LivMorgan_is_Ticklish
Registered User
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2025
- Messages
- 6
- Points
- 3
Panic set in as she hurried toward the main road, hoping to flag down a taxi. Unfortunately, fifteen minutes passed without a single cab appearing. Glancing at the address the abductor had provided, she estimated it was roughly a 20-30 minute walk away and decided to jog to the location. As she departed, a girl in a yellow dress stood watching from the parking area, a sinister smirk playing across her lips.
"I want to tickle you more, Quenny. I'm still not satisfied," the yellow-dressed girl murmured as she observed Quenny's running through the carpark.
After passing several blocks, Quenny was nearing her destination. Consulting Google Maps on her phone, she realized she'd left the city behind and was entering more rural surroundings. The navigation now directed her toward a forested area. Swallowing nervously, she ventured into the woods. While making her way through the dense vegetation, a branch snagged her shirt, partially exposing her midriff. She eventually emerged from the forest bearing scratches and several mosquito bites.
Ahead stood an abandoned house, precisely where Google Maps had directed her. With a resigned sigh, she cautiously approached the dilapidated porch. Though uncertain of what awaited her, concern for Weiling compelled her forward. She texted, "OK, I'm here." Several minutes passed before the abductor responded: "Just go in and head upstairs."
Entering the house, she found exactly what she'd expected, evidence of squatters, furniture strewn haphazardly, and walls marked with extensive cracks. Proceeding cautiously, she located the staircase leading to the upper floor. As she ascended, the sound of labored breathing grew increasingly audible. The panting intensified with each step toward the upper level.
Pressing her ear against the first door, she could clearly hear the strained breathing. Slowly pushing the door open, she discovered Weiling bound to a chair, her legs secured in stocks. She was breathing heavily. Quenny rushed to her side.
"Are you okay? Oh my God, what happened?" Quenny asked, examining the ropes binding Weiling's hands behind her back.
"No, you pant cannot be here. Pant They're planning to abduct you too!" Weiling warned between labored breaths.
"She's right!" a voice declared from behind them as a man emerged from the shadows of the dimly lit room. Quenny spun around to face a man wearing a black mask.
"We asked for $20,000, but we could demand more. You girls must have wealthy parents, so we're now requesting $50,000," the man announced.
"Yes, I have the money. Let me pay you and release her," Quenny pleaded anxiously.
"$50,000 to free her, but another $50,000 to release you," the man countered as another masked figure appeared behind Quenny, placing her in a chokehold while pressing a pistol against her ribs.
Trembling with fear yet attempting to maintain composure, Quenny raised her hands in surrender. "What about $10,000 instead?" she ventured, her voice quavering.
"You're trying to negotiate with us?" the man restraining her growled. He jabbed the pistol into her side, causing her to jolt involuntarily. Her elbow reflexively pulled back, which the man found amusing, prompting him to repeat the action and elicit the same response.
"I'm sorry! $15,000 is the absolute maximum I can offer. Please, I don't have enough money—just let us go!" Quenny implored.
Without responding verbally, the man guided her to a mattress and instructed her to sit with her arms extended in front of her. Quenny complied. He then approached his partner and whispered something that made the other man smirk while eyeing Quenny, intensifying her apprehension about their intentions.
While they conferred, Quenny observed Weiling more closely. She appeared exhausted though uninjured—why did she look so defeated? She was perspiring profusely, with visible sweat stains on her clothing. The room wasn't particularly warm; ceiling fans provided cooling, with another fan directed specifically at Weiling.
Just as Quenny's curiosity peaked and she prepared to call out to Weiling, one of the men addressed her.
"Stay quiet, Quenny! Don't speak to your friend. She's endured considerable torture," he said with a sinister laugh.
"What torture? Don't hurt her anymore. Please let her go," Quenny begged.
"We haven't physically harmed her. It's an alternative form of torture,painless but effective. We intend to subject you to the same treatment unless you provide $100,000," the man demanded.
"I told you I don't have that mo—wait, what's that?" Quenny asked, pointing toward his partner, who carried four leather cuffs connected by chains—restraints typically associated with BDSM scenarios.
Quenny's mind went blank with terror, rooting her to the spot. Uncertain of their intentions but unwilling to remain and discover them, she glanced at Weiling, silently promising to return for her. Suddenly, she leapt up and bolted for the door, only to be tackled to the ground. They wrestled briefly, but Quenny struggled against his superior strength, her predicament worsening when his partner joined, pinning her arms above her head to immobilize her.
Despite being straddled, she continued fighting, bucking her hips wildly. "LET ME GO, YOU FREAKS! GET OFF ME! LET M—HA... NO, DON'T YOU AHA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Her resistance weakened as the man tickled her exposed midriff, pressing his fingers against her belly and massaging rapidly. Though she continued struggling, all present could sense her diminishing strength. The tickling proved effective, confirming the man's suspicion about her sensitivity.
He persisted with the tickling while demanding, "Are you going to comply, or should I continue?" She struggled to respond through her involuntary laughter, her focus entirely on the targeted exploitation of her vulnerability. Finally, she managed to exclaim, "HAHAHAHAHA OK... YE-HAHAHAH HAHHA YES YES PLEASE STOP!" Reluctantly, the man ceased, though clearly anticipating more such opportunities. Rising, he ordered Quenny onto the bed.
His companion approached Quenny and raised her arms above her head. "Don't worry, we won't hurt you. I'm Tex, and he's Bu. Do you know someone who has that kind of money?" he asked in a falsely reassuring tone while securing her wrists with leather cuffs attached to the bed frame corners. Quenny shook her head.
"No, I don't, but I can work something out, please," she pleaded as he moved to the foot of the bed, cuffing her ankles to the lower corners, forcing her into a spread-eagle position. Tex positioned the fan to cool her perspiration-covered body. Bu, however, reduced the fan's speed, preferring her sweat to linger for his planned activities while still providing enough breeze for minimal comfort.
"Do you come from a wealthy family?" Tex inquired.
"No. Look, I can provide the amount you want, but not as a lump sum since I have other financial obligations. I'll pay monthly installments until reaching your demanded amount," Quenny negotiated.
"Why should we trust such an arrangement? What prevents you from contacting authorities? What stops you from fleeing to another city?" Tex questioned. Quenny offered no response, merely staring at him with imploring eyes.
"Your silence suggests you've considered those very options," Tex remarked with a chuckle. Sighing, he repositioned himself, straddling Quenny's lower abdomen. Her eyes widened in fear and anticipation of their intentions.
"WAIT, please, I apologize! I'll pay the entire sum at once—please don't harm me," Quenny begged.
"Why do you persist in believing we'll harm you? You're an attractive young woman," Tex said, caressing her face. "You promise to deliver $100,000 as a single payment? No installment nonsense? How can we possibly trust you?" he continued while rolling up her shirt furthermore til it reach just beneath her breasts.
In sheer panic, Quenny blurted, "I PROMISE! I PROMISE! Just release me, and I'll wire transfer the funds immediately."
Tex attempted further negotiation. "Let's increase it by another $50,000."
"WHAT? Be reasonable! I don't have that much!" Quenny replied, her frustration evident.
Then She felt a sudden poke which emitted a small giggle while reflexively hunching her body, Tex had begun poking her stomach. Each deliberate prod sent electric jolts through her nerve endings, causing involuntary twitches across her abdomen.
"You. Sure. You. Don't. Have. That. Much?" he punctuated each word with a poke, targeting different spots across her entire vulnerable midsection. With each touch, Quenny's muscles contracted defensively, her skin prickling with goosebumps. She remained silent, desperately clenching her jaw while her face contorted—eyes squeezing shut, nostrils flaring, lips pressed into a thin line that occasionally broke into unwilling smiles. The bed frame rattled as her arms instinctively strained against the leather restraints, wrists twisting frantically as her body tried to curl inward to protect her hypersensitive core.
"Why so quiet? Say something," Tex prompted as he firmly grasped Quenny's sides, his fingers digging into the especially receptive area where ribs meet waist. The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming—as if someone had flipped a switch, her entire body went from tense resistance to chaotic, uncontrollable movement.
She erupted into immediate, unfiltered laughter—not the kind born of joy, but the desperate, helpless kind that bypassed all mental defenses. Her hips bucked wildly against her restraints, vertebrae arching off the mattress before slamming back down in rapid succession. Her head thrashed from side to side, hair whipping across her tear-streaked face as the sensation became too much to process.
"HAHAHAHAHA WHAA AHAHAHHA FUCK-HAHAHHAHAHA STOP!! HAHAHHAHA" Quenny screamed, her words fragmenting between gasps for air. Each syllable emerged strangled and distorted, her vocal cords straining as laughter forcibly expelled the air from her lungs. Her chest heaved in desperate attempts to draw breath, creating a vicious cycle of gasping inhales and uncontrollable laughing exhales.
Tex remained silent, utterly transfixed as his fingers spider-crawled across her ribs, occasionally dipping into the hollow of her underarms—a move that made her shriek at a higher pitch, her shoulders hunching futilely against the onslaught. He observed her expressions with clinical fascination—her brilliant white teeth revealed in manic laughter, the way her tongue occasionally pressed against the roof of her mouth when a particularly sensitive spot was targeted, her angelic yet desperate sounds transitioning from giggles to full-throated howls depending on the intensity and location of his touch.
The frantic side-to-side motion of her head intensified whenever his fingers found the sweet spot just below her ribcage—a discovery that made him return there repeatedly, watching her eyes widen in primal panic each time. Her entire body communicated desperation—toes curling, fingers grasping at empty air, stomach muscles clenching and unclenching in rapid succession as she tried and failed to anticipate where the next wave of unbearable sensation would come from.
While Quenny descended deeper into ticklish madness, Bu knelt at the foot of the bed and methodically removed her shoes and peeled off her ankle socks exposing her delicate feet. The cool air hitting her soles made her toes curl instinctively, a preview of the sensitivity to come. She writhed in torment, her back forming a perfect arch before slamming down repeatedly, her face contorted into unwilling smiles that stretched her cheeks to their limit. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, initially clinging to her lashes before streaming down her temples and into her hair.
Her laughter had transformed from words to primal sounds hoarse, breathless, and punctuated by occasional hiccups when her diaphragm spasmed from overexertion. The muscles in her neck stood out in stark relief as she tilted her head back, mouth open in a silent scream when the tickling intensity briefly exceeded her ability to vocalize.
"So, do we have a deal?" Tex inquired over her screaming laughter, his voice eerily calm amidst the chaos of her responses. He paused temporarily, his hands hovering just above her belly, a visual threat that made her twitch in anticipation.
All he heard was her labored breathing—ragged, uneven, and punctuated by residual giggles that she couldn't suppress. The sight of Quenny perspiring, her skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, her chest heaving with each desperate breath, reinvigorated Tex's enthusiasm. Her vulnerability was complete—eyes glazed with tears, hair matted to her forehead, lips parted as she struggled to regain control over her breathing.
"Okay, okay... I swear I'll pa—AH! HEY AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Quenny's response was interrupted by her own involuntary laughter, the words dying in her throat. Confused since he wasn't touching her, Tex glanced over his shoulder to discover Bu vigorously tickling the soles of Quenny's feet, his fingertips dancing across her arches, tracing the sensitive curves with methodical precision.
The perspiration on her sensitive feet heightened her response tenfold, each touch magnified by the moisture. Her toes splayed and curled frantically, futilely trying to shield the vulnerable soles from the relentless assault. A new wave of hysteria washed over her as this fresh, unbearable sensation combined with her already overtaxed nervous system. Her laughter now had a frantic, almost sobbing quality, high-pitched and breathless, punctuated by desperate gasps that never quite managed to fill her lungs before the next wave of ticklish torture forced the air out again.
Her entire body vibrated with the intensity of her response, muscles trembling from exhaustion yet still reacting with violent jerks whenever a particularly sensitive spot was targeted. She was transformed once again into a helpless, laughing captive.
Tex watched intently as Quenny writhed on the bed, her uncontrollable laughter echoing throughout the room. She thrashed against her restraints, desperately tugging at the corner of the bed frame while convulsing with hysterical giggles. The sight of her in such a vulnerable state filled him with an unexpected rush of exhilaration, he could watch this captivating display for hours. Before today, he'd never even considered himself having a tickle fetish, but something primal had awakened within him, and it was all thanks to Quenny.
"PLE-HAHAHHAAHAHA STA-AHAHA HAAHHAP AHAHAHAH PLE-HAHAHAHAHHA!" Quenny struggled desperately to form coherent words between her fits of laughter. Her pleas were futile, fractured by involuntary gasps and giggles that escaped her lips. Her entire body shuddered violently, her movement restricted by the bindings that held her firmly in place as she laughed maniacally.
After several minutes of this delightful torture, Tex finally signaled Bu to stop. Bu complied but kept his hands gently wrapped around Quenny's feet, savoring their softness beneath his fingertips. Quenny collapsed back onto the mattress, her chest heaving as she gulped for air, attempting to reason with her captors between labored breaths.
"Please... gasp I will pay... wheeze pay you guys all in one transfer, just pant let me go and watch me transfer you the money deep breath," she managed to articulate between desperate inhales.
Tex observed the rhythmic rise and fall of her hips as she struggled to regulate her breathing. Her previously immaculate hair now clung to her flushed face in damp tendrils, and beads of sweat had formed a noticeable patch on the mattress beneath her. The sight ignited a powerful urge to resume the tickle torture, but he somehow summoned the willpower to resist. Instead, he felt an unexpected bit of sympathy for Quenny's predicament. This poor cute girl has the curse of being ticklish.
"Okay, I'll let you rest first while my partner and I discuss this matter," Tex announced. As he rose from the bed, he couldn't resist giving Quenny a quick, mischievous poke to her exposed belly.
"AH!" Quenny's entire body jolted with a startled yelp, causing the bed frame to rattle beneath her.
The two men retreated to the doorway to deliberate in hushed tones. "I know we want the money, but let's be honest here—we both want to keep her here, and Weiling too. She's incredibly entertaining to tickle. Any suggestions?" Tex inquired.
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But realistically, we can't keep them here forever, you know that," Bu replied. "What if we record this whole session while we tickle her, maybe for another four or five hours? Then she can transfer the money, and that's it."
"Record her?" Tex asked, intrigued by the proposition.
"Exactly. That way, we can blackmail her if things go south, and just imagine how much people would pay to watch an adorable girl like that being tickled out of her mind," Bu explained with a devious smile.
Tex nodded in agreement with the suggestion. While Bu retrieved the camcorder, Tex approached Weiling, who had regained consciousness and had been glaring at him venomously the entire time.
"I heard what you said," Weiling hissed through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't do this—we have lives!"
"Too bad," Tex replied coldly. "This is purely business."
After staring at Tex with an intense, contemplative expression, Weiling spoke again. "What about we strike a deal?" she whispered.
"A deal? Are you sure you're in a position to negotiate? Have you forgotten you're still tied up?" Tex scoffed. Without warning, he began squeezing Weiling's sides, causing her to jump with each touch.
"AH! OH MY GOD, STOP!" Weiling yelped, her anger quickly dissolving into panic.
Tex smirked triumphantly and continued his assault, his fingers dancing mercilessly along her sensitive sides. Each squeeze elicited a startled jump from Weiling, her protests gradually transforming into helpless giggles.
"Wait—AH! WA-AH! Hehehehe stop—AH!" Her body tensed and squirmed beneath his touch, her normally stoic demeanor crumbling as laughter bubbled up from deep within her chest. He savored the startled jump Weiling made, but having had enough of it, he shifted his attention to her feet. Her eyes widened in terror, and she hastily pleaded, "WAIT, I can bring you more money!"
Tex turned around, his gaze fixing on Weiling with calculated interest. "I'm listening," he replied, kneeling beside her feet, his fingers hovering menacingly just centimeters from her vulnerable soles.
"This is what I've been trying to tell you," Weiling said breathlessly, her voice quivering with desperation. "I will help you tickle Quenny from time to time and send you videos. I—I enjoy tickling her too," she proposed, her words tumbling out in a panicked rush.
"Hmmm, but I like tickling you too," Tex mused, a single finger darting forward to poke at the center of her arch. The brief contact sent an electric jolt through Weiling's nervous system, making her ankle twist sharply as she yelped.
"AY! But she's a better subject! I know you love tickling her," Weiling argued frantically, her eyes darting between Tex's face and his threatening fingers.
"True, but you're equally entertaining," Tex reminisced with a cruel smile. "Before she arrived, you were tickled so mercilessly you blacked out." The memory clearly delighted him, his eyes gleaming at the prospect of recreating such torment.
"Yeah, don't remind me," Weiling winced, the phantom sensations of those sessions making her skin crawl. "That was absolute agony. You've had your fun with me, but if you let me go, I will make you more money with Quenny." Her voice held a desperate edge of negotiation.
"Hmmm, but there are plenty of viewers who specifically request watching you endure tickle torture," Tex countered. As he spoke, Bu appeared in Weiling's peripheral vision, setting up a camera aimed directly at her. "And with both you and Quenny in this predicament, we can double our profits," Tex added with businesslike efficiency. He then turned to Bu with a curt nod. "Press record, Bu."
Without further warning, Tex's fingers descended upon Weiling's feet, wriggling with maniacal intensity. His nails scrabbled across every inch of her sensitive soles, alternating between light feathery strokes and deep scratching motions that left no nerve ending untouched. Every whorl of her footprint, every tender spot between her toes, every vulnerable arch, all fell victim to his methodical assault.
Weiling's composure shattered instantly. Her body bucked against the restraints with such violence that the chair creaked in protest. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as uncontrollable spasms wracked her frame. Her feet, her most sensitive area, betrayed her completely as waves of unbearable sensation shot up her legs and spread through her entire body. Each second under his relentless fingers felt like an eternity of exquisite torture.
"HAHAHA PLEAHAHAHAH HELP! HAHAHAH HELP! HAHAHAH!" Weiling's pleas dissolved into wild, desperate laughter that echoed off the walls. Her toes curled and splayed helplessly as Tex's fingers found the particularly sensitive area where her arch met her heel, causing her entire foot to twitch spasmodically.
While Weiling writhed in ticklish agony, Quenny overheard their entire conversation from her restrained position nearby. A cold sense of betrayal washed over her as she realized Weiling would sacrifice her so readily. The knowledge stung worse than any physical torment.
Abruptly, Tex abandoned Weiling's feet and repositioned himself behind her. Without warning, his hands seized her sides, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh between her ribs. The effect was instantaneous—she would have launched from the chair if not for the restraints holding her down. Her shriek was so piercing that they could feel the vibration reverberating through the walls. Her laughter transformed into something primal and unrestrained, her body convulsing rhythmically as the wooden chair scraped against the floor with each violent movement.
Bu joined the torment, his strong hands squeezing Weiling's thighs with calculated pressure. Each squeeze sent her voice climbing octaves higher, her laughter becoming nearly ultrasonic. She threw her head back in surrender, her mouth stretched wide in hysterical laughter that seemed to come from the very core of her being. The fight had left her; all that remained was the overwhelming sensation and the acceptance of her ticklish fate.
From her vantage point, Quenny watched Weiling's torture with mounting dread, knowing that she would soon face the same ordeal. Yet beneath her fear lurked the bitter satisfaction that Weiling was receiving just punishment for her planned betrayal.
The torture continued relentlessly. Tex's fingers jabbed and skittered across Weiling's hypersensitive sides while Bu's hands mercilessly kneaded her thighs. Her body bounced so violently in the chair that the inevitable happened—with a resounding snap, the chair legs gave way, sending Weiling crashing to the floor, still bound tightly.
Tex and Bu immediately stopped, momentarily concerned.
"Are you okay?" Tex inquired, a rare note of genuine concern in his voice.
Weiling lay there, chest heaving, her face glistening with perspiration. To everyone's astonishment, a smile of exhaustion and something like ecstasy spread across her flushed features. "Oh my god, that was... amazing," she panted, her voice husky and satiated.
Tex, Bu, and even Quenny stared in disbelief at this unexpected reaction. Somehow, the prolonged torment had transformed Weiling's agony into a twisted form of pleasure. She looked up at Tex through half-lidded eyes. "Don't tell me we're done?" she asked, almost pleading.
Tex turned to Bu with a bemused expression. "Oh, what have we done?" he muttered. Bu merely shrugged and knelt beside Weiling, who now lay on her back with her legs awkwardly bent, feet still locked in the stocks that had fallen with her.
"Oh, so you're loving this?" Bu inquired, his fingers lightly stroking her exposed kneecaps. The gentle contact elicited immediate giggles from Weiling.
"Hehehehehehehehe," she was feeling too ticklish to even answer through her laughter, her body shivering with each delicate touch to her sensitive knees.
Tex's enthusiasm dimmed somewhat. He preferred the fear and resistance of his victims; Weiling's newfound enjoyment disrupted the power dynamic he craved. Therefore, his gaze drifted toward Quenny, who immediately met his eyes and swallowed hard, recognizing that his attention had shifted to her. The anticipation of what was to come made her heart race and her mouth go dry.
As Bu continued to tickle Weiling's kneecaps, drawing continuous giggles from her, Tex stalked deliberately toward Quenny. She remained silent as he approached, her frightened eyes following his every movement, silently beseeching him for mercy.
"Hey Bu, bring the camera here," Tex called over Weiling's persistent laughter. "It's her turn." The words fell on Quenny like a death sentence.
Bu ceased tickling Weiling and repositioned the camera to capture Quenny. With slow, predatory movements, Tex straddled Quenny's hips, his weight pinning her further into the mattress. Her mind raced frantically, her heart pounding so violently she was certain he could feel it through her body. Each second that passed heightened her terror exponentially. She knew she was about to experience a level of ticklish torment beyond anything she had imagined possible.
"So, cutie," Tex purred, his palm coming to rest on Quenny's trembling abdomen. "What about that $100K?" His fingers splayed across her stomach, feeling the taut muscles contract beneath his touch.
She flinched dramatically at the contact, her skin already hypersensitive with fear. "I told you I can give you the money," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please just let us go." The plea was genuine, her eyes wide with dread.
"I know you will," Tex acknowledged with a predatory smile, "but I'm planning to make more! Record now, Bu."
Without further warning, his fingers plunged into the soft flesh of her belly, wiggling and digging with merciless precision. The effect was catastrophic.
"AAAAHHHHHH!! HAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA FU-HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!" Quenny's scream tore from her throat, immediately dissolving into uncontrollable laughter. This wasn't the laughter of joy or amusement—it was the involuntary response of a nervous system overloaded with sensation, a primal sound that spoke of pure, unadulterated torture.
Tex's fingers moved like spiders across her abdomen, finding every conceivable sensitive spot. He alternated between light, feathery touches that teased her nerve endings and deep, scribbling motions that sent shock waves of sensation through her core. Her head thrashed from side to side, her mouth stretched in a rictus of hysterical laughter. The entire bed shuddered beneath them, the frame creaking as she strained against her restraints with every ounce of her strength.
Her torment doubled when Bu joined in, his fingers attacking the soles of her feet with surgical precision. Tex could feel her legs desperately trying to retract, to escape the unbearable stimulation, but the restraints held fast, leaving her completely vulnerable to their assault. Bu's technique was methodical—his thumbs worked her arches while his fingers explored between her toes, occasionally using his nails to trace maddening patterns across her hyper-sensitive skin.
Quenny's sleeveless torn midriff shirt quickly became drenched with sweat, the fabric clinging to her body and outlining every contour. This visible evidence of her distress only fueled Tex's excitement; he savored the feeling of her sweat-slicked skin beneath his fingers and the futility of her struggles. A strange fascination with Quenny's responses was clearly developing within him—he studied her reactions with intense interest, adjusting his technique to maximize her suffering.
She bucked and writhed beneath him with such violence that it seemed impossible for a human body to sustain such movement. Yet her laughter never subsided; it remained constant, sometimes rising to piercing shrieks when particularly sensitive spots were discovered, sometimes falling to desperate, gasping chuckles when exhaustion momentarily overtook her, but never stopping completely.
For ten excruciating minutes, they maintained their relentless assault. Bu's fingers danced along the length of her soles, occasionally venturing to her ankles and the tender spots behind her heels. Tex's hands roamed freely across her torso, finding the ticklish hollows beneath her ribs, the vulnerable spots along her sides, and repeatedly returning to her navel, a particular sweet spot that never failed to elicit the most frantic responses.
When they finally ceased their torment, Quenny collapsed in absolute defeat. No words came from her lips, only the desperate sound of ragged breathing as her body tried to recover from the overwhelming sensory onslaught. Her limbs felt like lead, her mind blank except for the lingering echoes of that unbearable ticklish sensation that seemed permanently etched into her nerve endings. "Please... just stop. No more," Quenny pleaded, her voice barely audible through her exhaustion.
Tex rose from her waist and positioned himself beside her head. His eyes roved over her with undisguised hunger while Quenny gazed back through half-lidded eyes, her face glistening with perspiration, each breath still labored from her ordeal. His attention settled on her smooth, hairless armpit where tiny droplets of sweat had formed on the delicate skin.
Driven by curiosity and his growing fascination with Quenny, he lowered his head and took an experimental sniff of her sweaty armpit. To his surprise, instead of the expected odor, he detected a subtle fragrance reminiscent of roses. Intrigued, he leaned in for another, deeper inhalation. The gentle current of air from his nose brushed against her sensitive skin, causing her arm to twitch involuntarily. He glanced up surreptitiously to find Quenny biting her lower lip, clearly struggling to endure even this mild stimulation.
With newfound mischief, he inhaled her rose-scented perspiration once more, but this time instead of exhaling through his nose, he pursed his lips and blew a concentrated stream of air directly onto her armpit. The reaction was immediate—her arm strained violently against its restraint, and a reluctant giggle escaped her lips.
"Wow, even that tickled you?" Tex remarked with delighted surprise. Quenny turned away without answering, but her attempt at stoicism failed when the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twisting into an involuntary smile. Another burst of giggles erupted as her arm jerked reflexively when Tex expelled another sharp breath directly at the center of her armpit. The hypersensitive nerves refused to grant her even a moment's respite—a curse of sensitivity that Quenny had always despised.
Unable to endure more, she whipped her head around to face him, her patience finally shattering. "CAN YOU STOP THAT? PLEASE, LET ME REST!" Her temper flared, voice rising with frustration and exhaustion.
Tex remained unfazed by her outburst. Instead, he leaned closer, his proximity rekindling fear in her eyes. "Why does your armpit still smell wonderful after all this perspiration?" he inquired, completely disregarding her anger.
Strangely disarmed by his unexpected question, Quenny's rage faltered. "Erm... I don't actually know. I just use a deodorant roll and a special soap," she answered hesitantly.
"Oh, you use soap?" Tex mused with feigned innocence. "And rub it like this?" Without warning, he used two fingers to stroke the center of her armpit with deliberate slowness.
Caught completely off guard, Quenny yelped and dissolved into involuntary giggles. "AH! Yes hehehehe it's like-hehehe that. Stopeehehehehe hehehehehe," she pleaded between bursts of laughter.
"Or like this?" Tex continued, his fingers suddenly galloping across the sensitive hollow.
"HAHAHAHHAHAH OH MY GO-HAHAHHAHAHAHA OKOK AHAHAHAHHA STAAHAHAHHAP-AHAHAHHAHAH!" Quenny's control shattered completely as unrestrained laughter erupted from her core. She instinctively tried to shift away from his tormenting fingers, desperately pulling herself toward the opposite side of the bed. Her escape attempt was promptly thwarted when Bu, positioned on the other side, jabbed unexpectedly at her ribs. Trapped between her tormentors, she jolted back and forth helplessly, her composure utterly broken, mouth stretched wide in hysterical laughter.
From across the room, Weiling observed with undisguised fascination. She savored the spectacle of Quenny's torture—not just any torture, but the specific agony of tickling that reduced the normally composed woman to a writhing, laughing mess. This particular form of torment had excited Weiling ever since she first discovered Quenny's extreme sensitivity.
The perspiration coating Quenny's armpit only heightened her susceptibility, elevating her ticklishness to unprecedented levels. She repeatedly tried to hunch her shoulders with such desperate force that the entire bed frame began to inch across the floor, though the restraints held firm against her struggles. Bu, noting the extraordinary reaction elicited from her armpits, joined in targeting this particularly vulnerable zone. Her face contorted in an expression that blended adorable suffering with manic laughter, compelling them to intensify their assault.
Completely broken, Quenny threw her head back in surrender. She abandoned all thoughts of resistance, yielding entirely to their whims. Her mind registered nothing beyond the overwhelming physical sensation of being tickled to madness—all other concerns, even her fear, had been obliterated by this singular torment. Her body responded with mindless, jerking movements; her legs bounced frantically against their restraints. Tex and Bu had seemingly forgotten about the money altogether, consumed only by their desire to witness Quenny's continued suffering under their ticklish torture.
Another ten minutes passed, yet remarkably, her sensitivity showed no signs of diminishing. The nerve endings in her armpits remained exquisitely responsive, fueling her hysterical laughter throughout the extended ordeal. Eventually, however, her consciousness began to waver. Tex noticed her impending collapse and smiled with satisfaction. Deliberately, he jabbed and squeezed her ribs, a shock that instantly reset her fading awareness. Her eyes flew open wide as her body arched upward in an instinctive response.
"AH! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH FU-AHAHHAHAHAHHA OH GAAHAHAHAHHAH!" The forced exhalation of so much air quickly depleted her remaining energy reserves. The momentary revival lasted mere seconds before her consciousness began to slip away once more. Tex and Bu continued their relentless assault, curious to discover what would happen if they pushed her beyond her limits.
They stopped abruptly, their attention captured by a distant sound. Both men tilted their heads, straining to confirm what they were hearing—police sirens, faint at first but rapidly growing louder. Tex and Bu exchanged glances, a silent acknowledgment passing between them as they recognized the approaching threat.
Bu rose quickly from the bed. Tex followed suit, but not before giving Quenny's thigh one final, purposeful squeeze as he pushed himself up. Even in this moment of urgency, he couldn't resist eliciting one last ticklish shriek from her, her body giving a final, violent jerk that revealed Tex's profound obsession with her reactions.
They hurriedly gathered their equipment and camera. Before dashing from the room, Tex paused to look back at Quenny's exhausted form. "I'll be seeing you," he promised, his tone making it unclear whether this was a threat or a vow. Then they were gone, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Minutes later, the police stormed in, finding both Quenny and Weiling in states of utter depletion, Quenny's body however still trembling with the aftershocks of her ordeal. With efficient movements, the officers released their restraints, finally ending their captivity. They brought them outside of the house while the rest of the officers went into the house to do a check. Once outside, Quenny eyes went wide “Hey! It’s you!” pointing to Rom. “You’re the guy at the mall, were you the one that called the cops” Quenny said. “Yes i did, apparently you dropped your wallet and I wanted to follow you but then you went through the forest and so I was feeling suspicious so I have to trail you” Rom said. Adding on further, “I didn’t enter the house because who would want to enter this house but then i heard you’re laughing, the same panic laughter you made at the mall but only this time it comes to the point where it was worrying to me.” Rom said. Quenny got embarrassed when he mentioned about her laughter, her ticklishness is something she doesn’t want people to spread about. But she just scratched that off and thanked Rom for calling the cops on this unfortunate situation. After a few moments, the police came out from the house only to show disappointment as they could not find anyone else in the house. “They must have escaped” One of the policemen said, referring to Tex and Bu. The police officers gather up Quenny and Weiling tries to let them catch their breath, relaxes them after their traumatizing situation while they try to gather information from Quenny and Weiling about what had happened. While this was happening, Rom was actually erotically charged about the story that Quenny told him. He is just picturing her being tickle tortured with that wild laughter he heard, in fact, it’s one of the main reasons why he didn’t call the police sooner as he tries to treasure that angelic tickled screaming of laughter from Quenny.
“Weird, because we just had something similar like this down the road” One of the officers said. “Really? Is it by the same people who kidnap us?” Quenny said. “No, It’s a different person, It happened in the 16th Street, It’s by the house with a green roof” He said. “Wait.. that’s Novita’s place!” Weiling said. “Yes, that’s the girl who called us. You know her?” He said. “Yes we attended to her party early in the morning” Quenny said. “We need to go to her!” She said looking at Weiling.
To be Continued -
"I want to tickle you more, Quenny. I'm still not satisfied," the yellow-dressed girl murmured as she observed Quenny's running through the carpark.
After passing several blocks, Quenny was nearing her destination. Consulting Google Maps on her phone, she realized she'd left the city behind and was entering more rural surroundings. The navigation now directed her toward a forested area. Swallowing nervously, she ventured into the woods. While making her way through the dense vegetation, a branch snagged her shirt, partially exposing her midriff. She eventually emerged from the forest bearing scratches and several mosquito bites.
Ahead stood an abandoned house, precisely where Google Maps had directed her. With a resigned sigh, she cautiously approached the dilapidated porch. Though uncertain of what awaited her, concern for Weiling compelled her forward. She texted, "OK, I'm here." Several minutes passed before the abductor responded: "Just go in and head upstairs."
Entering the house, she found exactly what she'd expected, evidence of squatters, furniture strewn haphazardly, and walls marked with extensive cracks. Proceeding cautiously, she located the staircase leading to the upper floor. As she ascended, the sound of labored breathing grew increasingly audible. The panting intensified with each step toward the upper level.
Pressing her ear against the first door, she could clearly hear the strained breathing. Slowly pushing the door open, she discovered Weiling bound to a chair, her legs secured in stocks. She was breathing heavily. Quenny rushed to her side.
"Are you okay? Oh my God, what happened?" Quenny asked, examining the ropes binding Weiling's hands behind her back.
"No, you pant cannot be here. Pant They're planning to abduct you too!" Weiling warned between labored breaths.
"She's right!" a voice declared from behind them as a man emerged from the shadows of the dimly lit room. Quenny spun around to face a man wearing a black mask.
"We asked for $20,000, but we could demand more. You girls must have wealthy parents, so we're now requesting $50,000," the man announced.
"Yes, I have the money. Let me pay you and release her," Quenny pleaded anxiously.
"$50,000 to free her, but another $50,000 to release you," the man countered as another masked figure appeared behind Quenny, placing her in a chokehold while pressing a pistol against her ribs.
Trembling with fear yet attempting to maintain composure, Quenny raised her hands in surrender. "What about $10,000 instead?" she ventured, her voice quavering.
"You're trying to negotiate with us?" the man restraining her growled. He jabbed the pistol into her side, causing her to jolt involuntarily. Her elbow reflexively pulled back, which the man found amusing, prompting him to repeat the action and elicit the same response.
"I'm sorry! $15,000 is the absolute maximum I can offer. Please, I don't have enough money—just let us go!" Quenny implored.
Without responding verbally, the man guided her to a mattress and instructed her to sit with her arms extended in front of her. Quenny complied. He then approached his partner and whispered something that made the other man smirk while eyeing Quenny, intensifying her apprehension about their intentions.
While they conferred, Quenny observed Weiling more closely. She appeared exhausted though uninjured—why did she look so defeated? She was perspiring profusely, with visible sweat stains on her clothing. The room wasn't particularly warm; ceiling fans provided cooling, with another fan directed specifically at Weiling.
Just as Quenny's curiosity peaked and she prepared to call out to Weiling, one of the men addressed her.
"Stay quiet, Quenny! Don't speak to your friend. She's endured considerable torture," he said with a sinister laugh.
"What torture? Don't hurt her anymore. Please let her go," Quenny begged.
"We haven't physically harmed her. It's an alternative form of torture,painless but effective. We intend to subject you to the same treatment unless you provide $100,000," the man demanded.
"I told you I don't have that mo—wait, what's that?" Quenny asked, pointing toward his partner, who carried four leather cuffs connected by chains—restraints typically associated with BDSM scenarios.
Quenny's mind went blank with terror, rooting her to the spot. Uncertain of their intentions but unwilling to remain and discover them, she glanced at Weiling, silently promising to return for her. Suddenly, she leapt up and bolted for the door, only to be tackled to the ground. They wrestled briefly, but Quenny struggled against his superior strength, her predicament worsening when his partner joined, pinning her arms above her head to immobilize her.
Despite being straddled, she continued fighting, bucking her hips wildly. "LET ME GO, YOU FREAKS! GET OFF ME! LET M—HA... NO, DON'T YOU AHA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Her resistance weakened as the man tickled her exposed midriff, pressing his fingers against her belly and massaging rapidly. Though she continued struggling, all present could sense her diminishing strength. The tickling proved effective, confirming the man's suspicion about her sensitivity.
He persisted with the tickling while demanding, "Are you going to comply, or should I continue?" She struggled to respond through her involuntary laughter, her focus entirely on the targeted exploitation of her vulnerability. Finally, she managed to exclaim, "HAHAHAHAHA OK... YE-HAHAHAH HAHHA YES YES PLEASE STOP!" Reluctantly, the man ceased, though clearly anticipating more such opportunities. Rising, he ordered Quenny onto the bed.
His companion approached Quenny and raised her arms above her head. "Don't worry, we won't hurt you. I'm Tex, and he's Bu. Do you know someone who has that kind of money?" he asked in a falsely reassuring tone while securing her wrists with leather cuffs attached to the bed frame corners. Quenny shook her head.
"No, I don't, but I can work something out, please," she pleaded as he moved to the foot of the bed, cuffing her ankles to the lower corners, forcing her into a spread-eagle position. Tex positioned the fan to cool her perspiration-covered body. Bu, however, reduced the fan's speed, preferring her sweat to linger for his planned activities while still providing enough breeze for minimal comfort.
"Do you come from a wealthy family?" Tex inquired.
"No. Look, I can provide the amount you want, but not as a lump sum since I have other financial obligations. I'll pay monthly installments until reaching your demanded amount," Quenny negotiated.
"Why should we trust such an arrangement? What prevents you from contacting authorities? What stops you from fleeing to another city?" Tex questioned. Quenny offered no response, merely staring at him with imploring eyes.
"Your silence suggests you've considered those very options," Tex remarked with a chuckle. Sighing, he repositioned himself, straddling Quenny's lower abdomen. Her eyes widened in fear and anticipation of their intentions.
"WAIT, please, I apologize! I'll pay the entire sum at once—please don't harm me," Quenny begged.
"Why do you persist in believing we'll harm you? You're an attractive young woman," Tex said, caressing her face. "You promise to deliver $100,000 as a single payment? No installment nonsense? How can we possibly trust you?" he continued while rolling up her shirt furthermore til it reach just beneath her breasts.
In sheer panic, Quenny blurted, "I PROMISE! I PROMISE! Just release me, and I'll wire transfer the funds immediately."
Tex attempted further negotiation. "Let's increase it by another $50,000."
"WHAT? Be reasonable! I don't have that much!" Quenny replied, her frustration evident.
Then She felt a sudden poke which emitted a small giggle while reflexively hunching her body, Tex had begun poking her stomach. Each deliberate prod sent electric jolts through her nerve endings, causing involuntary twitches across her abdomen.
"You. Sure. You. Don't. Have. That. Much?" he punctuated each word with a poke, targeting different spots across her entire vulnerable midsection. With each touch, Quenny's muscles contracted defensively, her skin prickling with goosebumps. She remained silent, desperately clenching her jaw while her face contorted—eyes squeezing shut, nostrils flaring, lips pressed into a thin line that occasionally broke into unwilling smiles. The bed frame rattled as her arms instinctively strained against the leather restraints, wrists twisting frantically as her body tried to curl inward to protect her hypersensitive core.
"Why so quiet? Say something," Tex prompted as he firmly grasped Quenny's sides, his fingers digging into the especially receptive area where ribs meet waist. The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming—as if someone had flipped a switch, her entire body went from tense resistance to chaotic, uncontrollable movement.
She erupted into immediate, unfiltered laughter—not the kind born of joy, but the desperate, helpless kind that bypassed all mental defenses. Her hips bucked wildly against her restraints, vertebrae arching off the mattress before slamming back down in rapid succession. Her head thrashed from side to side, hair whipping across her tear-streaked face as the sensation became too much to process.
"HAHAHAHAHA WHAA AHAHAHHA FUCK-HAHAHHAHAHA STOP!! HAHAHHAHA" Quenny screamed, her words fragmenting between gasps for air. Each syllable emerged strangled and distorted, her vocal cords straining as laughter forcibly expelled the air from her lungs. Her chest heaved in desperate attempts to draw breath, creating a vicious cycle of gasping inhales and uncontrollable laughing exhales.
Tex remained silent, utterly transfixed as his fingers spider-crawled across her ribs, occasionally dipping into the hollow of her underarms—a move that made her shriek at a higher pitch, her shoulders hunching futilely against the onslaught. He observed her expressions with clinical fascination—her brilliant white teeth revealed in manic laughter, the way her tongue occasionally pressed against the roof of her mouth when a particularly sensitive spot was targeted, her angelic yet desperate sounds transitioning from giggles to full-throated howls depending on the intensity and location of his touch.
The frantic side-to-side motion of her head intensified whenever his fingers found the sweet spot just below her ribcage—a discovery that made him return there repeatedly, watching her eyes widen in primal panic each time. Her entire body communicated desperation—toes curling, fingers grasping at empty air, stomach muscles clenching and unclenching in rapid succession as she tried and failed to anticipate where the next wave of unbearable sensation would come from.
While Quenny descended deeper into ticklish madness, Bu knelt at the foot of the bed and methodically removed her shoes and peeled off her ankle socks exposing her delicate feet. The cool air hitting her soles made her toes curl instinctively, a preview of the sensitivity to come. She writhed in torment, her back forming a perfect arch before slamming down repeatedly, her face contorted into unwilling smiles that stretched her cheeks to their limit. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, initially clinging to her lashes before streaming down her temples and into her hair.
Her laughter had transformed from words to primal sounds hoarse, breathless, and punctuated by occasional hiccups when her diaphragm spasmed from overexertion. The muscles in her neck stood out in stark relief as she tilted her head back, mouth open in a silent scream when the tickling intensity briefly exceeded her ability to vocalize.
"So, do we have a deal?" Tex inquired over her screaming laughter, his voice eerily calm amidst the chaos of her responses. He paused temporarily, his hands hovering just above her belly, a visual threat that made her twitch in anticipation.
All he heard was her labored breathing—ragged, uneven, and punctuated by residual giggles that she couldn't suppress. The sight of Quenny perspiring, her skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, her chest heaving with each desperate breath, reinvigorated Tex's enthusiasm. Her vulnerability was complete—eyes glazed with tears, hair matted to her forehead, lips parted as she struggled to regain control over her breathing.
"Okay, okay... I swear I'll pa—AH! HEY AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Quenny's response was interrupted by her own involuntary laughter, the words dying in her throat. Confused since he wasn't touching her, Tex glanced over his shoulder to discover Bu vigorously tickling the soles of Quenny's feet, his fingertips dancing across her arches, tracing the sensitive curves with methodical precision.
The perspiration on her sensitive feet heightened her response tenfold, each touch magnified by the moisture. Her toes splayed and curled frantically, futilely trying to shield the vulnerable soles from the relentless assault. A new wave of hysteria washed over her as this fresh, unbearable sensation combined with her already overtaxed nervous system. Her laughter now had a frantic, almost sobbing quality, high-pitched and breathless, punctuated by desperate gasps that never quite managed to fill her lungs before the next wave of ticklish torture forced the air out again.
Her entire body vibrated with the intensity of her response, muscles trembling from exhaustion yet still reacting with violent jerks whenever a particularly sensitive spot was targeted. She was transformed once again into a helpless, laughing captive.
Tex watched intently as Quenny writhed on the bed, her uncontrollable laughter echoing throughout the room. She thrashed against her restraints, desperately tugging at the corner of the bed frame while convulsing with hysterical giggles. The sight of her in such a vulnerable state filled him with an unexpected rush of exhilaration, he could watch this captivating display for hours. Before today, he'd never even considered himself having a tickle fetish, but something primal had awakened within him, and it was all thanks to Quenny.
"PLE-HAHAHHAAHAHA STA-AHAHA HAAHHAP AHAHAHAH PLE-HAHAHAHAHHA!" Quenny struggled desperately to form coherent words between her fits of laughter. Her pleas were futile, fractured by involuntary gasps and giggles that escaped her lips. Her entire body shuddered violently, her movement restricted by the bindings that held her firmly in place as she laughed maniacally.
After several minutes of this delightful torture, Tex finally signaled Bu to stop. Bu complied but kept his hands gently wrapped around Quenny's feet, savoring their softness beneath his fingertips. Quenny collapsed back onto the mattress, her chest heaving as she gulped for air, attempting to reason with her captors between labored breaths.
"Please... gasp I will pay... wheeze pay you guys all in one transfer, just pant let me go and watch me transfer you the money deep breath," she managed to articulate between desperate inhales.
Tex observed the rhythmic rise and fall of her hips as she struggled to regulate her breathing. Her previously immaculate hair now clung to her flushed face in damp tendrils, and beads of sweat had formed a noticeable patch on the mattress beneath her. The sight ignited a powerful urge to resume the tickle torture, but he somehow summoned the willpower to resist. Instead, he felt an unexpected bit of sympathy for Quenny's predicament. This poor cute girl has the curse of being ticklish.
"Okay, I'll let you rest first while my partner and I discuss this matter," Tex announced. As he rose from the bed, he couldn't resist giving Quenny a quick, mischievous poke to her exposed belly.
"AH!" Quenny's entire body jolted with a startled yelp, causing the bed frame to rattle beneath her.
The two men retreated to the doorway to deliberate in hushed tones. "I know we want the money, but let's be honest here—we both want to keep her here, and Weiling too. She's incredibly entertaining to tickle. Any suggestions?" Tex inquired.
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But realistically, we can't keep them here forever, you know that," Bu replied. "What if we record this whole session while we tickle her, maybe for another four or five hours? Then she can transfer the money, and that's it."
"Record her?" Tex asked, intrigued by the proposition.
"Exactly. That way, we can blackmail her if things go south, and just imagine how much people would pay to watch an adorable girl like that being tickled out of her mind," Bu explained with a devious smile.
Tex nodded in agreement with the suggestion. While Bu retrieved the camcorder, Tex approached Weiling, who had regained consciousness and had been glaring at him venomously the entire time.
"I heard what you said," Weiling hissed through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't do this—we have lives!"
"Too bad," Tex replied coldly. "This is purely business."
After staring at Tex with an intense, contemplative expression, Weiling spoke again. "What about we strike a deal?" she whispered.
"A deal? Are you sure you're in a position to negotiate? Have you forgotten you're still tied up?" Tex scoffed. Without warning, he began squeezing Weiling's sides, causing her to jump with each touch.
"AH! OH MY GOD, STOP!" Weiling yelped, her anger quickly dissolving into panic.
Tex smirked triumphantly and continued his assault, his fingers dancing mercilessly along her sensitive sides. Each squeeze elicited a startled jump from Weiling, her protests gradually transforming into helpless giggles.
"Wait—AH! WA-AH! Hehehehe stop—AH!" Her body tensed and squirmed beneath his touch, her normally stoic demeanor crumbling as laughter bubbled up from deep within her chest. He savored the startled jump Weiling made, but having had enough of it, he shifted his attention to her feet. Her eyes widened in terror, and she hastily pleaded, "WAIT, I can bring you more money!"
Tex turned around, his gaze fixing on Weiling with calculated interest. "I'm listening," he replied, kneeling beside her feet, his fingers hovering menacingly just centimeters from her vulnerable soles.
"This is what I've been trying to tell you," Weiling said breathlessly, her voice quivering with desperation. "I will help you tickle Quenny from time to time and send you videos. I—I enjoy tickling her too," she proposed, her words tumbling out in a panicked rush.
"Hmmm, but I like tickling you too," Tex mused, a single finger darting forward to poke at the center of her arch. The brief contact sent an electric jolt through Weiling's nervous system, making her ankle twist sharply as she yelped.
"AY! But she's a better subject! I know you love tickling her," Weiling argued frantically, her eyes darting between Tex's face and his threatening fingers.
"True, but you're equally entertaining," Tex reminisced with a cruel smile. "Before she arrived, you were tickled so mercilessly you blacked out." The memory clearly delighted him, his eyes gleaming at the prospect of recreating such torment.
"Yeah, don't remind me," Weiling winced, the phantom sensations of those sessions making her skin crawl. "That was absolute agony. You've had your fun with me, but if you let me go, I will make you more money with Quenny." Her voice held a desperate edge of negotiation.
"Hmmm, but there are plenty of viewers who specifically request watching you endure tickle torture," Tex countered. As he spoke, Bu appeared in Weiling's peripheral vision, setting up a camera aimed directly at her. "And with both you and Quenny in this predicament, we can double our profits," Tex added with businesslike efficiency. He then turned to Bu with a curt nod. "Press record, Bu."
Without further warning, Tex's fingers descended upon Weiling's feet, wriggling with maniacal intensity. His nails scrabbled across every inch of her sensitive soles, alternating between light feathery strokes and deep scratching motions that left no nerve ending untouched. Every whorl of her footprint, every tender spot between her toes, every vulnerable arch, all fell victim to his methodical assault.
Weiling's composure shattered instantly. Her body bucked against the restraints with such violence that the chair creaked in protest. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as uncontrollable spasms wracked her frame. Her feet, her most sensitive area, betrayed her completely as waves of unbearable sensation shot up her legs and spread through her entire body. Each second under his relentless fingers felt like an eternity of exquisite torture.
"HAHAHA PLEAHAHAHAH HELP! HAHAHAH HELP! HAHAHAH!" Weiling's pleas dissolved into wild, desperate laughter that echoed off the walls. Her toes curled and splayed helplessly as Tex's fingers found the particularly sensitive area where her arch met her heel, causing her entire foot to twitch spasmodically.
While Weiling writhed in ticklish agony, Quenny overheard their entire conversation from her restrained position nearby. A cold sense of betrayal washed over her as she realized Weiling would sacrifice her so readily. The knowledge stung worse than any physical torment.
Abruptly, Tex abandoned Weiling's feet and repositioned himself behind her. Without warning, his hands seized her sides, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh between her ribs. The effect was instantaneous—she would have launched from the chair if not for the restraints holding her down. Her shriek was so piercing that they could feel the vibration reverberating through the walls. Her laughter transformed into something primal and unrestrained, her body convulsing rhythmically as the wooden chair scraped against the floor with each violent movement.
Bu joined the torment, his strong hands squeezing Weiling's thighs with calculated pressure. Each squeeze sent her voice climbing octaves higher, her laughter becoming nearly ultrasonic. She threw her head back in surrender, her mouth stretched wide in hysterical laughter that seemed to come from the very core of her being. The fight had left her; all that remained was the overwhelming sensation and the acceptance of her ticklish fate.
From her vantage point, Quenny watched Weiling's torture with mounting dread, knowing that she would soon face the same ordeal. Yet beneath her fear lurked the bitter satisfaction that Weiling was receiving just punishment for her planned betrayal.
The torture continued relentlessly. Tex's fingers jabbed and skittered across Weiling's hypersensitive sides while Bu's hands mercilessly kneaded her thighs. Her body bounced so violently in the chair that the inevitable happened—with a resounding snap, the chair legs gave way, sending Weiling crashing to the floor, still bound tightly.
Tex and Bu immediately stopped, momentarily concerned.
"Are you okay?" Tex inquired, a rare note of genuine concern in his voice.
Weiling lay there, chest heaving, her face glistening with perspiration. To everyone's astonishment, a smile of exhaustion and something like ecstasy spread across her flushed features. "Oh my god, that was... amazing," she panted, her voice husky and satiated.
Tex, Bu, and even Quenny stared in disbelief at this unexpected reaction. Somehow, the prolonged torment had transformed Weiling's agony into a twisted form of pleasure. She looked up at Tex through half-lidded eyes. "Don't tell me we're done?" she asked, almost pleading.
Tex turned to Bu with a bemused expression. "Oh, what have we done?" he muttered. Bu merely shrugged and knelt beside Weiling, who now lay on her back with her legs awkwardly bent, feet still locked in the stocks that had fallen with her.
"Oh, so you're loving this?" Bu inquired, his fingers lightly stroking her exposed kneecaps. The gentle contact elicited immediate giggles from Weiling.
"Hehehehehehehehe," she was feeling too ticklish to even answer through her laughter, her body shivering with each delicate touch to her sensitive knees.
Tex's enthusiasm dimmed somewhat. He preferred the fear and resistance of his victims; Weiling's newfound enjoyment disrupted the power dynamic he craved. Therefore, his gaze drifted toward Quenny, who immediately met his eyes and swallowed hard, recognizing that his attention had shifted to her. The anticipation of what was to come made her heart race and her mouth go dry.
As Bu continued to tickle Weiling's kneecaps, drawing continuous giggles from her, Tex stalked deliberately toward Quenny. She remained silent as he approached, her frightened eyes following his every movement, silently beseeching him for mercy.
"Hey Bu, bring the camera here," Tex called over Weiling's persistent laughter. "It's her turn." The words fell on Quenny like a death sentence.
Bu ceased tickling Weiling and repositioned the camera to capture Quenny. With slow, predatory movements, Tex straddled Quenny's hips, his weight pinning her further into the mattress. Her mind raced frantically, her heart pounding so violently she was certain he could feel it through her body. Each second that passed heightened her terror exponentially. She knew she was about to experience a level of ticklish torment beyond anything she had imagined possible.
"So, cutie," Tex purred, his palm coming to rest on Quenny's trembling abdomen. "What about that $100K?" His fingers splayed across her stomach, feeling the taut muscles contract beneath his touch.
She flinched dramatically at the contact, her skin already hypersensitive with fear. "I told you I can give you the money," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please just let us go." The plea was genuine, her eyes wide with dread.
"I know you will," Tex acknowledged with a predatory smile, "but I'm planning to make more! Record now, Bu."
Without further warning, his fingers plunged into the soft flesh of her belly, wiggling and digging with merciless precision. The effect was catastrophic.
"AAAAHHHHHH!! HAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA FU-HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!" Quenny's scream tore from her throat, immediately dissolving into uncontrollable laughter. This wasn't the laughter of joy or amusement—it was the involuntary response of a nervous system overloaded with sensation, a primal sound that spoke of pure, unadulterated torture.
Tex's fingers moved like spiders across her abdomen, finding every conceivable sensitive spot. He alternated between light, feathery touches that teased her nerve endings and deep, scribbling motions that sent shock waves of sensation through her core. Her head thrashed from side to side, her mouth stretched in a rictus of hysterical laughter. The entire bed shuddered beneath them, the frame creaking as she strained against her restraints with every ounce of her strength.
Her torment doubled when Bu joined in, his fingers attacking the soles of her feet with surgical precision. Tex could feel her legs desperately trying to retract, to escape the unbearable stimulation, but the restraints held fast, leaving her completely vulnerable to their assault. Bu's technique was methodical—his thumbs worked her arches while his fingers explored between her toes, occasionally using his nails to trace maddening patterns across her hyper-sensitive skin.
Quenny's sleeveless torn midriff shirt quickly became drenched with sweat, the fabric clinging to her body and outlining every contour. This visible evidence of her distress only fueled Tex's excitement; he savored the feeling of her sweat-slicked skin beneath his fingers and the futility of her struggles. A strange fascination with Quenny's responses was clearly developing within him—he studied her reactions with intense interest, adjusting his technique to maximize her suffering.
She bucked and writhed beneath him with such violence that it seemed impossible for a human body to sustain such movement. Yet her laughter never subsided; it remained constant, sometimes rising to piercing shrieks when particularly sensitive spots were discovered, sometimes falling to desperate, gasping chuckles when exhaustion momentarily overtook her, but never stopping completely.
For ten excruciating minutes, they maintained their relentless assault. Bu's fingers danced along the length of her soles, occasionally venturing to her ankles and the tender spots behind her heels. Tex's hands roamed freely across her torso, finding the ticklish hollows beneath her ribs, the vulnerable spots along her sides, and repeatedly returning to her navel, a particular sweet spot that never failed to elicit the most frantic responses.
When they finally ceased their torment, Quenny collapsed in absolute defeat. No words came from her lips, only the desperate sound of ragged breathing as her body tried to recover from the overwhelming sensory onslaught. Her limbs felt like lead, her mind blank except for the lingering echoes of that unbearable ticklish sensation that seemed permanently etched into her nerve endings. "Please... just stop. No more," Quenny pleaded, her voice barely audible through her exhaustion.
Tex rose from her waist and positioned himself beside her head. His eyes roved over her with undisguised hunger while Quenny gazed back through half-lidded eyes, her face glistening with perspiration, each breath still labored from her ordeal. His attention settled on her smooth, hairless armpit where tiny droplets of sweat had formed on the delicate skin.
Driven by curiosity and his growing fascination with Quenny, he lowered his head and took an experimental sniff of her sweaty armpit. To his surprise, instead of the expected odor, he detected a subtle fragrance reminiscent of roses. Intrigued, he leaned in for another, deeper inhalation. The gentle current of air from his nose brushed against her sensitive skin, causing her arm to twitch involuntarily. He glanced up surreptitiously to find Quenny biting her lower lip, clearly struggling to endure even this mild stimulation.
With newfound mischief, he inhaled her rose-scented perspiration once more, but this time instead of exhaling through his nose, he pursed his lips and blew a concentrated stream of air directly onto her armpit. The reaction was immediate—her arm strained violently against its restraint, and a reluctant giggle escaped her lips.
"Wow, even that tickled you?" Tex remarked with delighted surprise. Quenny turned away without answering, but her attempt at stoicism failed when the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twisting into an involuntary smile. Another burst of giggles erupted as her arm jerked reflexively when Tex expelled another sharp breath directly at the center of her armpit. The hypersensitive nerves refused to grant her even a moment's respite—a curse of sensitivity that Quenny had always despised.
Unable to endure more, she whipped her head around to face him, her patience finally shattering. "CAN YOU STOP THAT? PLEASE, LET ME REST!" Her temper flared, voice rising with frustration and exhaustion.
Tex remained unfazed by her outburst. Instead, he leaned closer, his proximity rekindling fear in her eyes. "Why does your armpit still smell wonderful after all this perspiration?" he inquired, completely disregarding her anger.
Strangely disarmed by his unexpected question, Quenny's rage faltered. "Erm... I don't actually know. I just use a deodorant roll and a special soap," she answered hesitantly.
"Oh, you use soap?" Tex mused with feigned innocence. "And rub it like this?" Without warning, he used two fingers to stroke the center of her armpit with deliberate slowness.
Caught completely off guard, Quenny yelped and dissolved into involuntary giggles. "AH! Yes hehehehe it's like-hehehe that. Stopeehehehehe hehehehehe," she pleaded between bursts of laughter.
"Or like this?" Tex continued, his fingers suddenly galloping across the sensitive hollow.
"HAHAHAHHAHAH OH MY GO-HAHAHHAHAHAHA OKOK AHAHAHAHHA STAAHAHAHHAP-AHAHAHHAHAH!" Quenny's control shattered completely as unrestrained laughter erupted from her core. She instinctively tried to shift away from his tormenting fingers, desperately pulling herself toward the opposite side of the bed. Her escape attempt was promptly thwarted when Bu, positioned on the other side, jabbed unexpectedly at her ribs. Trapped between her tormentors, she jolted back and forth helplessly, her composure utterly broken, mouth stretched wide in hysterical laughter.
From across the room, Weiling observed with undisguised fascination. She savored the spectacle of Quenny's torture—not just any torture, but the specific agony of tickling that reduced the normally composed woman to a writhing, laughing mess. This particular form of torment had excited Weiling ever since she first discovered Quenny's extreme sensitivity.
The perspiration coating Quenny's armpit only heightened her susceptibility, elevating her ticklishness to unprecedented levels. She repeatedly tried to hunch her shoulders with such desperate force that the entire bed frame began to inch across the floor, though the restraints held firm against her struggles. Bu, noting the extraordinary reaction elicited from her armpits, joined in targeting this particularly vulnerable zone. Her face contorted in an expression that blended adorable suffering with manic laughter, compelling them to intensify their assault.
Completely broken, Quenny threw her head back in surrender. She abandoned all thoughts of resistance, yielding entirely to their whims. Her mind registered nothing beyond the overwhelming physical sensation of being tickled to madness—all other concerns, even her fear, had been obliterated by this singular torment. Her body responded with mindless, jerking movements; her legs bounced frantically against their restraints. Tex and Bu had seemingly forgotten about the money altogether, consumed only by their desire to witness Quenny's continued suffering under their ticklish torture.
Another ten minutes passed, yet remarkably, her sensitivity showed no signs of diminishing. The nerve endings in her armpits remained exquisitely responsive, fueling her hysterical laughter throughout the extended ordeal. Eventually, however, her consciousness began to waver. Tex noticed her impending collapse and smiled with satisfaction. Deliberately, he jabbed and squeezed her ribs, a shock that instantly reset her fading awareness. Her eyes flew open wide as her body arched upward in an instinctive response.
"AH! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH FU-AHAHHAHAHAHHA OH GAAHAHAHAHHAH!" The forced exhalation of so much air quickly depleted her remaining energy reserves. The momentary revival lasted mere seconds before her consciousness began to slip away once more. Tex and Bu continued their relentless assault, curious to discover what would happen if they pushed her beyond her limits.
They stopped abruptly, their attention captured by a distant sound. Both men tilted their heads, straining to confirm what they were hearing—police sirens, faint at first but rapidly growing louder. Tex and Bu exchanged glances, a silent acknowledgment passing between them as they recognized the approaching threat.
Bu rose quickly from the bed. Tex followed suit, but not before giving Quenny's thigh one final, purposeful squeeze as he pushed himself up. Even in this moment of urgency, he couldn't resist eliciting one last ticklish shriek from her, her body giving a final, violent jerk that revealed Tex's profound obsession with her reactions.
They hurriedly gathered their equipment and camera. Before dashing from the room, Tex paused to look back at Quenny's exhausted form. "I'll be seeing you," he promised, his tone making it unclear whether this was a threat or a vow. Then they were gone, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Minutes later, the police stormed in, finding both Quenny and Weiling in states of utter depletion, Quenny's body however still trembling with the aftershocks of her ordeal. With efficient movements, the officers released their restraints, finally ending their captivity. They brought them outside of the house while the rest of the officers went into the house to do a check. Once outside, Quenny eyes went wide “Hey! It’s you!” pointing to Rom. “You’re the guy at the mall, were you the one that called the cops” Quenny said. “Yes i did, apparently you dropped your wallet and I wanted to follow you but then you went through the forest and so I was feeling suspicious so I have to trail you” Rom said. Adding on further, “I didn’t enter the house because who would want to enter this house but then i heard you’re laughing, the same panic laughter you made at the mall but only this time it comes to the point where it was worrying to me.” Rom said. Quenny got embarrassed when he mentioned about her laughter, her ticklishness is something she doesn’t want people to spread about. But she just scratched that off and thanked Rom for calling the cops on this unfortunate situation. After a few moments, the police came out from the house only to show disappointment as they could not find anyone else in the house. “They must have escaped” One of the policemen said, referring to Tex and Bu. The police officers gather up Quenny and Weiling tries to let them catch their breath, relaxes them after their traumatizing situation while they try to gather information from Quenny and Weiling about what had happened. While this was happening, Rom was actually erotically charged about the story that Quenny told him. He is just picturing her being tickle tortured with that wild laughter he heard, in fact, it’s one of the main reasons why he didn’t call the police sooner as he tries to treasure that angelic tickled screaming of laughter from Quenny.
“Weird, because we just had something similar like this down the road” One of the officers said. “Really? Is it by the same people who kidnap us?” Quenny said. “No, It’s a different person, It happened in the 16th Street, It’s by the house with a green roof” He said. “Wait.. that’s Novita’s place!” Weiling said. “Yes, that’s the girl who called us. You know her?” He said. “Yes we attended to her party early in the morning” Quenny said. “We need to go to her!” She said looking at Weiling.
To be Continued -
