Dr. Bill Kobb
Level of Cherry Feather
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2003
- Messages
- 10,220
- Points
- 48
[Warning: Non-consensual fictional accounts of tickling-as-torture. If you have any reservations, read no further]
[Excerpted from the court deposition dated 8/11/2006 by Ms. Holly Witter, detailing the criminal actions against her person and that of her colleague, Ms. Marie Appleyard, over a 48 hour period, in the records pertaining to the case of Georgia vs Johnson]
The first night at the motel, they left us both on one bed, with our hands cuffed behind our backs, and duct tape over our mouths. They slept on one of the queen-size beds, and they let Marie and I try to sleep on the other. The bed was old and creaky, and every time one of us moved, it would squeak. I don’t think either of us slept much at all, we were so scared.
Before they had drank themselves to sleep, I overheard the scary one, Zeke, explaining to Jimbo, the sorta ‘slow’ one, that they might be able to ransom us, as long as they laid low there for afew days. Apparently, the whole plan hinged on their being able to purchase more crack cocaine in the next town over, where he knew someone. I got the impression that they were drifters, and that terrified me even more, as they could be even worse than mere kidnappers, and unless we managed to escape, there was no telling what might happen to us.
The next morning, Zeke brought us back some breakfast biscuits and orange juice, and untied us so that we could eat and freshen-up some. While she was in the shower, Marie tried to pry open the tiny window above the shower and squeeze out. Zeke checked in on her, and dragged her back in, screaming. I was hoping that someone might hear her and find out we were there. If anyone did, they never checked. Marie’s attempt really set Zeke off, and he yelled at us and threatened us with a knife while we cowered on the floor, too scared to move. The whole time, Jimbo, the bigger, Down’s syndrome one, would just sit there, quietly eyeing us. Somehow, he scared me even worse, the way he was gazing at us--as if he remembered us from somewhere, or was making some sort of plans.
Still furious, Zeke said he had to “make sure we didn’t try another stupid move” like that again. Then, he tied poor Marie (kneeling, naked, and still wet form the shower, with her ankles bound tightly to her thighs) in the closet, with a line tying off her wrists high above her head to the curtain-rod. Then, he wrapped several pieces of duct tape over her mouth and then even over her eyes. The whole time, I was crying and begging him to stop, while Jimbo held me around the waist, and then silenced me with a hand over my mouth. I could tell that he was enjoying this immensely, and he kept sort of laughing/grunting in my ear.
When Zeke turned around and saw that Jimbo was trying to cop a feel off me, he yelled at him that this wasn’t about “that” just yet, and to keep his paws to himself. We were going to “make them a lot of money”, and that they weren’t going to “damage the goodies”, as he put it. Jimbo seemed pretty disappointed, but it was obvious that he took the orders, while Zeke was the ‘brains’ of the two.
They tied me up, too, but not as cruelly as poor Marie, who was still struggling with her bonds, kneeling on the floor of the closet. Perhaps to quiet her, Zeke shut the sliding doors, but I could still hear her whimpering. Next it was my turn, but Zeke only tied me so I was sitting up against the headboard of one of the beds, with my arms outstretched as if I was reaching for the bedposts. Then, he bound my ankles tightly to my thighs, like he did with Marie, although I had more movement, since my legs weren’t under me, supporting my weight. I was sitting on the bed, but as uncomfortable as it was, at least I could rest back against the headboard alittle, unlike Marie, who couldn’t relax, the way she was tied-up in that closet. Then, he stuffed a pair of clean panties in my mouth and wound some duct tape around my head, because he didn’t want me to “try any fool ideas”, either. I could hear my best friend in the closet, sobbing behind the tape, and I began to cry, too, scared at what they might decide to do to us.
I watched Zeke pace the small room, like he was working up some sort of plan. I tried not to look over at Jimbo. Whenever I did, he seemed to know it, and would look up from the repeat of Blues Clues™ he was watching on TV, and eye me in that creepy way that really worried me. Even though it was Zeke who seemed like the more violent of the two, something about Jimbo made my skin crawl. Especially at one point, when Zeke was sifting through our handbags, and Jimbo sorta slyly looked over and, instead of waving, did a sort of finger-wiggle in the air.
After alittle while, it seemed as though Zeke hit on a plan, and told Jimbo that he was going to go and cover their trail. He had it in his head that if he drove far enough away with our cell phones, and hid them somewhere; it would throw off any pursuit, in case they had GPS-tracking, or some weird nonsense. Then he said he’d get them a new vehicle, and find them some “whiskey, cigarettes and rock to party with tonight”. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew we had to try to escape from these creeps before that little party got started.
Before he left, I watched in mounting fear as Zeke looked square into Jimbo’s eyes and told him not to try any “Cootchy-Coo” games with us. He kept saying, “I mean it, Jimbo”, to try to make it soak in to his thick brain. Jimbo just had a sort of glazed look in his eyes, like he was somewhere else the whole time. I didn’t at that point know what he meant. With that, and some other instructions, like not to open the door for anybody, Zeke left to do his errands, and that left Marie and I alone, in this dingy motel room, in the middle of ‘God-knows-where’, with one really creepy retard.
I heard the big Impala they had abducted us in pulling out of the parking lot. I peeked over at Jimbo. To my relief, he was seemingly wrapped-up in an episode of Dora the Explorer™ on TV. Eventually though, he turned the set up really loud, and got up off the floor with a mischievous leer spreading across his entire doughy face, like he’d just solved the puzzle of how to get into the cookie-jar. He eyed me almost conspiratorially as he began to tip-toe across the room toward the closet where Marie was tied up.
With a look back at me, he winked, and opened the creaky sliding door, which sent my best friend into renewed struggling against her bonds, although she couldn’t see anything past the tape covering her eyes. That may have been for the better. I know I would have been terrified had I seen that scary dimwit hulking over me. As it was, I tried calling out to her from behind the wad of cotton filling my mouth, but all I managed to do was choke on it.
While Marie was temporarily blind and mute, she could still hear, and sense that someone was near her. I could tell, as she seemed to be bracing herself. In her panic, I could see as she started breathing quickened, her chest heaving so that I feared she might hyperventilate.
With an evil glee, Jimbo squeezed his bulk down behind Marie, so that he hovered behind her, crouching on his knees. I couldn’t make out what he was murmuring over the din of the children’s shows playing on the TV, but it looked like his lips were mumbling “Coochy-Coochy-Coo” or “Gitchy-Goo” or something in her ear. Whatever he said, Marie went into a frenzy of activity, trying to yank at the rope that held her hands high overhead, her torso stretched awkwardly upward, though her legs were tucked tightly below. Since her body was forcefully poised so, she sort of wiggled her torso to and fro. There was no way for her to protect herself. I could see that Jimbo was enjoying watching her breasts bounce around from her exertions, and with one last sort of guilty look up at me tied on the bed, he gave the spot where Marie’s armpit and shoulder met one tiny finger-stroke, before yanking it away, grinning madly. Her reaction was fierce! Marie was wriggling side-to-side since she couldn’t yank her arms down. I could tell she was breathing erratically and again feared she might pass out. Despite being blindfolded, her head was darting around, as if she might somehow gauge where her attacker was going to target next.
Jimbo seemed delighted, guffawing and sort of half-clapping behind her as he again looked at me with a childish “Don’t tell!” gaze and then quickly ran two fingers along her left side this time, propelling Marie into a sort of helpless bouncing against the belts that were holding her ankles tightly against her thighs. I could see that Jimbo was just working up steam, and that he was too thrilled at his new ticklish ‘toy’ to notice anything else going on in the room, so I renewed my efforts at stretching and pulling against the metal handcuffs that bound my wrists far apart on the bed rail, in the off chance that I could somehow slip my wrists through them.
Regardless of the big, loud AC-unit running, I could see that Marie’s face was red, and she looked like she was glistening from her exertions, but Jimbo was just getting started.
Despite her blindfold, he was hovering behind her, making spidery wigglings with his fingers, and I could tell over the noise in the room that he was repeating that same damned phrase over and over to her. I couldn’t tell if he was just mouthing it, or if Marie could even hear him.
And then, it began. Leering like some freakish clown, Jimbo started tickling Marie in earnest. He was still only utilizing little glancing fingertip strokes, mainly along her sides and ribs, but changing it up, moving along her breasts, collar, and underarms, sometimes all the way down to her feet. Marie was bouncing up and down, legs fighting the ties that held her in her kneeling position, and screeching with laughter behind the tape. Her hips and belly were now quivering spasmodically, and she thrashed around so badly that her hands were red. Her toes were coming off the floor, and she was supported only by her knees at times, so that she would lose balance and all her weight would resting on her strained wrists overhead. Then, she’d be tickled back into her squatting pose, with her feet back under her, and her hips working reflexively, as if she was possessed, spastically dancing-in-place.
I was sobbing behind my gag, and praying she might faint from this sick game, if it would save her, but Jimbo seemed to sense when she was about to totally hyperventilate, and would ease his torments back a notch, gently rubbing her shoulders or caressing her breasts for a minute or two, before he’d suddenly start his "Cootchy-Coo" game all over again, tickling her armpits or hips to get her squirming and crying again.
He seemed to love to make her jump suddenly, after he had charted out her worst spots, and I couldn’t bear to see it anymore, looking away and listening in horror as Marie would squeal horribly behind her tape-gag, and the bastard would copy her, taunting, laughing his stupid “Haw haw haw”-guffaw at her agony.
Then, suddenly, the room was filled with Marie’s piercing, screaming laughter, and I looked up to see that her tape come undone! She had worked herself into such a sweat-soaked fury, it peeled away from her mouth! She got out a “PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP Mmm____” before the big oaf clasped his paw over her mouth. The tape over her eyes was falling off, too, and she looked around the room wild-eyed. We locked eyes, and I could tell she was near the breaking point, looking delirious and desperate, almost deranged from his depravations. Jimbo’s eyes darted around the room, and lit on a stray belt from our luggage. I could tell he was weighing his ability to lunge for it versus Marie’s ear-piercing scream, which could possibly bring help.
Then, he made the lunge, and Marie let loose with a terrible yell that surely would bring someone running, if anyone was within earshot. He was back on her in seconds, jamming an ankle sock into her mouth and then wrapping the belt around her head tightly, cutting her cry back down to a muffled sob behind the cotton and leather. My heart sank. I prayed that someone, anyone was in one of the adjacent rooms, and had heard Marie’s scream.
With her sufficiently silenced again, Jimbo repeatedly smacked at my friend’s breasts. Not terribly hard, but more like some petulant brat, who’s playtime has been taken away.
Then, he sat down in front of the TV again and proceeded to flick the channels, apparently looking for more children’s programming, as we were now into that time of the day when the soaps were on. I glanced over at Marie. Her hair was all in her face, so I couldn’t catch her eye. I could see she was still trembling, and hadn’t passed-out, anyway.
After a good ten minutes, the big cretin bounced up from his spot in front of the TV, and clapped his hands, as if he’d hit on a particularly grand idea. He darted over to Marie and reached out and gave her left nipple a quick squeeze, almost in a “So THERE!” sort of childish way, which eliciting a muffled screech from Marie. He then approached me on the bed. A shiver ran through my spine, but he merely checked my ties before turning towards the door(!). Grabbing the ice-pail and the key, he hurried outside, into the bright sun and August afternoon heat.
Marie and I both knew we might not get another chance like this, and we threw ourselves into squirming our way out of our bonds, if at all possible. It didn’t take long before she was exhausted, which didn’t surprise me, given what she had been through already. I kept fighting with the handcuffs, hoping I might force the cheap bedrail to give, as I couldn’t seem to slide my wrists through them, no matter how hard I tried.
But too late!
We heard the lock click, and in shuffled our horrible babysitter, with a plastic bucket of ice in one hand. He eyed us warily, and walked over to Marie, smiling and setting the small bucket down beside her on the floor. She had already begun breathing quick, irregular breaths, nervously eyeing the creep, who kneeled down in front of her, partially blocking my view of what came next. I saw him reach into the bucket, and with both hands, he started to rub her allover with handfuls of ice cubes, apparently as a sort of punishment or something. Again, Marie was sent into desperate fits of squirming and shaking, trying in vain to dodge the hands roaming all over her naked body. Jimbo stopped his cruel ice torment, and decided to play with Marie’s nipples, like a kid adjusting knobs on a Playstation® console or something. This again caused her hips to buck up and down, bouncing against the belt-straps holding her legs tightly underneath her.
Stopping for a brief moment to pop an ice cube into his mouth, Jimbo next launched an all-out tickling attack, ravishing Marie worse than previously, digging cruelly into her sides and hips, causing her to flail her head around as if possessed. He sent her into such a conniption, you could hear her thumping around on the floor and screaming blue murder behind the gag; and STILL he wouldn’t let up, cruelly mocking her cries with his own baby-talk imitations. He was crab-clawing her on the hips, poking her ribs till they were red, and clutching her thighs, sending her into frenzied panic, gasping for air over her cries and laughter.
It took me a moment to notice her, standing there in the doorway. It was a short, heavy-set Mexican woman. The motel maid! Our savior stood there, horrified at the scene she had walked into. Jimbo didn’t even notice her; he was so wrapped up in his evil game. Fortunately, he couldn’t hear her over the TV and big A/C unit blaring, and she backed out quietly.
It felt like an eternity before the Police arrived, although it was probably only another ten or fifteen minutes. Our tormentor had turned his warped attention to me by then. I only got a tiny taste of what poor Marie suffered through in those hours. She is much stronger than me. I don’t think I would have lasted nearly as long as she did. It was horrible to have this sick bastard poking and pawing at me, causing me to laugh uncontrollably and twitch around for his perverted pleasure!
They took Jimbo into custody and an ambulance drove Marie and I to the hospital. I heard they caught Zeke only afew miles down the road, returning to the motel with all sorts of drugs and booze to really get their “party” started. Bastards. I hope they rot in jail.
-- Attached photo document of Ms's Witter and Appleyard prior to their abduction. Found in the possession of one Zeke Johnson. 08/11/06. From crime files.
MOTEL ORDEAL
[Excerpted from the court deposition dated 8/11/2006 by Ms. Holly Witter, detailing the criminal actions against her person and that of her colleague, Ms. Marie Appleyard, over a 48 hour period, in the records pertaining to the case of Georgia vs Johnson]
The first night at the motel, they left us both on one bed, with our hands cuffed behind our backs, and duct tape over our mouths. They slept on one of the queen-size beds, and they let Marie and I try to sleep on the other. The bed was old and creaky, and every time one of us moved, it would squeak. I don’t think either of us slept much at all, we were so scared.
Before they had drank themselves to sleep, I overheard the scary one, Zeke, explaining to Jimbo, the sorta ‘slow’ one, that they might be able to ransom us, as long as they laid low there for afew days. Apparently, the whole plan hinged on their being able to purchase more crack cocaine in the next town over, where he knew someone. I got the impression that they were drifters, and that terrified me even more, as they could be even worse than mere kidnappers, and unless we managed to escape, there was no telling what might happen to us.
The next morning, Zeke brought us back some breakfast biscuits and orange juice, and untied us so that we could eat and freshen-up some. While she was in the shower, Marie tried to pry open the tiny window above the shower and squeeze out. Zeke checked in on her, and dragged her back in, screaming. I was hoping that someone might hear her and find out we were there. If anyone did, they never checked. Marie’s attempt really set Zeke off, and he yelled at us and threatened us with a knife while we cowered on the floor, too scared to move. The whole time, Jimbo, the bigger, Down’s syndrome one, would just sit there, quietly eyeing us. Somehow, he scared me even worse, the way he was gazing at us--as if he remembered us from somewhere, or was making some sort of plans.
Still furious, Zeke said he had to “make sure we didn’t try another stupid move” like that again. Then, he tied poor Marie (kneeling, naked, and still wet form the shower, with her ankles bound tightly to her thighs) in the closet, with a line tying off her wrists high above her head to the curtain-rod. Then, he wrapped several pieces of duct tape over her mouth and then even over her eyes. The whole time, I was crying and begging him to stop, while Jimbo held me around the waist, and then silenced me with a hand over my mouth. I could tell that he was enjoying this immensely, and he kept sort of laughing/grunting in my ear.
When Zeke turned around and saw that Jimbo was trying to cop a feel off me, he yelled at him that this wasn’t about “that” just yet, and to keep his paws to himself. We were going to “make them a lot of money”, and that they weren’t going to “damage the goodies”, as he put it. Jimbo seemed pretty disappointed, but it was obvious that he took the orders, while Zeke was the ‘brains’ of the two.
They tied me up, too, but not as cruelly as poor Marie, who was still struggling with her bonds, kneeling on the floor of the closet. Perhaps to quiet her, Zeke shut the sliding doors, but I could still hear her whimpering. Next it was my turn, but Zeke only tied me so I was sitting up against the headboard of one of the beds, with my arms outstretched as if I was reaching for the bedposts. Then, he bound my ankles tightly to my thighs, like he did with Marie, although I had more movement, since my legs weren’t under me, supporting my weight. I was sitting on the bed, but as uncomfortable as it was, at least I could rest back against the headboard alittle, unlike Marie, who couldn’t relax, the way she was tied-up in that closet. Then, he stuffed a pair of clean panties in my mouth and wound some duct tape around my head, because he didn’t want me to “try any fool ideas”, either. I could hear my best friend in the closet, sobbing behind the tape, and I began to cry, too, scared at what they might decide to do to us.
I watched Zeke pace the small room, like he was working up some sort of plan. I tried not to look over at Jimbo. Whenever I did, he seemed to know it, and would look up from the repeat of Blues Clues™ he was watching on TV, and eye me in that creepy way that really worried me. Even though it was Zeke who seemed like the more violent of the two, something about Jimbo made my skin crawl. Especially at one point, when Zeke was sifting through our handbags, and Jimbo sorta slyly looked over and, instead of waving, did a sort of finger-wiggle in the air.
After alittle while, it seemed as though Zeke hit on a plan, and told Jimbo that he was going to go and cover their trail. He had it in his head that if he drove far enough away with our cell phones, and hid them somewhere; it would throw off any pursuit, in case they had GPS-tracking, or some weird nonsense. Then he said he’d get them a new vehicle, and find them some “whiskey, cigarettes and rock to party with tonight”. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew we had to try to escape from these creeps before that little party got started.
Before he left, I watched in mounting fear as Zeke looked square into Jimbo’s eyes and told him not to try any “Cootchy-Coo” games with us. He kept saying, “I mean it, Jimbo”, to try to make it soak in to his thick brain. Jimbo just had a sort of glazed look in his eyes, like he was somewhere else the whole time. I didn’t at that point know what he meant. With that, and some other instructions, like not to open the door for anybody, Zeke left to do his errands, and that left Marie and I alone, in this dingy motel room, in the middle of ‘God-knows-where’, with one really creepy retard.
I heard the big Impala they had abducted us in pulling out of the parking lot. I peeked over at Jimbo. To my relief, he was seemingly wrapped-up in an episode of Dora the Explorer™ on TV. Eventually though, he turned the set up really loud, and got up off the floor with a mischievous leer spreading across his entire doughy face, like he’d just solved the puzzle of how to get into the cookie-jar. He eyed me almost conspiratorially as he began to tip-toe across the room toward the closet where Marie was tied up.
With a look back at me, he winked, and opened the creaky sliding door, which sent my best friend into renewed struggling against her bonds, although she couldn’t see anything past the tape covering her eyes. That may have been for the better. I know I would have been terrified had I seen that scary dimwit hulking over me. As it was, I tried calling out to her from behind the wad of cotton filling my mouth, but all I managed to do was choke on it.
While Marie was temporarily blind and mute, she could still hear, and sense that someone was near her. I could tell, as she seemed to be bracing herself. In her panic, I could see as she started breathing quickened, her chest heaving so that I feared she might hyperventilate.
With an evil glee, Jimbo squeezed his bulk down behind Marie, so that he hovered behind her, crouching on his knees. I couldn’t make out what he was murmuring over the din of the children’s shows playing on the TV, but it looked like his lips were mumbling “Coochy-Coochy-Coo” or “Gitchy-Goo” or something in her ear. Whatever he said, Marie went into a frenzy of activity, trying to yank at the rope that held her hands high overhead, her torso stretched awkwardly upward, though her legs were tucked tightly below. Since her body was forcefully poised so, she sort of wiggled her torso to and fro. There was no way for her to protect herself. I could see that Jimbo was enjoying watching her breasts bounce around from her exertions, and with one last sort of guilty look up at me tied on the bed, he gave the spot where Marie’s armpit and shoulder met one tiny finger-stroke, before yanking it away, grinning madly. Her reaction was fierce! Marie was wriggling side-to-side since she couldn’t yank her arms down. I could tell she was breathing erratically and again feared she might pass out. Despite being blindfolded, her head was darting around, as if she might somehow gauge where her attacker was going to target next.
Jimbo seemed delighted, guffawing and sort of half-clapping behind her as he again looked at me with a childish “Don’t tell!” gaze and then quickly ran two fingers along her left side this time, propelling Marie into a sort of helpless bouncing against the belts that were holding her ankles tightly against her thighs. I could see that Jimbo was just working up steam, and that he was too thrilled at his new ticklish ‘toy’ to notice anything else going on in the room, so I renewed my efforts at stretching and pulling against the metal handcuffs that bound my wrists far apart on the bed rail, in the off chance that I could somehow slip my wrists through them.
Regardless of the big, loud AC-unit running, I could see that Marie’s face was red, and she looked like she was glistening from her exertions, but Jimbo was just getting started.
Despite her blindfold, he was hovering behind her, making spidery wigglings with his fingers, and I could tell over the noise in the room that he was repeating that same damned phrase over and over to her. I couldn’t tell if he was just mouthing it, or if Marie could even hear him.
And then, it began. Leering like some freakish clown, Jimbo started tickling Marie in earnest. He was still only utilizing little glancing fingertip strokes, mainly along her sides and ribs, but changing it up, moving along her breasts, collar, and underarms, sometimes all the way down to her feet. Marie was bouncing up and down, legs fighting the ties that held her in her kneeling position, and screeching with laughter behind the tape. Her hips and belly were now quivering spasmodically, and she thrashed around so badly that her hands were red. Her toes were coming off the floor, and she was supported only by her knees at times, so that she would lose balance and all her weight would resting on her strained wrists overhead. Then, she’d be tickled back into her squatting pose, with her feet back under her, and her hips working reflexively, as if she was possessed, spastically dancing-in-place.
I was sobbing behind my gag, and praying she might faint from this sick game, if it would save her, but Jimbo seemed to sense when she was about to totally hyperventilate, and would ease his torments back a notch, gently rubbing her shoulders or caressing her breasts for a minute or two, before he’d suddenly start his "Cootchy-Coo" game all over again, tickling her armpits or hips to get her squirming and crying again.
He seemed to love to make her jump suddenly, after he had charted out her worst spots, and I couldn’t bear to see it anymore, looking away and listening in horror as Marie would squeal horribly behind her tape-gag, and the bastard would copy her, taunting, laughing his stupid “Haw haw haw”-guffaw at her agony.
Then, suddenly, the room was filled with Marie’s piercing, screaming laughter, and I looked up to see that her tape come undone! She had worked herself into such a sweat-soaked fury, it peeled away from her mouth! She got out a “PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP Mmm____” before the big oaf clasped his paw over her mouth. The tape over her eyes was falling off, too, and she looked around the room wild-eyed. We locked eyes, and I could tell she was near the breaking point, looking delirious and desperate, almost deranged from his depravations. Jimbo’s eyes darted around the room, and lit on a stray belt from our luggage. I could tell he was weighing his ability to lunge for it versus Marie’s ear-piercing scream, which could possibly bring help.
Then, he made the lunge, and Marie let loose with a terrible yell that surely would bring someone running, if anyone was within earshot. He was back on her in seconds, jamming an ankle sock into her mouth and then wrapping the belt around her head tightly, cutting her cry back down to a muffled sob behind the cotton and leather. My heart sank. I prayed that someone, anyone was in one of the adjacent rooms, and had heard Marie’s scream.
With her sufficiently silenced again, Jimbo repeatedly smacked at my friend’s breasts. Not terribly hard, but more like some petulant brat, who’s playtime has been taken away.
Then, he sat down in front of the TV again and proceeded to flick the channels, apparently looking for more children’s programming, as we were now into that time of the day when the soaps were on. I glanced over at Marie. Her hair was all in her face, so I couldn’t catch her eye. I could see she was still trembling, and hadn’t passed-out, anyway.
After a good ten minutes, the big cretin bounced up from his spot in front of the TV, and clapped his hands, as if he’d hit on a particularly grand idea. He darted over to Marie and reached out and gave her left nipple a quick squeeze, almost in a “So THERE!” sort of childish way, which eliciting a muffled screech from Marie. He then approached me on the bed. A shiver ran through my spine, but he merely checked my ties before turning towards the door(!). Grabbing the ice-pail and the key, he hurried outside, into the bright sun and August afternoon heat.
Marie and I both knew we might not get another chance like this, and we threw ourselves into squirming our way out of our bonds, if at all possible. It didn’t take long before she was exhausted, which didn’t surprise me, given what she had been through already. I kept fighting with the handcuffs, hoping I might force the cheap bedrail to give, as I couldn’t seem to slide my wrists through them, no matter how hard I tried.
But too late!
We heard the lock click, and in shuffled our horrible babysitter, with a plastic bucket of ice in one hand. He eyed us warily, and walked over to Marie, smiling and setting the small bucket down beside her on the floor. She had already begun breathing quick, irregular breaths, nervously eyeing the creep, who kneeled down in front of her, partially blocking my view of what came next. I saw him reach into the bucket, and with both hands, he started to rub her allover with handfuls of ice cubes, apparently as a sort of punishment or something. Again, Marie was sent into desperate fits of squirming and shaking, trying in vain to dodge the hands roaming all over her naked body. Jimbo stopped his cruel ice torment, and decided to play with Marie’s nipples, like a kid adjusting knobs on a Playstation® console or something. This again caused her hips to buck up and down, bouncing against the belt-straps holding her legs tightly underneath her.
Stopping for a brief moment to pop an ice cube into his mouth, Jimbo next launched an all-out tickling attack, ravishing Marie worse than previously, digging cruelly into her sides and hips, causing her to flail her head around as if possessed. He sent her into such a conniption, you could hear her thumping around on the floor and screaming blue murder behind the gag; and STILL he wouldn’t let up, cruelly mocking her cries with his own baby-talk imitations. He was crab-clawing her on the hips, poking her ribs till they were red, and clutching her thighs, sending her into frenzied panic, gasping for air over her cries and laughter.
It took me a moment to notice her, standing there in the doorway. It was a short, heavy-set Mexican woman. The motel maid! Our savior stood there, horrified at the scene she had walked into. Jimbo didn’t even notice her; he was so wrapped up in his evil game. Fortunately, he couldn’t hear her over the TV and big A/C unit blaring, and she backed out quietly.
It felt like an eternity before the Police arrived, although it was probably only another ten or fifteen minutes. Our tormentor had turned his warped attention to me by then. I only got a tiny taste of what poor Marie suffered through in those hours. She is much stronger than me. I don’t think I would have lasted nearly as long as she did. It was horrible to have this sick bastard poking and pawing at me, causing me to laugh uncontrollably and twitch around for his perverted pleasure!
They took Jimbo into custody and an ambulance drove Marie and I to the hospital. I heard they caught Zeke only afew miles down the road, returning to the motel with all sorts of drugs and booze to really get their “party” started. Bastards. I hope they rot in jail.
--Rick Tibbler© 2007
-- Attached photo document of Ms's Witter and Appleyard prior to their abduction. Found in the possession of one Zeke Johnson. 08/11/06. From crime files.
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