JORDAN, JORDAN AND SAMANTHA! JORDAN AND SAMANTHA, I SELL TO THEM!! FUCKIN STOOOOOOP!!”
“Ok, we seem to be getting incomplete information here, so we need to change the questioning around a bit,” said the blonde dryly as she turned her attention back to her prisoner, “the tickling will not stop; do you understand me, Dacey? The tickling will not stop until you give me names…”
“JOOORRDAAAAN!!” her eyes bulged, horrified and desperate, “JORDAN JORDAN JORDAN!!”
“I obviously need last names, you little shit,” Susan laughed.
“JORDAN TAYLOR! JORDAN TAYLOR AND SAMANTHA JONES!! JORDAN TAYLOR AND SAMANTHA JONES!!”
“Now, you silly little brat, let’s get a real confession out of you… what did you do, miss Dacey? What did you do?” She dropped the skewers and dug into the poor girl’s feet with her fingernails sending her back into that crazy state of panic from earlier. She wet her pants for the second time as she struggled, relentlessly sobbing as tears flowed down her face. Every few seconds or so she would burst into a fit of rage and become extremely angry, only to break back down into crying and pleading belligerently. Susan knew the girl couldn’t talk, but kept tickling her anyway as she teased, “what did you do, miss Dacey?”
Tom finally spoke up, “Are you, uh, going to give her a chance to talk?”
Susan looked over at the agents and laughed, “aw, looks like our new guy is a bit of a softy, huh?” she directed her attention at Tom, “its okay, I’ve seen stronger men faint after watching one of these interrogation sessions. You’ve done really well keeping your composure in some pretty intense situations.”
“I just…” Tom stuttered, “she confessed. I don’t see why…”
“Well,” Susan cut him off, “technically we have at least another 4 hours of interrogation…”
Tom almost choked, “Four hours!? For what!? She confessed!”
“Well, we won’t know until we continue the interrogation…” Susan said with a sly grin.
Tom looked at the agents for reassurance, “she got the confession, right? She can stop?” The agents both let themselves grin as Jacobs had a chuckle, “Susan?” he said, “our guard, here, wants you to take her confession.”
“Aw, you got a real soft spot for this girl, huh? Let me give you some advice, Romeo, you can’t fix her!” Even agent Smith had a good laugh at that one, but soon after Susan brought her voice back to a more serious tone as she finally stopped her tickle assault on the poor girl’s feet. “Okay, okay. We can take her confession… Jacobs, can you clock it for me?”
“Time is approximately 4:48, suspect confession 1, Inmate 9821746312…”
“Dacey Allen, do you have something to tell us?” Susan said in a sweet, polite little way.
Dacey sobbed, “I’M SORRRYYY!”
“Dacey?” Susan raised her hand back up in a threatening manner and the girl snapped into focus. She steadied her voice and tried to calm her nerves, “I sold weed! I sold weed…”
“And who did you sell these illegal drugs to?” asked agent Smith in a stern tone.
“J… Jordan T… Taylor… And Samantha… um… Samantha Jones….” The poor girl was still crying and jumping and twitching and giggling and chirping… her eyes darted around the room like a crazy person’s. It was clear she was still in distress.
“Okay, so, we need to hear it from you, now,” Susan stared directly into Dacey’s sad, worried eyes as she asked, “what are you confessing today?”
“I…” the poor girl broke back down into tears as she cried through her confession, “I sold weed to Jordan Taylor… and I sold weed to Samantha Jones…”
“I see,” said Susan as she turned to the agents, “so do we have enough here?”
“I’d say that’s a wrap,” expressed agent Jacobs as he confirmed it with agent Smith.
Dacey lay whimpering and sputtering as her legs shook uncontrollably, tears still messing up her mascara, her pants stained with piss. Tom looked visibly relieved to see those poor rosy feet getting a minute to relax. They were still shaking and twitching and radiating with residual ticklishness as she cried to herself, head down, panting to catch her breath.
“Geesh. That was pretty intense, huh? Glad it’s over for her,” Tom panted, trying to catch his own breath.
Susan just glanced at the agents with a smirk. They seemed to reciprocate the message while Tom felt that he was left out of some kind of inside-joke. They just looked at each other grinning until Susan broke the silence, “Well, another confession for the books. Good work, gentlemen.”
“Good work yourself, Ms. Susan. You are a master of your craft!” Jacobs shook her hand and then agent Smith and Tom each said their goodbyes. They shook hands and as the three men left the room, Tom couldn’t help but feel like there was something he was missing. They walked out into the hallway and began in the direction of their next suspect. But Tom still had a question.
“So what’s really going on? Why did everybody just smile at each other back there?” he inquired.
Agent Smith raised an eyebrow at the question as Jacobs fixed his glasses, “it’s not over for her,” he said as a matter of fact.
Tom looked shocked at first before a slight bout of anger slid across his face as he stopped walking, “You lied to me?”
“No, no… nothing like that,” Jacobs reassured, “we weren’t lying about ending her interrogation. Susan will release her to her assigned cell block. But now she’s a snitch. And our policy has always been to send snitches to Cell Block Ten.”
“So what’s Cell Block Ten?” Tom felt even worse for the girl; this couldn’t be anything good.
“Um, maybe we should brief you on our next…”
“I can handle it, agent, just tell me!” Tom began to raise his voice, which made agent Smith take note.
Jacobs responded, “Okay, okay… Cell Block Ten is home to about 50 inmates; fifty of the world’s most dangerous ticklers. These are literally the meanest, cruelest, most sadistic fucks from anywhere and they haaaaate snitches,” he said as he winked at Tom, “they are gonna tear that girl’s soul from her ticklish little body tonight.”
Smith actually let out a slight chuckle as he added, “can you imagine? Being attacked by fifty people all at once, being held down and tickled continuously, non-stop…”
Tom could barely believe what he was hearing, “they’re just gonna leave her there all night?”
“It’s her assigned cell block,” agent Smith grinned, “she lives there, now.”
“Oh my God, that’s kind of fucked up…” Tom knew that girl wouldn’t make it one night before she ended up in the medical ward.
“Thought you could handle it,” Jacobs laughed, “Oh don’t fret over that little thing; she deserves what she’s about to get. Did you see that smirk on her profile photo? Let’s see if she still smirking after a night or two on Block Ten.” The two agents shared a laugh with each other as they carelessly moved on, “So, our next…” but agent Jacobs was cut off when they heard a voice from behind them. It was Ernie pushing the Immobilizer along merrily like a shopping-cart.
“Hey guys! Got the gurney!” the heavy set man approached.
“Good,” agent Smith replied, “we’ll need this for our next suspect. She’s actually our prisoner-transfer.”
“This one turned herself in; hard to believe considering the severity of the crime,” Jacobs handed Tom another manila folder with a photo clipped to the front. She was a tiny strawberry blonde with a mousey, worried expression. “She’s an 18 year old student who called in a bomb-threat to her high-school. She’s here under the assumption that she’s a witness giving a statement; has no idea she’s being charged, yet,” said Jacobs.
Agent Smith began firing off statistics, “Natalie Johnson, eighteen years old, 5’4”, 94 lbs., no signature on consent forms.”
Jacobs winked at Tom, “Oh, we don’t need a signature in this case. Bomb-threats now fall under the category of terrorism. Once we officially charge the suspect, we’ll need to transfer her to an off-site facility.”
“Isn’t that a bit much for a fake threat?” asked Tom.
Smith spoke in, “the idea is that it doesn’t matter whether the threat was real or not. We must always treat the treat as real. There are no practical jokes when it comes to terror. We’ll take her to an international interrogation facility where even the most taboo and illegal tickling techniques can be applied. She will be held and questioned over the course of a week,” said Smith completely emotionless.
“That’ll teach her how serious the situation really is,” added Jacobs as he centered his glasses.
Tom thought to himself, ‘holy fucking shit!” as Ernie stayed quiet, pushing along the squeaky restraining device. They rolled their way up to another room with a metal door. Jacob pulled a key and unlocked the latch before pulling the door back to reveal a much smaller room than before. It was actually quite cramped already with just the suspect and the interrogator. The suspect, the mousey blonde, was sitting up on what looked like a doctor’s table and the interrogator, who was a slim woman with long, silk-black hair and dark mysterious eyes, stood to greet her guests, “oh good evening! I’m Char, I’ll be leading the interrogation, come right in! Looks like everybody’s here, then? Wanna start?” she asked gleefully as she hovered her finger over a button on a tape-recorder.
“Who are they?” the scared blonde asked from the table, “is… is that my lawyer?”
The gothic interrogator dropped her finger on the record button before playfully saying, “nope! We’ll start the recording by explaining that in this very specific situation, we are not legally required to provide you with representation. Agent Smith, can we have a time-check?”
Smith replied, “time-check is 5:42. Confession one of suspect, not yet charged, Natalie Johnson, eighteen years old, 5’4”, 94 lbs…”
“Excuse me, not yet charged? I’m… I’m here to make a witness statement…” she fidgeted nervously on the table as she felt the eyeballs of the room, everybody was looking at her.
“Okay, Natalie,” Char approached the doctor’s table and laid her hand gently on her poor suspect’s knee, “give us your statement, then.”
“Um, Kelly… I saw Kelly, um…” the mousey girl glanced around the room, “why… why is nobody writing anything down? Why is everyone looking at me?”
“It’s okay, Natty girl, continue your statement,” Char cooed softly as she rubbed the girl’s back with her other hand, comforting her.
“Um, okay… so I saw Kelly uh, sneak into the school’s office… but that’s really all I saw! I didn’t actually see her or hear her call in the threat.”
“And this is Kelly…?” Char left the space empty for Natalie to fill.
“Oh, um… Kelly, uh… Mable? I think? Tall girl, black hair… What… What are you doing?” Natalie suddenly twitched as she pulled her legs in.
“Legs back down! Hold still! I need to take your shoes off. Keep talking. Who is Kelly?” the interrogator shot.
“My… my shoes? Wh… why my shoes?”
“Keep talking to me, Natty girl, who is Kelly Mable?” Char continued to untie and remove the tiny blonde’s sneakers as she squirmed nervously.
“Um, okay so… Kelly’s a senior in my class. Well, she’s not in any of my actual classes, just in my class, ya know? And uh… EEEEEEEEEKK!!” the girl suddenly jumped right off of the table and cowered in the corner.
“Hehehe, looks like I touched a tickle-spot, huh? Natty-girl, we’re going to need you to cooperate,” Char laughed playfully as she tapped the table with her long pointy fingernail.
“Of course, I’m so sorry! I just… I’m very, very ticklish… please be careful…” she slowly mounted the table and sat like before with her legs outstretched in front of her, this time without the protection of her shoes and socks. Her bare little feet twitched in the open air as her expression became more worried than ever, the cute blonde began again, “um… so… EEEEEK! Sorry! SoRRRYYYAHAHAH STOOPP!!” she began kicking and almost kicked Char in the face. She caught herself quick and brought her legs down, holding down her knees with her hands, “Shit, I’m sorry! You tickled me! I warned you! I’m sorry!”
“Oh, this won’t do, honey. We’re gonna need the straps! Agents?”
“The straps?” before the poor girl could blink, the two agents were on either side of her. Leather straps were placed around her arms and legs and pulled tight. It all happened so fast, she didn’t have the chance to struggle. She was now strapped tight to the doctors table with her bare little feet exposed. Her nervous eyes darted around at everyone in the room as she began to lightly, and ever-so-politely, tug at her restraints.
“Okay wait, I’m just here for a statement, right? Should I be tied down like this?”
“I assure you, this is all quite normal under the circumstances,” Char cooed, “Natty dear, calling in a bomb-threat to your school is a big deal…”
Natalie was shocked! Her face turned bright red and she became flustered as she shifted in her seat, “oh, no, no, no! There must be a mistake!”
“Natalie Johnson,” agent Smith spoke up, “you are under arrest by the federal government of the united states. We are gonna go ahead and charge you with terrorism, acts of terror domestic, fear tactics, inciting a riot…”
“No wait!” the poor girl protested, “right now? Like, I can’t go home?”
“Natalie Johnson, you are considered a domestic terrorist by the US government. You will be transported immediately to an off-shore facility where your interrogation will be… private and undocumented.”
Natalie erupted in tears as she begged and pleaded, “No! Please! I just need to go home! Mom! Pleeease!”
Char leaned in close as she peered into the blonde’s worried face, “Mommy can’t help you. Nor can your teachers or your boyfriend or your sisters… you’ve committed an act of terror. AN ACT OF TERROR, NATALIE! And now you’re going to understand the severity of your actions.” She leaned back as she signaled to the agents. They unlocked a mechanism on the table and wheels protruded from the bottom. Agent Smith and agent Jacobs then wheeled the table over to the door where they were greeted by a small group of about 5 guards. These guards didn’t look like the others though; they weren’t wearing the same uniforms. As a matter of fact, they weren’t wearing uniforms; they were in plain clothes and all had big bushy beards as if they’d been living in the woods.
“Take good care of her, boys,” agent Jacobs sent the poor blonde out and her pitiful crying and whimpering followed.
“They’re gonna break that girl in five minutes flat,” murmured Smith as he looked over at Jacobs. The man-in-black responded, “well, it won’t matter, she’ll spend the whole week being interrogated with the most unethical tickle methods known to man…”
“Wait,” intruded Tom, “If the table could turn into a transport-device, why did we need the gurney?”
“Oh, I honestly thought you’d never ask,” Jacobs signaled as about 5 guards rushed in and threw Tom violently against the wall. They searched him; one of the guards came up proudly holding the joint that the blonde boy had hidden in his pocket.
“Agent Smith had a feeling. And agent Smith is never wrong,” Jacobs said as he adjusted his glasses, “looks like you’ll be joining your little stoner girlfriend on Cell Block Ten.
Tom tried to struggle but 5 more guards came in to help strap him to the table. He kicked and yelled and screamed and fought hard to no avail as he was strapped to the Immobilizer with a look of pure dread on his face. He was swiftly gagged, and his shoes and socks were stripped. Ernie silently wheeled him away down a dark corridor and off to be taken to Cell Block Ten; where the tickle-horror that awaited him sent his mind into a panic. His dream job had turned into a hellish nightmare and his worst fear was about to come true. Tom was about to get tickled just as badly as the girls and he knew he was going to cry like a baby; he’d probably pee his pants! Tom was going to get tickled-destroyed on that cell block in front of all the girls in the prison and there was nothing he could do about it.
Deep in the dark recesses of Cell Block Ten, late at night, a group of about 20 ticklers had broken a poor man and were tickling him harder the harder he cried. A new prisoner walked along escorted by a more experienced girl. The newbie stopped to watch the spectacle as the poor man pissed his pants while he begged and pleaded.
“So, what did this one do?”
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