Francie_Pants
TMF Poster
- Joined
- May 6, 2008
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Ok, here's the latest episode. It takes a while to get to the tickling, in this one. There's a lot of setting up to go through.
Briefly, before continuing with the story, I should probably describe Mr. Winston. I realized that I haven’t given much of a description, other than his annoying voice. The voice goes with the appearance. If you’ve ever watched the cartoon, “Johnny Bravo”, just think of Johnny’s nerdy friend Carl, except older and balding. If you’ve never watched Johnny Bravo, I recommend it. It’s a riot. Carl is average height and wiry, with red hair and glasses. He looks like the typical television depiction of a nerd, and has one of the most annoying laughs ever. Now, where was I?
When I woke, I could tell I’d been asleep for a long time. There’s a heavy feeling to your head and body, when you’ve been asleep for a really long time. It was hard to sit up. It was morning of the next day, I assumed. After a few minutes of long, almost painful yawning, I slid off the bed and took a walk around the room.
After a trip to the restroom, I was pleased to find that the closet was unlocked. Entering to survey the possibilities, I found it pretty well stocked. That’s actually kind of scary. This Mr. Winston, whose first name I’d yet to find out, had obviously prepared this room for someone about my size. All the clothes could have been in my own closet. The more this thought went through my mind, the more worried and panicked it made me. There were a lot of clothes in this closet, which gave plenty of reason to believe that my stay here was not intended to be a short one. There was also a mini-fridge and a snack pantry.
I opted to give up on contemplating, until I’d eaten something. I looked through the clothes and found some blue jeans and a t-shirt. If he didn’t like what I picked out, oh well. He left the closet unlocked. I went to the chest of drawers and found the underwear drawers. There was nothing in them with enough cloth to blow your nose, but it was still better than wearing nothing underneath. There were no bras. That caused me to grumble. My choice of socks was not very expansive either. It was either knee-high nylon stockings or white socks. I hate white socks. So, tan nylon knee-highs it was. There was a nice pair of cross-trainers in the closet, too. The kind that probably cost over $100, so I put them on.
I raided the mini-fridge and the snack pantry and ate until I was almost sick. I was hungry. After that, I set to thinking and trying to devise a plan to escape this prison. Surveying the room, I found nothing to indicate the presence of a video monitor. This really surprised me. That a man would take this much care in preparing a place to keep a prisoner, and not establish some means of surveillance, seemed a little bit clumsy. I had to assume there was something, and that I was just not able to find it.
There were bars on the windows, and the door was locked, of course. There was, however, a slight intrusion at the door. The doorway was about a foot into the room, meaning that if you walked to either side of it, you could turn a corner and go about a foot to the main wall. This gave me an idea. I would linger back here, in this corner. He was bound to check in on me, at some point, today. If there was a camera, oh well, I’d just be caught in the act. It was a chance I had to take.
Of course, today would be the day that he decided not to come see me until the evening. Thing got rather dull, just sitting there waiting. I left my post, several times, for various reasons, including another trip to the pantry, to fix myself a sandwich that Dagwood would have been envious of. Heck, I might was well. It’s on Winston’s dollar, anyway.
I was just about to fall asleep, when I heard the key turning in the lock. My heart started to pound. I’m sure I was visibly shaking. This was the moment. I had it to do, and I was going to do my best. I was really quite fortunate in the way it played out. I had been smart enough to pull the bathroom door almost shut, leaving the light on, so that it would appear that I was in there. It actually worked, I couldn’t believe it. He and his two goons went towards the bathroom, leaving their backs to me. As if things couldn’t have been any more perfect, he left the key in the lock.
Sneaking past them, I quickly pulled the door closed, and turned the key to lock it, and left it hanging. I could hear the sounds of them beating on the door and trying to knock it down, as I scampered down the hallway. At the end of that hallway, I found another hallway. Holy crap! This place was huge. I had to choose right or left. Being left handed, I went left. It was a dead end. About the time I passed by the hallway I had just come from, I heard the door busting open. I was glad I had chosen the cross trainers. I ran faster. Around the corner, I saw stairs. Up the stairs, I ran.
I came out into the kitchen. I’ve got some knowledge of architectural design, so I happen to know that most kitchens are in the back of the house. I ran towards the front. I was afraid to go for the back door, worried that I’d end up in a backyard full of vicious dogs or something. I ran out the front door, and sprinted out across the front yard. The front yard was fenced in, also, but no dogs that I could see; at least not yet.
About the time I got to the top of the fence, I heard the barking, and it got closer in a hurry. I was having a hard time getting over the top, and finally just gave up and fell over, deciding that I’d rather bruise a shoulder or a hip, than lose a foot to a hungry dog. Thankfully, I didn’t injure myself, just a stunning period of breathlessness. Then I took off down the road, but I didn’t stay on the road long, because I knew they’d be coming after me in a car, more than likely. I ducked into the woods, and just started scrambling. I couldn’t move too fast, because the woods were thick and the ground was very rugged.
I was not at all surprised, when I came up on the water. I knew all along that I was probably on some sort of island. I stayed along the shore, moving in the opposite direction of the house, but then I stopped, to think a minute. He’d be expecting me to go away from the house. I turned and went straight back towards his house, along the shore. It wasn’t too far.
I did my best to stay low to the ground and out of sight, as I neared his dock. He had two boats docked there. There was the boat they used to bring me out here, obviously, and a rowboat. I didn’t really want to know what use he had for a rowboat, but for some reason, I still managed to get this lame image in my head of him rowing out in the water with some woman and trying to seduce her with that annoying voice of his. As Ron White would say, ‘Things that make you go blughuhuhuhuh’.
I made my way onto the dock. Quickly, I untied the rowboat, got in, picked up the oars and started rowing out towards the lake. I could see land, in the distance, and started rowing in that direction, hopeful of not rowing towards another island, but figuring it would still be safer than where I was at. Yeah, I thought about checking the other boat for to see if the keys were left in it. It would have been a lot faster, but it would also have been a lot more obvious. Anybody that tells you that rowing a boat is fun, though, needs to have their tongue cut out, because they are bald faced liars. I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard for so little in all my life. I felt like I was going nowhere.
It was really cold out here, too. I still had no idea where I was. The cold kept me moving. I knew it was going to get really cold out here, at night, and I didn’t want to be out here, then. If I’d had any idea that I was in such a cold climate, I might have dressed a little bit warmer, but, oh well. It took me all day, but I managed to row myself to that land I saw.
I rowed my way into what appeared to be a creek, or inlet, and hunted a safe place to abandon the boat. I neared a bridge and decided to leave it there, so that it would be easier to find, in the event that I needed it again. I left the creek, and went up to the road. The sun was setting, and I knew it was going to be very cold. What I wouldn’t have given for a car to be passing by. I reluctantly chose to go to the left again, recalling how my instincts failed me the last time, but I figured there was a better chance that this road would go somewhere, either direction, I just hoped it was close or that a car would come along, soon. I didn’t really care which direction the car was headed, as long as it was toward civilization.
I had been walking for about fifteen minutes, when a car came along behind me. It was almost dark, by then. The car slowed down, and there was a female driver.
“Need a lift, hon?” She seemed friendly, and had one of those cute accents that people from that area have. I’m sure my southern accent quickly alerted her that I wasn’t local.
“If you don’t mind. Just into the nearest town,” I answered.
“Oh, sure, hon. That’ll be Baudette,” she answered as I pulled the door closed and buckled my seatbelt.
“Baudette? Baudette….?” I left it open ended, hoping she’d finish it for me, and she did.
“Baudette, Minnesota. Aw, geez hon, walking down a road in upstate Minnesota and don’t even know where you are?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I told her the story, and she decided to take me first to the Pizza Hut, for some dinner, and then back to her place, to stay the night. I would have gotten myself a hotel room, but I didn’t have any of my things: ID, credit cards, bank cards, etc. The way she insisted, I don’t think she’d have let me do that, anyway.
Her husband seemed to be a pretty nice guy, but after hearing the story, he never quite looked at me the same. It was as if he was studying me, or debating about something. I was too tired to care. Their names, by the way, were Wally and Glenda. Wally was kind enough to get his toolbox and help me get the cuffs and collar off. I spent the night in their spare bedroom, after a warm refreshing shower, and the next morning I freshened up and thanks to her graciousness, was able to put on enough makeup that I didn’t look like I had just gotten out of bed, before we left for the police department.
“That’ll be the best place for you to get your things back in order, don’t you know?” Her accent was so cute; I just wanted to pinch her cheeks.
“Thank you, so much. You’ve been far more accommodating and hospitable than I could have ever hoped for,” I said to her, as we parted ways. She gave me her phone number, and wanted me to call her, if I needed anything else, or needed a place to stay tonight, as well. My hopes were to get all of this sorted out, at the police department, and on the next flight I could get, back to good old North Carolina.
After a few minutes of discussion, I sat down with a detective, and told him the entire story. He looked at me, silently, for a few minutes, scratching his chin, and said, “Well, from the sounds of it, you were probably in Ontario, which would be out of our jurisdiction. We’ll have to contact authorities in that area, and relay the information.”
I just nodded. I didn’t know what else to say.
“We’re going to have to verify that your information all checks out, before we can set you up for a flight back home, though.” About the time he spoke, an officer walked up beside the desk. “Just go with Chris, here. He’ll take you to a room, where you can wait.”
I nodded, and rose. I followed Chris out of the office, down a hallway, and through another door. Upon entering the room, I began to think something was up. There was a line of jail cells in front of me. Before I had time to question or react, Chris had grabbed my right wrist and was locking a handcuff around it.
“What the heck?” I almost stuttered. “What are you doing?”
I tried to pull away, but he forcefully held me by the arm and pulled my other wrist behind my back, locking it into the other cuff, “Just following orders.”
I wiggled my wrists and strained against the handcuffs, as he pulled me into one of the cells, “Following orders? I thought I was going somewhere to wait while my information was verified!”
“Your information was verified. Mr. Winston reported you missing, yesterday. We get a lot of his escapees coming through here.” As he was speaking he turned me around and tripped me from behind, so that I fell on my backside, in the floor.
“What?!? You know that creep? And you’re helping him? No!!! This ain’t right! Let me outta here.” I couldn’t believe it. All this work to escape and report him to the police, and they’re in cahoots with him. As I was trying to get my wrists free, he was putting my feet through the bars, just above the vertical mid-bar. I was almost too stunned to fight back; almost.
I started to frantically try to pull my feet back through the bars, but he was having none of it. He held them firmly in place, locking a larger set of cuffs, obviously designed to fit around ankles, around my ankles. When he was done, I was helpless, once again. I wiggled and tried to roll around in the floor, fussing up a storm, and screaming loud enough to cause a ruckus.
“Let me outta here! I can’t believe this is happening. You’re all a bunch of perverts! Help!!! Somebody help me!!”
There I was, lying in the floor, on my back, with my legs going up through the bars, resting on the middle bar, with my ankles cuffed together on the other side. My noisy protests and screaming were apparently causing enough of a distraction to annoy them, because Chris came back with a washcloth and some duct tape. He wadded it up, and stuck it my mouth, then put a few strips of duct tape over my lips, to keep me from spitting it back out. That silenced my fusses, quite a bit.
Then, as if it couldn’t have gotten any worse, Chris spoke words that chilled me, to the bone, “Mr. Winston said we should keep you entertained, until he gets here.”
My eyes got big as golf balls, as Chris started untying the left cross trainer. I shook my head and screamed pleas and protests through the gag, as he loosened the strings and tugged at the shoe. It easily slid off the nylon covered foot, and I just groaned in frustration. How did I ever end up in such a twisted situation? Not only was I captured by a group of girls with an apparent thing for tickling, I was sold to a dweeb who had a thing for tickling that was well past that point of being psycho. Now, I was in a police station, where the people I was sure would help me out were holding me, so that the dweeb could come back and get me. And now, one of the officers was going to tickle me, too? I just couldn’t fit my mind around it.
I didn’t have to worry about fitting my mind around it, for long, though. Chris started grazing his fingertips along the sole of my foot. He’d left the stocking on, and I was kind of wishing he’d taken it off. I might have been able to keep my composure a little longer, if he had. I didn’t break into immediate laughter, but I might as well have. By the time I started laughing, I had nearly suffocated myself, trying not to breathe, so that the laughter that came out was very violent and disturbing, due to my lack of breathing.
I tried to swat his hand away with the shoe on the other foot, but he just grabbed it, and held it back, out of the way, while his other hand brought me into a state of hysteria, within moments. Yeah, I know, that was really fast. I didn’t take very long to get hysterical. Considering what I’d been through, in the last few days, though, it should be understandable. I was doing sit-ups on the other side of the bars, and not because I wanted to get into shape. I would have done anything to have been able to separate my foot from his fingers. He was good. He was really good. He was better than Winston. Maybe it was my bratty nature, but if I had the opportunity, I was going to rub it in to Winston, that a goofy, half-wit cop was a better tickler than him.
My thoughts kept being scrambled by mind shattering nerve impulses, surging from my soles to my brain. This was just one foot, too. He positioned himself, so that his forearm would hold my other foot out of the way, while the hand pulled my toes back. He then used is other hand to scribble fingertips all along the undersides of my toes and along the stretched skin of the ball and arch of my foot. Tears were streaming from my eyes, and down the side of my face. I’m sure all the officers out there knew what was going on, in here, but anybody else would have probably been a little bit worried.
I started thrashing like I don’t recall ever thrashing before, when he started untying the right shoe. He moved more swiftly, this time, removing the shoe, and then pulling the stocking off, as well.
“Let’s see which is worse. Stockings or none?” It was not a test I wanted to be the guinea pig for.
He started tickling the bare foot in much the same way he was tickling the one stockinged one. The difference would be small, but to the trained ear of a serial tickler, it would be noticeable. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice the difference, because if he did, that would tell me all kinds of things about him that I didn’t want to know.
He did notice.
“Yeah, you laugh a little deeper, and a little harder, when I tickle this one.” He went back to my left foot, and scratched the nylon surface with a quick flitter of all five of his fingers. Was I not held in place by the cuffs on my ankles, I’d have probably shot into the wall, like a rocket.
“Ok, enough with the games.” I hoped that meant he was done. It didn’t.
He gave up on comparisons, and just started assaulting both of my feet at the same time. I wiggled and waved my feet with every bit of evasive tactic I could summon, trying to minimize the ticklish effect. It didn’t help a lot, as I laughed harshly, anyway. It was apparently enough to annoy him, though, because he stopped, and stepped away. He came back a few moments later with something I did not want to see; toe cuffs.
I screamed and shook my head frantically, from side to side, in non-verbal protest, but it fazed him none. He pushed down the nylon around my left big toe, and put a cuff around it, then he lifted my ankles enough that my toes went back past the bar, and locked the other toe cuff, around my other big toe. When he took his hand away from my ankles, they slid back down a little bit, until the toe cuffs caught on the bar, and the weight and pressure bent my big toes back, and stretched the skin taut, again.
I wondered, to myself, how many times he had done that, to know how effective it would be, and to do it as quickly, and effortlessly as he did. This was all adding up to a lot of coincidences that could only mean that I had somehow been swept away to some community that was just saturated by these lunatics, who had infiltrated places of influence and set up shop.
I had to take a break from my contemplations, as he pulled out a hair brush and started scrubbing my bare right foot with it. I just couldn’t take it. I was laughing so harshly that I was sure I was going to be hoarse enough to sing bass, when he was finished. He wasn’t ignoring my left foot either. He’d figured out that the best way to tickle them was with his fingertips.
Things went blurry, as my vision was blocked by the tears filling my eyes. The only time that the room we were in wasn’t filled with the sounds of maniacal laughter is when the laughter was so strong and forceful, that I was unable to produce sound to go with it. He seemed to like the silent laughter, too. When I went silent, he just tickled faster and more methodically.
I had forgotten all about Winston, when I saw him being ushered into the room, with the detective whom I had thought was on my side. He and Winston just stood there and watched, as Chris drove me well beyond the reaches of my sanity, until I was nothing more than a shaky ball of giggle spasms, lying in a pool of my own sweat and tears, in the floor of the cell.
Then I heard those devastating words, uttered from Winston’s mouth.
“Give her the shot. My van is waiting in the back.”
Briefly, before continuing with the story, I should probably describe Mr. Winston. I realized that I haven’t given much of a description, other than his annoying voice. The voice goes with the appearance. If you’ve ever watched the cartoon, “Johnny Bravo”, just think of Johnny’s nerdy friend Carl, except older and balding. If you’ve never watched Johnny Bravo, I recommend it. It’s a riot. Carl is average height and wiry, with red hair and glasses. He looks like the typical television depiction of a nerd, and has one of the most annoying laughs ever. Now, where was I?
When I woke, I could tell I’d been asleep for a long time. There’s a heavy feeling to your head and body, when you’ve been asleep for a really long time. It was hard to sit up. It was morning of the next day, I assumed. After a few minutes of long, almost painful yawning, I slid off the bed and took a walk around the room.
After a trip to the restroom, I was pleased to find that the closet was unlocked. Entering to survey the possibilities, I found it pretty well stocked. That’s actually kind of scary. This Mr. Winston, whose first name I’d yet to find out, had obviously prepared this room for someone about my size. All the clothes could have been in my own closet. The more this thought went through my mind, the more worried and panicked it made me. There were a lot of clothes in this closet, which gave plenty of reason to believe that my stay here was not intended to be a short one. There was also a mini-fridge and a snack pantry.
I opted to give up on contemplating, until I’d eaten something. I looked through the clothes and found some blue jeans and a t-shirt. If he didn’t like what I picked out, oh well. He left the closet unlocked. I went to the chest of drawers and found the underwear drawers. There was nothing in them with enough cloth to blow your nose, but it was still better than wearing nothing underneath. There were no bras. That caused me to grumble. My choice of socks was not very expansive either. It was either knee-high nylon stockings or white socks. I hate white socks. So, tan nylon knee-highs it was. There was a nice pair of cross-trainers in the closet, too. The kind that probably cost over $100, so I put them on.
I raided the mini-fridge and the snack pantry and ate until I was almost sick. I was hungry. After that, I set to thinking and trying to devise a plan to escape this prison. Surveying the room, I found nothing to indicate the presence of a video monitor. This really surprised me. That a man would take this much care in preparing a place to keep a prisoner, and not establish some means of surveillance, seemed a little bit clumsy. I had to assume there was something, and that I was just not able to find it.
There were bars on the windows, and the door was locked, of course. There was, however, a slight intrusion at the door. The doorway was about a foot into the room, meaning that if you walked to either side of it, you could turn a corner and go about a foot to the main wall. This gave me an idea. I would linger back here, in this corner. He was bound to check in on me, at some point, today. If there was a camera, oh well, I’d just be caught in the act. It was a chance I had to take.
Of course, today would be the day that he decided not to come see me until the evening. Thing got rather dull, just sitting there waiting. I left my post, several times, for various reasons, including another trip to the pantry, to fix myself a sandwich that Dagwood would have been envious of. Heck, I might was well. It’s on Winston’s dollar, anyway.
I was just about to fall asleep, when I heard the key turning in the lock. My heart started to pound. I’m sure I was visibly shaking. This was the moment. I had it to do, and I was going to do my best. I was really quite fortunate in the way it played out. I had been smart enough to pull the bathroom door almost shut, leaving the light on, so that it would appear that I was in there. It actually worked, I couldn’t believe it. He and his two goons went towards the bathroom, leaving their backs to me. As if things couldn’t have been any more perfect, he left the key in the lock.
Sneaking past them, I quickly pulled the door closed, and turned the key to lock it, and left it hanging. I could hear the sounds of them beating on the door and trying to knock it down, as I scampered down the hallway. At the end of that hallway, I found another hallway. Holy crap! This place was huge. I had to choose right or left. Being left handed, I went left. It was a dead end. About the time I passed by the hallway I had just come from, I heard the door busting open. I was glad I had chosen the cross trainers. I ran faster. Around the corner, I saw stairs. Up the stairs, I ran.
I came out into the kitchen. I’ve got some knowledge of architectural design, so I happen to know that most kitchens are in the back of the house. I ran towards the front. I was afraid to go for the back door, worried that I’d end up in a backyard full of vicious dogs or something. I ran out the front door, and sprinted out across the front yard. The front yard was fenced in, also, but no dogs that I could see; at least not yet.
About the time I got to the top of the fence, I heard the barking, and it got closer in a hurry. I was having a hard time getting over the top, and finally just gave up and fell over, deciding that I’d rather bruise a shoulder or a hip, than lose a foot to a hungry dog. Thankfully, I didn’t injure myself, just a stunning period of breathlessness. Then I took off down the road, but I didn’t stay on the road long, because I knew they’d be coming after me in a car, more than likely. I ducked into the woods, and just started scrambling. I couldn’t move too fast, because the woods were thick and the ground was very rugged.
I was not at all surprised, when I came up on the water. I knew all along that I was probably on some sort of island. I stayed along the shore, moving in the opposite direction of the house, but then I stopped, to think a minute. He’d be expecting me to go away from the house. I turned and went straight back towards his house, along the shore. It wasn’t too far.
I did my best to stay low to the ground and out of sight, as I neared his dock. He had two boats docked there. There was the boat they used to bring me out here, obviously, and a rowboat. I didn’t really want to know what use he had for a rowboat, but for some reason, I still managed to get this lame image in my head of him rowing out in the water with some woman and trying to seduce her with that annoying voice of his. As Ron White would say, ‘Things that make you go blughuhuhuhuh’.
I made my way onto the dock. Quickly, I untied the rowboat, got in, picked up the oars and started rowing out towards the lake. I could see land, in the distance, and started rowing in that direction, hopeful of not rowing towards another island, but figuring it would still be safer than where I was at. Yeah, I thought about checking the other boat for to see if the keys were left in it. It would have been a lot faster, but it would also have been a lot more obvious. Anybody that tells you that rowing a boat is fun, though, needs to have their tongue cut out, because they are bald faced liars. I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard for so little in all my life. I felt like I was going nowhere.
It was really cold out here, too. I still had no idea where I was. The cold kept me moving. I knew it was going to get really cold out here, at night, and I didn’t want to be out here, then. If I’d had any idea that I was in such a cold climate, I might have dressed a little bit warmer, but, oh well. It took me all day, but I managed to row myself to that land I saw.
I rowed my way into what appeared to be a creek, or inlet, and hunted a safe place to abandon the boat. I neared a bridge and decided to leave it there, so that it would be easier to find, in the event that I needed it again. I left the creek, and went up to the road. The sun was setting, and I knew it was going to be very cold. What I wouldn’t have given for a car to be passing by. I reluctantly chose to go to the left again, recalling how my instincts failed me the last time, but I figured there was a better chance that this road would go somewhere, either direction, I just hoped it was close or that a car would come along, soon. I didn’t really care which direction the car was headed, as long as it was toward civilization.
I had been walking for about fifteen minutes, when a car came along behind me. It was almost dark, by then. The car slowed down, and there was a female driver.
“Need a lift, hon?” She seemed friendly, and had one of those cute accents that people from that area have. I’m sure my southern accent quickly alerted her that I wasn’t local.
“If you don’t mind. Just into the nearest town,” I answered.
“Oh, sure, hon. That’ll be Baudette,” she answered as I pulled the door closed and buckled my seatbelt.
“Baudette? Baudette….?” I left it open ended, hoping she’d finish it for me, and she did.
“Baudette, Minnesota. Aw, geez hon, walking down a road in upstate Minnesota and don’t even know where you are?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I told her the story, and she decided to take me first to the Pizza Hut, for some dinner, and then back to her place, to stay the night. I would have gotten myself a hotel room, but I didn’t have any of my things: ID, credit cards, bank cards, etc. The way she insisted, I don’t think she’d have let me do that, anyway.
Her husband seemed to be a pretty nice guy, but after hearing the story, he never quite looked at me the same. It was as if he was studying me, or debating about something. I was too tired to care. Their names, by the way, were Wally and Glenda. Wally was kind enough to get his toolbox and help me get the cuffs and collar off. I spent the night in their spare bedroom, after a warm refreshing shower, and the next morning I freshened up and thanks to her graciousness, was able to put on enough makeup that I didn’t look like I had just gotten out of bed, before we left for the police department.
“That’ll be the best place for you to get your things back in order, don’t you know?” Her accent was so cute; I just wanted to pinch her cheeks.
“Thank you, so much. You’ve been far more accommodating and hospitable than I could have ever hoped for,” I said to her, as we parted ways. She gave me her phone number, and wanted me to call her, if I needed anything else, or needed a place to stay tonight, as well. My hopes were to get all of this sorted out, at the police department, and on the next flight I could get, back to good old North Carolina.
After a few minutes of discussion, I sat down with a detective, and told him the entire story. He looked at me, silently, for a few minutes, scratching his chin, and said, “Well, from the sounds of it, you were probably in Ontario, which would be out of our jurisdiction. We’ll have to contact authorities in that area, and relay the information.”
I just nodded. I didn’t know what else to say.
“We’re going to have to verify that your information all checks out, before we can set you up for a flight back home, though.” About the time he spoke, an officer walked up beside the desk. “Just go with Chris, here. He’ll take you to a room, where you can wait.”
I nodded, and rose. I followed Chris out of the office, down a hallway, and through another door. Upon entering the room, I began to think something was up. There was a line of jail cells in front of me. Before I had time to question or react, Chris had grabbed my right wrist and was locking a handcuff around it.
“What the heck?” I almost stuttered. “What are you doing?”
I tried to pull away, but he forcefully held me by the arm and pulled my other wrist behind my back, locking it into the other cuff, “Just following orders.”
I wiggled my wrists and strained against the handcuffs, as he pulled me into one of the cells, “Following orders? I thought I was going somewhere to wait while my information was verified!”
“Your information was verified. Mr. Winston reported you missing, yesterday. We get a lot of his escapees coming through here.” As he was speaking he turned me around and tripped me from behind, so that I fell on my backside, in the floor.
“What?!? You know that creep? And you’re helping him? No!!! This ain’t right! Let me outta here.” I couldn’t believe it. All this work to escape and report him to the police, and they’re in cahoots with him. As I was trying to get my wrists free, he was putting my feet through the bars, just above the vertical mid-bar. I was almost too stunned to fight back; almost.
I started to frantically try to pull my feet back through the bars, but he was having none of it. He held them firmly in place, locking a larger set of cuffs, obviously designed to fit around ankles, around my ankles. When he was done, I was helpless, once again. I wiggled and tried to roll around in the floor, fussing up a storm, and screaming loud enough to cause a ruckus.
“Let me outta here! I can’t believe this is happening. You’re all a bunch of perverts! Help!!! Somebody help me!!”
There I was, lying in the floor, on my back, with my legs going up through the bars, resting on the middle bar, with my ankles cuffed together on the other side. My noisy protests and screaming were apparently causing enough of a distraction to annoy them, because Chris came back with a washcloth and some duct tape. He wadded it up, and stuck it my mouth, then put a few strips of duct tape over my lips, to keep me from spitting it back out. That silenced my fusses, quite a bit.
Then, as if it couldn’t have gotten any worse, Chris spoke words that chilled me, to the bone, “Mr. Winston said we should keep you entertained, until he gets here.”
My eyes got big as golf balls, as Chris started untying the left cross trainer. I shook my head and screamed pleas and protests through the gag, as he loosened the strings and tugged at the shoe. It easily slid off the nylon covered foot, and I just groaned in frustration. How did I ever end up in such a twisted situation? Not only was I captured by a group of girls with an apparent thing for tickling, I was sold to a dweeb who had a thing for tickling that was well past that point of being psycho. Now, I was in a police station, where the people I was sure would help me out were holding me, so that the dweeb could come back and get me. And now, one of the officers was going to tickle me, too? I just couldn’t fit my mind around it.
I didn’t have to worry about fitting my mind around it, for long, though. Chris started grazing his fingertips along the sole of my foot. He’d left the stocking on, and I was kind of wishing he’d taken it off. I might have been able to keep my composure a little longer, if he had. I didn’t break into immediate laughter, but I might as well have. By the time I started laughing, I had nearly suffocated myself, trying not to breathe, so that the laughter that came out was very violent and disturbing, due to my lack of breathing.
I tried to swat his hand away with the shoe on the other foot, but he just grabbed it, and held it back, out of the way, while his other hand brought me into a state of hysteria, within moments. Yeah, I know, that was really fast. I didn’t take very long to get hysterical. Considering what I’d been through, in the last few days, though, it should be understandable. I was doing sit-ups on the other side of the bars, and not because I wanted to get into shape. I would have done anything to have been able to separate my foot from his fingers. He was good. He was really good. He was better than Winston. Maybe it was my bratty nature, but if I had the opportunity, I was going to rub it in to Winston, that a goofy, half-wit cop was a better tickler than him.
My thoughts kept being scrambled by mind shattering nerve impulses, surging from my soles to my brain. This was just one foot, too. He positioned himself, so that his forearm would hold my other foot out of the way, while the hand pulled my toes back. He then used is other hand to scribble fingertips all along the undersides of my toes and along the stretched skin of the ball and arch of my foot. Tears were streaming from my eyes, and down the side of my face. I’m sure all the officers out there knew what was going on, in here, but anybody else would have probably been a little bit worried.
I started thrashing like I don’t recall ever thrashing before, when he started untying the right shoe. He moved more swiftly, this time, removing the shoe, and then pulling the stocking off, as well.
“Let’s see which is worse. Stockings or none?” It was not a test I wanted to be the guinea pig for.
He started tickling the bare foot in much the same way he was tickling the one stockinged one. The difference would be small, but to the trained ear of a serial tickler, it would be noticeable. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice the difference, because if he did, that would tell me all kinds of things about him that I didn’t want to know.
He did notice.
“Yeah, you laugh a little deeper, and a little harder, when I tickle this one.” He went back to my left foot, and scratched the nylon surface with a quick flitter of all five of his fingers. Was I not held in place by the cuffs on my ankles, I’d have probably shot into the wall, like a rocket.
“Ok, enough with the games.” I hoped that meant he was done. It didn’t.
He gave up on comparisons, and just started assaulting both of my feet at the same time. I wiggled and waved my feet with every bit of evasive tactic I could summon, trying to minimize the ticklish effect. It didn’t help a lot, as I laughed harshly, anyway. It was apparently enough to annoy him, though, because he stopped, and stepped away. He came back a few moments later with something I did not want to see; toe cuffs.
I screamed and shook my head frantically, from side to side, in non-verbal protest, but it fazed him none. He pushed down the nylon around my left big toe, and put a cuff around it, then he lifted my ankles enough that my toes went back past the bar, and locked the other toe cuff, around my other big toe. When he took his hand away from my ankles, they slid back down a little bit, until the toe cuffs caught on the bar, and the weight and pressure bent my big toes back, and stretched the skin taut, again.
I wondered, to myself, how many times he had done that, to know how effective it would be, and to do it as quickly, and effortlessly as he did. This was all adding up to a lot of coincidences that could only mean that I had somehow been swept away to some community that was just saturated by these lunatics, who had infiltrated places of influence and set up shop.
I had to take a break from my contemplations, as he pulled out a hair brush and started scrubbing my bare right foot with it. I just couldn’t take it. I was laughing so harshly that I was sure I was going to be hoarse enough to sing bass, when he was finished. He wasn’t ignoring my left foot either. He’d figured out that the best way to tickle them was with his fingertips.
Things went blurry, as my vision was blocked by the tears filling my eyes. The only time that the room we were in wasn’t filled with the sounds of maniacal laughter is when the laughter was so strong and forceful, that I was unable to produce sound to go with it. He seemed to like the silent laughter, too. When I went silent, he just tickled faster and more methodically.
I had forgotten all about Winston, when I saw him being ushered into the room, with the detective whom I had thought was on my side. He and Winston just stood there and watched, as Chris drove me well beyond the reaches of my sanity, until I was nothing more than a shaky ball of giggle spasms, lying in a pool of my own sweat and tears, in the floor of the cell.
Then I heard those devastating words, uttered from Winston’s mouth.
“Give her the shot. My van is waiting in the back.”
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