"Oh shit, not again" I said out loud as my non-visual senses came around to once AGAIN find myself blindfolded and restrained to a chair, unable to escape.
"Help me please," came the pleading voice of another unknown female not too far away (but not very close either), who may had finally realized that she wasn't alone when I spoke out loud.
I tried taking a couple deep breaths to stay calm and properly assess the situation. "Are you also blindfolded and tied to a chair?" I asked her.
"Yes, why are we here like this?" the girl asked frantically.
If she didn't understand why we are we like this, it must be her first time. Before answering her question, I noticed that there were many similarities, but also a major difference, in comparing my present to past situation. Like before, my wrists were secured tightly to the armrests and my waist was secured snugly to the back of a familiar-feeling chair. The major difference was that last time, almost two months ago, both of my legs had been raised up, and my ankles had been strapped together and secured, onto an immovable piece of furniture such that both of my legs were extended in front of me; and possibly of greater significance, my shoes were still on my feet at the beginning when I gained consciousness, though they were promptly to be removed. This time, however, only my right leg was raised and strapped onto the same or similar piece of furniture, and the ankle of my left leg was tied securely to the leg of the chair. And the shoe of my right off was already off; since that would almost definitely be an eventual vulnerability, thoughts of upcoming events made the toes curl on my bare, exposed foot as anxiety quickly flooded my mind. But I tried to quickly regain composure.
"Ok, just stay calm and I think I can explain this," I said in a calm and reassuring voice, trying to put both her and myself at ease, while speaking just loud enough hoping that only this other unknown girl in the room could hear me. "What is your name?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Of course she was unlikely to be in a position to trust me or anybody, and therefore, I understood her cynical, questioning response. But I was here before and thus, I could think and respond less emotionally and more critically. "OK, listen," I began in soft-spoken voice, "my name is Marina Nikole, I'm 22 from Safe Harbor, and I was last at Club Fantasia ... that I can remember. I, ummm, just want to know if we know each other or if maybe we can help each other figure this out."
Somewhat reluctantly, the girl responded in kind, "my name is Christina Walsh, I'm 21 and from Belle Air. And I was also at Fantasia last night around 11:30."
Hearing her response, I replied to her in a more defeated tone, "yeah, they definitely got us from there tonight. The previous time, they took my sister and I from another dance club." Realizing that the other club was almost 45 minutes away from Club Fantasia and located in another county made me wonder if I, or both of us, might be specifically targeted.
"Have you been here before? Who are *they*?" Christina asked with an emphasis on "they."
These were very logical questions to ask, and it was going to be difficult to explain but I would try anyway. "Pretty sure I've been here before, and I'm not sure exactly sure who they are, but I'll tell you as much as I know. First, this is kind of important ... can you tell me how you are tied?"
Christina gave an answer that described exactly how Monica and I were tied up on that torturous night 2 months ago. And all of a sudden, I started to panic a little, squirming in the chair, realizing I was perfectly vulnerable for him again while vividly remembering the events and my feelings from before. Though I was in a somewhat different position, it was hard to imagine the scenario playing out any differently.
"Marina?"
I'm not sure how long that panic attack lasted, but apparently it was long enough for Christina to questionably call out my name and snap me back into the moment. Having processed her answer, I followed up, "So listen, we probably don't have much time, but here it is." I spoke openly and plainly to Christina, assuming our captors weren't just quietly observing or listening to us from within the room since there hadn't been even the slightest indication of additional company. In fact, I thought to myself that these extra minutes to ourselves was a notable difference before resuming. With whatever time we had left, I decided to tell her what I wish someone had told me prior to my last encounter. "OK, there's this one white male in his mid-forties with a mustache and a slight Italian accent who seems to be the leader, and I think he has some security guys or maybe they're just a couple of henchmen, and ...," I paused for a few seconds to gather my thoughts. "And what this Italian guy did was ...," I continued and I told Christina exactly what he did to Monica and I in a clear but brief summary. Everything including the light flash at the end that was likely supposed to have erased any memories of the events that occurred here.
I told Christina about those previous events with the expectation that they were about to happen here again given my experience on what occurred to Monica and me two months ago and given our present situation. I further explained to her that all my information was based on me being lucky given what I saw and what Monica forgot. At the end of our ordeal, when we were absolutely exhausted, and after he seemingly had his share of fun with us, our blindfolds were removed, and so we were able to see our captors and surroundings within this upscale loft. Soon after the blindfolds came off, I saw the man with the mustache, who by voice and attitude was clearly the leader of this band of villains and our torturer. He went to Monica first, used his fingers to hold her right eye open, and then clicked a pen-like device that he held in his other hand that quickly flashed a light directly into her eye. Then one of the two other guys, both wearing shades, immediately covered her nose and mouth with a breathing mask that was attached with a hose to a medium-sized, hand-held canister, and soon thereafter, she passed out. And they repeated the same process upon me. I woke up in my bed in my apartment and remembered everything, which I later realized wasn't their intention. Monica, on the other hand, woke up in her bed in her own apartment and remembered nothing besides partying at the club and possibly drinking too much. And to the current day, Monica still believed that I was dreaming because, to her, the events of my story sounded too weird to have happened and would be unforgettable to her if they truly did occur. The detective I worked with also told me that it seemed like a bad dream after concluding a week-long investigation, though I seriously doubted that she had put forth a strong level of resources or investigation towards my case.
Not that I had any doubts before, but I certainly wasn't dreaming now, not this time. And as soon as I finished talking to Christina, from which follow-up questions would surely have arisen, a door audibly opened and closed which promptly put those questions aside. Multiple footsteps could be heard with the familiar sounds of expensive dress shoes walking across the hardwood floor towards us. From my non-visual senses which had become sharper under such circumstances, I could sense that Christina wasn't as close to me as Monica was to me last time, but we were both still clearly in the center of this room. With a slight whimper in her voice, Christina cried out, "Please don't hurt me, please let me go," as if she hadn't really listened to a word of what I just told her. I guess it didn't hurt to try, but I remained quiet now.
The footsteps came towards me. I couldn't pull my leg away, as I desperately wanted to feel less vulnerable. He came closer than I initially expected, and then whispered very lightly in my ear, "you talk too much." Right after, a very light graze of his tool of torture came across my neck that caused everything in my body, that wasn't strapped down, to jump. The voice clearly belonged to the man with the mustache, and of course it wasn't any surprise. Just validation.
Those same footsteps gladly went away from me, but unfortunately went towards Christina where he seemed to stop.
"Wait, you're not really taking off my shoes to ..." and Christina's voice dropped away. Now I think she believed me. "All this just to ..."
And her uncontrollable laughter started. He hadn't said another word, which frustrated me. Last time he was more talkative, and I figured the more he talked, the more clues I could gather. And even his henchmen were silent this time instead of offering somewhat dull quips like last time. The biggest answer I wanted was to the all-important question 'why us?' Christina's laughter seemed to have grown exponentially in a very short period of time, and I truly empathized for her situation with much trepidation for my own. 'How does he find girls like us who seem perfectly ideal for his torturous ways?' I pondered in my own thoughts. With his relative silence, I couldn't tell if he was enjoying his work like the last time, but I had a certain feeling he was.
Last time, I hadn't been unattended like this. Monica had been right next to me, as our vulnerable feet strapped to the same fixture and our torture had been intertwined. This time, on the other hand, I had been listening to this poor girl laugh for what seemed like forever while so many thoughts and emotions ran through my mind. With a mix of anxiety, fear, shock, and incognizance, it was very difficult to gauge the duration of time that had passed. It seemed like she had been laughing out of control for almost an hour, but given the mixed emotional state that had twisted my mind, I wouldn't be shocked if only 15 to 20 minutes had passed. I didn't know if it was better for me that he chose Christina first, but it worsened my anticipation.
Her laughter finally subsided and I heard him say, "set her up inside, soles up." I didn't know exactly what that meant, but I knew that it didn't sound promising as I heard her beg and plead as she was seemingly untied and moved into another room where she became less audible after a door was loudly shut. And then the footsteps expectedly came my direction.
I wanted to say something, or offer something, but my mind went blank as the fear and anticipation overcame me. I had maintained a very small hope that he had something different planned for me ... that was until I heard him creepily say that phrase, "coochie coochie coo."
"Oh God no." The only three words I could get out before I felt the feather graze the tender bottom of my right foot that was firmly secured in place and exposed to this delicately horrific torture. There aren't many details that I can vividly remember except for a constantly awful feeling of helplessness together with the surprising delight through waves and waves of intense laughter that he elicited with the actions of his feather upon my sole and toes. These were the same feelings I encountered the first time, but it felt magnified this time around. This magnification could have been the result of my psychological state dealing with a present state of torture or possibly the fact that he was solely focused on me over a long duration. It could even be that his skill with that damn feather would get better with increased experience upon the same victim because this was clearly a man with a superior and unique level of expertise.
I couldn't tell you the duration exactly, but I think it was at least an hour long. I was absolutely exhausted, and I'm pretty sure I laughed more that night than the rest of my life combined. I had been long past the breaking point where I would have done anything to make him stop, so when he finally spoke and gave me an option to make it stop, I agreed without hesitation. If it ever mattered, lawyers could hopefully argue that I was innocent for any actions thereafter based upon making a life-changing choice under extreme duress.
Approximately 10 minutes later, after I eagerly agreed to his demand in order to at least temporarily end his torture of my one sole, I had the high-heel shoe off my left foot removed and my blindfold removed, and then I was untied from the chair before being taken by his two henchmen to the room into which Christina was previously led. I tried to be more observant of my torturer, his henchmen, and this surrounding once the blindfold was removed, with the hope that these details would have proved helpful later to the investigator or other authorities. Though I was completely exhausted while coming out of a broken mental state, I picked up a few extra details that may have been important for identification of these men and the location. Upon being brought into the room, I immediately noticed that Christina was already blindfolded and strapped face down to the bed with her lower legs bent up at the knees, and her ankles were locked in a padded, stock-like device attached perpendicularly to the foot-board of the bed that left her soles helplessly exposed. To have found her bound in this compromising position was certainly not surprising. Observing the professional craftsmanship of this bondage device being attached seamlessly to the bed, that was obviously only designed to leave her soles up and completely vulnerable, was however quite shocking. Not being in a situation to escape, I allowed the two henchmen to immediately place me without struggle in a position facing Christina's helpless soles that just happened to be well within arms-reach. Upon this placement, they had bound me in a kneeling position upon a sturdy bed bench, just inches away from the foot-board, with my knees and ankles both tied firmly together by individual pieces of rope with the ends of each being tied in some fashion to the underside of the bench giving no slack. The rope-tying was all performed by the skinny, black henchman who was clearly very adept in the task as he performed it carefully, neatly, and quickly with seemingly long pieces of rope. I think it would have likely been a complicated task for most, but he did it smoothly without any adjustments that left me very immobile and not uncomfortable in a matter of minutes. With my shins pressed firmly into the leather padding of the bench, this particular bind left my helpless soles dangling over the edge of the bench, and this bondage restricted the movement of my feet to the same level as Christina's bondage had restricted the movement of her feet.
It all happened quickly, but this time I understood what was happening because of the deal I just made. The torturer had quickly found a seat on a rolling chair that he positioned right behind me, and immediately without warning, the tip of his feather started flickering lightly across my soles as he asked "what are you waiting for?" Somehow, I thought I was going to be given my own feather to use, but instead, I was hunched over in another induced fit of laughter as I quickly realized I needed to use my own fingernails. Despite my initial loss of self control from this new wave of torture, I was able to regain my posture and get my fingernails onto Christina's soles as I quickly figured out how to escape my own torture by executing that terrible deal which he offered and I accepted: make Christina laugh or he would continue to make me laugh. Of course, such deal would never sound terrible by itself, but in this context of soles, bondage, feathers, and fingernails, someone was going to suffer.
Christina was ultimately my first victim. As it was my first time, it wasn't my best effort and I paid for lapses in my effort tremendously as the man behind me was determined to ensure one of us was always being victimized with intense fits of laughter. It was always difficult to regain composure and get back on the offensive when his feather was doing work, but with no other options, my fingernails would eventually find my way back to dancing across Christina's helpless soles to make her giggle and laugh.
Overall, it was a long and arduous night by the time I was allowed to stop this offensive attack. I was still tied to the bench as I witnessed Christina go through the customary final protocol. With no fight left in her body, she was untied by the henchmen, flipped over and held down face-up with her blindfold removed, subjected to the red flash from the leader's pen-like device, and finally knocked out by gas before being carried away by both henchmen out of the room. I audibly heard them exit through the main door as I felt somewhat elated that she would likely wake up with no recollection of the tortures that he and I put her through this night. I had mistakenly assumed my night had also been done, which also contributed to my temporary elation, but I should had known better.
As his henchmen left, he put his device away back into his pants pocket and circled back behind me where I thought he would start to untie my ankles. What I didn't see was that he took hold of the feather again, which became known when the tip of that feather once again began assaulting my soles and toes under his command. I could go into the details of that latest round of torture, but I can simply describe it as perfect tickling that lasted approximately 20 to 30 minutes long. This time, there was a lot of silly banter on his part, but I didn't discern all of it as I couldn't hear much over the sound of my own laughter. Finally, he made a request of me for which I did hear clearly and agreed, and the tickling for the night finally stopped.
I wasn't subjected to the final protocol of short-term memory wipe (only later did I find out that it was 99.99% effective and I was the 1-in-ten-thousand anomaly). I was untied at the time his henchmen had returned from dropping off Christina. Once untied from the bench, I was blindfolded with my wrists tied behind my back, again without struggle on my part, before being physically led to a vehicle and dropped off at my apartment. The second and fatter henchman, who sat next to me in the rear, gave me specific instructions in order to comply with the final agreement I made. He then untied my wrists, removed my blindfold, and generously handed me a bag which contained my purse and my heels.
The black Cadillac SUV sped off as I stood barefoot outside my apartment building for a minute just trying to process some of these events. However, I was eager to get inside my apartment and change out of my panties that only now was noticeably damp. I carefully walked up to my building and climbed the stairs to my second story apartment in the early hours of a quiet night. I wanted to take a shower, but instead, I only managed to remove my panties and fall asleep on my bed despite meaning to lay down for just a few minutes.
I certainly had the opportunity to give a lot more information to my investigator after that torturous Friday night, including a license plate that read DTTKLR (but I didn't and only later realized that it wouldn't have mattered anyway). Instead, I did what I considered to be the smart thing and keep everything to myself. And the next evening, with the "trauma" still fresh from the night before, I got myself ready in a similar fashion as if one of my usual party nights. As per the instructions, I returned to the same spot I was dropped off yesterday, wearing a sexy red miniskirt dress and red 5-inch heels, and I was picked up promptly by the same SUV one minute later at 7:45pm.
Compared to the previous night, I was tickled a lot less, and I tickled a great deal more. Unfortunately, the person I was made to tickle this night was my sister, but fortunately, she wouldn't remember any of the tickling again. As my second victim, Monica laughed a lot more than Christina which could be attributed to better technique on my part. I still wasn't allowed to use the feather yet, but my fingernails were better at maintaining a desired pressure that maximized her ticklish response and laughter as I dragged them in deliberate motions and traced various patterns across her soles and toes. The torturer taught me some basics that night, and that was truly the moment that I became more of an apprentice and less of a victim to this Italian man named Don Turtelli.
"Help me please," came the pleading voice of another unknown female not too far away (but not very close either), who may had finally realized that she wasn't alone when I spoke out loud.
I tried taking a couple deep breaths to stay calm and properly assess the situation. "Are you also blindfolded and tied to a chair?" I asked her.
"Yes, why are we here like this?" the girl asked frantically.
If she didn't understand why we are we like this, it must be her first time. Before answering her question, I noticed that there were many similarities, but also a major difference, in comparing my present to past situation. Like before, my wrists were secured tightly to the armrests and my waist was secured snugly to the back of a familiar-feeling chair. The major difference was that last time, almost two months ago, both of my legs had been raised up, and my ankles had been strapped together and secured, onto an immovable piece of furniture such that both of my legs were extended in front of me; and possibly of greater significance, my shoes were still on my feet at the beginning when I gained consciousness, though they were promptly to be removed. This time, however, only my right leg was raised and strapped onto the same or similar piece of furniture, and the ankle of my left leg was tied securely to the leg of the chair. And the shoe of my right off was already off; since that would almost definitely be an eventual vulnerability, thoughts of upcoming events made the toes curl on my bare, exposed foot as anxiety quickly flooded my mind. But I tried to quickly regain composure.
"Ok, just stay calm and I think I can explain this," I said in a calm and reassuring voice, trying to put both her and myself at ease, while speaking just loud enough hoping that only this other unknown girl in the room could hear me. "What is your name?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Of course she was unlikely to be in a position to trust me or anybody, and therefore, I understood her cynical, questioning response. But I was here before and thus, I could think and respond less emotionally and more critically. "OK, listen," I began in soft-spoken voice, "my name is Marina Nikole, I'm 22 from Safe Harbor, and I was last at Club Fantasia ... that I can remember. I, ummm, just want to know if we know each other or if maybe we can help each other figure this out."
Somewhat reluctantly, the girl responded in kind, "my name is Christina Walsh, I'm 21 and from Belle Air. And I was also at Fantasia last night around 11:30."
Hearing her response, I replied to her in a more defeated tone, "yeah, they definitely got us from there tonight. The previous time, they took my sister and I from another dance club." Realizing that the other club was almost 45 minutes away from Club Fantasia and located in another county made me wonder if I, or both of us, might be specifically targeted.
"Have you been here before? Who are *they*?" Christina asked with an emphasis on "they."
These were very logical questions to ask, and it was going to be difficult to explain but I would try anyway. "Pretty sure I've been here before, and I'm not sure exactly sure who they are, but I'll tell you as much as I know. First, this is kind of important ... can you tell me how you are tied?"
Christina gave an answer that described exactly how Monica and I were tied up on that torturous night 2 months ago. And all of a sudden, I started to panic a little, squirming in the chair, realizing I was perfectly vulnerable for him again while vividly remembering the events and my feelings from before. Though I was in a somewhat different position, it was hard to imagine the scenario playing out any differently.
"Marina?"
I'm not sure how long that panic attack lasted, but apparently it was long enough for Christina to questionably call out my name and snap me back into the moment. Having processed her answer, I followed up, "So listen, we probably don't have much time, but here it is." I spoke openly and plainly to Christina, assuming our captors weren't just quietly observing or listening to us from within the room since there hadn't been even the slightest indication of additional company. In fact, I thought to myself that these extra minutes to ourselves was a notable difference before resuming. With whatever time we had left, I decided to tell her what I wish someone had told me prior to my last encounter. "OK, there's this one white male in his mid-forties with a mustache and a slight Italian accent who seems to be the leader, and I think he has some security guys or maybe they're just a couple of henchmen, and ...," I paused for a few seconds to gather my thoughts. "And what this Italian guy did was ...," I continued and I told Christina exactly what he did to Monica and I in a clear but brief summary. Everything including the light flash at the end that was likely supposed to have erased any memories of the events that occurred here.
I told Christina about those previous events with the expectation that they were about to happen here again given my experience on what occurred to Monica and me two months ago and given our present situation. I further explained to her that all my information was based on me being lucky given what I saw and what Monica forgot. At the end of our ordeal, when we were absolutely exhausted, and after he seemingly had his share of fun with us, our blindfolds were removed, and so we were able to see our captors and surroundings within this upscale loft. Soon after the blindfolds came off, I saw the man with the mustache, who by voice and attitude was clearly the leader of this band of villains and our torturer. He went to Monica first, used his fingers to hold her right eye open, and then clicked a pen-like device that he held in his other hand that quickly flashed a light directly into her eye. Then one of the two other guys, both wearing shades, immediately covered her nose and mouth with a breathing mask that was attached with a hose to a medium-sized, hand-held canister, and soon thereafter, she passed out. And they repeated the same process upon me. I woke up in my bed in my apartment and remembered everything, which I later realized wasn't their intention. Monica, on the other hand, woke up in her bed in her own apartment and remembered nothing besides partying at the club and possibly drinking too much. And to the current day, Monica still believed that I was dreaming because, to her, the events of my story sounded too weird to have happened and would be unforgettable to her if they truly did occur. The detective I worked with also told me that it seemed like a bad dream after concluding a week-long investigation, though I seriously doubted that she had put forth a strong level of resources or investigation towards my case.
Not that I had any doubts before, but I certainly wasn't dreaming now, not this time. And as soon as I finished talking to Christina, from which follow-up questions would surely have arisen, a door audibly opened and closed which promptly put those questions aside. Multiple footsteps could be heard with the familiar sounds of expensive dress shoes walking across the hardwood floor towards us. From my non-visual senses which had become sharper under such circumstances, I could sense that Christina wasn't as close to me as Monica was to me last time, but we were both still clearly in the center of this room. With a slight whimper in her voice, Christina cried out, "Please don't hurt me, please let me go," as if she hadn't really listened to a word of what I just told her. I guess it didn't hurt to try, but I remained quiet now.
The footsteps came towards me. I couldn't pull my leg away, as I desperately wanted to feel less vulnerable. He came closer than I initially expected, and then whispered very lightly in my ear, "you talk too much." Right after, a very light graze of his tool of torture came across my neck that caused everything in my body, that wasn't strapped down, to jump. The voice clearly belonged to the man with the mustache, and of course it wasn't any surprise. Just validation.
Those same footsteps gladly went away from me, but unfortunately went towards Christina where he seemed to stop.
"Wait, you're not really taking off my shoes to ..." and Christina's voice dropped away. Now I think she believed me. "All this just to ..."
And her uncontrollable laughter started. He hadn't said another word, which frustrated me. Last time he was more talkative, and I figured the more he talked, the more clues I could gather. And even his henchmen were silent this time instead of offering somewhat dull quips like last time. The biggest answer I wanted was to the all-important question 'why us?' Christina's laughter seemed to have grown exponentially in a very short period of time, and I truly empathized for her situation with much trepidation for my own. 'How does he find girls like us who seem perfectly ideal for his torturous ways?' I pondered in my own thoughts. With his relative silence, I couldn't tell if he was enjoying his work like the last time, but I had a certain feeling he was.
Last time, I hadn't been unattended like this. Monica had been right next to me, as our vulnerable feet strapped to the same fixture and our torture had been intertwined. This time, on the other hand, I had been listening to this poor girl laugh for what seemed like forever while so many thoughts and emotions ran through my mind. With a mix of anxiety, fear, shock, and incognizance, it was very difficult to gauge the duration of time that had passed. It seemed like she had been laughing out of control for almost an hour, but given the mixed emotional state that had twisted my mind, I wouldn't be shocked if only 15 to 20 minutes had passed. I didn't know if it was better for me that he chose Christina first, but it worsened my anticipation.
Her laughter finally subsided and I heard him say, "set her up inside, soles up." I didn't know exactly what that meant, but I knew that it didn't sound promising as I heard her beg and plead as she was seemingly untied and moved into another room where she became less audible after a door was loudly shut. And then the footsteps expectedly came my direction.
I wanted to say something, or offer something, but my mind went blank as the fear and anticipation overcame me. I had maintained a very small hope that he had something different planned for me ... that was until I heard him creepily say that phrase, "coochie coochie coo."
"Oh God no." The only three words I could get out before I felt the feather graze the tender bottom of my right foot that was firmly secured in place and exposed to this delicately horrific torture. There aren't many details that I can vividly remember except for a constantly awful feeling of helplessness together with the surprising delight through waves and waves of intense laughter that he elicited with the actions of his feather upon my sole and toes. These were the same feelings I encountered the first time, but it felt magnified this time around. This magnification could have been the result of my psychological state dealing with a present state of torture or possibly the fact that he was solely focused on me over a long duration. It could even be that his skill with that damn feather would get better with increased experience upon the same victim because this was clearly a man with a superior and unique level of expertise.
I couldn't tell you the duration exactly, but I think it was at least an hour long. I was absolutely exhausted, and I'm pretty sure I laughed more that night than the rest of my life combined. I had been long past the breaking point where I would have done anything to make him stop, so when he finally spoke and gave me an option to make it stop, I agreed without hesitation. If it ever mattered, lawyers could hopefully argue that I was innocent for any actions thereafter based upon making a life-changing choice under extreme duress.
Approximately 10 minutes later, after I eagerly agreed to his demand in order to at least temporarily end his torture of my one sole, I had the high-heel shoe off my left foot removed and my blindfold removed, and then I was untied from the chair before being taken by his two henchmen to the room into which Christina was previously led. I tried to be more observant of my torturer, his henchmen, and this surrounding once the blindfold was removed, with the hope that these details would have proved helpful later to the investigator or other authorities. Though I was completely exhausted while coming out of a broken mental state, I picked up a few extra details that may have been important for identification of these men and the location. Upon being brought into the room, I immediately noticed that Christina was already blindfolded and strapped face down to the bed with her lower legs bent up at the knees, and her ankles were locked in a padded, stock-like device attached perpendicularly to the foot-board of the bed that left her soles helplessly exposed. To have found her bound in this compromising position was certainly not surprising. Observing the professional craftsmanship of this bondage device being attached seamlessly to the bed, that was obviously only designed to leave her soles up and completely vulnerable, was however quite shocking. Not being in a situation to escape, I allowed the two henchmen to immediately place me without struggle in a position facing Christina's helpless soles that just happened to be well within arms-reach. Upon this placement, they had bound me in a kneeling position upon a sturdy bed bench, just inches away from the foot-board, with my knees and ankles both tied firmly together by individual pieces of rope with the ends of each being tied in some fashion to the underside of the bench giving no slack. The rope-tying was all performed by the skinny, black henchman who was clearly very adept in the task as he performed it carefully, neatly, and quickly with seemingly long pieces of rope. I think it would have likely been a complicated task for most, but he did it smoothly without any adjustments that left me very immobile and not uncomfortable in a matter of minutes. With my shins pressed firmly into the leather padding of the bench, this particular bind left my helpless soles dangling over the edge of the bench, and this bondage restricted the movement of my feet to the same level as Christina's bondage had restricted the movement of her feet.
It all happened quickly, but this time I understood what was happening because of the deal I just made. The torturer had quickly found a seat on a rolling chair that he positioned right behind me, and immediately without warning, the tip of his feather started flickering lightly across my soles as he asked "what are you waiting for?" Somehow, I thought I was going to be given my own feather to use, but instead, I was hunched over in another induced fit of laughter as I quickly realized I needed to use my own fingernails. Despite my initial loss of self control from this new wave of torture, I was able to regain my posture and get my fingernails onto Christina's soles as I quickly figured out how to escape my own torture by executing that terrible deal which he offered and I accepted: make Christina laugh or he would continue to make me laugh. Of course, such deal would never sound terrible by itself, but in this context of soles, bondage, feathers, and fingernails, someone was going to suffer.
Christina was ultimately my first victim. As it was my first time, it wasn't my best effort and I paid for lapses in my effort tremendously as the man behind me was determined to ensure one of us was always being victimized with intense fits of laughter. It was always difficult to regain composure and get back on the offensive when his feather was doing work, but with no other options, my fingernails would eventually find my way back to dancing across Christina's helpless soles to make her giggle and laugh.
Overall, it was a long and arduous night by the time I was allowed to stop this offensive attack. I was still tied to the bench as I witnessed Christina go through the customary final protocol. With no fight left in her body, she was untied by the henchmen, flipped over and held down face-up with her blindfold removed, subjected to the red flash from the leader's pen-like device, and finally knocked out by gas before being carried away by both henchmen out of the room. I audibly heard them exit through the main door as I felt somewhat elated that she would likely wake up with no recollection of the tortures that he and I put her through this night. I had mistakenly assumed my night had also been done, which also contributed to my temporary elation, but I should had known better.
As his henchmen left, he put his device away back into his pants pocket and circled back behind me where I thought he would start to untie my ankles. What I didn't see was that he took hold of the feather again, which became known when the tip of that feather once again began assaulting my soles and toes under his command. I could go into the details of that latest round of torture, but I can simply describe it as perfect tickling that lasted approximately 20 to 30 minutes long. This time, there was a lot of silly banter on his part, but I didn't discern all of it as I couldn't hear much over the sound of my own laughter. Finally, he made a request of me for which I did hear clearly and agreed, and the tickling for the night finally stopped.
I wasn't subjected to the final protocol of short-term memory wipe (only later did I find out that it was 99.99% effective and I was the 1-in-ten-thousand anomaly). I was untied at the time his henchmen had returned from dropping off Christina. Once untied from the bench, I was blindfolded with my wrists tied behind my back, again without struggle on my part, before being physically led to a vehicle and dropped off at my apartment. The second and fatter henchman, who sat next to me in the rear, gave me specific instructions in order to comply with the final agreement I made. He then untied my wrists, removed my blindfold, and generously handed me a bag which contained my purse and my heels.
The black Cadillac SUV sped off as I stood barefoot outside my apartment building for a minute just trying to process some of these events. However, I was eager to get inside my apartment and change out of my panties that only now was noticeably damp. I carefully walked up to my building and climbed the stairs to my second story apartment in the early hours of a quiet night. I wanted to take a shower, but instead, I only managed to remove my panties and fall asleep on my bed despite meaning to lay down for just a few minutes.
I certainly had the opportunity to give a lot more information to my investigator after that torturous Friday night, including a license plate that read DTTKLR (but I didn't and only later realized that it wouldn't have mattered anyway). Instead, I did what I considered to be the smart thing and keep everything to myself. And the next evening, with the "trauma" still fresh from the night before, I got myself ready in a similar fashion as if one of my usual party nights. As per the instructions, I returned to the same spot I was dropped off yesterday, wearing a sexy red miniskirt dress and red 5-inch heels, and I was picked up promptly by the same SUV one minute later at 7:45pm.
Compared to the previous night, I was tickled a lot less, and I tickled a great deal more. Unfortunately, the person I was made to tickle this night was my sister, but fortunately, she wouldn't remember any of the tickling again. As my second victim, Monica laughed a lot more than Christina which could be attributed to better technique on my part. I still wasn't allowed to use the feather yet, but my fingernails were better at maintaining a desired pressure that maximized her ticklish response and laughter as I dragged them in deliberate motions and traced various patterns across her soles and toes. The torturer taught me some basics that night, and that was truly the moment that I became more of an apprentice and less of a victim to this Italian man named Don Turtelli.
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