This story was originally written in Spanish. You will find the original here.
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The warehouse was a sanctuary of obsession, a hermetic space where two years of resentment had matured into calculated revenge. The air, dense and cold, smelled of metal, disinfectant, and a faint essence of rosemary, a scent our protagonist remembered in a disturbing way and had deliberately dispersed. Franco, at 41, was no longer the man he was before escaping an inferno of forced submission; now he was the architect of suffering fueled by the betrayal that had left him devastated and the humiliation that had ripped away his former life.
He observed his two captives, bound with a meticulousness that spoke of months of planning.
In the center of the gloomy space stood a structure of dark wood and polished metal: a kind of modernist-designed torture rack. There, back-to-back, forced to share their captivity in a cruel intimacy, were Vanessa and Dolores. Both lay in positions of absolute restraint, their elegant bodies immobilized by wide leather straps contrasting sharply with their delicate skin. Vanessa (38 years old, light brown hair down to her waist), always sensitive and curious, was tied to the left, her posture reflecting a mix of terror and a passivity that Franco recognized and despised. Dolores (59 years old, short platinum blonde hair, strong and controlling), tied to the right, radiated a contained fury, her body rigid in a denial of the vulnerability that now defined her.
Franco walked slowly toward them, the sound of his boots echoing on the cement, a precise rhythm that heightened the tension. He had designed this restriction method to maximize visibility and exposure, focusing on their weakest points. Both women’s arms were extended above their heads and tied firmly to side posts, forming a Y shape, leaving their torsos taut and their armpits totally exposed while their waists were securely fastened. But the main focus of this ritual, as Franco had planned, resided in the lower part of their bodies; they were seated with stocks securing their bare feet projected forward, like unavoidable offerings to what came next.
Franco: — Welcome to the reunion!
Dolores: — Untie me right now, you miserable imbecile! I promise you’ll pay for this. My lawyer…
Franco laughed heartily, a dry, glacial sound that promised no comfort. His gaze lingered on Dolores’s feet, size 9 (US Women's, equivalent to EU 39), long and elegant. Her nails, painted a deep burgundy, shone under the overhead light, a detail of vanity that now became a cruel irony, given the tactile hypersensitivity he knew she possessed. Dolores, in her attempt to project strength, had betrayed herself with the almost imperceptible tremor in her calves, revealing the fear of vulnerability consuming her internally.
Franco: — Dolores… always so eloquent! You talk about paying, but you forgot your own debt. And no, we won't talk about lawyers. We’ll talk about me. About my humiliation, your betrayal, and how I ensured my recovery was total and my revenge... my revenge will be exquisite.
Franco slowly knelt in front of Dolores’s bare feet. He pulled a small metal chisel from his pocket, designed for sculpture, but with a dull and slightly curved tip. It wasn't a tool for penetrating pain, but for a torture of insidious grazing. He approached the sole of Dolores’s foot, which reacted instantly.
Dolores: — What are you doing? Get away from my feet! Don't you dare!
The panic in her voice was genuine, a crack in her facade of control. Franco traced a slow, deliberate line with the metal chisel, from the base of the heel to the arch. The friction, though soft, acted like an electric shock. Dolores let out a sharp shriek that immediately fractured into hysterical, forced laughter. Her body shook violently against the straps, her platinum blonde hair whipping around.
Dolores: — AAH HAHAHAHAH STOP IT HAHAHAHAHAHAH!! YOU BASTAAAARD HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Franco smiled, satisfied. He had confirmed Dolores's extreme hypersensitivity level in her feet, her fear of vulnerability and loss of control manifesting as uncontrollable laughter.
Franco: — I see you’ve kept your weak spot, Dolores. So much evasion training and you still can't tolerate a simple graze? It’s disappointing for someone who was so manipulative.
He subtly passed the chisel again, following the contour of the base of her toes. Dolores choked on her own laughter, pleading between gasps. Vanessa couldn't observe her mother, hence the horror reflected in her clear green eyes staring into nothingness, but also a deep confusion at the revelation of a weakness her mother had never shown her.
Vanessa: — NO FRANCO NO! Not her! She has nothing to do with us!
Franco left Dolores’s foot, stood up, turned around, and his gaze landed on Vanessa. Her feet, size 7.5 (US Women's, equivalent to EU 38), delicate and with nails painted a vibrant red, awaited their turn. He moved close to her face, and she felt the cold breath of fear.
Franco: — She has nothing to do with it? YOUR MOTHER (raising his voice and pointing to Dolores) is the reason you left! She’s the reason I was chained and humiliated against my will, used for sick sadomasochistic games while you, under her influence, abandoned me, leaving a note that said you were “too good” for our relationship. Right when I needed you most…
(Franco looks back at Dolores)
— But the main fault lies with you, my dear ex-mother-in-law. You, Vanessa, you will listen, and today, the loyalty you feel for her will be tested.
Franco went to a side table where he had an arsenal of instruments and picked up a small device. It was a compact, silent unit with a series of fine silicone rollers, mounted on articulated and motorized arms. He tied Dolores’s toes and fastened the gadgets so that the slightly vibrating rollers would work just beneath the base of her toes. He activated the motor. The soft whirring filled the air, a sinister sound foreshadowing agony.
Dolores: — MMMMBUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO NO NO NO NOOO!! TAKE IT OFF!! YOU BASTARD HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
The silicone rollers spun, exerting light pressure on Dolores's ultra-sensitive skin, causing her to immediately burst into hysterical laughter. Her body arched, leaning against Vanessa’s back. She was kicking uselessly, trying to break the stocks, but all she managed to do was bring her feet closer to the rollers. The fear of vulnerability transformed into uncontrollable laughter, a spectacle that was both humiliating and cathartic.
Franco, with a smirk of satisfaction, backed away from Dolores, who had become a speaker of forced, uninterrupted laughter thanks to the machine. He approached Vanessa, who was bracing her mother’s back, staring into nothingness with a mix of horror, but consumed by an internal conflict, realizing her ex was sitting directly facing her right foot.
Vanessa: — Belo, please, look at me. Stop this. You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk like before.
Franco: — DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME BELO! You want to talk like before? Before, I was a good guy who just liked to play sexually with his partner, but I ended up being a toy in the hands of sadists, thanks to the information your mother gave them about my intimacy. And you believed what your mother told you and left me, convinced that I was the monster. There is no “before,” Vanessa. There is only now.
He held Vanessa’s right foot, delicate and trembling, between his hands. The contact made her shudder. Vanessa’s sensitivity in that area was a notable weakness, though not as catastrophic as her mother’s.
Franco: — I always loved your feet. Do you know the irony? In that kidnapping, the first thing they did was tickle my feet and make me laugh until I passed out. And you, advised by Dolores, ran away.
With his left hand, Franco gently massaged her ankle and Achilles tendon, a firm, comforting touch. But with his right hand, he pulled out a small comb with fine bone teeth, a meticulous and sharp tool destined for superficial torture.
Franco: — We are going to explore your hidden sensuality, the one you were so afraid to acknowledge.
He quickly passed the comb, like a nervous caress, over the arch of Vanessa’s sole. The reaction was less a scream and more a gasping sob, followed by a sharp, overflowing laugh that she fought hard to hold back.
Vanessa: — HEHEHE HAHAHA NO! STOP! YOU’RE TICKLING ME! NOT NOW!
Franco: — Yes, now! Don't deny it. Your body tells me you love this touch. It’s the truth of your desire.
While Vanessa convulsed with nervous, embarrassed laughter, her mother screamed behind her back under the machine's constant attack. The cacophony of laughter, one hysterical and the other embarrassed, created a unique orchestra.
Franco: — Close your eyes and focus on the sensation.
Franco put down the comb and used his hands, his nails intentionally grown slightly long. He focused on the space between his ex’s toes, also methodically exploring every crease and tip, areas where Vanessa proved to be unexpectedly sensitive.
Vanessa: — AAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA I CAN’T HAHAHAHA I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! I’M GOING TO DIE LAUGHING!!
Franco: — Die laughing? You have no idea what it's like to want to die. My captors placed a semen suction device along with a retardant, and my day was tickles, then my testicles, moving to my nipples… I couldn't breathe, and rest was scarce—only what was necessary because they were milking me, Vanessa. The three bitches served my semen like a shot of tequila, regulating the retardant so they had the maximum quantity, and I was constantly aroused without rest. They made it perfectly clear they would kill me if I didn't continue satisfying their thirst for semen.
The attack stopped as abruptly as it began upon remembering the trauma. Vanessa was breathless, her face flushed from the mixture of laughter, arousal, and shame after hearing this. Tears mixed with the liquid streaming from the green eyes that had once brightened upon seeing her captor’s brown eyes.
Franco took a leather riding crop from the table, modified with small leather strips. He approached Dolores while the machine continued working her feet, keeping her in a constant, though somewhat hoarser, fit of laughter due to fatigue.
Dolores: — TAKE THIS HAHAHAHAHA OFF!! YOU SON OF A BITCH HAHAHAHAHAHÉ!!
Franco: — Silence! I’m going to give you a new kind of humiliation. Not only will you laugh with pleasure. Now you will scream in pain.
With unexpected speed, Franco lashed Dolores’s abdomen and ribs with the whip. It was a strike designed to cause real physical pain, a dull impact that hurt but maximized the tickling on his ex mother-in-law’s feet.
Dolores: — AARGHH! YOU SON OF A BITCH HAHAHAHAHÉ!! STOOOP HAHAHAHA!! AARGHH, VANESSA! KILL HIM!! AARGHH HAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Vanessa screamed in panic upon hearing her mother's punishment, her heart pounding at the imagined image of violence and laughter unfolding before her.
Franco: — Just so you understand clearly, Vanessa, in case you still haven't grasped it. Your dear mother sold me to those women so they could use me. And you? You chose to listen to her.
After 10 lashes to the abdomen and the relentless, unfaltering rollers, Franco approached a metal barrel and pulled a container from it. It held a fine, white, shimmering powder; a mixture of fine talc and an irritating herbal substance.
Franco: — Time for a nice Chinese game. One I learned during my recovery process.
First, he sprinkled a generous layer of the powder over Dolores’s soles, which the rollers quickly spread to her toes, already burning from the machine. Then he applied the powder to the abdomen of the recently punished woman. Meanwhile, Franco tied Vanessa’s toes and finished applying the same powder to her soles, which still held some sensitivity from the previous attack.
Vanessa: — What is that? It itches! IT ITCHES SO MUCH! TAKE IT OFF!
Dolores: — AAAA HAHAHAHAHAHA IT ITCHESS HAHAHAHAHÁ! IT ITCHES!! ITCHESS HAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Franco, listening to the screams like his favorite music and now observing his captives' hypersensitivity, turned on a small, motorized, hard-bristled brush vibrating in his hand. With terrifying precision, he gently passed the brush over Vanessa’s sole, concentrating on the heel.
Vanessa: — NOOOOO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IT BURNS AND IT ITCHES HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP, I BEG YOU!! IT’S UNBEARABLE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Franco: — Your mother taught you to be strong, didn't she?
Her laughter was a sound of pure agony. Dolores, with the machine vibrating and the powder itching, could only emit a hoarse groan, her body in constant spasms. Dolores's machine didn't stop, and Franco didn't stop on Vanessa's feet either, especially now that he turned on another brush, and both her feet were being punished just like her mother's.
The combination of constant electric friction with the stinging powder pushed both women to the edge of sensory collapse. They were exhausted.
Franco stopped everything. Both women, exhausted, gasped for breath. Their feet, intensely red, throbbed.
Franco: — Vanessa (looking intently into her eyes) tell me the truth. Why did you leave me? Because of your insecurity? Because of what Dolores told you?
Vanessa, tears in her eyes and her body trembling, couldn't stop looking at what she could see of her big toes, feet she had cared for so meticulously and which were now the source of her torment, while Dolores still emitted involuntary, choked laughter due to the tremendous attack she had received. She was at the crossroads between her fear of abandonment and the toxic loyalty to her mother.
Vanessa: — I... I don't know, Franco. She... she insisted you weren't good for me. That you were... broken. That you had a dark past…
Franco now approached Dolores…
Franco: — Dolores, the floor is yours. Tell your daughter why you convinced her to abandon me right when I needed her most. The truth.
Dolores looked at Franco, her face pale and sweaty but with an expression of hatred struggling to overcome the residual laughter in her throat.
Dolores: — She... She is my daughter. I know what's best for her. I wouldn't allow my blood... to be contaminated by your perversion.
Franco laughed, his voice a whip of sarcasm.
Franco: — Perversion? Or fear? Fear that I would tell your secret, Dolores?
Vanessa: — What secret? Mom, what is he talking about?
While Vanessa asked, Franco, knowing Dolores wouldn't answer, leaned down and, using his thumbs and forefingers, gently pinched Dolores’s big toes, a simple but deeply irritating touch.
Dolores: — DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT!! IT'S A LIE!! GET OUT HAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!
Franco: — Vanessa, your mother used hidden microphones to record the moment I told you I liked sexual games when we were watching movies at your house. She gave that information to my kidnappers because I discovered her secret and she wanted to get rid of me. By getting rid of me and inventing stories, she was going to regain control over you.
Franco stepped back, leaving both women in the silence heavy with this new and dark truth. Vanessa writhed, her mind processing the divided loyalty and the revelation that the strong woman she admired was, in fact, the main culprit for her and Franco’s pain. Franco reactivated the rollers on Dolores's feet and knelt to focus on his ex's feet, which were still unbearably itching from the powder. He pulled out a large ostrich feather and slowly glided it over the sole of her right foot, following the curve of the arch with methodical precision.
Vanessa: — NOOOO! WAIIIIT HAHAHAHAHA!! I CAN’T BREATH HAHAHAHAHÁ!! I AM SO SORRY HO HO HAHAHA!! FORGIVE HAHAHAHA ME!!
Dolores, hearing her daughter's apologies, screamed from the other side, a cry drowned out by the renewed laughter from the machine on her feet.
Dolores: — VANESSA, SHUT UP HAHAHAHAH!! SHUT UP! DON'T SAY ANYTHING HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
The psychological conflict had reached its peak. Franco paused the feather on Vanessa but let Dolores's machine continue working, a constant reminder of her punishment. The man went to the table and brought two pieces of metal with wires, which he clamped onto Dolores’s heels, over the tickling machine. The contrast of the continuous tickling with the cold metal was a sensory shock, but the electric jolts he intermittently sent through the metal were designed to completely break her will.
Dolores: — HAAAAAAAAAARGHH!! TAKE IT OFF!! YOU SON OF HAHAHAHA SON OF A BITCH HAHAHAHAHA! I WILL NEVAAAAARGHH!! I WILL KILL YOU!!
Her laughter mixed with shrieks of agony, abrupt movements that included knocking against Vanessa’s back, along with incoherent words, was a potent, disturbing echo resonating in the warehouse.
Franco stood up, looking at both women. Vanessa was exhausted but with a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. Dolores was not yet broken, but she was frozen in her torture and her own laughter.
Franco: — The truth is liberating, though painful, my dear guests. We have plenty of time for both of you to understand the true cost of… (he goes to Vanessa's left ear) betrayal and (now at Dolores's right ear) manipulation.
Franco turned away, leaving the women tied. The place was a unison: The echoes of hysterical laughter from the tickle machine on Dolores's toes continued to hum, relentless, while the strong metal and the relentless electric jolts on Vanessa's mother's heels raised the pitch of the older woman’s voice.
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The warehouse was a sanctuary of obsession, a hermetic space where two years of resentment had matured into calculated revenge. The air, dense and cold, smelled of metal, disinfectant, and a faint essence of rosemary, a scent our protagonist remembered in a disturbing way and had deliberately dispersed. Franco, at 41, was no longer the man he was before escaping an inferno of forced submission; now he was the architect of suffering fueled by the betrayal that had left him devastated and the humiliation that had ripped away his former life.
He observed his two captives, bound with a meticulousness that spoke of months of planning.
In the center of the gloomy space stood a structure of dark wood and polished metal: a kind of modernist-designed torture rack. There, back-to-back, forced to share their captivity in a cruel intimacy, were Vanessa and Dolores. Both lay in positions of absolute restraint, their elegant bodies immobilized by wide leather straps contrasting sharply with their delicate skin. Vanessa (38 years old, light brown hair down to her waist), always sensitive and curious, was tied to the left, her posture reflecting a mix of terror and a passivity that Franco recognized and despised. Dolores (59 years old, short platinum blonde hair, strong and controlling), tied to the right, radiated a contained fury, her body rigid in a denial of the vulnerability that now defined her.
Franco walked slowly toward them, the sound of his boots echoing on the cement, a precise rhythm that heightened the tension. He had designed this restriction method to maximize visibility and exposure, focusing on their weakest points. Both women’s arms were extended above their heads and tied firmly to side posts, forming a Y shape, leaving their torsos taut and their armpits totally exposed while their waists were securely fastened. But the main focus of this ritual, as Franco had planned, resided in the lower part of their bodies; they were seated with stocks securing their bare feet projected forward, like unavoidable offerings to what came next.
Franco: — Welcome to the reunion!
Dolores: — Untie me right now, you miserable imbecile! I promise you’ll pay for this. My lawyer…
Franco laughed heartily, a dry, glacial sound that promised no comfort. His gaze lingered on Dolores’s feet, size 9 (US Women's, equivalent to EU 39), long and elegant. Her nails, painted a deep burgundy, shone under the overhead light, a detail of vanity that now became a cruel irony, given the tactile hypersensitivity he knew she possessed. Dolores, in her attempt to project strength, had betrayed herself with the almost imperceptible tremor in her calves, revealing the fear of vulnerability consuming her internally.
Franco: — Dolores… always so eloquent! You talk about paying, but you forgot your own debt. And no, we won't talk about lawyers. We’ll talk about me. About my humiliation, your betrayal, and how I ensured my recovery was total and my revenge... my revenge will be exquisite.
Franco slowly knelt in front of Dolores’s bare feet. He pulled a small metal chisel from his pocket, designed for sculpture, but with a dull and slightly curved tip. It wasn't a tool for penetrating pain, but for a torture of insidious grazing. He approached the sole of Dolores’s foot, which reacted instantly.
Dolores: — What are you doing? Get away from my feet! Don't you dare!
The panic in her voice was genuine, a crack in her facade of control. Franco traced a slow, deliberate line with the metal chisel, from the base of the heel to the arch. The friction, though soft, acted like an electric shock. Dolores let out a sharp shriek that immediately fractured into hysterical, forced laughter. Her body shook violently against the straps, her platinum blonde hair whipping around.
Dolores: — AAH HAHAHAHAH STOP IT HAHAHAHAHAHAH!! YOU BASTAAAARD HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Franco smiled, satisfied. He had confirmed Dolores's extreme hypersensitivity level in her feet, her fear of vulnerability and loss of control manifesting as uncontrollable laughter.
Franco: — I see you’ve kept your weak spot, Dolores. So much evasion training and you still can't tolerate a simple graze? It’s disappointing for someone who was so manipulative.
He subtly passed the chisel again, following the contour of the base of her toes. Dolores choked on her own laughter, pleading between gasps. Vanessa couldn't observe her mother, hence the horror reflected in her clear green eyes staring into nothingness, but also a deep confusion at the revelation of a weakness her mother had never shown her.
Vanessa: — NO FRANCO NO! Not her! She has nothing to do with us!
Franco left Dolores’s foot, stood up, turned around, and his gaze landed on Vanessa. Her feet, size 7.5 (US Women's, equivalent to EU 38), delicate and with nails painted a vibrant red, awaited their turn. He moved close to her face, and she felt the cold breath of fear.
Franco: — She has nothing to do with it? YOUR MOTHER (raising his voice and pointing to Dolores) is the reason you left! She’s the reason I was chained and humiliated against my will, used for sick sadomasochistic games while you, under her influence, abandoned me, leaving a note that said you were “too good” for our relationship. Right when I needed you most…
(Franco looks back at Dolores)
— But the main fault lies with you, my dear ex-mother-in-law. You, Vanessa, you will listen, and today, the loyalty you feel for her will be tested.
Franco went to a side table where he had an arsenal of instruments and picked up a small device. It was a compact, silent unit with a series of fine silicone rollers, mounted on articulated and motorized arms. He tied Dolores’s toes and fastened the gadgets so that the slightly vibrating rollers would work just beneath the base of her toes. He activated the motor. The soft whirring filled the air, a sinister sound foreshadowing agony.
Dolores: — MMMMBUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO NO NO NO NOOO!! TAKE IT OFF!! YOU BASTARD HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
The silicone rollers spun, exerting light pressure on Dolores's ultra-sensitive skin, causing her to immediately burst into hysterical laughter. Her body arched, leaning against Vanessa’s back. She was kicking uselessly, trying to break the stocks, but all she managed to do was bring her feet closer to the rollers. The fear of vulnerability transformed into uncontrollable laughter, a spectacle that was both humiliating and cathartic.
Franco, with a smirk of satisfaction, backed away from Dolores, who had become a speaker of forced, uninterrupted laughter thanks to the machine. He approached Vanessa, who was bracing her mother’s back, staring into nothingness with a mix of horror, but consumed by an internal conflict, realizing her ex was sitting directly facing her right foot.
Vanessa: — Belo, please, look at me. Stop this. You don’t have to do this. Let’s talk like before.
Franco: — DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME BELO! You want to talk like before? Before, I was a good guy who just liked to play sexually with his partner, but I ended up being a toy in the hands of sadists, thanks to the information your mother gave them about my intimacy. And you believed what your mother told you and left me, convinced that I was the monster. There is no “before,” Vanessa. There is only now.
He held Vanessa’s right foot, delicate and trembling, between his hands. The contact made her shudder. Vanessa’s sensitivity in that area was a notable weakness, though not as catastrophic as her mother’s.
Franco: — I always loved your feet. Do you know the irony? In that kidnapping, the first thing they did was tickle my feet and make me laugh until I passed out. And you, advised by Dolores, ran away.
With his left hand, Franco gently massaged her ankle and Achilles tendon, a firm, comforting touch. But with his right hand, he pulled out a small comb with fine bone teeth, a meticulous and sharp tool destined for superficial torture.
Franco: — We are going to explore your hidden sensuality, the one you were so afraid to acknowledge.
He quickly passed the comb, like a nervous caress, over the arch of Vanessa’s sole. The reaction was less a scream and more a gasping sob, followed by a sharp, overflowing laugh that she fought hard to hold back.
Vanessa: — HEHEHE HAHAHA NO! STOP! YOU’RE TICKLING ME! NOT NOW!
Franco: — Yes, now! Don't deny it. Your body tells me you love this touch. It’s the truth of your desire.
While Vanessa convulsed with nervous, embarrassed laughter, her mother screamed behind her back under the machine's constant attack. The cacophony of laughter, one hysterical and the other embarrassed, created a unique orchestra.
Franco: — Close your eyes and focus on the sensation.
Franco put down the comb and used his hands, his nails intentionally grown slightly long. He focused on the space between his ex’s toes, also methodically exploring every crease and tip, areas where Vanessa proved to be unexpectedly sensitive.
Vanessa: — AAAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA I CAN’T HAHAHAHA I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! I’M GOING TO DIE LAUGHING!!
Franco: — Die laughing? You have no idea what it's like to want to die. My captors placed a semen suction device along with a retardant, and my day was tickles, then my testicles, moving to my nipples… I couldn't breathe, and rest was scarce—only what was necessary because they were milking me, Vanessa. The three bitches served my semen like a shot of tequila, regulating the retardant so they had the maximum quantity, and I was constantly aroused without rest. They made it perfectly clear they would kill me if I didn't continue satisfying their thirst for semen.
The attack stopped as abruptly as it began upon remembering the trauma. Vanessa was breathless, her face flushed from the mixture of laughter, arousal, and shame after hearing this. Tears mixed with the liquid streaming from the green eyes that had once brightened upon seeing her captor’s brown eyes.
Franco took a leather riding crop from the table, modified with small leather strips. He approached Dolores while the machine continued working her feet, keeping her in a constant, though somewhat hoarser, fit of laughter due to fatigue.
Dolores: — TAKE THIS HAHAHAHAHA OFF!! YOU SON OF A BITCH HAHAHAHAHAHÉ!!
Franco: — Silence! I’m going to give you a new kind of humiliation. Not only will you laugh with pleasure. Now you will scream in pain.
With unexpected speed, Franco lashed Dolores’s abdomen and ribs with the whip. It was a strike designed to cause real physical pain, a dull impact that hurt but maximized the tickling on his ex mother-in-law’s feet.
Dolores: — AARGHH! YOU SON OF A BITCH HAHAHAHAHÉ!! STOOOP HAHAHAHA!! AARGHH, VANESSA! KILL HIM!! AARGHH HAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Vanessa screamed in panic upon hearing her mother's punishment, her heart pounding at the imagined image of violence and laughter unfolding before her.
Franco: — Just so you understand clearly, Vanessa, in case you still haven't grasped it. Your dear mother sold me to those women so they could use me. And you? You chose to listen to her.
After 10 lashes to the abdomen and the relentless, unfaltering rollers, Franco approached a metal barrel and pulled a container from it. It held a fine, white, shimmering powder; a mixture of fine talc and an irritating herbal substance.
Franco: — Time for a nice Chinese game. One I learned during my recovery process.
First, he sprinkled a generous layer of the powder over Dolores’s soles, which the rollers quickly spread to her toes, already burning from the machine. Then he applied the powder to the abdomen of the recently punished woman. Meanwhile, Franco tied Vanessa’s toes and finished applying the same powder to her soles, which still held some sensitivity from the previous attack.
Vanessa: — What is that? It itches! IT ITCHES SO MUCH! TAKE IT OFF!
Dolores: — AAAA HAHAHAHAHAHA IT ITCHESS HAHAHAHAHÁ! IT ITCHES!! ITCHESS HAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Franco, listening to the screams like his favorite music and now observing his captives' hypersensitivity, turned on a small, motorized, hard-bristled brush vibrating in his hand. With terrifying precision, he gently passed the brush over Vanessa’s sole, concentrating on the heel.
Vanessa: — NOOOOO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IT BURNS AND IT ITCHES HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP, I BEG YOU!! IT’S UNBEARABLE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Franco: — Your mother taught you to be strong, didn't she?
Her laughter was a sound of pure agony. Dolores, with the machine vibrating and the powder itching, could only emit a hoarse groan, her body in constant spasms. Dolores's machine didn't stop, and Franco didn't stop on Vanessa's feet either, especially now that he turned on another brush, and both her feet were being punished just like her mother's.
The combination of constant electric friction with the stinging powder pushed both women to the edge of sensory collapse. They were exhausted.
Franco stopped everything. Both women, exhausted, gasped for breath. Their feet, intensely red, throbbed.
Franco: — Vanessa (looking intently into her eyes) tell me the truth. Why did you leave me? Because of your insecurity? Because of what Dolores told you?
Vanessa, tears in her eyes and her body trembling, couldn't stop looking at what she could see of her big toes, feet she had cared for so meticulously and which were now the source of her torment, while Dolores still emitted involuntary, choked laughter due to the tremendous attack she had received. She was at the crossroads between her fear of abandonment and the toxic loyalty to her mother.
Vanessa: — I... I don't know, Franco. She... she insisted you weren't good for me. That you were... broken. That you had a dark past…
Franco now approached Dolores…
Franco: — Dolores, the floor is yours. Tell your daughter why you convinced her to abandon me right when I needed her most. The truth.
Dolores looked at Franco, her face pale and sweaty but with an expression of hatred struggling to overcome the residual laughter in her throat.
Dolores: — She... She is my daughter. I know what's best for her. I wouldn't allow my blood... to be contaminated by your perversion.
Franco laughed, his voice a whip of sarcasm.
Franco: — Perversion? Or fear? Fear that I would tell your secret, Dolores?
Vanessa: — What secret? Mom, what is he talking about?
While Vanessa asked, Franco, knowing Dolores wouldn't answer, leaned down and, using his thumbs and forefingers, gently pinched Dolores’s big toes, a simple but deeply irritating touch.
Dolores: — DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT!! IT'S A LIE!! GET OUT HAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!
Franco: — Vanessa, your mother used hidden microphones to record the moment I told you I liked sexual games when we were watching movies at your house. She gave that information to my kidnappers because I discovered her secret and she wanted to get rid of me. By getting rid of me and inventing stories, she was going to regain control over you.
Franco stepped back, leaving both women in the silence heavy with this new and dark truth. Vanessa writhed, her mind processing the divided loyalty and the revelation that the strong woman she admired was, in fact, the main culprit for her and Franco’s pain. Franco reactivated the rollers on Dolores's feet and knelt to focus on his ex's feet, which were still unbearably itching from the powder. He pulled out a large ostrich feather and slowly glided it over the sole of her right foot, following the curve of the arch with methodical precision.
Vanessa: — NOOOO! WAIIIIT HAHAHAHAHA!! I CAN’T BREATH HAHAHAHAHÁ!! I AM SO SORRY HO HO HAHAHA!! FORGIVE HAHAHAHA ME!!
Dolores, hearing her daughter's apologies, screamed from the other side, a cry drowned out by the renewed laughter from the machine on her feet.
Dolores: — VANESSA, SHUT UP HAHAHAHAH!! SHUT UP! DON'T SAY ANYTHING HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
The psychological conflict had reached its peak. Franco paused the feather on Vanessa but let Dolores's machine continue working, a constant reminder of her punishment. The man went to the table and brought two pieces of metal with wires, which he clamped onto Dolores’s heels, over the tickling machine. The contrast of the continuous tickling with the cold metal was a sensory shock, but the electric jolts he intermittently sent through the metal were designed to completely break her will.
Dolores: — HAAAAAAAAAARGHH!! TAKE IT OFF!! YOU SON OF HAHAHAHA SON OF A BITCH HAHAHAHAHA! I WILL NEVAAAAARGHH!! I WILL KILL YOU!!
Her laughter mixed with shrieks of agony, abrupt movements that included knocking against Vanessa’s back, along with incoherent words, was a potent, disturbing echo resonating in the warehouse.
Franco stood up, looking at both women. Vanessa was exhausted but with a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. Dolores was not yet broken, but she was frozen in her torture and her own laughter.
Franco: — The truth is liberating, though painful, my dear guests. We have plenty of time for both of you to understand the true cost of… (he goes to Vanessa's left ear) betrayal and (now at Dolores's right ear) manipulation.
Franco turned away, leaving the women tied. The place was a unison: The echoes of hysterical laughter from the tickle machine on Dolores's toes continued to hum, relentless, while the strong metal and the relentless electric jolts on Vanessa's mother's heels raised the pitch of the older woman’s voice.
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Part 2 (Day 2) will be presented in 1 week...
