Francie_Pants
TMF Poster
- Joined
- May 6, 2008
- Messages
- 148
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- 0
Upon arrival at the destination, they again put my shoes back on (yeah, kinda seems like an extra step, but I guess they just didn't want them lying around), and picked me up out of the van. I was still blindfolded and gagged, but could tell I was carried inside, because of the temperature change. It got a substantially cooler, which meant they had the air conditioning turned up a bit.
I was carried down a flight of stairs. I felt each jolt of each step, so I while I dreaded the idea of being carried down into what I perceived to be a basement, I was glad when we reached the bottom of the stairs. Soon, I was placed on some sort of torture rack, because I was untied, and my wrists and ankles were pull out until I was stretched in an X, wrists and ankles fastened securely in stocks. I then heard gears turning and felt myself legs being pulled, stretching me out tighter, until I didn't think I could be stretched anymore, and then it stopped.
The sound of retreating footsteps was followed by a long silence, during which I can only assume I was alone. I turned my head right and left, trying to tune my hearing, since it was the only perception sense that wasn't great hindered from performing its function at the moment, and tried to listen for sounds that might help me get some idea of where I was. If I could hear cars passing, I would know I was near a busy street. If I could hear a train, I'd know I was near the railroad. There are a variety of sounds one can hear, to help them at least get a general idea of where they are. I heard nothing, not even the sound of crickets. There was total silence.
I had to make some noise, myself, every now and then, to make it seem real and keep from going crazy. Struggle was futile. I was stretched so tightly, by the torture rack, that my fiercest strains summoned no movement whatsoever. I could wiggle my fingers, wiggle my toes inside my shoes, and sway my feet a little bit, this way or that, and bob my head up and down a little. That was all.
Again, the thoughts started to go through my mind. Who were these people? What did they want? Did they want ransom? Did they think I knew something, or maybe thought that I was a part of something that was a threat to them? Nothing seemed to add up. I manage a coffee shop. Unfortunately, it does keep me in town, into the wee hours of the night, because we don't close until midnight, and then I am sometimes in the office for two to three hours, afterward, finishing paperwork and unwinding, so that I'm not a ball of stress trying to drive home. They obviously knew this, because they had taken the chance of planting someone in my car, to catch me when I came out.
There had clearly been a great deal of planning put into this, so it truly set my mind to wondering what the intention was, and what the outcome was to be. I certainly wasn't in any hurry to find out their plans for me, but I knew that the sooner they had what they needed, or did what they intended, the sooner it would hopefully be released. I didn't want to think about the possibility of having to be 'taken out of the picture', but it kept coming back to mind, flooding my thoughts, and filling me with the fear of the unknown.
After what seemed like half a day, but was probably about an hour, I heard footsteps again. This time there were more people, and I could sense that they were all gathering around this torture rack I was secured into. Here we go; I thought to myself, this is where I find out what's going on.
A voice spoke, and it was not at all what I expected. Having been so forcefully manipulated and rendered incapable of protecting myself in anyway, I expected some deep, sinister voice, but, I have to say, that was not the case. Were I not in such distress, I might have laughed, because he kinda sounded like that nerdy guy with glasses from the Johnny Bravo cartoons. That laugh still makes me cringe, too.
"Francie! So glad you could come to see me. I'm sure you're wondering what you're doing here. Well, that will all be revealed. You see, you've been under my surveillance for quite some time, now. I run another small business near your coffee shop,” his voice was already starting to rub against my nerves. I think if one had to listen to him all day, they would be ready to pull hair out. He continued his monologue.
"Now, I'm sure you've seen those detectors by the exit doors, in a lot of stores. You know, the ones that detect whether or not the magnetic strip has been deactivated, in order to reduce theft. Well, my store has those, but I had my friend install a special detector in it. It scans every body that passes through it, and measures nerve activity and sensitivity for the entire body, then sends readouts to my computer." I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This sounded like something out of a sci-fi novel, or something. Was this guy for real?
"Of course, I have a system for singling out people like you. I use an eight level rating system, and where you fit into that system determines the color that your name gets in the database. Yours was a bright glowing red, which means that you scored off the charts for sensitivity." Ok, this was really getting freaky. Sensitivity testing? Off the charts? My mind was starting to go into overdrive, trying to spin off of this information into some form of plot.
"I had several to choose from, but your sensitivities seemed most aligned with the areas I like to explore. No, I don't really have any particular financial motivation or personal gain I seek to obtain. This is just about a man with a hobby, and in need of a prisoner to use for my entertainment." There it was. This was the reason for my abduction. I wasn't going to be ransomed. It wasn't for information extraction, or even revenge of a past acquaintance burned. He was just doing this for his own personal enjoyment.
It was my turn. My eyes widened behind the blindfold, and I started screaming and jerking against the bindings with every ounce of strength that I could muster. I was quickly reminded of the strictness of my trappings, however. Apparently, he decided there was no use in continuing with chatter, because I soon felt my shoes being removed....again. I had a feeling I knew what was coming, too. I didn't have to spend much time guessing.
It was like being hit by a truck, the way I was slammed with the initial rush of sensation. Whether they were his fingers or not, I wasn't quite sure, but they sure knew what they were doing, and I highly doubted that he brought me all the way out here to watch someone else have his fun for him. He started on my left foot, bending my toes back, and attacking the tightly stretched, nylon covered sole with a flurry of flittering fingers. I screamed and burst into hysterical laughter. I could do nothing, though. The rack had me stretched so taut and secure that I could only lay there and bob my head up and down, clenching my fists in frustration and despair, while his fingers manipulated the sensitivities of my helpless foot.
The tickling before had been weak compared to this. Those guys were obviously more skilled with the art of kidnap than the art of tickling, which is probably why he had hired them. I thought I was going to have an out of body experience, right there on that torture rack. Each ticklish scrape against the silky smooth nylon was like a surge of electricity, pulsating all the way through my body, and wracking it with spasmodic twitching. The gag was no help. It stifled my breathing, making each forced laugh that much more dramatic, because the attempts at inhalation were greatly hindered.
He spent what felt like hours on that one foot, but in actual time, it had only been about ten minutes, before he moved to the other one. He was using all sorts of random patterns with his fingers, too. I was never able to get used to one type of tickle, before he switched to another. One minute he was raking short fingernails against my arches, which was definitely among the worst of things he could do to me. The next minute, he had one finger scraping against the underside of each toe, terrorizing the stems through the thin veil of the nylon. Another minute, and he was spidering fingers around the ball of the foot, and down into the arch again.
I would have given anything to pass out, but I have a high metabolism, and it makes me very resilient against things of that nature. I just had to lay there, stretched out on that rack, and endure the tortures of his fingers, relentlessly meandering and exploring the helpless bottoms of my intensely sensitive feet. I didn't think things could get any worse. Then they did.
Out of nowhere, I felt my shirt being pulled up, until it was over my face and arms, baring my midsection and underarms, other than what was covered by my bra. I cringed and screamed, having a pretty good idea what was coming. I was a little bit surprised, however, when I felt long fingernails dragging in and out of my armpits. The long fingernails felt like those of a woman, and I began to wonder if he had women working for him, too. My suspicions were quickly confirmed when I heard them giggling to themselves. There were two of them, and they were on either side of me, using one hand in each of my armpits, and on hand on my ribcage.
Between the rib digging, the armpit scraping and the torture being inflicted on my feet, I was quickly becoming a mess of ticklish hysteria. I went into silent laughter, and was laughing so hard, that there was no way I could have produced sound to keep up with the forceful expulsions of air. When I was able to manage some breathing, weak as it was through my nose, my laughter would have volume again, but it didn’t' last long.
Two sets of long fingernails moved from my sides to pushing into the waist of my jeans. They attacked my hip creases. Quick jabs and short fingernail scrapes sent me into another level of madness, as now the three most sensitive places on my body were being tormented with tickling, all at once. Surely this was a nightmare. It felt too real though, and I knew it was real. I knew I was in deep trouble, because there was no good reason for this guy to let me go, now. He had what he wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I felt the nylon being pushed down around my big toes, as one and then the other were tied with string and pulled back, tied to the stocks, stretching them back, and leaving both of his hands free to continue. I tried to pull them free, but it was no use. He attacked both soles at one time, randomly spattering his fingers all over them, and then raking from heel to toes, then spidering his fingers all over them, and then working on the toe undersides. When I thought for sure that everything would have to stop, because there was no possible way that I could take anymore, it just kept going. It kept going, and going, and going. They were like the Energizer bunnies of tickling. They just didn't stop.
With my big toes tied back, what little bit of movement I had been able to make with my feet was completely stopped. It left my sensitive feet completely still for him to explore to his hearts content, and he showed no mercy. Apparently, his help had been given instructions to act in the same way, because their fingers never seemed to stop moving. Scrape after scrape, the dragged their fingernails in and out of the hollows of my armpits. My hips have never felt so much digging and probing. My feet, my poor feet, were going into sensory overload, because he continued to use one hand each foot, with all of his random styles and patterns, then spent what felt like hours, but was maybe four or five minutes, tickling exclusively in my ultra sensitive arches, with a continuous flow of wiggling fingers.
I think he finally realized that if it kept up, much longer, he was going to have a mess on his hands, because it did eventually stop....for the time being. I heard people leaving the room, but felt a presence near me, but heard a voice in my ear.
:"Welcome to your new home, Francie. I intend to keep you here for a long," then he paused, obviously for dramatic effect, "long time!"
My heart sank, as his words laid on them like a ton of bricks. Surely, this wasn't happening to me. Surely, he was not going to just keep me locked up here, and tickle torture me for the rest of my life. There had to be some other way. I was left to think about it, though, because he left the room. I heard the door shut behind him. All I could do now was lay there and wonder who he was, and where I was at,..........and why?
I was carried down a flight of stairs. I felt each jolt of each step, so I while I dreaded the idea of being carried down into what I perceived to be a basement, I was glad when we reached the bottom of the stairs. Soon, I was placed on some sort of torture rack, because I was untied, and my wrists and ankles were pull out until I was stretched in an X, wrists and ankles fastened securely in stocks. I then heard gears turning and felt myself legs being pulled, stretching me out tighter, until I didn't think I could be stretched anymore, and then it stopped.
The sound of retreating footsteps was followed by a long silence, during which I can only assume I was alone. I turned my head right and left, trying to tune my hearing, since it was the only perception sense that wasn't great hindered from performing its function at the moment, and tried to listen for sounds that might help me get some idea of where I was. If I could hear cars passing, I would know I was near a busy street. If I could hear a train, I'd know I was near the railroad. There are a variety of sounds one can hear, to help them at least get a general idea of where they are. I heard nothing, not even the sound of crickets. There was total silence.
I had to make some noise, myself, every now and then, to make it seem real and keep from going crazy. Struggle was futile. I was stretched so tightly, by the torture rack, that my fiercest strains summoned no movement whatsoever. I could wiggle my fingers, wiggle my toes inside my shoes, and sway my feet a little bit, this way or that, and bob my head up and down a little. That was all.
Again, the thoughts started to go through my mind. Who were these people? What did they want? Did they want ransom? Did they think I knew something, or maybe thought that I was a part of something that was a threat to them? Nothing seemed to add up. I manage a coffee shop. Unfortunately, it does keep me in town, into the wee hours of the night, because we don't close until midnight, and then I am sometimes in the office for two to three hours, afterward, finishing paperwork and unwinding, so that I'm not a ball of stress trying to drive home. They obviously knew this, because they had taken the chance of planting someone in my car, to catch me when I came out.
There had clearly been a great deal of planning put into this, so it truly set my mind to wondering what the intention was, and what the outcome was to be. I certainly wasn't in any hurry to find out their plans for me, but I knew that the sooner they had what they needed, or did what they intended, the sooner it would hopefully be released. I didn't want to think about the possibility of having to be 'taken out of the picture', but it kept coming back to mind, flooding my thoughts, and filling me with the fear of the unknown.
After what seemed like half a day, but was probably about an hour, I heard footsteps again. This time there were more people, and I could sense that they were all gathering around this torture rack I was secured into. Here we go; I thought to myself, this is where I find out what's going on.
A voice spoke, and it was not at all what I expected. Having been so forcefully manipulated and rendered incapable of protecting myself in anyway, I expected some deep, sinister voice, but, I have to say, that was not the case. Were I not in such distress, I might have laughed, because he kinda sounded like that nerdy guy with glasses from the Johnny Bravo cartoons. That laugh still makes me cringe, too.
"Francie! So glad you could come to see me. I'm sure you're wondering what you're doing here. Well, that will all be revealed. You see, you've been under my surveillance for quite some time, now. I run another small business near your coffee shop,” his voice was already starting to rub against my nerves. I think if one had to listen to him all day, they would be ready to pull hair out. He continued his monologue.
"Now, I'm sure you've seen those detectors by the exit doors, in a lot of stores. You know, the ones that detect whether or not the magnetic strip has been deactivated, in order to reduce theft. Well, my store has those, but I had my friend install a special detector in it. It scans every body that passes through it, and measures nerve activity and sensitivity for the entire body, then sends readouts to my computer." I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This sounded like something out of a sci-fi novel, or something. Was this guy for real?
"Of course, I have a system for singling out people like you. I use an eight level rating system, and where you fit into that system determines the color that your name gets in the database. Yours was a bright glowing red, which means that you scored off the charts for sensitivity." Ok, this was really getting freaky. Sensitivity testing? Off the charts? My mind was starting to go into overdrive, trying to spin off of this information into some form of plot.
"I had several to choose from, but your sensitivities seemed most aligned with the areas I like to explore. No, I don't really have any particular financial motivation or personal gain I seek to obtain. This is just about a man with a hobby, and in need of a prisoner to use for my entertainment." There it was. This was the reason for my abduction. I wasn't going to be ransomed. It wasn't for information extraction, or even revenge of a past acquaintance burned. He was just doing this for his own personal enjoyment.
It was my turn. My eyes widened behind the blindfold, and I started screaming and jerking against the bindings with every ounce of strength that I could muster. I was quickly reminded of the strictness of my trappings, however. Apparently, he decided there was no use in continuing with chatter, because I soon felt my shoes being removed....again. I had a feeling I knew what was coming, too. I didn't have to spend much time guessing.
It was like being hit by a truck, the way I was slammed with the initial rush of sensation. Whether they were his fingers or not, I wasn't quite sure, but they sure knew what they were doing, and I highly doubted that he brought me all the way out here to watch someone else have his fun for him. He started on my left foot, bending my toes back, and attacking the tightly stretched, nylon covered sole with a flurry of flittering fingers. I screamed and burst into hysterical laughter. I could do nothing, though. The rack had me stretched so taut and secure that I could only lay there and bob my head up and down, clenching my fists in frustration and despair, while his fingers manipulated the sensitivities of my helpless foot.
The tickling before had been weak compared to this. Those guys were obviously more skilled with the art of kidnap than the art of tickling, which is probably why he had hired them. I thought I was going to have an out of body experience, right there on that torture rack. Each ticklish scrape against the silky smooth nylon was like a surge of electricity, pulsating all the way through my body, and wracking it with spasmodic twitching. The gag was no help. It stifled my breathing, making each forced laugh that much more dramatic, because the attempts at inhalation were greatly hindered.
He spent what felt like hours on that one foot, but in actual time, it had only been about ten minutes, before he moved to the other one. He was using all sorts of random patterns with his fingers, too. I was never able to get used to one type of tickle, before he switched to another. One minute he was raking short fingernails against my arches, which was definitely among the worst of things he could do to me. The next minute, he had one finger scraping against the underside of each toe, terrorizing the stems through the thin veil of the nylon. Another minute, and he was spidering fingers around the ball of the foot, and down into the arch again.
I would have given anything to pass out, but I have a high metabolism, and it makes me very resilient against things of that nature. I just had to lay there, stretched out on that rack, and endure the tortures of his fingers, relentlessly meandering and exploring the helpless bottoms of my intensely sensitive feet. I didn't think things could get any worse. Then they did.
Out of nowhere, I felt my shirt being pulled up, until it was over my face and arms, baring my midsection and underarms, other than what was covered by my bra. I cringed and screamed, having a pretty good idea what was coming. I was a little bit surprised, however, when I felt long fingernails dragging in and out of my armpits. The long fingernails felt like those of a woman, and I began to wonder if he had women working for him, too. My suspicions were quickly confirmed when I heard them giggling to themselves. There were two of them, and they were on either side of me, using one hand in each of my armpits, and on hand on my ribcage.
Between the rib digging, the armpit scraping and the torture being inflicted on my feet, I was quickly becoming a mess of ticklish hysteria. I went into silent laughter, and was laughing so hard, that there was no way I could have produced sound to keep up with the forceful expulsions of air. When I was able to manage some breathing, weak as it was through my nose, my laughter would have volume again, but it didn’t' last long.
Two sets of long fingernails moved from my sides to pushing into the waist of my jeans. They attacked my hip creases. Quick jabs and short fingernail scrapes sent me into another level of madness, as now the three most sensitive places on my body were being tormented with tickling, all at once. Surely this was a nightmare. It felt too real though, and I knew it was real. I knew I was in deep trouble, because there was no good reason for this guy to let me go, now. He had what he wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I felt the nylon being pushed down around my big toes, as one and then the other were tied with string and pulled back, tied to the stocks, stretching them back, and leaving both of his hands free to continue. I tried to pull them free, but it was no use. He attacked both soles at one time, randomly spattering his fingers all over them, and then raking from heel to toes, then spidering his fingers all over them, and then working on the toe undersides. When I thought for sure that everything would have to stop, because there was no possible way that I could take anymore, it just kept going. It kept going, and going, and going. They were like the Energizer bunnies of tickling. They just didn't stop.
With my big toes tied back, what little bit of movement I had been able to make with my feet was completely stopped. It left my sensitive feet completely still for him to explore to his hearts content, and he showed no mercy. Apparently, his help had been given instructions to act in the same way, because their fingers never seemed to stop moving. Scrape after scrape, the dragged their fingernails in and out of the hollows of my armpits. My hips have never felt so much digging and probing. My feet, my poor feet, were going into sensory overload, because he continued to use one hand each foot, with all of his random styles and patterns, then spent what felt like hours, but was maybe four or five minutes, tickling exclusively in my ultra sensitive arches, with a continuous flow of wiggling fingers.
I think he finally realized that if it kept up, much longer, he was going to have a mess on his hands, because it did eventually stop....for the time being. I heard people leaving the room, but felt a presence near me, but heard a voice in my ear.
:"Welcome to your new home, Francie. I intend to keep you here for a long," then he paused, obviously for dramatic effect, "long time!"
My heart sank, as his words laid on them like a ton of bricks. Surely, this wasn't happening to me. Surely, he was not going to just keep me locked up here, and tickle torture me for the rest of my life. There had to be some other way. I was left to think about it, though, because he left the room. I heard the door shut behind him. All I could do now was lay there and wonder who he was, and where I was at,..........and why?
