This story shares a setting with my previous tickling story Professor and Student at the Hands of Secret Police: https://www.ticklingforum.com/showt...f-Secret-Police-(ff-ff-interrogation-non-con)
It is not mandatory to read to understand this straightforward story of breast tickle torture though!
Las Montanas is an idyllic island nation in the Southern Caribbean, flourishing with foreign trade, newfound mining industry and tourism, ruled under a strong fist of a semi-authoritarian president and his clandestine secret service. Most of the population suffers minimal disturbances to their daily lives, and the president has been able to rule relatively unopposed… Until recently that is. Rising opposition to his totalitarian ways has caused him to double down on strength, his paranoia causing him to approve of extreme measures in order to safeguard his rule. This is a story about an English tourist who had the misfortune of stumbling upon the paranoid dictator’s military police.
*
It had been an idyllic day on the remote beach for Bethany, an Englishwoman visiting the island nation of Las Montanas. She liked quiet and idyllic places, and she had noticed that this area of the island was always strangely serene - locals didn’t seem to drop by and she had not seen a single other tourist either in the few days she had been visiting the area now, taking photos with her fancy new camera and enjoying the nature. Bethany was a beautiful young woman in her mid 20s, she had straight red hair that reached a bit over the back of her neck, face decorated by some charming freckles under her eyes. Her most striking feature however, was her significantly large bosom. Her huge breasts were almost escaping from the white tank top she was wearing along with blue denim shorts and appropriate sandals for the terrain that was pleasantly flat to be such a quiet place in its natural state.
Suddenly, Bethany’s idyllic day came into a halt. She heard someone shouting behind her, turned around and saw two soldier women approaching her. Both taller than her, their dark hairs tightly tied behind their heads as ponytails.
Bethany looked at the two women clad in uniform approaching her, one with her gun drawn. They shouted something at her in Spanish, which Bethany responded to by shaking her head and spouting some apologetic words she had picked up from guides. “Fuck… All I know is how to order drinks and ask for the menu.” She thought as her nervous mind switched its focus from the language barrier into the question of whether she had done anything wrong – not as far as she figured. She had done nothing but taken some photos of the mountainside and the beach. The soldierly women got closer, and exchanged a few words with each other before fixing their eyes on the sexy Englishwoman again.
“English?” One of them asked, keeping her gun pointed at Bethany as the other took quick, long steps to get behind Bethany, and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her on her knees on the soft sands. As she was wrestled on the ground, the soldier held her still, and Bethany could have sworn that she was deliberately fondling her giant tits, that were in danger of slipping out of her clothes.
“Yes, yes, I’m English! I – I’m so sorry, have I done someth-“
“Quiet!” The woman behind her hissed in Bethany’s ear as she pulled her arms down and forced them behind Bethany’s back, behind speaking in Spanish again to her partner, who then pulled a radio phone off her belt and spoke to it. After just a brief wait, a large black jeep rolled on the scene, and more soldiers emerged, one of them pulling a black hood on Bethany’s head. In darkness, she was dragged into the jeep and driven off.
*
An hour later, Bethany was sitting on a chair in a dark office, where the only light source was a bright lamp pointed at her. She was sweating nervously, as a woman in a uniform was going through the photos she had taken at the beach, clicking through the landscape and selfies against the majestic mountains and the beautiful sea. The two women who had arrested her on the beach were standing in attention right behind her. Her passport, wallet and phone were neatly placed on the table in front of the strict looking woman, who talked in a soft voice, flashing a faint smile with her mouth but keeping her eyes focused and cold. Her uniform was different from the soldier’s. It didn’t have pants, and came with a skirt instead. Instead of a ponytail, she had a short haircut, and was wearing round glasses. Judging by the symbols on her chest, she was an officer of a higher rank.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything out of order… Perhaps we can presume that your story about being a travel blogger isn’t just a fabrication…”
Bethany nodded stiffly, fear affecting her behaviour. She had been blindfolded by the hood until she arrived in this room, but had heard faint screams of women from further in the complex. Wherever she had been taken, these clearly were not good people, and she was dreading what they might do to her if she gave them any reasons to stop being nice.
“Yes! Thank you! I mean, of course, that was what I was taking there, taking photos of the land-” Bethany stammered, only to be interrupted by her interrogator.
“...BUT, you were in a restricted area. By accident or not, you were breaking the el Presidente’s security laws. They warrant a thorough investigation.”
The interrogator reached for her phone, and grabbed it.
“I need to investigate the contents of your phone, senorita. What is the screen lock security code?”
Bethany sighed. She didn’t like this further breach of her privacy at all, but saw docile cooperation as both the only way out, and the only way to avoid her predicament getting any worse. She had always been a sensitive and scaredy woman, and was sure that whatever they are doing to the screaming girls here, it would be something she could not bear either physically or mentally.
“It is 3138.” She said with still a bit of a shaky but also relieved voice. At least she would be cleared of suspicions about espionage.
As the interrogator had entered two numbers, one of the soldiers who had arrested Bethany talked.
“Pardon, capitan.” Her voice remained stern even when she addressed her commanding officer. “Permission to speak?” The officer ceased and nodded.
“The saboteurs and rebel collaborators are known to use phones that are set to wipe off their data if the wrong code is entered. That way they can ensure that the sensitive information stays safe even if they are pressured into giving some kind of code - and their enemies are left with no possibility of recovering it.”
The captain lowered the phone back on the table, and Bethany could feel her heartbeat intensifying and a sickening feeling in her stomach as her panic started to rise.
“Si!” The other soldier continued. “We can’t take the risk of potential security threats to military targets, just because saboteurs plan B in case of capture. We are requesting permission to interrogate the prisoner to make sure she isn’t trying to deceive us.”
Bethany protested right away. “T-that’s ridiculous! There is no such thing in my phone, please, just investigate it all you want, the code is 3138 and-”
“Permission granted.” The captain said over her panicky babbling. Bethany felt the hands of the soldiers grabbing her shoulders and fell silent as colour escaped from her face. “Make her talk. Whatever it takes.” “Si, capitan!”
Bethany was lifted off the chair, and dragged out of the room as she pleaded, kicked and screamed. “No! NOOO! PLEASE! I’M COLLABORATING! YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS! NOOO-'' Closing the door cut off her shrieks, and the captain smirked to herself. “She seemed like their type. That intruding English girl thinks she is in trouble, but she has no idea…”
*
The interrogation wing of the military police’s secret prison was never silent. Even in the empty hallways, screaming laughter of the prisoners interrogated and punished in their cells echoed in the walls, laughter of women filled with pleading, confessions and desperate calls for help in Spanish. But given the ability to separate those agonised voices from each other, one could hear English among them, as Bethany was being mercilessly tortured in the Interrogation Cell number #19.
“NAHAHAHAAA, STOPTOPSTOHOHOOOOP! AAAIIIIIHIHHIHIHIIII! AHAHAHAHAAA!” Tears were streaming down on the redhead’s cheeks as she futilely fought against the leather straps that were holding her body down. She had been relieved of her top and bra, which were thrown on the floor next to the torture table. Topless Bethany had straps around her ankles, thighs, waist, wrists and elbows, just below and above her tits, and over her forehead. Her giant boobs that had already received unsolicited attention during her arrest were now exposed, and focus of the prison’s favored torture method for imprisoned women - tickle torture. They were standing at Bethany’s sides, and bot were holding long, white feathers, that they used to slowly yet methodically stroke the bare skin of her tiddies, they would sweep then along her underboobs, twirl them across their sides and spin them just around her nipples and on them, all while whispering taunts and impossible demands in her ears.
“Cootchie cootchie coo…”
“Who is a ticklish spy? Who is?”
“Just give us the real code and this all can be over…”
“Do you like it when all of our feathers focus on your nipples? Tell us when you stop cackling.”
“So ticklish you can’t even talk! But when you can, I bet you’ll be very talkative…”
It was torture. Diabolical torture. Bethany could not even shake her head to distract her from at least some of it, all she could do was to lay there, suffer and let all the agony erupt out from her mouth as a constant stream of hysterical giggles and shrieks. Every now and then she could gather her composure for a fleeting moment, and tried to reason with her tormentors.
“PLEASE, PLEAHAHAA, IHIHIH TOHOLD IT!”
“AHAHAHAH, YOU HAHAHAVE TO BELIEHEHEEVE MEHEHEE, OH GOHOHOOOD”
“NONONO NOT THERE NOT THERE NOHOHOHOOOT THE NIPPLES AGAIHIHIIIIN!”
She could not stand it! But there was nothing she could do to make it stop. The hours of torture crept by slowly for hapless Bethany, as her interrogators were switching torture instruments, curious to see what would finally break her.
They tried spinning makeup brushes that completely covered her areolas and nipples on the tip of her breasts, which drove Bethany nuts with non stop laughter. She shook in her restraints, not even trying to properly beg for mercy, but instead just tried to scream how she could not take it, how she REALLY could not take it, but even if her two torturers heard it, they MADE her take it for the entire hour they played with those toys.
They used feather dusters that weren’t as good in covering her most ticklish spots, but the feathers could cover more area on her boobs, making her no less desperate for that torture to end. It felt like her tormentors could just keep the feather dusters hanging on her tits, and her uncontrollable trembling did the rest to keep her in the inescapable feathery tickle hell that felt like it went on forever.
However, it was the third torture method that made her feel that her mind would snap any second now. The soldiers started torturing her with special tickle gloves, which unlike the feathers, dusters and busters, was specifically engineered for this purpose. The surfaces of the gloves were filled with tiny prods that resembled tendrils of some kind, that created an unique scratchy and tickly sensation that - as the soldiers themselves knew - was unbearable. The tickling instruments of the prison were always tested among the staff, and the duo of torturers had tested them on each other back in the day. For one of them, it had taken merely five minutes of foot tickling and she gave up. For the other, her taut, muscular belly didn’t even have to be really tickled, it was enough that her comrade just kept the tickling gloves pressed on her midriff and lightly twitched her hands, and she would have been ready to do anything to make it stop. The ticklishness of the soldiers and their knowledge of what kind of pure torture their interrogation methods were would not, unfortunately for poor Bethany, lead to empathy. She was a complete wreck, and the tickle gloves hadn’t been used on her tits for even ten minutes yet. The prods were driving her out of her mind, no matter where they touched, the terrible tickling felt like it somehow spread all over her hypersensitive tiddies. In her head, she was formulating a desperate plan, a plan to make them stop, a plan that HAD to make them stop!
“AHAHAHHAHH STOHOHOP AHAHHAHA STOPTOPSTOOOOP” She said amidst her howling laughter. “IHIHIHHIHI TAHAHAAHAAALK! I TAAAHAAAALK!”
The tickling ended when the torturers actually heard her say it - or they heard it to begin with but weren’t ready to stop yet. They did have somewhat disappointed looks in their faces when they realised they had broken their plaything. Bethany was breathing heavily, still feeling tingling on her tits, still giggling a bit, but was able to compose herself. “T-the code is 6840! Please, I swear, d-don’t tickle me anymore!” She was relieved that the nightmare was over, and prayed that her gamble would work. She obviously gave them a false code. The first one she gave had of course been the real one all along. Now, they would enter the wrong code, see that nothing but an error message happens, realise that she was telling the truth all along, insert the real code, check the phone, and then let her away from this terrible place. Or so she hoped. So she really hoped.
One of the soldiers spoke to an intercom on the wall and told the captain the code Bethany had given. 6840. Some time passed, and soon, the captain herself entered the room, her arms behind her back.
“The code. It was wrong.” She said, and hearing it brought sadistic smiles back on the soldier's faces, and made Bethany beg frantically.
“It was the only way, please! There is no self-destruct on my phone, you know it now! I swear! The code I gave you in the beginning is the real one, if it was anything else I would tell it right now, I swear I would, I can’t stand being tickled.”
The captain walked towards the torture table as Bethany begged, and shook her head.
“I know you take me for a fool, but you are not the one playing mind games here. Now I know that you WANT us to insert the code you gave us in that phone.”
“WHAT?” Bethany asked, now shaking and crying with renewed fear.
“So intricate, yet so simple…” The captain spoke.” “You gave us a fake code under torture because you want us to believe that you were telling the truth to begin with. I bet that code is what makes your phone’s data self-destruct. You tried to make us insert it manually for you. You have incriminated yourself. I have spoken with my superiors, and this evidence with my conclusions is enough to justify your indefinite arrest until you tell us not only the code of the phone, but also all about your underhanded mission in our glorious country.”
“Please no, NO, that is not true! I’m just a tourist, you HAVE to believe me!” Bethany begged pitifully, as her living nightmare was getting worse and worse.
“It’s no use. We are up to your trickery now. Don’t you even try to give us the first code anymore - we know it is part of your plot.”
The captain brought her arms in front from behind her back, and showed a bottle of some transparent liquid substance from behind her back.
“A bottle of baby oil. They say that you haven’t really felt the torture gloves unless they used on skin soaked with this.” Captain kept speaking, as she applied the oil on Bethany’s tits. “We reserve this kind of treatment for both punishments of the worst traitors and foreign agents, and for interrogations of our most stubborn prisoners, and I can’t think of more deserving than you.”
“Y-you don’t have to do this!” Bethany still tried to beg, her eyes and words full of horror. She couldn’t even imagine what those excruciating prods would feel like on softened, more slippery skin. “Please, believe me, I’m not a spy, NOO!” She completely lost it when the captain was finished with applying the lotion, and the soldiers lifted their gloved hands up again. “PLEASE! I’M INNOCENT! I DON’T BELONG HERE! I NEED TO GET OUT! HEEEELP! ANYONE! NOOOOOO!”
As the soldiers were lowering their hands on Bethany’s boobs once again, the captain interrupted them. “Hold on, ladies.” She reached into her uniform’s pockets, and took out two electric toothbrushes, which she turned on. “Leave her nipples to me.” Bethany eyes grew wide as saucers, and she let out a desperate shriek that soon turned into most desperate tortured laughter in the entire prison. The prods of the gloves on the sides and undersides of her boobs were unbearable alone, even worse with the baby oil, but the relentless electric brushes that were just pushed against her nipples and weren’t lifted off even for a split second were the worst. She laughed like a tickle tortured banshee, her screams could reach even some of the other torture cells where the interrogators and punishers halted their torture sessions for a moment when Bethany’s high pitched and intense laughter could be clearly heard even over the laughter and pleading of their own victims. They returned to their torture sessions but with curiosity for that screamer in Interrogation Cell #9. Their curiosity would be sated. With the captain's persistence to make Bethany crack and to tell everything she supposedly knows about things she has no idea of, the English beauty and her hyperticklish tits would stay here as the pleasure of the professional torturers for a long, long time…
It is not mandatory to read to understand this straightforward story of breast tickle torture though!
Las Montanas is an idyllic island nation in the Southern Caribbean, flourishing with foreign trade, newfound mining industry and tourism, ruled under a strong fist of a semi-authoritarian president and his clandestine secret service. Most of the population suffers minimal disturbances to their daily lives, and the president has been able to rule relatively unopposed… Until recently that is. Rising opposition to his totalitarian ways has caused him to double down on strength, his paranoia causing him to approve of extreme measures in order to safeguard his rule. This is a story about an English tourist who had the misfortune of stumbling upon the paranoid dictator’s military police.
*
It had been an idyllic day on the remote beach for Bethany, an Englishwoman visiting the island nation of Las Montanas. She liked quiet and idyllic places, and she had noticed that this area of the island was always strangely serene - locals didn’t seem to drop by and she had not seen a single other tourist either in the few days she had been visiting the area now, taking photos with her fancy new camera and enjoying the nature. Bethany was a beautiful young woman in her mid 20s, she had straight red hair that reached a bit over the back of her neck, face decorated by some charming freckles under her eyes. Her most striking feature however, was her significantly large bosom. Her huge breasts were almost escaping from the white tank top she was wearing along with blue denim shorts and appropriate sandals for the terrain that was pleasantly flat to be such a quiet place in its natural state.
Suddenly, Bethany’s idyllic day came into a halt. She heard someone shouting behind her, turned around and saw two soldier women approaching her. Both taller than her, their dark hairs tightly tied behind their heads as ponytails.
Bethany looked at the two women clad in uniform approaching her, one with her gun drawn. They shouted something at her in Spanish, which Bethany responded to by shaking her head and spouting some apologetic words she had picked up from guides. “Fuck… All I know is how to order drinks and ask for the menu.” She thought as her nervous mind switched its focus from the language barrier into the question of whether she had done anything wrong – not as far as she figured. She had done nothing but taken some photos of the mountainside and the beach. The soldierly women got closer, and exchanged a few words with each other before fixing their eyes on the sexy Englishwoman again.
“English?” One of them asked, keeping her gun pointed at Bethany as the other took quick, long steps to get behind Bethany, and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her on her knees on the soft sands. As she was wrestled on the ground, the soldier held her still, and Bethany could have sworn that she was deliberately fondling her giant tits, that were in danger of slipping out of her clothes.
“Yes, yes, I’m English! I – I’m so sorry, have I done someth-“
“Quiet!” The woman behind her hissed in Bethany’s ear as she pulled her arms down and forced them behind Bethany’s back, behind speaking in Spanish again to her partner, who then pulled a radio phone off her belt and spoke to it. After just a brief wait, a large black jeep rolled on the scene, and more soldiers emerged, one of them pulling a black hood on Bethany’s head. In darkness, she was dragged into the jeep and driven off.
*
An hour later, Bethany was sitting on a chair in a dark office, where the only light source was a bright lamp pointed at her. She was sweating nervously, as a woman in a uniform was going through the photos she had taken at the beach, clicking through the landscape and selfies against the majestic mountains and the beautiful sea. The two women who had arrested her on the beach were standing in attention right behind her. Her passport, wallet and phone were neatly placed on the table in front of the strict looking woman, who talked in a soft voice, flashing a faint smile with her mouth but keeping her eyes focused and cold. Her uniform was different from the soldier’s. It didn’t have pants, and came with a skirt instead. Instead of a ponytail, she had a short haircut, and was wearing round glasses. Judging by the symbols on her chest, she was an officer of a higher rank.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything out of order… Perhaps we can presume that your story about being a travel blogger isn’t just a fabrication…”
Bethany nodded stiffly, fear affecting her behaviour. She had been blindfolded by the hood until she arrived in this room, but had heard faint screams of women from further in the complex. Wherever she had been taken, these clearly were not good people, and she was dreading what they might do to her if she gave them any reasons to stop being nice.
“Yes! Thank you! I mean, of course, that was what I was taking there, taking photos of the land-” Bethany stammered, only to be interrupted by her interrogator.
“...BUT, you were in a restricted area. By accident or not, you were breaking the el Presidente’s security laws. They warrant a thorough investigation.”
The interrogator reached for her phone, and grabbed it.
“I need to investigate the contents of your phone, senorita. What is the screen lock security code?”
Bethany sighed. She didn’t like this further breach of her privacy at all, but saw docile cooperation as both the only way out, and the only way to avoid her predicament getting any worse. She had always been a sensitive and scaredy woman, and was sure that whatever they are doing to the screaming girls here, it would be something she could not bear either physically or mentally.
“It is 3138.” She said with still a bit of a shaky but also relieved voice. At least she would be cleared of suspicions about espionage.
As the interrogator had entered two numbers, one of the soldiers who had arrested Bethany talked.
“Pardon, capitan.” Her voice remained stern even when she addressed her commanding officer. “Permission to speak?” The officer ceased and nodded.
“The saboteurs and rebel collaborators are known to use phones that are set to wipe off their data if the wrong code is entered. That way they can ensure that the sensitive information stays safe even if they are pressured into giving some kind of code - and their enemies are left with no possibility of recovering it.”
The captain lowered the phone back on the table, and Bethany could feel her heartbeat intensifying and a sickening feeling in her stomach as her panic started to rise.
“Si!” The other soldier continued. “We can’t take the risk of potential security threats to military targets, just because saboteurs plan B in case of capture. We are requesting permission to interrogate the prisoner to make sure she isn’t trying to deceive us.”
Bethany protested right away. “T-that’s ridiculous! There is no such thing in my phone, please, just investigate it all you want, the code is 3138 and-”
“Permission granted.” The captain said over her panicky babbling. Bethany felt the hands of the soldiers grabbing her shoulders and fell silent as colour escaped from her face. “Make her talk. Whatever it takes.” “Si, capitan!”
Bethany was lifted off the chair, and dragged out of the room as she pleaded, kicked and screamed. “No! NOOO! PLEASE! I’M COLLABORATING! YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS! NOOO-'' Closing the door cut off her shrieks, and the captain smirked to herself. “She seemed like their type. That intruding English girl thinks she is in trouble, but she has no idea…”
*
The interrogation wing of the military police’s secret prison was never silent. Even in the empty hallways, screaming laughter of the prisoners interrogated and punished in their cells echoed in the walls, laughter of women filled with pleading, confessions and desperate calls for help in Spanish. But given the ability to separate those agonised voices from each other, one could hear English among them, as Bethany was being mercilessly tortured in the Interrogation Cell number #19.
“NAHAHAHAAA, STOPTOPSTOHOHOOOOP! AAAIIIIIHIHHIHIHIIII! AHAHAHAHAAA!” Tears were streaming down on the redhead’s cheeks as she futilely fought against the leather straps that were holding her body down. She had been relieved of her top and bra, which were thrown on the floor next to the torture table. Topless Bethany had straps around her ankles, thighs, waist, wrists and elbows, just below and above her tits, and over her forehead. Her giant boobs that had already received unsolicited attention during her arrest were now exposed, and focus of the prison’s favored torture method for imprisoned women - tickle torture. They were standing at Bethany’s sides, and bot were holding long, white feathers, that they used to slowly yet methodically stroke the bare skin of her tiddies, they would sweep then along her underboobs, twirl them across their sides and spin them just around her nipples and on them, all while whispering taunts and impossible demands in her ears.
“Cootchie cootchie coo…”
“Who is a ticklish spy? Who is?”
“Just give us the real code and this all can be over…”
“Do you like it when all of our feathers focus on your nipples? Tell us when you stop cackling.”
“So ticklish you can’t even talk! But when you can, I bet you’ll be very talkative…”
It was torture. Diabolical torture. Bethany could not even shake her head to distract her from at least some of it, all she could do was to lay there, suffer and let all the agony erupt out from her mouth as a constant stream of hysterical giggles and shrieks. Every now and then she could gather her composure for a fleeting moment, and tried to reason with her tormentors.
“PLEASE, PLEAHAHAA, IHIHIH TOHOLD IT!”
“AHAHAHAH, YOU HAHAHAVE TO BELIEHEHEEVE MEHEHEE, OH GOHOHOOOD”
“NONONO NOT THERE NOT THERE NOHOHOHOOOT THE NIPPLES AGAIHIHIIIIN!”
She could not stand it! But there was nothing she could do to make it stop. The hours of torture crept by slowly for hapless Bethany, as her interrogators were switching torture instruments, curious to see what would finally break her.
They tried spinning makeup brushes that completely covered her areolas and nipples on the tip of her breasts, which drove Bethany nuts with non stop laughter. She shook in her restraints, not even trying to properly beg for mercy, but instead just tried to scream how she could not take it, how she REALLY could not take it, but even if her two torturers heard it, they MADE her take it for the entire hour they played with those toys.
They used feather dusters that weren’t as good in covering her most ticklish spots, but the feathers could cover more area on her boobs, making her no less desperate for that torture to end. It felt like her tormentors could just keep the feather dusters hanging on her tits, and her uncontrollable trembling did the rest to keep her in the inescapable feathery tickle hell that felt like it went on forever.
However, it was the third torture method that made her feel that her mind would snap any second now. The soldiers started torturing her with special tickle gloves, which unlike the feathers, dusters and busters, was specifically engineered for this purpose. The surfaces of the gloves were filled with tiny prods that resembled tendrils of some kind, that created an unique scratchy and tickly sensation that - as the soldiers themselves knew - was unbearable. The tickling instruments of the prison were always tested among the staff, and the duo of torturers had tested them on each other back in the day. For one of them, it had taken merely five minutes of foot tickling and she gave up. For the other, her taut, muscular belly didn’t even have to be really tickled, it was enough that her comrade just kept the tickling gloves pressed on her midriff and lightly twitched her hands, and she would have been ready to do anything to make it stop. The ticklishness of the soldiers and their knowledge of what kind of pure torture their interrogation methods were would not, unfortunately for poor Bethany, lead to empathy. She was a complete wreck, and the tickle gloves hadn’t been used on her tits for even ten minutes yet. The prods were driving her out of her mind, no matter where they touched, the terrible tickling felt like it somehow spread all over her hypersensitive tiddies. In her head, she was formulating a desperate plan, a plan to make them stop, a plan that HAD to make them stop!
“AHAHAHHAHH STOHOHOP AHAHHAHA STOPTOPSTOOOOP” She said amidst her howling laughter. “IHIHIHHIHI TAHAHAAHAAALK! I TAAAHAAAALK!”
The tickling ended when the torturers actually heard her say it - or they heard it to begin with but weren’t ready to stop yet. They did have somewhat disappointed looks in their faces when they realised they had broken their plaything. Bethany was breathing heavily, still feeling tingling on her tits, still giggling a bit, but was able to compose herself. “T-the code is 6840! Please, I swear, d-don’t tickle me anymore!” She was relieved that the nightmare was over, and prayed that her gamble would work. She obviously gave them a false code. The first one she gave had of course been the real one all along. Now, they would enter the wrong code, see that nothing but an error message happens, realise that she was telling the truth all along, insert the real code, check the phone, and then let her away from this terrible place. Or so she hoped. So she really hoped.
One of the soldiers spoke to an intercom on the wall and told the captain the code Bethany had given. 6840. Some time passed, and soon, the captain herself entered the room, her arms behind her back.
“The code. It was wrong.” She said, and hearing it brought sadistic smiles back on the soldier's faces, and made Bethany beg frantically.
“It was the only way, please! There is no self-destruct on my phone, you know it now! I swear! The code I gave you in the beginning is the real one, if it was anything else I would tell it right now, I swear I would, I can’t stand being tickled.”
The captain walked towards the torture table as Bethany begged, and shook her head.
“I know you take me for a fool, but you are not the one playing mind games here. Now I know that you WANT us to insert the code you gave us in that phone.”
“WHAT?” Bethany asked, now shaking and crying with renewed fear.
“So intricate, yet so simple…” The captain spoke.” “You gave us a fake code under torture because you want us to believe that you were telling the truth to begin with. I bet that code is what makes your phone’s data self-destruct. You tried to make us insert it manually for you. You have incriminated yourself. I have spoken with my superiors, and this evidence with my conclusions is enough to justify your indefinite arrest until you tell us not only the code of the phone, but also all about your underhanded mission in our glorious country.”
“Please no, NO, that is not true! I’m just a tourist, you HAVE to believe me!” Bethany begged pitifully, as her living nightmare was getting worse and worse.
“It’s no use. We are up to your trickery now. Don’t you even try to give us the first code anymore - we know it is part of your plot.”
The captain brought her arms in front from behind her back, and showed a bottle of some transparent liquid substance from behind her back.
“A bottle of baby oil. They say that you haven’t really felt the torture gloves unless they used on skin soaked with this.” Captain kept speaking, as she applied the oil on Bethany’s tits. “We reserve this kind of treatment for both punishments of the worst traitors and foreign agents, and for interrogations of our most stubborn prisoners, and I can’t think of more deserving than you.”
“Y-you don’t have to do this!” Bethany still tried to beg, her eyes and words full of horror. She couldn’t even imagine what those excruciating prods would feel like on softened, more slippery skin. “Please, believe me, I’m not a spy, NOO!” She completely lost it when the captain was finished with applying the lotion, and the soldiers lifted their gloved hands up again. “PLEASE! I’M INNOCENT! I DON’T BELONG HERE! I NEED TO GET OUT! HEEEELP! ANYONE! NOOOOOO!”
As the soldiers were lowering their hands on Bethany’s boobs once again, the captain interrupted them. “Hold on, ladies.” She reached into her uniform’s pockets, and took out two electric toothbrushes, which she turned on. “Leave her nipples to me.” Bethany eyes grew wide as saucers, and she let out a desperate shriek that soon turned into most desperate tortured laughter in the entire prison. The prods of the gloves on the sides and undersides of her boobs were unbearable alone, even worse with the baby oil, but the relentless electric brushes that were just pushed against her nipples and weren’t lifted off even for a split second were the worst. She laughed like a tickle tortured banshee, her screams could reach even some of the other torture cells where the interrogators and punishers halted their torture sessions for a moment when Bethany’s high pitched and intense laughter could be clearly heard even over the laughter and pleading of their own victims. They returned to their torture sessions but with curiosity for that screamer in Interrogation Cell #9. Their curiosity would be sated. With the captain's persistence to make Bethany crack and to tell everything she supposedly knows about things she has no idea of, the English beauty and her hyperticklish tits would stay here as the pleasure of the professional torturers for a long, long time…
