ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 18
A darkened chamber, empty if not for its one sole occupant. Iron chains hang down ominously from the ceiling, their stark silence temporary as it is, once rattling profusely as result of a desperate struggle for freedom. Seated at the very end of these chains lies a bar, attached at either end being a pair of thick leather restraints, encasing in padded luxury the delicate wrists of their unwilling captive. Wrists hoisted high above her head, her toned arms hang wearily from her binds, having already tired themselves from a useless struggle but a few moments prior. Her long flaxen hair, bound in pigtails with bright pink ribbon atop her head, cascades tenderly across her supple blushed cheeks, sitting ever so gently atop her feminine shoulders below. From her crystalline blue eyes descends a steady stream of tears, having begun the very moment she awoke to her perilous situation, and those which will surely continue for the duration of her stay here in this unknown place.
A navy blue cleave gag sits wadded in between her gleaming white teeth, dampening her shrieks for help over the course of what has been several excruciating minutes in isolation. Much to what will be her chagrin, she has been dressed in a high school cheerleading uniform, the skimpy nature of her attire exposing her midriff being two sizes too small. Her powder blue panties peek out just below the skirt, the already demeaning state she is in compounded by her inability to pull them down. From the bottom of her skimpy skirt jettisons her milky white legs, left completely bare all the way down to her ankles. A second pair of leather cuffs bind her there as well, sitting at either end of another spreader bar which is fed through a large eyehole sticking up from the ground, keeping her from lifting herself up more than a mere inch. Her dainty size five feet rest atop a small mat placed below, reflexively curling her toes in anxious fashion, not knowing exactly what is waiting for her just beyond the shadows.
Her name is Tara: where she is she could not say, how she got there she could not know, and just who could be approaching her from behind she dare not find out.
“Ah, now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” a voice suddenly speaks, followed swiftly by the clasp of a switch in the corner of the room, flooding the chamber in fluorescent light from high above. A sudden chill reverberates down her spine as she swiftly turns her head, confronted with a look of ravenous delight scrawled across the façade of an unknown figure. She gazes at the overweight man, most likely in his mid-40s, balding on the top of his head, someone she would have never looked twice at had she walked past him down the street, but with whom she will have the dismay of spending an unsavory amount of time with as of now. Her eyes once again begin welling up in tears, forced to watch his slow approach, unable to compose herself in front of who may be the very person that brought her here.
“Phleph dmn’t hrrt mhrr!” she barely squeals out, the saliva-drenched gag nestled against her tongue making every utterance that much more trying. Despite the utterly meek nature of her plea, her voice trembling at the very thought of pleading with this unknown stranger, she nonetheless tries to catch him in a moment of mercy, hoping to grasp at a modicum of pity he may be holding deep inside for her, knowing that this might be her one and only chance. However, she can only watch as a look of pure satisfaction is drawn across his face, the sight of which that takes the last of the color right out of hers.
“Oh honey: you don’t have to worry about that,” he iterates, the sickeningly sweet tone of his voice making her turn away, hoping to hide her distress from the one deriving so much pleasure from it. “I’m not going to hurt you, my dear, oh no: I just want to make sure that you have a little more…laughter in your life.” He makes his way up behind her, standing a full head over her petite form, placing himself just inches from the back of her skull. Just wishing to shrink away from him, she can barely begin to consider just what his intentions may be lurking underneath that horrid look of pleasure, knowing full well she for sure wouldn’t want to.
“Now, let’s see just what we’re working with here,” he says, gently hoisting his hands up to her wrists just below the cuffs before, ever so slowly, dragging the tips of her fingers down her outstretched arms. A wave of epiphany washes over her, feeling her whole world crumble as though the floor had suddenly dropped from underneath her feet. She tries to fight off the ever-growing sensation, hoping to resist with all her might the unbearable itch crawling down her outstretched arms at this moment. Inch by agonizing inch, he drags the tips of his fingers down her outstretched arms, having a front row viewing of her torments as her defenses slowly crumble right in front of his eyes. Bowing her head forward, flaring her nostrils in utter frustration, she slowly feels herself succumbing to such maddening sensation: it begins with a jerk, followed by a sudden twist of her hips, rattling the chains high above as teetering girlish giggles begin sneaking out of her much to her dismay.
“I just love it when they try to resist,” he dictates softly into her left ear, having just passed her elbows, tracing his way right over her flexing biceps. “It makes it that much more satisfying when I do this.” Suddenly, he thrusts his fingers into her armpits, sending shockwaves through her body as he pulsates his way across their tender form.
“MMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she shrieks, feeling the brunt of all his fingers descend into her supple flesh all at once. Having been caught completely off-guard by such an attack, her psyche has been suddenly thrust into a tailspin, the sheer onslaught of stimulation ravaging her tender armpits making her reaction absolutely wild. Muscles bulging, she can barely move herself an inch in any direction, the simplicity of this four-point restraint system rendering her completely helpless against a ruthless onslaught of tickle torture.
“That’s it girlie: tickle tickle,” he says over and over again, making her skin feel as though it would crawl right onto the floor beneath her. Poor Tara, thrusting her head side to side, trying to shake herself out of this nightmare she ultimately knows to be her true fate. She finds she can only bounce helplessly atop the balls of her feet, the spreader bar clasping against the eyehole as she struggles in vain to hop away from her ordeal much to her captor’s obvious delight. Feeling his wicked fingers descend into her ribs, their prominent form making it that much easier to lace them through despite the thin layer of clothing to protect her, her eyelids burst open, feeling as though her eyes are about to pop out of her skull.
“MMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” she cackles forth, quickly clasping her eyes tightly shut, hoping to imagine herself far away from this ordeal. Biting down hard into her gag, she has found but one little iota of relief, just hoping that would come in the form of a break from what has been the most horrendous tickling of her pretty young life. Little could she handle the playful tickles of her devious boyfriend, grasping unexpectedly at her sides, making her shriek like a little girl in front of all her friends, only to eventually slap him on the shoulder in playful anger. But to have such a concentrated attack inflicted upon her, forced to endure a directed assault on one of her most tender of spots, all at the hands of this unknown assailant, was becoming far too much to handle for the poor girl.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he asks her, indulging in her suffering underneath his relentless assault. He is practically salivating, the thought of wielding ultimate power over her tantalizing him to no end. If only she knew the fantasies he has collected of this very moment, the planning that has gone into maximizing her misery even before he stepped into the room, then surely her reactions would prove far more desperate than they already were. To him, nothing about this moment was short of absolutely perfect.
“MMRRRRPHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! MRRRRPHEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHE!!” she cries forth, a mere twenty minutes of torments enough to render her desperate enough to plead for leniency in her position. However, hearing a hearty laughter emanating from behind her, denoting the pleasure of her captor in her desperation, she now knows exactly how futile it is to beg, now concentrating on saving enough energy to merely survive such perils.
“I’ve always wanted to play with my very own high school cheerleader!” the man notes, unexpectedly digging his fingers into her sides, eliciting yet another frantic shriek from her strained gullet. “I’m just so glad I finally got my hands on one!” She felt livid, knowing now just how demented of a fantasy this perverted figure was acting out upon her. Through this demeaning little outfit, a bargain bin Halloween costume at best, her entire identity has been stripped away from her in a second. She may have been Tara Michelle Bennett, a college junior and musical theater major just three weeks shy of her 21st birthday but, right now, she was nothing more than his little plaything, getting a full taste of just how rough he can truly be.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she grunts into her gag, feeling the man’s fingers slip around her belly button, playing with the tender flesh atop her stomach that is beyond infuriating in execution. The sheer annoyance of such a directed assault made her face turn a hue of red, her nails clawing into the plush material above, just wishing it were instead his despicable face she could sink her nails into. The more this went on, the more brazen she felt herself becoming, empowered to express every ounce of frustration that would well up inside of her despite her inability to do anything about them.
“What, you don’t like that young lady?” he asks her, prompting her to throw her head side to side in utter indignation. “Well then just say so!” She clamps tightly atop her gag, sinking her teeth in the materials she just wished could be his arm. Having been rendered so pitifully helpless, unable to either beg or resist, the tears cascading down her cheeks morph from those of pitiful fear to rage. The intrepid survivor within her was slowly overtaking her senses, knowing for sure she could survive this onslaught no matter how long it could take, for she was better and stronger than anything that could be thrown at her.
Unfortunately for her, she should have quit while she was ahead.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” she cries at the tops of her lungs, feeling his hands pulsate across her tender thigh muscles, a torment that much greater than what she had endured before. Groping their strong form inside and out, he ravages the bulging muscles that are rendered so accessible through her carefully chosen attire. Wrapping his arms around her person, locking her in place with her butt against his face, he is merely indulging in the total experience his youthful toy is supplying him with. Little did he know just how perfectly she has rendered her body for such torments: what she went through in tempering her body, the early morning training sessions with her boyfriend rendering her body fat index laughably low, building the physique that would withstand the long rehearsals she had to meet. Now, with every possibility of auxiliary movement rendered useless, it seems that her efforts were merely in preparation for such an inevitable fate. Straining to leap away, the chains rattle around her on all sides, signifying the intense effort she is expelling to escape, despite having absolutely no success.
“Oh, I bet you’re loving this on the inside, aren’t you?” he teases, dragging the tips of his fingers up and down the backs of her legs, hoping she appreciates the rest from her most grueling of torments. She kicks wildly against such contact, brushing much too close for comfort near her womanly parts below. No amount of exposed skin or slutty costume choice could give anybody the right to touch her in such a sexual manner, she has deemed. No: not even this deranged madman, regardless of the power he holds over her, and she is about to make that loud and clear.
“NNNNNMMMPHPHPH!! GRRRRRRT OOOPHPHPH MRRRRRHRHRHR!!” she grunts into her gag, the message obscured but fully understood by her captor. She was testing the waters: finding any inch of ground she could keep for herself, being that was all she had left, and it appears as though she has finally succeeded.
“Okay, okay,” he responds as though gravely disappointed, lifting his hands from her, letting her hang from her bonds in exhausted fashion. “If you wanted a break, then all you had to do was ask.” She hides her eyes, reddened with a mixture of stress and ticklish agony, not wishing to betray just how vulnerable she feels at this moment. Feeling the sweat drip from her forehead, gasping for breath through her strained nostrils, poor Tara hopes to merely take advantage of what short of break she is getting, and short it is to be.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have enough time to get to those cute feet of yours,” he notes, as Tara suppresses a sigh of relief that would have surely piqued his interest. It would be only through the curse of a vengeful god that he would inflict the same merciless punishment atop her most sensitive of body parts: a weakness so horrid that not even her boyfriend was allowed to tenderly massage them, and having received her monthly pedicure three days ago, their angelic form could not withstand such a focused attack.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to think of something else to do,” he says, wandering off into darkness once again. “Tell me girlie: have you ever heard of shock therapy before?” Her face turns white, picturing the horrible treatments of the mentally insane she was forced to study in psychology class. Her heartrate accelerates, knowing for sure her torture is going to increase yet another horrendous level, but not having any idea just how.
“I don’t think you’ve heard of this kind,” he says, clasping another switch out of Tara’s view. Hearing a strange sound from underneath her, she is dumbfounded to feel a current building through the very mat she is standing on, feeling the soles of her feet shocked where they stand. She yelps, dancing around the mat, unable to find a suitable spot in which to rest, her bonds keeping her atop its electrified surface. She has only one choice: hoisting herself upward, grasping unto the chains above, she is barely able to lift herself up from harm’s way. However, with the large eyebolt keeping her earthbound, even with her feet fully flexed, she has but the ability to keep the soles of her feet a mere inch above the electrified mat, feeling the current brushing against the bottoms of her feet, breaking down her concentration even further.
“Having a little trouble there, are we?” he asks her, noting every muscle across her body trembling in resistance, the awkward position she is in taking every fiber of her being to keep her off its surface. “Well surely a resilient young lady like yourself would be able to keep herself in this position indefinitely, right?” She bites deep into her gag, already feeling the burn of her predicament, not knowing just how long she is expected to keep herself in the air.
“Aww, just look as how my precious trooper is resisting!” he mocks her, her trembling biceps, flexed to their absolute limit, the only thing keeping her from falling unto the punishment below, set to the exact setting that does not risk injury but, nonetheless, is completely unbearable. “Let’s just see if we can fix that.” Placing himself back into position just beyond the mat, he begins tracing his fingertips over her exposed underarms, now rendered completely immobile just to make sure she is not shocked again. Her teetering giggles once again begin trickling out, hoping to avoid him for but even a moment but not having the ability to. Little by little, as his intensity increases at an exponential rate, reaching the same vigorous nature it has at the beginning, Tara eventually finds herself incapable of holding herself up any longer, a challenge that has been perfectly designed to place her in such a torturous limbo.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMPPPHHHHHHHHHH!! NNNNNHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” she shrieks at the tops of her lungs, having lost her concentration long enough to stamp her feet atop the electrified mat. Even in the tremendous shape she finds herself in, this endless combination of maddening tickles and torturous punishment is testing every fiber of her fortitude. She tries to pull herself back up, only to find her upper body nearing failure with even two minutes of resistance. Relinquishing her arms, rendered limp noodles at this point, she relies on her abdominals to do all the effort, just able to lift her legs off the ground for the time being.
“Oh, wasn’t that nice of you?” he asks, rounding to her front, beholding another prime target for his attention. In her state of undress, she has unwittingly invited her tormenter to her rippling abs, providing a canvas in which to trace his fingers effortlessly within the grooves. “It’s almost like they were inviting me here!” Reaching underneath her top, he begins pulsating his thumbs into her rippling muscles, feeling every trembling fiber in his grasp.
“SSSSTTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she wails, knowing for sure yet another muscle group is surely going to tire itself. With the sweat now trickling across her body, yet another annoyance she is forced to contend with, poor Tara is rendered the most vulnerable she has ever been, illustrated by the exact moment she once again descends unto the mat, shrieking in pain yet another time.
What transpires is a continuous cat-and-mouse game for the poor girl: having exhausted yet another muscle group, she can only switch to the one having been rested until then, only for the man to capitalize on her new vulnerability. Her most vulnerable tickle spots helplessly exposed, she must endure a continuous onslaught unbridled, losing her ability to do so fast. With every cycle getting shorter and shorter, it is only a matter of time until she finds herself falling to the mat every few seconds, her frantic cries of pain and emotional anguish now a steady stream from her strained gullet. Feeling her entire world collapsing unto her shoulders, Tara is soon finding her sanity being pulled apart at the seams, losing all grasp of time and space, not knowing if she will be trapped in this endless cycle forever. To think she was merely walking to rehearsals this morning, only to be whisked away to this hellish ordeal, is something crippling her anguished soul deep within her chest.
“Mr. Green!” a woman’s voice emanates through the space from a loudspeaker above, its tone soft yet affirmative, catching the man’s attention instantly as he lifts his fingers from his captive. “I’m sorry, but your time has expired. Please exit through the door from whence you came.” A sigh falls from his lips, just barely audible to Tara against her frantic gasps for breath. Her feet collapse unto the mat, now free of the electrified current despite the echoes of her torments running through her senses. Drooping her head forward, she finally succumbs to the realization that this may forever be her reality.
“Well, it’s sure been fun while it lasted,” he tells her, patting her on the back of the head before turning around, approaching the hidden door sunken into the wall from where he entered. He can still hear her uncontrollable sobbing, hanging in her bonds as he exits from a hidden doorway. Closing the door behind him, he enters a plain white hallway, an expressionless guard waiting just outside the door, never making eye contact with him as he passes. Making his way down the hall, he approaches a small doorway labeled “Control Center,” opening it up to reveal a large surveillance room, its wall lined with small screens feeding in view of every room in the complex. With dozens of nameless figures across their flickering displays, it is surely a productive operation to say the very least. Seated in front of this panel are two women, with one turning towards him.
“Sorry to be so abrupt Jim, but you get what you pay for,” the statuesque redhead addresses him from behind the desk. Clad in tight black leather, her hair tied in a ponytail behind her, she emits a commanding presence earned from years in her industry. “You might want to consider putting a larger deposit down next time if you think you’re going to go that much over.”
“No I understand: if only the new girls weren’t so damn expensive!” he exclaims, a mixture of frustration and pleasure, knowing himself to be the first to have a go at their new acquisition as of that very same day. “So where’d you find this one? What’s her name again?”
“Tara Michelle Bennett,” the woman dictates, circling to the back of her modest desk, passing her shimmering name plate reading “Headmistress Orion,” pulling up the digital file on the computer screen behind her desk. “We caught her on her way to rehearsals: pity just a five-minute walk down the street. Her boyfriend’s father gave her up to us: apparently, she caught him pleasuring himself to the surveillance footage he had of her undressing in the pool house. She threatened to tell her boyfriend if he didn’t pony up $30,000 for their wedding, something he knew wouldn’t stop her from blackmailing him for all he was worth. He was able to stall her long enough to get a hold of us, begging us to take her off his hands before his son found out. Giving us her physical description, as well as her exact morning routine, it was nothing to whisk her away right as she was walking to rehearsal.”
“It seems you got a nice crop of girls this time,” he notes, hoisting his duffle bag set in the corner over his shoulder before going towards the door. “Let me know when the next auction is: I’ve had my eye on that little violinist of yours for quite some time now.”
“As have many others Jim,” she responds, a cold business demeanor in her voice. “You might want to think about saving your money to get the things you want, instead of gambling it all away at the blackjack tables.” He huffs, slamming the door behind him as she turns back to the control panel.
“Darcy, be a dear and pull up the video feed to Room 19 please,” she says, leaning over the woman’s shoulder, gazing into the computer screen.
“Another new girl?” Darcy asks, bringing up the video capture of a young woman, her limp figure being brought into the room by two masked figures. “You sure know how to pick them, don’t you Headmistress?”
“Yes, and she’s quite famous for one of our girls too,” she dictates, licking her lips, staring into the projection screen as the unknown woman is locked into place. As the masked figures finish securing her, they issue a thumbs-up to the hidden camera, making the Headmistress smile in satisfaction. “This is going to be a real treat, I’m sure of it…”
The End
A navy blue cleave gag sits wadded in between her gleaming white teeth, dampening her shrieks for help over the course of what has been several excruciating minutes in isolation. Much to what will be her chagrin, she has been dressed in a high school cheerleading uniform, the skimpy nature of her attire exposing her midriff being two sizes too small. Her powder blue panties peek out just below the skirt, the already demeaning state she is in compounded by her inability to pull them down. From the bottom of her skimpy skirt jettisons her milky white legs, left completely bare all the way down to her ankles. A second pair of leather cuffs bind her there as well, sitting at either end of another spreader bar which is fed through a large eyehole sticking up from the ground, keeping her from lifting herself up more than a mere inch. Her dainty size five feet rest atop a small mat placed below, reflexively curling her toes in anxious fashion, not knowing exactly what is waiting for her just beyond the shadows.
Her name is Tara: where she is she could not say, how she got there she could not know, and just who could be approaching her from behind she dare not find out.
“Ah, now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” a voice suddenly speaks, followed swiftly by the clasp of a switch in the corner of the room, flooding the chamber in fluorescent light from high above. A sudden chill reverberates down her spine as she swiftly turns her head, confronted with a look of ravenous delight scrawled across the façade of an unknown figure. She gazes at the overweight man, most likely in his mid-40s, balding on the top of his head, someone she would have never looked twice at had she walked past him down the street, but with whom she will have the dismay of spending an unsavory amount of time with as of now. Her eyes once again begin welling up in tears, forced to watch his slow approach, unable to compose herself in front of who may be the very person that brought her here.
“Phleph dmn’t hrrt mhrr!” she barely squeals out, the saliva-drenched gag nestled against her tongue making every utterance that much more trying. Despite the utterly meek nature of her plea, her voice trembling at the very thought of pleading with this unknown stranger, she nonetheless tries to catch him in a moment of mercy, hoping to grasp at a modicum of pity he may be holding deep inside for her, knowing that this might be her one and only chance. However, she can only watch as a look of pure satisfaction is drawn across his face, the sight of which that takes the last of the color right out of hers.
“Oh honey: you don’t have to worry about that,” he iterates, the sickeningly sweet tone of his voice making her turn away, hoping to hide her distress from the one deriving so much pleasure from it. “I’m not going to hurt you, my dear, oh no: I just want to make sure that you have a little more…laughter in your life.” He makes his way up behind her, standing a full head over her petite form, placing himself just inches from the back of her skull. Just wishing to shrink away from him, she can barely begin to consider just what his intentions may be lurking underneath that horrid look of pleasure, knowing full well she for sure wouldn’t want to.
“Now, let’s see just what we’re working with here,” he says, gently hoisting his hands up to her wrists just below the cuffs before, ever so slowly, dragging the tips of her fingers down her outstretched arms. A wave of epiphany washes over her, feeling her whole world crumble as though the floor had suddenly dropped from underneath her feet. She tries to fight off the ever-growing sensation, hoping to resist with all her might the unbearable itch crawling down her outstretched arms at this moment. Inch by agonizing inch, he drags the tips of his fingers down her outstretched arms, having a front row viewing of her torments as her defenses slowly crumble right in front of his eyes. Bowing her head forward, flaring her nostrils in utter frustration, she slowly feels herself succumbing to such maddening sensation: it begins with a jerk, followed by a sudden twist of her hips, rattling the chains high above as teetering girlish giggles begin sneaking out of her much to her dismay.
“I just love it when they try to resist,” he dictates softly into her left ear, having just passed her elbows, tracing his way right over her flexing biceps. “It makes it that much more satisfying when I do this.” Suddenly, he thrusts his fingers into her armpits, sending shockwaves through her body as he pulsates his way across their tender form.
“MMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she shrieks, feeling the brunt of all his fingers descend into her supple flesh all at once. Having been caught completely off-guard by such an attack, her psyche has been suddenly thrust into a tailspin, the sheer onslaught of stimulation ravaging her tender armpits making her reaction absolutely wild. Muscles bulging, she can barely move herself an inch in any direction, the simplicity of this four-point restraint system rendering her completely helpless against a ruthless onslaught of tickle torture.
“That’s it girlie: tickle tickle,” he says over and over again, making her skin feel as though it would crawl right onto the floor beneath her. Poor Tara, thrusting her head side to side, trying to shake herself out of this nightmare she ultimately knows to be her true fate. She finds she can only bounce helplessly atop the balls of her feet, the spreader bar clasping against the eyehole as she struggles in vain to hop away from her ordeal much to her captor’s obvious delight. Feeling his wicked fingers descend into her ribs, their prominent form making it that much easier to lace them through despite the thin layer of clothing to protect her, her eyelids burst open, feeling as though her eyes are about to pop out of her skull.
“MMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” she cackles forth, quickly clasping her eyes tightly shut, hoping to imagine herself far away from this ordeal. Biting down hard into her gag, she has found but one little iota of relief, just hoping that would come in the form of a break from what has been the most horrendous tickling of her pretty young life. Little could she handle the playful tickles of her devious boyfriend, grasping unexpectedly at her sides, making her shriek like a little girl in front of all her friends, only to eventually slap him on the shoulder in playful anger. But to have such a concentrated attack inflicted upon her, forced to endure a directed assault on one of her most tender of spots, all at the hands of this unknown assailant, was becoming far too much to handle for the poor girl.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he asks her, indulging in her suffering underneath his relentless assault. He is practically salivating, the thought of wielding ultimate power over her tantalizing him to no end. If only she knew the fantasies he has collected of this very moment, the planning that has gone into maximizing her misery even before he stepped into the room, then surely her reactions would prove far more desperate than they already were. To him, nothing about this moment was short of absolutely perfect.
“MMRRRRPHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! MRRRRPHEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHE!!” she cries forth, a mere twenty minutes of torments enough to render her desperate enough to plead for leniency in her position. However, hearing a hearty laughter emanating from behind her, denoting the pleasure of her captor in her desperation, she now knows exactly how futile it is to beg, now concentrating on saving enough energy to merely survive such perils.
“I’ve always wanted to play with my very own high school cheerleader!” the man notes, unexpectedly digging his fingers into her sides, eliciting yet another frantic shriek from her strained gullet. “I’m just so glad I finally got my hands on one!” She felt livid, knowing now just how demented of a fantasy this perverted figure was acting out upon her. Through this demeaning little outfit, a bargain bin Halloween costume at best, her entire identity has been stripped away from her in a second. She may have been Tara Michelle Bennett, a college junior and musical theater major just three weeks shy of her 21st birthday but, right now, she was nothing more than his little plaything, getting a full taste of just how rough he can truly be.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she grunts into her gag, feeling the man’s fingers slip around her belly button, playing with the tender flesh atop her stomach that is beyond infuriating in execution. The sheer annoyance of such a directed assault made her face turn a hue of red, her nails clawing into the plush material above, just wishing it were instead his despicable face she could sink her nails into. The more this went on, the more brazen she felt herself becoming, empowered to express every ounce of frustration that would well up inside of her despite her inability to do anything about them.
“What, you don’t like that young lady?” he asks her, prompting her to throw her head side to side in utter indignation. “Well then just say so!” She clamps tightly atop her gag, sinking her teeth in the materials she just wished could be his arm. Having been rendered so pitifully helpless, unable to either beg or resist, the tears cascading down her cheeks morph from those of pitiful fear to rage. The intrepid survivor within her was slowly overtaking her senses, knowing for sure she could survive this onslaught no matter how long it could take, for she was better and stronger than anything that could be thrown at her.
Unfortunately for her, she should have quit while she was ahead.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” she cries at the tops of her lungs, feeling his hands pulsate across her tender thigh muscles, a torment that much greater than what she had endured before. Groping their strong form inside and out, he ravages the bulging muscles that are rendered so accessible through her carefully chosen attire. Wrapping his arms around her person, locking her in place with her butt against his face, he is merely indulging in the total experience his youthful toy is supplying him with. Little did he know just how perfectly she has rendered her body for such torments: what she went through in tempering her body, the early morning training sessions with her boyfriend rendering her body fat index laughably low, building the physique that would withstand the long rehearsals she had to meet. Now, with every possibility of auxiliary movement rendered useless, it seems that her efforts were merely in preparation for such an inevitable fate. Straining to leap away, the chains rattle around her on all sides, signifying the intense effort she is expelling to escape, despite having absolutely no success.
“Oh, I bet you’re loving this on the inside, aren’t you?” he teases, dragging the tips of his fingers up and down the backs of her legs, hoping she appreciates the rest from her most grueling of torments. She kicks wildly against such contact, brushing much too close for comfort near her womanly parts below. No amount of exposed skin or slutty costume choice could give anybody the right to touch her in such a sexual manner, she has deemed. No: not even this deranged madman, regardless of the power he holds over her, and she is about to make that loud and clear.
“NNNNNMMMPHPHPH!! GRRRRRRT OOOPHPHPH MRRRRRHRHRHR!!” she grunts into her gag, the message obscured but fully understood by her captor. She was testing the waters: finding any inch of ground she could keep for herself, being that was all she had left, and it appears as though she has finally succeeded.
“Okay, okay,” he responds as though gravely disappointed, lifting his hands from her, letting her hang from her bonds in exhausted fashion. “If you wanted a break, then all you had to do was ask.” She hides her eyes, reddened with a mixture of stress and ticklish agony, not wishing to betray just how vulnerable she feels at this moment. Feeling the sweat drip from her forehead, gasping for breath through her strained nostrils, poor Tara hopes to merely take advantage of what short of break she is getting, and short it is to be.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have enough time to get to those cute feet of yours,” he notes, as Tara suppresses a sigh of relief that would have surely piqued his interest. It would be only through the curse of a vengeful god that he would inflict the same merciless punishment atop her most sensitive of body parts: a weakness so horrid that not even her boyfriend was allowed to tenderly massage them, and having received her monthly pedicure three days ago, their angelic form could not withstand such a focused attack.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to think of something else to do,” he says, wandering off into darkness once again. “Tell me girlie: have you ever heard of shock therapy before?” Her face turns white, picturing the horrible treatments of the mentally insane she was forced to study in psychology class. Her heartrate accelerates, knowing for sure her torture is going to increase yet another horrendous level, but not having any idea just how.
“I don’t think you’ve heard of this kind,” he says, clasping another switch out of Tara’s view. Hearing a strange sound from underneath her, she is dumbfounded to feel a current building through the very mat she is standing on, feeling the soles of her feet shocked where they stand. She yelps, dancing around the mat, unable to find a suitable spot in which to rest, her bonds keeping her atop its electrified surface. She has only one choice: hoisting herself upward, grasping unto the chains above, she is barely able to lift herself up from harm’s way. However, with the large eyebolt keeping her earthbound, even with her feet fully flexed, she has but the ability to keep the soles of her feet a mere inch above the electrified mat, feeling the current brushing against the bottoms of her feet, breaking down her concentration even further.
“Having a little trouble there, are we?” he asks her, noting every muscle across her body trembling in resistance, the awkward position she is in taking every fiber of her being to keep her off its surface. “Well surely a resilient young lady like yourself would be able to keep herself in this position indefinitely, right?” She bites deep into her gag, already feeling the burn of her predicament, not knowing just how long she is expected to keep herself in the air.
“Aww, just look as how my precious trooper is resisting!” he mocks her, her trembling biceps, flexed to their absolute limit, the only thing keeping her from falling unto the punishment below, set to the exact setting that does not risk injury but, nonetheless, is completely unbearable. “Let’s just see if we can fix that.” Placing himself back into position just beyond the mat, he begins tracing his fingertips over her exposed underarms, now rendered completely immobile just to make sure she is not shocked again. Her teetering giggles once again begin trickling out, hoping to avoid him for but even a moment but not having the ability to. Little by little, as his intensity increases at an exponential rate, reaching the same vigorous nature it has at the beginning, Tara eventually finds herself incapable of holding herself up any longer, a challenge that has been perfectly designed to place her in such a torturous limbo.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMPPPHHHHHHHHHH!! NNNNNHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” she shrieks at the tops of her lungs, having lost her concentration long enough to stamp her feet atop the electrified mat. Even in the tremendous shape she finds herself in, this endless combination of maddening tickles and torturous punishment is testing every fiber of her fortitude. She tries to pull herself back up, only to find her upper body nearing failure with even two minutes of resistance. Relinquishing her arms, rendered limp noodles at this point, she relies on her abdominals to do all the effort, just able to lift her legs off the ground for the time being.
“Oh, wasn’t that nice of you?” he asks, rounding to her front, beholding another prime target for his attention. In her state of undress, she has unwittingly invited her tormenter to her rippling abs, providing a canvas in which to trace his fingers effortlessly within the grooves. “It’s almost like they were inviting me here!” Reaching underneath her top, he begins pulsating his thumbs into her rippling muscles, feeling every trembling fiber in his grasp.
“SSSSTTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH!!” she wails, knowing for sure yet another muscle group is surely going to tire itself. With the sweat now trickling across her body, yet another annoyance she is forced to contend with, poor Tara is rendered the most vulnerable she has ever been, illustrated by the exact moment she once again descends unto the mat, shrieking in pain yet another time.
What transpires is a continuous cat-and-mouse game for the poor girl: having exhausted yet another muscle group, she can only switch to the one having been rested until then, only for the man to capitalize on her new vulnerability. Her most vulnerable tickle spots helplessly exposed, she must endure a continuous onslaught unbridled, losing her ability to do so fast. With every cycle getting shorter and shorter, it is only a matter of time until she finds herself falling to the mat every few seconds, her frantic cries of pain and emotional anguish now a steady stream from her strained gullet. Feeling her entire world collapsing unto her shoulders, Tara is soon finding her sanity being pulled apart at the seams, losing all grasp of time and space, not knowing if she will be trapped in this endless cycle forever. To think she was merely walking to rehearsals this morning, only to be whisked away to this hellish ordeal, is something crippling her anguished soul deep within her chest.
“Mr. Green!” a woman’s voice emanates through the space from a loudspeaker above, its tone soft yet affirmative, catching the man’s attention instantly as he lifts his fingers from his captive. “I’m sorry, but your time has expired. Please exit through the door from whence you came.” A sigh falls from his lips, just barely audible to Tara against her frantic gasps for breath. Her feet collapse unto the mat, now free of the electrified current despite the echoes of her torments running through her senses. Drooping her head forward, she finally succumbs to the realization that this may forever be her reality.
“Well, it’s sure been fun while it lasted,” he tells her, patting her on the back of the head before turning around, approaching the hidden door sunken into the wall from where he entered. He can still hear her uncontrollable sobbing, hanging in her bonds as he exits from a hidden doorway. Closing the door behind him, he enters a plain white hallway, an expressionless guard waiting just outside the door, never making eye contact with him as he passes. Making his way down the hall, he approaches a small doorway labeled “Control Center,” opening it up to reveal a large surveillance room, its wall lined with small screens feeding in view of every room in the complex. With dozens of nameless figures across their flickering displays, it is surely a productive operation to say the very least. Seated in front of this panel are two women, with one turning towards him.
“Sorry to be so abrupt Jim, but you get what you pay for,” the statuesque redhead addresses him from behind the desk. Clad in tight black leather, her hair tied in a ponytail behind her, she emits a commanding presence earned from years in her industry. “You might want to consider putting a larger deposit down next time if you think you’re going to go that much over.”
“No I understand: if only the new girls weren’t so damn expensive!” he exclaims, a mixture of frustration and pleasure, knowing himself to be the first to have a go at their new acquisition as of that very same day. “So where’d you find this one? What’s her name again?”
“Tara Michelle Bennett,” the woman dictates, circling to the back of her modest desk, passing her shimmering name plate reading “Headmistress Orion,” pulling up the digital file on the computer screen behind her desk. “We caught her on her way to rehearsals: pity just a five-minute walk down the street. Her boyfriend’s father gave her up to us: apparently, she caught him pleasuring himself to the surveillance footage he had of her undressing in the pool house. She threatened to tell her boyfriend if he didn’t pony up $30,000 for their wedding, something he knew wouldn’t stop her from blackmailing him for all he was worth. He was able to stall her long enough to get a hold of us, begging us to take her off his hands before his son found out. Giving us her physical description, as well as her exact morning routine, it was nothing to whisk her away right as she was walking to rehearsal.”
“It seems you got a nice crop of girls this time,” he notes, hoisting his duffle bag set in the corner over his shoulder before going towards the door. “Let me know when the next auction is: I’ve had my eye on that little violinist of yours for quite some time now.”
“As have many others Jim,” she responds, a cold business demeanor in her voice. “You might want to think about saving your money to get the things you want, instead of gambling it all away at the blackjack tables.” He huffs, slamming the door behind him as she turns back to the control panel.
“Darcy, be a dear and pull up the video feed to Room 19 please,” she says, leaning over the woman’s shoulder, gazing into the computer screen.
“Another new girl?” Darcy asks, bringing up the video capture of a young woman, her limp figure being brought into the room by two masked figures. “You sure know how to pick them, don’t you Headmistress?”
“Yes, and she’s quite famous for one of our girls too,” she dictates, licking her lips, staring into the projection screen as the unknown woman is locked into place. As the masked figures finish securing her, they issue a thumbs-up to the hidden camera, making the Headmistress smile in satisfaction. “This is going to be a real treat, I’m sure of it…”
The End
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