TickleMantis
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- May 5, 2001
- Messages
- 2,000
- Points
- 48
Tickle Tutor #6: The Postgrads
By TickleMantis
MF/f
Just as she had done every morning for the previous six months, Emma Clark sat diligently staring at her computer screen. Nestled in her tiny 400 square foot apartment, the studious young woman poured over news articles from all over the world. With particular focus on New York City, the place she now called home, the budding journalist kept copious amounts of notes for anything of interest. After being hired on at The Deep Look online newspaper right out of college the freckle-nosed girl had been eager to prove her journalistic skills. A couple of moderately popular articles were enough to keep Emma in the good graces of her bosses, but what the ambitious girl’s career really needed was one big scoop.
Illuminated only by the light of her computer screen, Emma’s small 5’1ft frame allowed her to easily sit with her knees up between herself and the edge of her well-organized desk. Donning a long-sleeve PJ top with teddy bear pattern and matching pants, the fair-skinned girl crinkled her button nose as she clicked from open tab to open tab. Turning her office chair slightly to jot a hand-written note, a strand of frizzy light red hair fell across her very ample bosom, her breasts squished up under the pajama top by her propped up knees. Absent-mindedly curling her tiny toes, which dangled over the edge of her chair, the blue eyed girl turned back to the screen. Her note done, Emma clicked onto yet another open browser tab, the website for her hometown’s biggest paper.
Emma kept loose track of the headlines back home more as a point of curiosity than anything else. Normally she would skim the top story or two and then click away to stories more important. At best the big news in a city of barely a million people would give her something to talk to her mother about over the phone. Her mind on other stories, Emma moved her cursor over the next tab when a familiar name caught her eye, and paused her hand. Wendy Starr, a bubbly and almost always cheerful girl from their senior year in high school. Wendy Starr who had got her name in the newspaper. Wendy Starr, whose name alone caused Emma’s stomach to pang with guilt. Emma had very few sins to her name, one sin by most people’s standards, but it was a doozy.
Slowly moving her hand downward, the suddenly anxious strawberry blonde clicked to expand Wendy’s article. Just as Emma opened the next page the front door of her apartment swung open, spilling in light from the hall. The mid-morning visitor was not at all unexpected, in fact he was so expected his arrival was the entire reason Emma had unlocked her door before sitting down. For the first few weeks of living in New York the petit girl had broken concentration and gotten up from her chair whenever Evan would bumble on by. Before long Emma realized the kindly young neighbor’s visits were a new fact of life, and simply started letting him come on in.
“Good morning, Gumshoe!” The chipper boy said, flicking on Emma’s living room light. Evan had mixed up the jobs of journalist and private eye early on in their friendship. She had explained the difference to him of course, and he did understand, but the nickname stuck anyway. “What’s big in the big world today?” The dark haired lad beamed as he closed the door behind him.
Like Emma, Evan hadn’t been in New York long and she honestly wondered how he survived the city even that short amount of time. A broad chested farmboy from somewhere deep in rural Nebraska, the grinning ox of a lad seemed to lack much in the way of both book and street smarts. After their first meeting in the apartment building’s clunky elevator Emma had decided that the pair of them would have little to talk about should they bump into each other again. As it happened Evan only lived two doors down and, despite her first impression, it was the country boy’s winning smile and infectious good nature that changed her mind. Perhaps, the bare foot girl had often been given cause to ponder, it was Evan’s naïvely insuppressible charm that kept the big city from swallowing him whole.
“Good morning, Evan.” Emma said, much more focused on the article with Wendy Starr’s name in it than she was the brawny farmboy lumbering his way into her kitchenette.
“Did you see Mrs. Gotterman’s cat got out again?” Evan said as he rummaged through his friend’s small refrigerator. “You’d think the little guy would have more trouble from all the way up on the nineteenth floor, but hoo boy is that cat clever!”
While the lantern jawed young man in her kitchen made himself at home, his ongoing thoughts about Mrs. Gotterman’s cat fell on deaf ears. Her eyes squarely on her computer screen, Emma read with great interest and a feeling of increasing unease about her former fellow high school senior. Wendy, according to the article, had been working as an exotic dancer under the stage name ‘Starburst’. After a private job went sideways, the details of which were scarce, Wendy had been found running stark nude in a farmer’s field quite some distance from the city. Up until that point in the article Emma had been firmly racked by her own guilt, but not enough to stop reading. Once the article went on to quote the farmer who found Wendy streaking across his land, Emma had to lean back and take a breath.
“You okay?” Evan’s said softly, his voice grabbing just enough of the redhead’s attention to be heard. “Hello?”
“…huh?” Emma said, prying her eyes away from the computer screen. “Oh…yeah, yeah I just…this article, I knew this girl.”
“She okay?” The burly boy said, holding a sandwich cobbled together from an assortment of odd ingredients.
“Um…yeah. No? I don’t know.”
“Well what happened to her?”
“Here I-“ Emma said and pointed to her screen. She started to lean back so Evan could move in and read the article himself, but instead hesitated when she noticed a piece of lettuce drop from his sandwich onto her floor. “Never mind.” She said, putting up a hand. “Here, I’ll just read you this bit…” Scrolling slightly back up, Emma began quoting the article. “’It was the darndest thing’ said Brown, 82. ‘I’m out feeding the cows like I do every morning and here comes this young lass in her birthday suit.’”
“Your friend?” Evan said, chomping away on his food.
“I didn’t really know her that well, but yeah. The girl from school.” Emma said before reading from the article again. “’I call my wife and I says Martha, Martha get out here. I don’t want her wondering why I’m chatting up a young lady, never mind a naked one, you understand.’”
“He’s funny!” Chuckling a little, Evan polished off the last of his sandwich.
“Here’s the part where…just listen.” Emma said, keeping her eyes on the screen and trying not to sound too impatient. “’The Browns consoled Miss Star, 22, wrapping a blanket around her before offering to call the sheriff. ‘I gave her some of my old clothes’ Martha Brown, 81 said. ‘They were a bit small, the poor dear was practically spilling out of them.’ said the retired librarian. ‘She didn’t want nothing to do with the police, that much was clear.’ Said Mr. Brown. ‘Everything else sounded like nonsense. She just kept babbling about some girls in white, and tickling. Ain’t that odd?’”
“Tickling?” Evan said, raising his eyebrows quizzically.
“That’s all it says.” Emma said as her brawny friend moved behind her to get a better look at the screen. “After that it just says something about a sorority hazing gone wrong or maybe a bachelorette party getting carried away. It makes no sense.”
“Makes sense to me.” The ditsy boy shrugged. “Girls can be crazy, especially in packs.”
“No, I mean…” Placing one elbow on her desktop the slightly perturbed girl leaned forward, resting the side of her head against two fingers. She couldn’t tell Evan everything that happened senior year, she couldn’t tell anyone, not after what happened last time. Still, after nearly four years of carrying the guilt Emma decided she had to tell somebody something. “There was this boy in school…Jason.” Looking to her single window across the room, Emma watched thick rain drops hit the glass outside. “Popular, nice, football player type.”
“I like him already!” Evan grinned, doing his level best to listen to Emma and read the article over her shoulder.
“Well, Jason wasn’t exactly everything he seemed.” Said the curled up girl, turning her head to look back over her shoulder briefly. “In his spare time, when no one was looking, Jason liked to tickle people. And I don’t mean in a friendly way, like friends do. I mean he’d find someone ticklish, really ticklish, and just tickle them like crazy.”
“He tickled you?” The big farmboy said in a moment of surprising perceptiveness. Shifting his focus from the screen to Emma’s eyes, the curvy girl turned immediately back to the rainy street outside.
“Me and others, yes.” Emma said, intent on avoiding specific details. “He never got me as much as he wanted to though. But I knew, I knew he wanted more. When he couldn’t have me he started going after other girls, so I started following him.”
“Ever the detective!” Evan said. By his tone Emma could tell her friend was speaking through a smile.
“One day I went to check up on Jason, but he wasn’t alone.” Her voice lowered to almost a whisper and the barefoot girl curled her toes as the memory of what happened next formed in her mind. “He was with the math teacher, Mr. Lucas. They were in his office, just them. It wasn’t that unusual, but then Wendy walked by.”
“The girl from the news story, the stripper?”
“Exotic dancer, yes.” Emma said more so quoting the article than she was correcting her friend. “I was going to leave but the office door closed after Wendy went in. I guess I thought it was weird, so I snuck up to the door. I couldn’t really hear what was going on, but after a minute or two I heard Wendy laughing. Jason was tickling her.”
“Was the teacher still there?” Evan said, as confused as he was curious.
“Oh he wasn’t just there. Mr. Lucas joined in.” Letting the statement sit for a moment, Evan’s normally chatty demeanor turned to heavy silence. Emma took a deep breath before continuing. “The two them of tickled her…I tried calling the police but they never came. When I called again they thought I was crazy. Same thing when I went to the police station, they couldn’t get me out of there fast enough.”
Evan shuffled his weight a little as the cogs turned, struggling to understand his the implication in his friend’s voice. “Well…you know, a teacher definitely shouldn’t do that…but it sounds like, I mean, it was just tickling, right?”
“No.” Emma said sternly. “No, it wasn’t just tickling, Evan. The things they did to her –the things I heard coming out of that room. Wendy begged them, BEGGED them to let her go. She screamed like nothing else I’ve ever heard…but, god, she laughed, she was laughing the whole time. Not a good laugh, not a nice laugh…a-a frightened, helpless laugh. She couldn’t stop. It was awful.”
“Did she know, after?” The farmboy said. “Did you tell her you were there?”
“I couldn’t.” Swallowing hard, Emma felt that familiar pang of guilt flair up. “To go through something like that, then to find out someone was there the whole time…I…there was nothing I could do, or nothing I could think of at the time. I was so scared. It could just as easily have been me.” Shaking her head at the thought, the remorseful redhead continued her story of regret. “I kept quiet for months and then, finally, I went to our guidance counselor, Miss Stonewood. I told her all of it, everything, but she said she had to be professional. These were serious accusations, she told me, and Mr. Lucas was well respected. She quit a few days later, moved out of state.”
“That doesn’t mean-“ Evan began and was quickly cut off by his friend.
“-She was nice, Miss Stonewood. Happy, smiley type person just like Wendy. The last time I saw her she had the same look in her eye that Wendy did. A little less happy, a little less smiley.”
“I don’t get it.” The large boy said plainly, he never showed any hint of shame from not being able to keep up with a conversation. Leaning forward, the hulking young man took hold of the mouse and scrolled back up the page as he reached around Emma’s shoulder. “This says it was girls who tickled your friend, not a teacher.”
“I don’t get it either.” Emma said, mild frustration in her voice as she had to concede the pieces before her made no kind of puzzle she could figure. “Where I’m from, it’s not a big city, but it’s not small either. There’s not enough people there for this to be unrelated. And for Wendy to be involved again…it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“That was years ago though, wasn’t it? When you were there?”
“Yeah….the timeline on this is strange too. I mean, what are the chances something like that would happen to the same person twice?”
“I gotta be honest Gumshoe, I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it.” Evan said, his usual buoyant tone returning. “You said yourself, friends can tickle each other, no big deal.”
“It’s different Evan, it’s-“ Emma said, interrupting herself with a loud squeal as the country boy’s ten fingers suddenly squeezed her sides. “Yeeiihey!” Shooting her legs out straight under the desk, the hypersensitive young woman arched her back to avoid Evan’s wiggling fingers. “Ahahahheyhey! Evan!”
“Tickle tickle!” The dopey boy teased, his large hands wrapped around the surprised girl’s slender sides.
“Stop it! Eeeheehee! Stop!” Leaning forward over her desk, the much smaller young woman snapped her hands down and grabbed frantically at Evan’s boisterously strong grip. Try as she might Emma knew she would never be able to pull the far larger boy’s hands off of her, even if she wasn’t being tickled. “Evaaahahan! Enough! Eeeheee!”
Stomping her bare feet onto the rug, a forced grin plastered across her lips, the giggling girl was almost as frustrated by her flustered reaction as she was the feeling of being tickled itself. Much to Emma’s eternal dismay she had always been agonizingly sensitive all over her nubile young body, and she absolutely despised the loss of control. In her heart of hearts the riotously laughing girl knew there was no real danger with Evan, not like there had been in high school with Jason Whitmore. Nonetheless, in the moment with the brawny boy’s thick fingers drilling into her tender sides, Emma had to get away.
Against all instinct, the wildly shaking girl used every ounce of will power she had to stop fighting her friend’s overly playful touch. Planting her palms directly on the edge of her desk, Emma pushed back hard with a loud grunt. “Agh!” The fearsome girl roared as she rolled back her chair into Evan’s legs. To her relief the surprise movement was enough to put a halt in the hectic proceedings. With her quick-thinking the hurried redhead had created just enough space between her desk and chair to scuttle out from between the two.
Making sure to put several feet between herself and her friend, Emma turned back toward him. Leaning forward slightly with her arms wrapped around her midriff, the slightly blushing girl took a couple of short, sharp breaths. “Don’t do that again!” Emma said, trying to keep her temper at a low simmer toward her mostly well-meaning neighbor.
“Aww, come on Gummy!” Evan said with a bit of singsong in his voice. Pushing the rolling office chair away from himself, the lumbering dolt took a step toward the wide-eyed girl before raising both hands in the air. “It’s just a little tickle between friends!”
Stepping back instinctively, her bare feet moving from the rug to the cool wooden floor, Emma raised a hand. “No. No!” She repeated, each new word far more serious than the one before it. Raising an index finger as Evan’s own fingers began to wiggle, the hopelessly out-powered girl knew she had mere seconds to convince her friend how deathly genuine and very much not a game her demands were. “Evan, I swear to god if you tickle me again I’ll-“
“Cootchy coo!” The giant fool teased, launching his hulking mass of muscle toward her.
“Get away!” Emma balked, turning quickly toward the small area where her couch and TV were. Realizing her mistake having surrounded herself by furniture the panicky girl took a little too long deciding whether if it would be easier to jump the couch or her flimsy side table in order for escape. Before she had decided Evan was already closing in, wiggling fingers accompanying his big dumb grin. “No! Eeeheiii!” She squealed as the burly young man’s hands honed in on her tummy.
Buckling over, the giggling girl’s hefty bosom bounced beneath her pajama top. Slapping at Evan’s thick forearms as she stepped backward at a rapid pace, the uncoordinated girl bumped back into her living room wall. Trapped between the wall, Evan and his curious hands, Emma knew from past experience that she only had a few seconds before becoming a giggly mess on the floor.
“STOP!” The fuming girl growled, setting aside her friendship for the sake of anger. Unfortunately the stream of unstoppable schoolgirl laughter that followed her exasperated plea deflated her desperate effort of any power it might have had. Then, just as Evan landed a particularly devastating pinch right above her hipbone, Emma’s knees gave up and she sunk down to the carpet.
“Ohh, you’re in trouble now Gumshoe!” Evan teased, bending over to effortlessly poke and prod at the poor girl beneath him. “Or should I call you No-Shoe?”
“Naha! Noohahaha!” Convulsing helplessly and slapping at her attacker’s hands, the virtually defenseless girl tried to speak. The big boy’s silly joke about wearing no shoes had suddenly made Emma all too aware of her very bare, and excruciatingly ticklish feet. Drowning in her own involuntary laughter, she could not get a full sentence out to save herself. “It’s not fahaha! Aeeheeie! It’s not funneeheeheiie!”
“You’re so ticklish Gummy!” The native Nebraskan said gleefully. Lowering himself down to his knees, the large lad wiggled his fingers up to the bewildered girl’s lower ribcage.
“Aahahaha!” Emma cackled, her cheeks flushed red as she rolled aimlessly among the few short inches between her rock solid friend and the living room wall. Kicking and hitting the wall, the fitful redhead turned her back on Evan, swinging her elbows backward in an attempt to strike his kneeling legs. She might not have wanted to hurt him, not really, but as her desperation grew so too did her willingness to cause pain.
Unfortunately for Emma, as the bumbling boy’s fingers crept higher up her soft ribs, simply having the desire to fight back wasn’t enough. In her horribly weakened state every determined swing of her elbows did no more good than the rest of her fruitless struggling. Seemingly quite oblivious to his squealing friend’s violent efforts and her very real pleas for the big farmboy to stop tickling her, Evan chuckled with the same gleeful grin one might have when wrestling a friendly dog. Knowing she could not break free and that her boisterous neighbor was too dense to properly appreciate the situation, Emma screamed with as much aggressive force as she could muster.
“AAGGHH!” The petit girl roared, slamming her open palms into the wall.
“Ohh, you okay there Em’?” Evan asked, leaning over the red faced young woman and finally ceasing his ticklish assault. “You bang your knee or something?”
Panting heavily, Emma wrapped her arms around herself as Evan shifted back to give her some room. Slumping over onto her back, fiery mane of frizzy hair splayed out behind her, the much relieved girl rolled her eyes before looking at the perplexed young man beside her. Horrible as rolling around on her living room floor for several minutes had been, Evan seemed incapable of wicked intent.
“Yeah.” The slowly recovering redhead said as she sat herself upright. “I banged my knee.”
“Dang, I’m sorry!” The large lad said, reaching out for a consoling touch toward his friend’s shoulder.
“Uh-that-that’s alright.” Emma said, waving away his kind gesture. “But I should um, I should get back to work.”
“Oh-oh sure!” Evan slapped the tops of his own thighs. “I should get going anyway…” The doe eyed dolt said as he stood to full height. “I’m probably pretty late for work!”
After closing the door behind her brawny friend, and making sure to lock it securely, Emma sat back in her chair. Staring back at the rain hitting her apartment window, the bare foot girl thought about the last time she had been tickled so much. There had been the odd dates over the years, a quick pinch or playful bit of foreplay, but nothing that had lasted more than a few seconds. No, the last time Emma had truly been tickled prior to that morning was by Jason Whitmore in 12th grade. And while Evan had not a shred of cruel intention in his body, Jason Whitmore seemed to be composed entirely of them. So too, Emma knew, did the math teacher, Mr. Lucas.
Turning back to her computer screen the curious girl wondered just what it was about tickling that seemed to keep popping up back home. More so, she wondered if the girls in white were at all connected to Jason Whitmore and the math teacher, Mr. Lucas. How in all of it did Wendy Starr keep getting caught up, if any of it was related at all. Being a journalist and naturally curious, she did not believe it was all a coincidence. Perhaps against her better judgment, it was then and there that Emma Clark decided to find out either way.
Chapter Two: Pay With Interest
1800 miles away from New York and a few hours later Wendy Starr was arriving for her afternoon shift at Glitter Grabbers. Strolling by the heavy-set day bouncer, who offered little more than a half-hearted flick of his chin for a greeting, the scantily clad twenty-two year old was clearly not part of the midday clientele. Sporting her regularly worn Ugg boots the leggy 5’8ft girl left the light of day as she entered into the dingy dark of the club’s foyer. Stopping for a moment to let her vision adjust, the blue-eyed dirty blonde flicked her tiny handbag aside so she could smooth out her tiny denim miniskirt. Looking down over her ballooning cleavage, the bosomy young woman made some effort to tug down the light pink short sleeve number barely covering her midriff. Wendy didn’t normally mind showing a little skin, but recent events had made her a touch paranoid.
Wandering from the foyer into the bar area, music blared as Donna, otherwise known as Jo Cocker, was on stage performing her set for a half dozen barely interested men scattered around the place. Every other table, along with the bar stools, was empty and no one seemed to be spending a whole lot of cash. Situation normal, Wendy thought as she moved passed the bar where Bobby the bartender appeared to be half asleep. Reaching the door that lead backstage the buxom girl reached for the handle, only for it to open before she got a grip on it.
“There you are!” Said Sapphire, which was very much her real name. “Skip’s looking for you.”
“I’m not late.” Wendy said with a hint of confusion as she made her way into the narrow hall. “What does he want?”
“No idea.” The fake tanned Latina said as she closed the door behind them. “Scarlet just told everyone to send you there first.”
Turning to her friend, the comparatively tall girl shrugged. “I’m probably fired.”
“Don’t say that.” Sapphire frowned, shaking her head. “You’re one of his best dancers.”
“Have you seen it out there?” The voluptuous young woman said and pointed back to the door. “There’s what, four, five of us working on a Monday afternoon? It’s dead.”
“Maybe he’s moving you onto evenings?” The shorter girl smiled, making an attempt to lighten the mood. “Besides, would being fired really be the worst thing? You could easily make more money over at Long Neck.”
“Nah.” Wendy returned the smile, appreciating her friend’s optimism. “Too many bikers over there. Too much trouble.”
“Oh yeah, like the guys Skip works with are any better?”
“Whatever.” The busty blonde said, turning away with a cheeky grin. “Maybe Starbucks will have me!”
“Probably.” Sapphire said, following her coworker down the hall. “You’ve definitely got the basic bitch thing down.”
“Ha!” Wendy laughed along with her friend and waved a hand dismissively. “Eat me!”
Leaving Sapphire behind at the dressing room, Wendy continued on down the hall toward her employer’s office. Skip wasn’t altogether a bad guy, especially according to some of the girls who had worked the other clubs. Mostly he was fair going and on a good day not entirely bad looking either. After all, Skip was the one who had given her a chance fresh out of high school when no one else would. Even dancing the afternoon shift allowed Wendy to afford her own modest apartment just a couple of blocks from the club. Naturally neither the apartment nor her place of employment were in the most glamorous part of town, but it beat living in the trailer park where she had spent most of her life.
“Hey, come in.” Skip said from behind his desk in the dimly lit office, motioning Wendy to come in a flick of his index finger. “Shut the door.”
A tall and sinewy man in his early forties, Skip’s slicked back hair had turned silver before his time. His original dark hair colour could still be seen in the stubble of his beard, but even that had become peppered with glints of white in recent months. Lines on his face betrayed what youth he had left and the usually irked looking man never seemed to aim any higher. A pity, most of the girls agreed in their dressing room gossip sessions, if Skip would only try wearing a suit instead of his usual torn jeans and black t-shirt he would probably clean up pretty good.
“Sapphire said you wanted to see me?” Wendy said, closing the door and muting the music from Donna’s set.
“Yeah, look.” The slightly agitated man said as he pawed through a mess of papers on his messy desk. “I was going through the weekend’s numbers and you’re looking short.”
“Really?” Furrowing her brow, the leggy girl sounded genuinely confused. “I tallied everything before I left on Friday.“
Giving up on searching his paperwork, Skip opened his hands in surrender-like manner. “You left on private gig though, right?” He asked, clearly not expecting an answer. “You know I don’t mind you taking outcalls but I need my cut. You’ve worked here long enough to know deposits need to be made over the weekend.”
“There was no cut.” Wendy shrugged. “The job didn’t work out, I never got paid.”
Leaning back in his squeaky old chair, the frustrated man sighed. “You left early, on my dime no less, to take the job…no?”
“I’m…I guess, yeah, I’m sorry but-“ The busty girl stammered, not entirely sure how any of this was fair. “It wasn’t my fault, the whole thing went wrong, I had to get out of there.”
“Look…” Skip said, placing his palm flat against one of the few uncovered spaces on his desktop. “Bottom line? The fact you didn’t get paid is annoying, to say the least. But the real problem, Wendy-“ He paused and made a fist, tapping the bottom of his hand gently against the desk. “-is that you fucked up the job.”
“I didn’t, I-“ The defensive girl began, only to be quickly interrupted.
“-Those girls who came in here on Friday? They were gorgeous.” The tall man opened his hand again. “More importantly, they were throwing money around like nobody’s business. Those are the kind of customers I, and you by the way, should want a lot of repeat business from.”
Wendy tensed her jaw a little at the thought of having to repeat Friday night’s debacle that ended with her running naked through the countryside.
“So.” Skip continued. “If those girls come back in here and want to take you somewhere and have you dance for them and do…whatever-” He waved both hands as he spoke. “-then you let them do it. Any of the other girls would have killed for that gig.”
“You-you don’t understand.” Wendy shuffled in her boots. “They, those girls, they didn’t just want me to dance. All they really wanted to do was…” She swallowed, preparing herself to utter the words aloud. “They tickled me. They were tickling the other girls too in the private rooms before I left, ask any of them. Sapphire, Scarlet…”
“I read your bit in the paper, I don’t care.” The irritable man shook his head. “If they want to tickle you, let them tickle you. You could have made out very well, we all could have with the way those girls were tipping.”
“You don’t get it.” Slumping her shoulders, the bosomy woman resigned herself to the fact few people could ever understand her plight.
“Listen-“ Skip said, standing up from his chair. “-your job, your only job, is to bring money into this place.” The older man’s mood seemed to lighten a little as he rounded the desk toward Wendy. “If you can’t do that one thing because you’ve got some weird hang up about being tickled, then you need to get over it.”
“I wish I could!” Wendy said, widening her eyes to drive home the point. “I can’t just get it over it Skip. You just can’t understand, but I’m super ticklish! It’s not the same for you.”
“Well then if you can’t get over it…” The silver haired man said as he stepped closer, very much into the blonde’s personal space. “Maybe you just need to get used to it!”
“Hey!” The buxom girl shifted her hips quickly as Skip’s left hand darted up and pinched her side.
“You’ll pay one way or another girl!” Skip said, clawing both hands toward the voluptuous young woman’s midsection.
“Eeeha! Noho!” Wendy squealed, stumbling backward as she tried to fend off her boss’ invading fingers. “Dohon’t!”
In a flurry of clumsy action the buxom girl’s fleshy cleavage jiggled as she tried to avoid Skip’s surprise tickle attack. Backing her well-rounded butt right into the office door, the sensitive girl’s handbag slid clean off her shoulder and landed on the floor. With nowhere left to go, Wendy planted her back directly against the door and tried her best to focus on fighting back. Caught of guard and outmatched in both height and strength, the big man looming over her had little trouble snaking around the blonde’s feeble defenses.
“See?! You could’ve got paid to do this!” Skip said, pressing his body up against the awkwardly dancing girl, effectively pinning her to the door as he goosed her sides. “Now you’re just getting tickled for free!”
“Noeeheehee! Skip!” Trapped between her boss’ torso and the door behind, the poor girl’s big blue eyes were wide, as she couldn’t even get a decent grip on his quickly wiggling fingers. “Stop! Eeeha! Stop it!”
“I’ll stop when I get my money’s worth!” The unkempt man said, unrelenting as he squeezed both hands up and down from the fitful girl’s hips to her ribs. “Including the future business we probably lost!”
“Nohoahaha! Skipstop! Aeheeheeii! Wendy gasped as she took hold of the older man’s forearms and strained to pull them away.
Naturally the painfully ticklish girl’s efforts to wrestle her boss were no use. Her laughter increasing in both pitch and frequency, Wendy knew her only way out was down. Unfortunately, as she knew well from past experience, dropping to the floor was a high risk, high reward maneuver. Much to her disdain, Skip’s sudden attack was not the first time the chesty dancer had found herself pinned and tickled between a man and a hard surface.
A little over a year before Wendy had been in the all too familiar situation with a rather dashing one-night stand. Seeing no other choice she had collapsed onto the boy’s bedroom floor, where fortunately the single evening lover decided to end his playful assault and move on to far more favorable activities. Two years prior to that successful escape however, Wendy had attempted the same move and it backfired miserably. In that instance, caught between the fridge in her mother’s trailer and her older sister’s boyfriend, the voluptuous young woman threw herself downward only for the boy to climb on top of her and continue tickling.
“Where you going?!” Skip said as his loudly laughing employee slid down the doorway and joined her handbag on the floor.
“No! Ehehee! Nowhere!” Realizing immediately that her daring maneuver had failed the busty girl launched herself onto all fours. Trying to crawl away, Wendy scrambled halfway passed her boss’ legs before his tickling fingers caught up with her. “Eeeiiii!” She tensed trying to keep herself from falling any further as Skip’s determined digits dug into her tender ribs. Batting one hand behind herself to try and swat the man away, Wendy’s cheeks were blushing pink. “Stohohop! Eeeheh! You dick! Aheehee!”
“A dick am I?!” The tall man said, probably less offended than he was acting. Skip got called a lot worse on a daily basis, no doubt.
Drilling his fingertips harshly into the soft spots between the girl’s heaving ribs caused her to spasm wildly. The one arm holding her off the floor buckled as she screamed and Wendy’s upper half toppled down, leaving her shapely ass in the air. Flapping both arms and still trying to wriggle away, the curvaceous blonde’s panicked movements caused her teeny tiny miniskirt to fall upward. Getting nowhere fast as Skip continued to hammer at her ribs, the unfortunate wardrobe malfunction exposed her almost entirely bare butt cheeks and the thin thread of a neon pink g-string between them.
“About time you did something useful!” Skip teased, giving the flustered girl’s plump right ass cheek a firm squeeze.
“YEEII!” Wendy shrieked, shooting her legs out backward and leaving her entire body face down on the floor.
“You are a stripper!” The older man said, dropping to his knees as he grabbed at the bottom of his employee’s form fitting t-shirt. “So strip!”
“Nono!” Rolling on to one side as her creamy white midriff was exposed, the powerless girl struggled to keep her shirt down. “I’ll pay! I’ll pay!” She wheezed, rapidly pushing at her boss’ big hands.
“You are paying!” Skip said, forcing the thin material up and over the blonde’s bulbous breasts. Barely contained by a lacey purple bra, the bosomy dancer’s cushy flesh ballooned out from the top and sides. “With interest!”
“Eiiiieee!” The poor girl curled into the fetal position as the handsome older man’s fingers poked riotously into her bare tummy.
A wide-open mouth grin involuntarily plastered across her face, Wendy had been rapidly losing control since the moment Skip first pinched her. The more seconds of cruel tickling went by the less her frantic movements were made by conscious decision. Her cheeks red and far more of her hyperticklish skin on display than bearable, the cackling girl was acting more on instinct with every pinch and poke. Buckled over the devilish man’s hands, Wendy gathered up whatever scraps of willpower she could find and took an open-handed swing toward his face.
“Nice try!” Skip said, the girl’s hand sailing clean by his jaw by at least two inches. Tragically the bold attempt at a slap not only misfired, it also exposed the blonde’s barely covered underarm, which her attacker took full advantage of.
“AHHH! AAHAHA!” Clamping her arm down quickly, the hapless young woman roared with laughter as the man’s wiggling fingers wormed into her silky smooth hollow.
With her arm held tightly to her side, Wendy had trapped her boss’ fingers in the exact spot she didn’t want them. Lifting her arm again would surely expose more of her agonizingly ticklish flesh, but keeping it there held his dastardly digits stroking deep into her underarm. There was no good option, and as Skip’s other hand clawed at her abdomen with his fingers spread wide the flailing girl could do little but laugh loudly and kick her long legs to no avail.
“Skip.” A familiar voice said from the doorway, and went ignored. “Skip!” She said again, the older man not responding as he continued to drive poor Wendy out of her mind. “SKIP!”
“What?!” The tall club owner snapped, finally turning around and pulling his hands off the partially disrobed blonde in the process.
“What the hell are you doing?” Scarlet said from the open door. Gasping for air on the floor, the center of her tummy a light shade of pink, Wendy could recognize her fellow stripper’s fiery red mane a mile away.
“I’m teaching her a lesson-“ Skip said, turning back to the buxom blonde who had begun to make a not-so-stealthy retreat. Pausing for a moment, the much stronger man grabbed a firm hold of Wendy’s left wrist. “-in fiscal responsibility.”
“Well can you stop?” Scarlet huffed, paying no attention to the wincing girl struggling to free herself from their boss’ grip. “We can hear her all the way down the hall.”
“Unless you want to swap places, get back to work.” The noticeably irritated man said, flexing his arm as Wendy continued to try and pry herself free. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
“Fine…” The disgruntled woman said with a roll of her eyes and started to step back out into the hall.
“Nono! Scarlet!” Wendy said, frantically shaking her firmly held arm. “Scarlet, WAIT!”
“Enough out of you.” Skip said, turning his attention back to the bosomy blonde as the office door clicked shut behind him. Pulling the girl’s arm toward him, the silver haired club owner swung one leg over her hips and straddled her, squeezing his legs tight. Forced onto her back, Wendy struggled to drag herself out from under the overbearing man.
“I learned my lesson! I did!” The desperate girl said, eager to say anything that might end her woeful trouble. Before she could even think of a more promising negotiation any success was quickly dashed as Skip hooked his fingers under the top of each bra cup and yanked them downward. “Skip!” Wendy squawked, quickly covering her now very bare boobs as they spilled out into the open.
“I told you to strip!” Taking each of her slender wrists in his hands, the larger man easily pulled her arms out to each side. Wendy’s big pink nipples sat erect atop her puffy areoles, her huge boobs pushed up by the bra that had been stuffed just underneath.
“Skip-unh-stop!” The bare breasted blonde winced, shaking her head as her boss pinned her hands down either side of her head.
“What are you more upset about, hm?” Skip said, keeping his busty employee firmly held under him. “The stripping or the tickling?”
“The tickling!” The squirming girl stressed with great emphasis as she strained to push her arms up off the floor.
“Sucks to be you.” The older man said without a shadow of empathy. Releasing the leggy girl’s wrists, he immediately shot his hands down to her fully exposed sides.
“Nyyaaaheeeiiiheeehee!” Wendy exploded, curling upward and tensing her abdomen. Clambering her hands at her boss’ deep-diving fingers the loudly giggling girl kept her upperbody held upright as she shook her long hair madly. The top of her head pressed against Skip’s chest, the frenzied blonde’s big naked boobs jiggled between them. Unable to fight her way free, Wendy threw herself back toward the floor and twisted herself in an effort to grab at the floor.
“Those rich girls wanted to tickle your naked ass-“ The bare chested girl’s employer said as he dug five fingers viciously into her abdomen. “-so that’s what you get!”
“Naaahahaha!” Rolling from side to side, her long legs kicking out behind the taller man, the desperate dancer’s umpteenth escape attempt had failed before it began. “Skiiihihihip! Eeeeheeheiii!” Batting helplessly at the man’s sporadically moving hands the furiously giggling girl could no longer finish a single word without laughing, but a rapidly declining vocabulary was the least of her problems. Almost as alarming as the tickling itself was a feeling Wendy had only felt once or maybe twice before, and it was infinitely more confusing than being terribly ticklish. What the feverishly laughing girl felt as Skip’s ten fingers raced up and down her convulsing sides was the unmistakable, and very much involuntary sensation, of being hotly aroused.
Her swollen nipples were a key indicator but as a rogue finger swiped far too close to her belly button, the bewildered blonde felt the familiar glow of lust. As Wendy’s eyes shot open wide and her entire face turned bright red she recalled in flashes of unwanted memory the previous times her body had betrayed her in similar fashion. Perplexing as it was infuriating, the first time the trapped young woman had been turned on while being tickled was in the company of a fellow student back in her senior year of high school. Jason Whitmore, the popular and secretly sinister star football player, had given Wendy the worst tickling of her life by a country mile. The second time had not been until the very same incident that lead her to being tormented on her boss’ office floor. Friday night, the girls in white. Six of them surrounding her naked body.
Unable to shake the memories as Skip’s vile hands explored her torso without pause, the wordlessly laughing blonde knew she would soon start to moisten her panties. Shamefully, Wendy had given herself cause over the years to think back on her time with Jason Whitmore and the horror he put her through. Without question the torturous tickling Jason had subjected her to had been the worst experience of the buxom girl’s young life. Yet every now and then, in her most private moments, Wendy would recall that nightmarish day and gingerly slip her hand down between her thighs. Some nights she would wake from actual nightmares of the fingers that stroked and flickered all over her most sensitive spots. On those nights, she always woke wet.
“Skip!” Scarlet’s voice barked again. The tall man turned faster that time, just as tears were beginning to well in the breathless blonde’s eyes.
“I told you-“ Skip began through gritted teeth, only to be cut off by his redheaded employee standing at the door.
“Wendy’s on in five minutes.” The unamused woman said sharply. “She’s going to be late for her set.”
Turning away from the door, the silver haired man looked down at the loudly gasping girl between his knees. Wendy’s cheeks and forehead were beet red, her eyes welling with tears. Long dirty-blonde hair splayed out underneath her. Her naked breasts raised and lowered with each quick, heavy breath and almost every inch from her ribs down to her hips was coloured a bright pink hue. As much as the obvious bulge beneath Skip’s jeans wanted him to keep her there, the money Wendy would earn on stage was just that much more tempting.
“Go get yourself cleaned up.” The tall man said nonchalantly as he climbed off of the half-exhausted girl. “You and I can settle up later.”
“One more thing.” Scarlet said as her boss wandered back behind his desk.
“What?”
“Not you, her.” The blazing haired woman said, pointing to her disheveled coworker on the floor a few feet away. “You got a message, hun. Some girl wanting you to call.”
“What girl?” Wendy asked, scrunching her face a little as she tugged her bra back up.
“Hopefully it’s them chicks from Friday.” Skip said as he slumped back into his chair.
“No, I don’t think so.” Scarlet said, shaking her head. “Said her name was Emma.”
Chapter Three: Interview With a Victim (#1)
On her break Wendy called the number from the message that had been left and was surprised to hear the voice of Emma Clark. While the two had shared a few classes together throughout high school and were cordial enough in their rare exchanges, neither ever knew the other very well. After some pleasantries and small talk, Emma invited Wendy for coffee whenever she might be free. This was how Emma Clarke and Wendy Starr met each other at 9pm in a small late night café a couple of blocks from the Glitter Grabber club. It was not the last time the two ever saw each other in person, but it was how they best liked to remember each other.
“This is so weird!” Wendy said, just as bubbly and cheerful as Emma remembered her, or at least she was pretending to be.
“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy…” Emma said as the taller girl wrapped her arms around the redhead and gave her an affectionate hug.
“So, New York huh?” The giddy blonde grinned, pulling back from the hug and giving the smaller woman a friendly push on the shoulder. “That’s got to be amazing!”
“Huh, yeah. It’s different alright.” Finding it difficult to feign joy in the presence of the one person she felt so much guilt for. “Shall we sit?”
“Oh yeah!” Wendy said, tossing her small handbag onto the table. “You have GOT to tell me about New York!”
“Uh…well…New York.” Sitting opposite the long legged young woman, Emma’s own outfit of jeans and a t-shirt seemed far more modest than Wendy’s miniskirt. “It’s um, it’s big alright.”
“Oh, of course it’s big! Even I knew that!” Waving a hand, the taller girl laughed.
“Well, why don’t you come out sometime?” Emma said. She certainly didn’t judge Wendy for her choices after graduation. Still, the redhead’s question was prompted by the thought that perhaps their hometown wasn’t giving the young Ms. Starr a lot of opportunity in life. “You know somewhere there now.” She smiled.
“Really? Haha!” The taller girl said. “Can you imagine, me in New York City? I bet they have some fine strip clubs there huh?”
Emma looked around the quiet café, laughing sheepishly at the chance anyone had overheard the blonde. “There’s plenty of work. I’d could even help you find something, if you’d like.”
Wendy paused, she looked down at the table and laughed softly. “You’re real sweet Em’.” The broad smile she had worn since the moment the two girls had met dimmed slightly, though didn’t disappear completely. “You know, I think you’re the first person who’s ever made me an offer like that without wanting to get into my pants.”
“You have my number now.”
“Yeah…” The buxom girl said, slipping into silent thought for a few seconds. When the thought was done her big blue eyes lit up and her broad grin returned, like a light switch going on in the dancer’s head. “And you, the big city reporter!”
“Heh, yeah. Not quite, but-“ The smaller girl said, quickly cut off by the vivacious woman sitting opposite.
“Now, now!” Wendy said. “Don ‘t down play it, you’ve gone a lot further than most folk from this town. Heck, I bet you’ve broken a bunch of big stories already!”
“You never know.” The curvy journalist said, making a point to make direct eye contact. “Right now I’m kind of thinking the story’s here.”
“Haha oh yeah, I was pretty surprised to get your call.” Wendy said, wobbling her head in a fanciful fashion. “I’m guessing you want to know about the other night?”
“If you’re okay to talk about it. If not, we can enjoy our coffee. And my offer still stands about New York, either way.”
Tapping her long nails on the table, the busty blonde thought for a moment. “I guess…you’re not going to use my name are you?”
“Nono.” Emma said with a quick shake of her head. “This is just exploratory. Fact gathering. No names until later, if I need them, and then I won’t mention you if you don’t want.”
“Okay well, I’ll tell you whatever you want but they already did a story. I think you might be late to the party.”
“The thing is Wendy…” The redhead hesitated. She had thought about Wendy and her time trapped in Mr. Lucas’ office a great deal. For the entire plane ride Emma had debated with herself whether or not to confess that she had been there that evening, right outside the office door. In the moment, finally face to face with the source of her internal conflict, she remained undecided. “That story they did, I don’t think it really told the true story. That piece, the way it was written, it was like a…”
“It wasn’t very dramatic.” Wendy said, surprising Emma with her perceptiveness.
“No. No, it wasn’t.” Emma said. “In fact I’d go so far as to say it was silly. They completely glossed over what happened to you and focused almost everything on the farmers who found you.” The freckle-faced girl’s mood soured considerably, irritated by the notion of sloppy, irresponsible journalism. “I’d like to know what happened before you met Mr. and Mrs. Brown. When you met the girls in white, and how you ended up in the countryside.”
“The girls in white…” The blonde repeated in a whisper as she let her mind reel back to a few days before. “Well, they weren’t in white when I first met ‘em.” Wendy said, her smile turning from gleeful to almost non-existent as she went on to tell the untold tale of her previous Friday. “I work the afternoons mostly, it’s slow until around dinner time except for the occasional bunch of yuppies who come in for a business lunch or whatever. Friday, ‘round three maybe, everything’s quiet, normal day and these…” The blonde paused as if trying to think of another word. “…girls come in. They’re all young and pretty.”
“How were they dressed?” Emma asked.
“Normal? Like normal women out for a good time.” The buxom girl turned out her bottom lip a little. “Anyway, they come in and like, right away they’re throwing cash around. They all had money to burn. Me and the other dancers, we were loving it. Pulling out all our best moves. Have you ever thought about strippin’?”
“It never occurred to me.”
“You could…” Wendy grinned, looking the suddenly rather bashful redhead up and down. “You’ve always had that whole cute thing going on, but I can tell you’re hot as a Carolina pepper underneath!”
“Let’s just…let’s get back to you.” Emma blushed, scratching the back of her neck where there was no itch.
“Haha, alright you.” The blonde said through her amused grin. “Where was I? Oh right, so these girls are tipping and buying drinks and then after a bit they start getting private dances. The owner, Skip-” Wendy’s demeanor shifted briefly, her expression turning to one of borderline anger. “-who is an asshole, by the way-” She said and returned quickly back to her cheerful self. “-he’s about ready to cream his jeans at all the money we were making. But, and I didn’t think anything of it at the time, all the girls kept ticklin’ us. You know, you’re not really supposed to let customers touch you but with the private dances there’s a curtain so…and besides, it was girls right? What are they gonna do?”
“You and the other dancers, you didn’t mind that they were tickling you?”
“It wasn’t like it was a whole lot.” Wendy said. “I could hear the other girls laughing a little a bit and I got pinched or whatever a couple times. It was playful, there was no reason to think it was anything more than that.”
“And now?” Emma said, lifting her coffee cup halfway off the table. “You think it was something else?”
“Honestly? And you can all me crazy if you want.” The blonde said. “I think they were testing us. I think they were trying to figure out which of us was the most ticklish.”
“Why do you think someone would do that?”
“Well I’ve been wondering that since Friday and I still don’t know.” Wendy laughed a little. “I get it with boys, but girls I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh you know boys.” The taller girl said as she looked up from under her neatly trimmed brow. “Boys’ll tickle you just to tickle you, especially if you’re ticklish. Gives them an excuse to put their hands on you, or they’re just mean, or both. Just this morning my boss tickled the shit out of me, the bastard.”
“Your boss?” Emma said, even more confused by Wendy’s continued run-ins with tickling than she was already. Perhaps Wendy, by some cosmic smack of terrible luck, was just a magnet for being tickled. Perhaps there was no story after all.
“Right on his office floor, can you believe that?” The busty girl said. “Perv had some excuse about owing money cause of what happened Friday. Those girls really did a number on me, you know?”
“So you went with them, the girls?”
“Hm…yeah. I guess we’re getting to it now, aren’t we?” Wendy said, nodding gently. “We go on house calls or outcalls, whatever, all the time. Bachelor parties, that sort of thing. Skip gets a cut, we make better money than we would on stage. Everyone wins.”
“Is it normal to end up that far out of the city?” The redhead said before taking a sip of her drink.
Shaking her head, the bosomy girl said “No, no way. I still don’t even really know where we were. They had a big limo, windows were all blacked out. Couldn’t see anything.”
“How long were you driving for, do you know?”
“Mmm…” Wendy pursed her full lips off to one side and looked up in the opposite direction as she thought. “We were really out in the sticks. An hour and a half, maybe two.”
“You ended up in a house?” The redhead said.
“A house, no.” The blonde laughed and shook her head. “This was uh, a palace. Not really, but a mansion definitely.”
“I see.” Emma said with one eyebrow raised. She didn’t see at all, in fact she was completely baffled by the whole scenario. A thousand question rattled around in her head and none of the answers the inquisitive girl could imagine made even a little sense. “What about the ride out there? Did the girls do anything or…?”
“Nothing.” The buxom girl said, sounding a little surprised. “They talked, mostly to each other. Kind of ignored me actually, until we got there.”
“Was anyone else there, at the mansion?”
“The place was so big, I have no idea.” Wendy said. “I didn’t see anybody. We just went inside, up this huge set of stairs and into a…not a living room really, more like…like kind of a hang out room? Leather couches in a circle. It was kind of weird.”
“What did you think at the time?”
“I thought I was going to be making a lot of money.” The blonde quipped, chuckling at her own wit. “No, I didn’t really think anything was off until the girls left me alone. Said they were going to go freshen up, came back a few minutes later and they were all wearing like, kind of spandex?”
“Spandex?”
“Something like that.” Wendy said, and it seemed clear her mind had already moved on to the next part of her sorrowful story. “I danced…they watched, except for the white suits and the giant mansion it was all pretty normal. Then…” She paused for a long moment, staring at her coffee. “...when I was done, I mean naked, they all got up to dance with me.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No, no it was fine. Even kind of fun at first.” The voluptuous dancer said. “But after a few minutes, just a little bit, they started tickling me. They kept doing it more and more. I guess I should have figured it out but…”
“You couldn’t have known.” Emma said, her sympathy genuine. Imagining herself in a similar scenario sent a chill up the shorter girl’s spine.
“Well, you might not get this, but I have this thing, when I’m tickled really bad?” The leggy girl asked rhetorically. “I tend to just end up on the floor.”
“Oh no…I understand. Believe me.”
“Really?” Wendy laughed softly, relieved by the rare show of empathy on the subject. “It’s the worst, isn’t it?” She lowered her voice, careful so as only Emma could hear. “All they need to do is wiggle a finger and we’re just putty in their hands…is it like that for you?”
“More or less.” Emma nodded, knowing full well she had never experienced the lengths of torment Wendy had.
“I hate that, the loss of power. Controlled by something so small.” The blonde continued. “One minute I’m dancing and the next minute I’m on the floor laughing my ass off. All six of those bitches were tickling me and I am screaming for them to stop. The fun was over, you know?”
“I can imagine.” The budding journalist said, recalling with great dread the sounds of Wendy’s howling laughter from years before. “How did you get away?”
“Okay so, this is the really, really weird part.” Wendy said, raising her eyebrows and pausing for dramatic effect. “At some point, I don’t know exactly when, some of the girls started tickling each other. None of them seemed to really enjoy being tickled, I don’t think, but they really enjoyed being one of the ticklers. Eventually I noticed they were all so busy having this giant tickle fight they pretty much forgot about me. I didn’t even grab my clothes, I just ran like hell.”
“They let you go?”
“Oh no, they chased me.” The taller girl said, her lips smiling but her eyes distant, a little sad. “I was so scared because….because I knew if they caught me they wouldn’t bother tickling each other anymore. They were going to get me and…well, I really don’t want to think about what they would have done.”
“Do you mean they would have hurt you?” Emma said, narrowing her eyes.
The shapely blonde shook her head. “No, nono. They weren’t interested in pain or anything like that. Suffering, I think…I think they enjoyed that part, making whoever they were tickling upset. It was always tickling though. And like, I’m running and I can’t help thinking about what they’re going to do if they catch me, and I’m laughing. Like really laughing.”
“But you weren’t being tickled at the time?”
“Once I got away they never touched me.” Wendy said. “Dancing five days a week keeps me pretty fit.” She said, sliding her coffee cup around the table aimlessly. “It’s like…it’s hard to explain. Have you ever had someone stop tickling you, or about to tickle you, and you keep laughing anyway?
“No, but I think I know what you mean.” The redhead said, sympathetic to her new friend.
“Okay so, it was like that.” Wendy said. “I was naked, terrified and laughing like crazy. It was a madhouse. I knew if I didn’t get away I’d be driven out of my mind.”
Emma shook her head in disbelief. She believed the bosomy blonde of course, she believed every word. From there, as Wendy told it, she had run through a maze of hallways, downstairs and finally found her way out through a kitchen window. As best the bubbly girl could remember she had spent the rest of the night, bare ass under the stars before running into the elderly farmers. Old Mr. Brown had given Wendy a ride home in his pick up truck, in which she promptly passed out, exhausted.
Over the course of the next hour Emma asked every question she could think of to gather more detail. Wendy, helpful though she wanted to be, had little memory of much beyond the broad strokes from her Friday evening. Naturally the investigative redhead could not blame the buxom blonde, and imagined she herself would not be a lot of help either after such an experience. Worst of all, there seemed to be no connection between the girls in white, Jason Whitmore and Mr. Lucas. When Emma and Wendy parted ways and promised to hang out again, Emma knew she would need to conduct more interviews.
By TickleMantis
MF/f
Chapter One: Curiosity Doomed The Cat
Just as she had done every morning for the previous six months, Emma Clark sat diligently staring at her computer screen. Nestled in her tiny 400 square foot apartment, the studious young woman poured over news articles from all over the world. With particular focus on New York City, the place she now called home, the budding journalist kept copious amounts of notes for anything of interest. After being hired on at The Deep Look online newspaper right out of college the freckle-nosed girl had been eager to prove her journalistic skills. A couple of moderately popular articles were enough to keep Emma in the good graces of her bosses, but what the ambitious girl’s career really needed was one big scoop.
Illuminated only by the light of her computer screen, Emma’s small 5’1ft frame allowed her to easily sit with her knees up between herself and the edge of her well-organized desk. Donning a long-sleeve PJ top with teddy bear pattern and matching pants, the fair-skinned girl crinkled her button nose as she clicked from open tab to open tab. Turning her office chair slightly to jot a hand-written note, a strand of frizzy light red hair fell across her very ample bosom, her breasts squished up under the pajama top by her propped up knees. Absent-mindedly curling her tiny toes, which dangled over the edge of her chair, the blue eyed girl turned back to the screen. Her note done, Emma clicked onto yet another open browser tab, the website for her hometown’s biggest paper.
Emma kept loose track of the headlines back home more as a point of curiosity than anything else. Normally she would skim the top story or two and then click away to stories more important. At best the big news in a city of barely a million people would give her something to talk to her mother about over the phone. Her mind on other stories, Emma moved her cursor over the next tab when a familiar name caught her eye, and paused her hand. Wendy Starr, a bubbly and almost always cheerful girl from their senior year in high school. Wendy Starr who had got her name in the newspaper. Wendy Starr, whose name alone caused Emma’s stomach to pang with guilt. Emma had very few sins to her name, one sin by most people’s standards, but it was a doozy.
Slowly moving her hand downward, the suddenly anxious strawberry blonde clicked to expand Wendy’s article. Just as Emma opened the next page the front door of her apartment swung open, spilling in light from the hall. The mid-morning visitor was not at all unexpected, in fact he was so expected his arrival was the entire reason Emma had unlocked her door before sitting down. For the first few weeks of living in New York the petit girl had broken concentration and gotten up from her chair whenever Evan would bumble on by. Before long Emma realized the kindly young neighbor’s visits were a new fact of life, and simply started letting him come on in.
“Good morning, Gumshoe!” The chipper boy said, flicking on Emma’s living room light. Evan had mixed up the jobs of journalist and private eye early on in their friendship. She had explained the difference to him of course, and he did understand, but the nickname stuck anyway. “What’s big in the big world today?” The dark haired lad beamed as he closed the door behind him.
Like Emma, Evan hadn’t been in New York long and she honestly wondered how he survived the city even that short amount of time. A broad chested farmboy from somewhere deep in rural Nebraska, the grinning ox of a lad seemed to lack much in the way of both book and street smarts. After their first meeting in the apartment building’s clunky elevator Emma had decided that the pair of them would have little to talk about should they bump into each other again. As it happened Evan only lived two doors down and, despite her first impression, it was the country boy’s winning smile and infectious good nature that changed her mind. Perhaps, the bare foot girl had often been given cause to ponder, it was Evan’s naïvely insuppressible charm that kept the big city from swallowing him whole.
“Good morning, Evan.” Emma said, much more focused on the article with Wendy Starr’s name in it than she was the brawny farmboy lumbering his way into her kitchenette.
“Did you see Mrs. Gotterman’s cat got out again?” Evan said as he rummaged through his friend’s small refrigerator. “You’d think the little guy would have more trouble from all the way up on the nineteenth floor, but hoo boy is that cat clever!”
While the lantern jawed young man in her kitchen made himself at home, his ongoing thoughts about Mrs. Gotterman’s cat fell on deaf ears. Her eyes squarely on her computer screen, Emma read with great interest and a feeling of increasing unease about her former fellow high school senior. Wendy, according to the article, had been working as an exotic dancer under the stage name ‘Starburst’. After a private job went sideways, the details of which were scarce, Wendy had been found running stark nude in a farmer’s field quite some distance from the city. Up until that point in the article Emma had been firmly racked by her own guilt, but not enough to stop reading. Once the article went on to quote the farmer who found Wendy streaking across his land, Emma had to lean back and take a breath.
“You okay?” Evan’s said softly, his voice grabbing just enough of the redhead’s attention to be heard. “Hello?”
“…huh?” Emma said, prying her eyes away from the computer screen. “Oh…yeah, yeah I just…this article, I knew this girl.”
“She okay?” The burly boy said, holding a sandwich cobbled together from an assortment of odd ingredients.
“Um…yeah. No? I don’t know.”
“Well what happened to her?”
“Here I-“ Emma said and pointed to her screen. She started to lean back so Evan could move in and read the article himself, but instead hesitated when she noticed a piece of lettuce drop from his sandwich onto her floor. “Never mind.” She said, putting up a hand. “Here, I’ll just read you this bit…” Scrolling slightly back up, Emma began quoting the article. “’It was the darndest thing’ said Brown, 82. ‘I’m out feeding the cows like I do every morning and here comes this young lass in her birthday suit.’”
“Your friend?” Evan said, chomping away on his food.
“I didn’t really know her that well, but yeah. The girl from school.” Emma said before reading from the article again. “’I call my wife and I says Martha, Martha get out here. I don’t want her wondering why I’m chatting up a young lady, never mind a naked one, you understand.’”
“He’s funny!” Chuckling a little, Evan polished off the last of his sandwich.
“Here’s the part where…just listen.” Emma said, keeping her eyes on the screen and trying not to sound too impatient. “’The Browns consoled Miss Star, 22, wrapping a blanket around her before offering to call the sheriff. ‘I gave her some of my old clothes’ Martha Brown, 81 said. ‘They were a bit small, the poor dear was practically spilling out of them.’ said the retired librarian. ‘She didn’t want nothing to do with the police, that much was clear.’ Said Mr. Brown. ‘Everything else sounded like nonsense. She just kept babbling about some girls in white, and tickling. Ain’t that odd?’”
“Tickling?” Evan said, raising his eyebrows quizzically.
“That’s all it says.” Emma said as her brawny friend moved behind her to get a better look at the screen. “After that it just says something about a sorority hazing gone wrong or maybe a bachelorette party getting carried away. It makes no sense.”
“Makes sense to me.” The ditsy boy shrugged. “Girls can be crazy, especially in packs.”
“No, I mean…” Placing one elbow on her desktop the slightly perturbed girl leaned forward, resting the side of her head against two fingers. She couldn’t tell Evan everything that happened senior year, she couldn’t tell anyone, not after what happened last time. Still, after nearly four years of carrying the guilt Emma decided she had to tell somebody something. “There was this boy in school…Jason.” Looking to her single window across the room, Emma watched thick rain drops hit the glass outside. “Popular, nice, football player type.”
“I like him already!” Evan grinned, doing his level best to listen to Emma and read the article over her shoulder.
“Well, Jason wasn’t exactly everything he seemed.” Said the curled up girl, turning her head to look back over her shoulder briefly. “In his spare time, when no one was looking, Jason liked to tickle people. And I don’t mean in a friendly way, like friends do. I mean he’d find someone ticklish, really ticklish, and just tickle them like crazy.”
“He tickled you?” The big farmboy said in a moment of surprising perceptiveness. Shifting his focus from the screen to Emma’s eyes, the curvy girl turned immediately back to the rainy street outside.
“Me and others, yes.” Emma said, intent on avoiding specific details. “He never got me as much as he wanted to though. But I knew, I knew he wanted more. When he couldn’t have me he started going after other girls, so I started following him.”
“Ever the detective!” Evan said. By his tone Emma could tell her friend was speaking through a smile.
“One day I went to check up on Jason, but he wasn’t alone.” Her voice lowered to almost a whisper and the barefoot girl curled her toes as the memory of what happened next formed in her mind. “He was with the math teacher, Mr. Lucas. They were in his office, just them. It wasn’t that unusual, but then Wendy walked by.”
“The girl from the news story, the stripper?”
“Exotic dancer, yes.” Emma said more so quoting the article than she was correcting her friend. “I was going to leave but the office door closed after Wendy went in. I guess I thought it was weird, so I snuck up to the door. I couldn’t really hear what was going on, but after a minute or two I heard Wendy laughing. Jason was tickling her.”
“Was the teacher still there?” Evan said, as confused as he was curious.
“Oh he wasn’t just there. Mr. Lucas joined in.” Letting the statement sit for a moment, Evan’s normally chatty demeanor turned to heavy silence. Emma took a deep breath before continuing. “The two them of tickled her…I tried calling the police but they never came. When I called again they thought I was crazy. Same thing when I went to the police station, they couldn’t get me out of there fast enough.”
Evan shuffled his weight a little as the cogs turned, struggling to understand his the implication in his friend’s voice. “Well…you know, a teacher definitely shouldn’t do that…but it sounds like, I mean, it was just tickling, right?”
“No.” Emma said sternly. “No, it wasn’t just tickling, Evan. The things they did to her –the things I heard coming out of that room. Wendy begged them, BEGGED them to let her go. She screamed like nothing else I’ve ever heard…but, god, she laughed, she was laughing the whole time. Not a good laugh, not a nice laugh…a-a frightened, helpless laugh. She couldn’t stop. It was awful.”
“Did she know, after?” The farmboy said. “Did you tell her you were there?”
“I couldn’t.” Swallowing hard, Emma felt that familiar pang of guilt flair up. “To go through something like that, then to find out someone was there the whole time…I…there was nothing I could do, or nothing I could think of at the time. I was so scared. It could just as easily have been me.” Shaking her head at the thought, the remorseful redhead continued her story of regret. “I kept quiet for months and then, finally, I went to our guidance counselor, Miss Stonewood. I told her all of it, everything, but she said she had to be professional. These were serious accusations, she told me, and Mr. Lucas was well respected. She quit a few days later, moved out of state.”
“That doesn’t mean-“ Evan began and was quickly cut off by his friend.
“-She was nice, Miss Stonewood. Happy, smiley type person just like Wendy. The last time I saw her she had the same look in her eye that Wendy did. A little less happy, a little less smiley.”
“I don’t get it.” The large boy said plainly, he never showed any hint of shame from not being able to keep up with a conversation. Leaning forward, the hulking young man took hold of the mouse and scrolled back up the page as he reached around Emma’s shoulder. “This says it was girls who tickled your friend, not a teacher.”
“I don’t get it either.” Emma said, mild frustration in her voice as she had to concede the pieces before her made no kind of puzzle she could figure. “Where I’m from, it’s not a big city, but it’s not small either. There’s not enough people there for this to be unrelated. And for Wendy to be involved again…it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“That was years ago though, wasn’t it? When you were there?”
“Yeah….the timeline on this is strange too. I mean, what are the chances something like that would happen to the same person twice?”
“I gotta be honest Gumshoe, I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it.” Evan said, his usual buoyant tone returning. “You said yourself, friends can tickle each other, no big deal.”
“It’s different Evan, it’s-“ Emma said, interrupting herself with a loud squeal as the country boy’s ten fingers suddenly squeezed her sides. “Yeeiihey!” Shooting her legs out straight under the desk, the hypersensitive young woman arched her back to avoid Evan’s wiggling fingers. “Ahahahheyhey! Evan!”
“Tickle tickle!” The dopey boy teased, his large hands wrapped around the surprised girl’s slender sides.
“Stop it! Eeeheehee! Stop!” Leaning forward over her desk, the much smaller young woman snapped her hands down and grabbed frantically at Evan’s boisterously strong grip. Try as she might Emma knew she would never be able to pull the far larger boy’s hands off of her, even if she wasn’t being tickled. “Evaaahahan! Enough! Eeeheee!”
Stomping her bare feet onto the rug, a forced grin plastered across her lips, the giggling girl was almost as frustrated by her flustered reaction as she was the feeling of being tickled itself. Much to Emma’s eternal dismay she had always been agonizingly sensitive all over her nubile young body, and she absolutely despised the loss of control. In her heart of hearts the riotously laughing girl knew there was no real danger with Evan, not like there had been in high school with Jason Whitmore. Nonetheless, in the moment with the brawny boy’s thick fingers drilling into her tender sides, Emma had to get away.
Against all instinct, the wildly shaking girl used every ounce of will power she had to stop fighting her friend’s overly playful touch. Planting her palms directly on the edge of her desk, Emma pushed back hard with a loud grunt. “Agh!” The fearsome girl roared as she rolled back her chair into Evan’s legs. To her relief the surprise movement was enough to put a halt in the hectic proceedings. With her quick-thinking the hurried redhead had created just enough space between her desk and chair to scuttle out from between the two.
Making sure to put several feet between herself and her friend, Emma turned back toward him. Leaning forward slightly with her arms wrapped around her midriff, the slightly blushing girl took a couple of short, sharp breaths. “Don’t do that again!” Emma said, trying to keep her temper at a low simmer toward her mostly well-meaning neighbor.
“Aww, come on Gummy!” Evan said with a bit of singsong in his voice. Pushing the rolling office chair away from himself, the lumbering dolt took a step toward the wide-eyed girl before raising both hands in the air. “It’s just a little tickle between friends!”
Stepping back instinctively, her bare feet moving from the rug to the cool wooden floor, Emma raised a hand. “No. No!” She repeated, each new word far more serious than the one before it. Raising an index finger as Evan’s own fingers began to wiggle, the hopelessly out-powered girl knew she had mere seconds to convince her friend how deathly genuine and very much not a game her demands were. “Evan, I swear to god if you tickle me again I’ll-“
“Cootchy coo!” The giant fool teased, launching his hulking mass of muscle toward her.
“Get away!” Emma balked, turning quickly toward the small area where her couch and TV were. Realizing her mistake having surrounded herself by furniture the panicky girl took a little too long deciding whether if it would be easier to jump the couch or her flimsy side table in order for escape. Before she had decided Evan was already closing in, wiggling fingers accompanying his big dumb grin. “No! Eeeheiii!” She squealed as the burly young man’s hands honed in on her tummy.
Buckling over, the giggling girl’s hefty bosom bounced beneath her pajama top. Slapping at Evan’s thick forearms as she stepped backward at a rapid pace, the uncoordinated girl bumped back into her living room wall. Trapped between the wall, Evan and his curious hands, Emma knew from past experience that she only had a few seconds before becoming a giggly mess on the floor.
“STOP!” The fuming girl growled, setting aside her friendship for the sake of anger. Unfortunately the stream of unstoppable schoolgirl laughter that followed her exasperated plea deflated her desperate effort of any power it might have had. Then, just as Evan landed a particularly devastating pinch right above her hipbone, Emma’s knees gave up and she sunk down to the carpet.
“Ohh, you’re in trouble now Gumshoe!” Evan teased, bending over to effortlessly poke and prod at the poor girl beneath him. “Or should I call you No-Shoe?”
“Naha! Noohahaha!” Convulsing helplessly and slapping at her attacker’s hands, the virtually defenseless girl tried to speak. The big boy’s silly joke about wearing no shoes had suddenly made Emma all too aware of her very bare, and excruciatingly ticklish feet. Drowning in her own involuntary laughter, she could not get a full sentence out to save herself. “It’s not fahaha! Aeeheeie! It’s not funneeheeheiie!”
“You’re so ticklish Gummy!” The native Nebraskan said gleefully. Lowering himself down to his knees, the large lad wiggled his fingers up to the bewildered girl’s lower ribcage.
“Aahahaha!” Emma cackled, her cheeks flushed red as she rolled aimlessly among the few short inches between her rock solid friend and the living room wall. Kicking and hitting the wall, the fitful redhead turned her back on Evan, swinging her elbows backward in an attempt to strike his kneeling legs. She might not have wanted to hurt him, not really, but as her desperation grew so too did her willingness to cause pain.
Unfortunately for Emma, as the bumbling boy’s fingers crept higher up her soft ribs, simply having the desire to fight back wasn’t enough. In her horribly weakened state every determined swing of her elbows did no more good than the rest of her fruitless struggling. Seemingly quite oblivious to his squealing friend’s violent efforts and her very real pleas for the big farmboy to stop tickling her, Evan chuckled with the same gleeful grin one might have when wrestling a friendly dog. Knowing she could not break free and that her boisterous neighbor was too dense to properly appreciate the situation, Emma screamed with as much aggressive force as she could muster.
“AAGGHH!” The petit girl roared, slamming her open palms into the wall.
“Ohh, you okay there Em’?” Evan asked, leaning over the red faced young woman and finally ceasing his ticklish assault. “You bang your knee or something?”
Panting heavily, Emma wrapped her arms around herself as Evan shifted back to give her some room. Slumping over onto her back, fiery mane of frizzy hair splayed out behind her, the much relieved girl rolled her eyes before looking at the perplexed young man beside her. Horrible as rolling around on her living room floor for several minutes had been, Evan seemed incapable of wicked intent.
“Yeah.” The slowly recovering redhead said as she sat herself upright. “I banged my knee.”
“Dang, I’m sorry!” The large lad said, reaching out for a consoling touch toward his friend’s shoulder.
“Uh-that-that’s alright.” Emma said, waving away his kind gesture. “But I should um, I should get back to work.”
“Oh-oh sure!” Evan slapped the tops of his own thighs. “I should get going anyway…” The doe eyed dolt said as he stood to full height. “I’m probably pretty late for work!”
After closing the door behind her brawny friend, and making sure to lock it securely, Emma sat back in her chair. Staring back at the rain hitting her apartment window, the bare foot girl thought about the last time she had been tickled so much. There had been the odd dates over the years, a quick pinch or playful bit of foreplay, but nothing that had lasted more than a few seconds. No, the last time Emma had truly been tickled prior to that morning was by Jason Whitmore in 12th grade. And while Evan had not a shred of cruel intention in his body, Jason Whitmore seemed to be composed entirely of them. So too, Emma knew, did the math teacher, Mr. Lucas.
Turning back to her computer screen the curious girl wondered just what it was about tickling that seemed to keep popping up back home. More so, she wondered if the girls in white were at all connected to Jason Whitmore and the math teacher, Mr. Lucas. How in all of it did Wendy Starr keep getting caught up, if any of it was related at all. Being a journalist and naturally curious, she did not believe it was all a coincidence. Perhaps against her better judgment, it was then and there that Emma Clark decided to find out either way.
Chapter Two: Pay With Interest
1800 miles away from New York and a few hours later Wendy Starr was arriving for her afternoon shift at Glitter Grabbers. Strolling by the heavy-set day bouncer, who offered little more than a half-hearted flick of his chin for a greeting, the scantily clad twenty-two year old was clearly not part of the midday clientele. Sporting her regularly worn Ugg boots the leggy 5’8ft girl left the light of day as she entered into the dingy dark of the club’s foyer. Stopping for a moment to let her vision adjust, the blue-eyed dirty blonde flicked her tiny handbag aside so she could smooth out her tiny denim miniskirt. Looking down over her ballooning cleavage, the bosomy young woman made some effort to tug down the light pink short sleeve number barely covering her midriff. Wendy didn’t normally mind showing a little skin, but recent events had made her a touch paranoid.
Wandering from the foyer into the bar area, music blared as Donna, otherwise known as Jo Cocker, was on stage performing her set for a half dozen barely interested men scattered around the place. Every other table, along with the bar stools, was empty and no one seemed to be spending a whole lot of cash. Situation normal, Wendy thought as she moved passed the bar where Bobby the bartender appeared to be half asleep. Reaching the door that lead backstage the buxom girl reached for the handle, only for it to open before she got a grip on it.
“There you are!” Said Sapphire, which was very much her real name. “Skip’s looking for you.”
“I’m not late.” Wendy said with a hint of confusion as she made her way into the narrow hall. “What does he want?”
“No idea.” The fake tanned Latina said as she closed the door behind them. “Scarlet just told everyone to send you there first.”
Turning to her friend, the comparatively tall girl shrugged. “I’m probably fired.”
“Don’t say that.” Sapphire frowned, shaking her head. “You’re one of his best dancers.”
“Have you seen it out there?” The voluptuous young woman said and pointed back to the door. “There’s what, four, five of us working on a Monday afternoon? It’s dead.”
“Maybe he’s moving you onto evenings?” The shorter girl smiled, making an attempt to lighten the mood. “Besides, would being fired really be the worst thing? You could easily make more money over at Long Neck.”
“Nah.” Wendy returned the smile, appreciating her friend’s optimism. “Too many bikers over there. Too much trouble.”
“Oh yeah, like the guys Skip works with are any better?”
“Whatever.” The busty blonde said, turning away with a cheeky grin. “Maybe Starbucks will have me!”
“Probably.” Sapphire said, following her coworker down the hall. “You’ve definitely got the basic bitch thing down.”
“Ha!” Wendy laughed along with her friend and waved a hand dismissively. “Eat me!”
Leaving Sapphire behind at the dressing room, Wendy continued on down the hall toward her employer’s office. Skip wasn’t altogether a bad guy, especially according to some of the girls who had worked the other clubs. Mostly he was fair going and on a good day not entirely bad looking either. After all, Skip was the one who had given her a chance fresh out of high school when no one else would. Even dancing the afternoon shift allowed Wendy to afford her own modest apartment just a couple of blocks from the club. Naturally neither the apartment nor her place of employment were in the most glamorous part of town, but it beat living in the trailer park where she had spent most of her life.
“Hey, come in.” Skip said from behind his desk in the dimly lit office, motioning Wendy to come in a flick of his index finger. “Shut the door.”
A tall and sinewy man in his early forties, Skip’s slicked back hair had turned silver before his time. His original dark hair colour could still be seen in the stubble of his beard, but even that had become peppered with glints of white in recent months. Lines on his face betrayed what youth he had left and the usually irked looking man never seemed to aim any higher. A pity, most of the girls agreed in their dressing room gossip sessions, if Skip would only try wearing a suit instead of his usual torn jeans and black t-shirt he would probably clean up pretty good.
“Sapphire said you wanted to see me?” Wendy said, closing the door and muting the music from Donna’s set.
“Yeah, look.” The slightly agitated man said as he pawed through a mess of papers on his messy desk. “I was going through the weekend’s numbers and you’re looking short.”
“Really?” Furrowing her brow, the leggy girl sounded genuinely confused. “I tallied everything before I left on Friday.“
Giving up on searching his paperwork, Skip opened his hands in surrender-like manner. “You left on private gig though, right?” He asked, clearly not expecting an answer. “You know I don’t mind you taking outcalls but I need my cut. You’ve worked here long enough to know deposits need to be made over the weekend.”
“There was no cut.” Wendy shrugged. “The job didn’t work out, I never got paid.”
Leaning back in his squeaky old chair, the frustrated man sighed. “You left early, on my dime no less, to take the job…no?”
“I’m…I guess, yeah, I’m sorry but-“ The busty girl stammered, not entirely sure how any of this was fair. “It wasn’t my fault, the whole thing went wrong, I had to get out of there.”
“Look…” Skip said, placing his palm flat against one of the few uncovered spaces on his desktop. “Bottom line? The fact you didn’t get paid is annoying, to say the least. But the real problem, Wendy-“ He paused and made a fist, tapping the bottom of his hand gently against the desk. “-is that you fucked up the job.”
“I didn’t, I-“ The defensive girl began, only to be quickly interrupted.
“-Those girls who came in here on Friday? They were gorgeous.” The tall man opened his hand again. “More importantly, they were throwing money around like nobody’s business. Those are the kind of customers I, and you by the way, should want a lot of repeat business from.”
Wendy tensed her jaw a little at the thought of having to repeat Friday night’s debacle that ended with her running naked through the countryside.
“So.” Skip continued. “If those girls come back in here and want to take you somewhere and have you dance for them and do…whatever-” He waved both hands as he spoke. “-then you let them do it. Any of the other girls would have killed for that gig.”
“You-you don’t understand.” Wendy shuffled in her boots. “They, those girls, they didn’t just want me to dance. All they really wanted to do was…” She swallowed, preparing herself to utter the words aloud. “They tickled me. They were tickling the other girls too in the private rooms before I left, ask any of them. Sapphire, Scarlet…”
“I read your bit in the paper, I don’t care.” The irritable man shook his head. “If they want to tickle you, let them tickle you. You could have made out very well, we all could have with the way those girls were tipping.”
“You don’t get it.” Slumping her shoulders, the bosomy woman resigned herself to the fact few people could ever understand her plight.
“Listen-“ Skip said, standing up from his chair. “-your job, your only job, is to bring money into this place.” The older man’s mood seemed to lighten a little as he rounded the desk toward Wendy. “If you can’t do that one thing because you’ve got some weird hang up about being tickled, then you need to get over it.”
“I wish I could!” Wendy said, widening her eyes to drive home the point. “I can’t just get it over it Skip. You just can’t understand, but I’m super ticklish! It’s not the same for you.”
“Well then if you can’t get over it…” The silver haired man said as he stepped closer, very much into the blonde’s personal space. “Maybe you just need to get used to it!”
“Hey!” The buxom girl shifted her hips quickly as Skip’s left hand darted up and pinched her side.
“You’ll pay one way or another girl!” Skip said, clawing both hands toward the voluptuous young woman’s midsection.
“Eeeha! Noho!” Wendy squealed, stumbling backward as she tried to fend off her boss’ invading fingers. “Dohon’t!”
In a flurry of clumsy action the buxom girl’s fleshy cleavage jiggled as she tried to avoid Skip’s surprise tickle attack. Backing her well-rounded butt right into the office door, the sensitive girl’s handbag slid clean off her shoulder and landed on the floor. With nowhere left to go, Wendy planted her back directly against the door and tried her best to focus on fighting back. Caught of guard and outmatched in both height and strength, the big man looming over her had little trouble snaking around the blonde’s feeble defenses.
“See?! You could’ve got paid to do this!” Skip said, pressing his body up against the awkwardly dancing girl, effectively pinning her to the door as he goosed her sides. “Now you’re just getting tickled for free!”
“Noeeheehee! Skip!” Trapped between her boss’ torso and the door behind, the poor girl’s big blue eyes were wide, as she couldn’t even get a decent grip on his quickly wiggling fingers. “Stop! Eeeha! Stop it!”
“I’ll stop when I get my money’s worth!” The unkempt man said, unrelenting as he squeezed both hands up and down from the fitful girl’s hips to her ribs. “Including the future business we probably lost!”
“Nohoahaha! Skipstop! Aeheeheeii! Wendy gasped as she took hold of the older man’s forearms and strained to pull them away.
Naturally the painfully ticklish girl’s efforts to wrestle her boss were no use. Her laughter increasing in both pitch and frequency, Wendy knew her only way out was down. Unfortunately, as she knew well from past experience, dropping to the floor was a high risk, high reward maneuver. Much to her disdain, Skip’s sudden attack was not the first time the chesty dancer had found herself pinned and tickled between a man and a hard surface.
A little over a year before Wendy had been in the all too familiar situation with a rather dashing one-night stand. Seeing no other choice she had collapsed onto the boy’s bedroom floor, where fortunately the single evening lover decided to end his playful assault and move on to far more favorable activities. Two years prior to that successful escape however, Wendy had attempted the same move and it backfired miserably. In that instance, caught between the fridge in her mother’s trailer and her older sister’s boyfriend, the voluptuous young woman threw herself downward only for the boy to climb on top of her and continue tickling.
“Where you going?!” Skip said as his loudly laughing employee slid down the doorway and joined her handbag on the floor.
“No! Ehehee! Nowhere!” Realizing immediately that her daring maneuver had failed the busty girl launched herself onto all fours. Trying to crawl away, Wendy scrambled halfway passed her boss’ legs before his tickling fingers caught up with her. “Eeeiiii!” She tensed trying to keep herself from falling any further as Skip’s determined digits dug into her tender ribs. Batting one hand behind herself to try and swat the man away, Wendy’s cheeks were blushing pink. “Stohohop! Eeeheh! You dick! Aheehee!”
“A dick am I?!” The tall man said, probably less offended than he was acting. Skip got called a lot worse on a daily basis, no doubt.
Drilling his fingertips harshly into the soft spots between the girl’s heaving ribs caused her to spasm wildly. The one arm holding her off the floor buckled as she screamed and Wendy’s upper half toppled down, leaving her shapely ass in the air. Flapping both arms and still trying to wriggle away, the curvaceous blonde’s panicked movements caused her teeny tiny miniskirt to fall upward. Getting nowhere fast as Skip continued to hammer at her ribs, the unfortunate wardrobe malfunction exposed her almost entirely bare butt cheeks and the thin thread of a neon pink g-string between them.
“About time you did something useful!” Skip teased, giving the flustered girl’s plump right ass cheek a firm squeeze.
“YEEII!” Wendy shrieked, shooting her legs out backward and leaving her entire body face down on the floor.
“You are a stripper!” The older man said, dropping to his knees as he grabbed at the bottom of his employee’s form fitting t-shirt. “So strip!”
“Nono!” Rolling on to one side as her creamy white midriff was exposed, the powerless girl struggled to keep her shirt down. “I’ll pay! I’ll pay!” She wheezed, rapidly pushing at her boss’ big hands.
“You are paying!” Skip said, forcing the thin material up and over the blonde’s bulbous breasts. Barely contained by a lacey purple bra, the bosomy dancer’s cushy flesh ballooned out from the top and sides. “With interest!”
“Eiiiieee!” The poor girl curled into the fetal position as the handsome older man’s fingers poked riotously into her bare tummy.
A wide-open mouth grin involuntarily plastered across her face, Wendy had been rapidly losing control since the moment Skip first pinched her. The more seconds of cruel tickling went by the less her frantic movements were made by conscious decision. Her cheeks red and far more of her hyperticklish skin on display than bearable, the cackling girl was acting more on instinct with every pinch and poke. Buckled over the devilish man’s hands, Wendy gathered up whatever scraps of willpower she could find and took an open-handed swing toward his face.
“Nice try!” Skip said, the girl’s hand sailing clean by his jaw by at least two inches. Tragically the bold attempt at a slap not only misfired, it also exposed the blonde’s barely covered underarm, which her attacker took full advantage of.
“AHHH! AAHAHA!” Clamping her arm down quickly, the hapless young woman roared with laughter as the man’s wiggling fingers wormed into her silky smooth hollow.
With her arm held tightly to her side, Wendy had trapped her boss’ fingers in the exact spot she didn’t want them. Lifting her arm again would surely expose more of her agonizingly ticklish flesh, but keeping it there held his dastardly digits stroking deep into her underarm. There was no good option, and as Skip’s other hand clawed at her abdomen with his fingers spread wide the flailing girl could do little but laugh loudly and kick her long legs to no avail.
“Skip.” A familiar voice said from the doorway, and went ignored. “Skip!” She said again, the older man not responding as he continued to drive poor Wendy out of her mind. “SKIP!”
“What?!” The tall club owner snapped, finally turning around and pulling his hands off the partially disrobed blonde in the process.
“What the hell are you doing?” Scarlet said from the open door. Gasping for air on the floor, the center of her tummy a light shade of pink, Wendy could recognize her fellow stripper’s fiery red mane a mile away.
“I’m teaching her a lesson-“ Skip said, turning back to the buxom blonde who had begun to make a not-so-stealthy retreat. Pausing for a moment, the much stronger man grabbed a firm hold of Wendy’s left wrist. “-in fiscal responsibility.”
“Well can you stop?” Scarlet huffed, paying no attention to the wincing girl struggling to free herself from their boss’ grip. “We can hear her all the way down the hall.”
“Unless you want to swap places, get back to work.” The noticeably irritated man said, flexing his arm as Wendy continued to try and pry herself free. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
“Fine…” The disgruntled woman said with a roll of her eyes and started to step back out into the hall.
“Nono! Scarlet!” Wendy said, frantically shaking her firmly held arm. “Scarlet, WAIT!”
“Enough out of you.” Skip said, turning his attention back to the bosomy blonde as the office door clicked shut behind him. Pulling the girl’s arm toward him, the silver haired club owner swung one leg over her hips and straddled her, squeezing his legs tight. Forced onto her back, Wendy struggled to drag herself out from under the overbearing man.
“I learned my lesson! I did!” The desperate girl said, eager to say anything that might end her woeful trouble. Before she could even think of a more promising negotiation any success was quickly dashed as Skip hooked his fingers under the top of each bra cup and yanked them downward. “Skip!” Wendy squawked, quickly covering her now very bare boobs as they spilled out into the open.
“I told you to strip!” Taking each of her slender wrists in his hands, the larger man easily pulled her arms out to each side. Wendy’s big pink nipples sat erect atop her puffy areoles, her huge boobs pushed up by the bra that had been stuffed just underneath.
“Skip-unh-stop!” The bare breasted blonde winced, shaking her head as her boss pinned her hands down either side of her head.
“What are you more upset about, hm?” Skip said, keeping his busty employee firmly held under him. “The stripping or the tickling?”
“The tickling!” The squirming girl stressed with great emphasis as she strained to push her arms up off the floor.
“Sucks to be you.” The older man said without a shadow of empathy. Releasing the leggy girl’s wrists, he immediately shot his hands down to her fully exposed sides.
“Nyyaaaheeeiiiheeehee!” Wendy exploded, curling upward and tensing her abdomen. Clambering her hands at her boss’ deep-diving fingers the loudly giggling girl kept her upperbody held upright as she shook her long hair madly. The top of her head pressed against Skip’s chest, the frenzied blonde’s big naked boobs jiggled between them. Unable to fight her way free, Wendy threw herself back toward the floor and twisted herself in an effort to grab at the floor.
“Those rich girls wanted to tickle your naked ass-“ The bare chested girl’s employer said as he dug five fingers viciously into her abdomen. “-so that’s what you get!”
“Naaahahaha!” Rolling from side to side, her long legs kicking out behind the taller man, the desperate dancer’s umpteenth escape attempt had failed before it began. “Skiiihihihip! Eeeeheeheiii!” Batting helplessly at the man’s sporadically moving hands the furiously giggling girl could no longer finish a single word without laughing, but a rapidly declining vocabulary was the least of her problems. Almost as alarming as the tickling itself was a feeling Wendy had only felt once or maybe twice before, and it was infinitely more confusing than being terribly ticklish. What the feverishly laughing girl felt as Skip’s ten fingers raced up and down her convulsing sides was the unmistakable, and very much involuntary sensation, of being hotly aroused.
Her swollen nipples were a key indicator but as a rogue finger swiped far too close to her belly button, the bewildered blonde felt the familiar glow of lust. As Wendy’s eyes shot open wide and her entire face turned bright red she recalled in flashes of unwanted memory the previous times her body had betrayed her in similar fashion. Perplexing as it was infuriating, the first time the trapped young woman had been turned on while being tickled was in the company of a fellow student back in her senior year of high school. Jason Whitmore, the popular and secretly sinister star football player, had given Wendy the worst tickling of her life by a country mile. The second time had not been until the very same incident that lead her to being tormented on her boss’ office floor. Friday night, the girls in white. Six of them surrounding her naked body.
Unable to shake the memories as Skip’s vile hands explored her torso without pause, the wordlessly laughing blonde knew she would soon start to moisten her panties. Shamefully, Wendy had given herself cause over the years to think back on her time with Jason Whitmore and the horror he put her through. Without question the torturous tickling Jason had subjected her to had been the worst experience of the buxom girl’s young life. Yet every now and then, in her most private moments, Wendy would recall that nightmarish day and gingerly slip her hand down between her thighs. Some nights she would wake from actual nightmares of the fingers that stroked and flickered all over her most sensitive spots. On those nights, she always woke wet.
“Skip!” Scarlet’s voice barked again. The tall man turned faster that time, just as tears were beginning to well in the breathless blonde’s eyes.
“I told you-“ Skip began through gritted teeth, only to be cut off by his redheaded employee standing at the door.
“Wendy’s on in five minutes.” The unamused woman said sharply. “She’s going to be late for her set.”
Turning away from the door, the silver haired man looked down at the loudly gasping girl between his knees. Wendy’s cheeks and forehead were beet red, her eyes welling with tears. Long dirty-blonde hair splayed out underneath her. Her naked breasts raised and lowered with each quick, heavy breath and almost every inch from her ribs down to her hips was coloured a bright pink hue. As much as the obvious bulge beneath Skip’s jeans wanted him to keep her there, the money Wendy would earn on stage was just that much more tempting.
“Go get yourself cleaned up.” The tall man said nonchalantly as he climbed off of the half-exhausted girl. “You and I can settle up later.”
“One more thing.” Scarlet said as her boss wandered back behind his desk.
“What?”
“Not you, her.” The blazing haired woman said, pointing to her disheveled coworker on the floor a few feet away. “You got a message, hun. Some girl wanting you to call.”
“What girl?” Wendy asked, scrunching her face a little as she tugged her bra back up.
“Hopefully it’s them chicks from Friday.” Skip said as he slumped back into his chair.
“No, I don’t think so.” Scarlet said, shaking her head. “Said her name was Emma.”
Chapter Three: Interview With a Victim (#1)
On her break Wendy called the number from the message that had been left and was surprised to hear the voice of Emma Clark. While the two had shared a few classes together throughout high school and were cordial enough in their rare exchanges, neither ever knew the other very well. After some pleasantries and small talk, Emma invited Wendy for coffee whenever she might be free. This was how Emma Clarke and Wendy Starr met each other at 9pm in a small late night café a couple of blocks from the Glitter Grabber club. It was not the last time the two ever saw each other in person, but it was how they best liked to remember each other.
“This is so weird!” Wendy said, just as bubbly and cheerful as Emma remembered her, or at least she was pretending to be.
“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy…” Emma said as the taller girl wrapped her arms around the redhead and gave her an affectionate hug.
“So, New York huh?” The giddy blonde grinned, pulling back from the hug and giving the smaller woman a friendly push on the shoulder. “That’s got to be amazing!”
“Huh, yeah. It’s different alright.” Finding it difficult to feign joy in the presence of the one person she felt so much guilt for. “Shall we sit?”
“Oh yeah!” Wendy said, tossing her small handbag onto the table. “You have GOT to tell me about New York!”
“Uh…well…New York.” Sitting opposite the long legged young woman, Emma’s own outfit of jeans and a t-shirt seemed far more modest than Wendy’s miniskirt. “It’s um, it’s big alright.”
“Oh, of course it’s big! Even I knew that!” Waving a hand, the taller girl laughed.
“Well, why don’t you come out sometime?” Emma said. She certainly didn’t judge Wendy for her choices after graduation. Still, the redhead’s question was prompted by the thought that perhaps their hometown wasn’t giving the young Ms. Starr a lot of opportunity in life. “You know somewhere there now.” She smiled.
“Really? Haha!” The taller girl said. “Can you imagine, me in New York City? I bet they have some fine strip clubs there huh?”
Emma looked around the quiet café, laughing sheepishly at the chance anyone had overheard the blonde. “There’s plenty of work. I’d could even help you find something, if you’d like.”
Wendy paused, she looked down at the table and laughed softly. “You’re real sweet Em’.” The broad smile she had worn since the moment the two girls had met dimmed slightly, though didn’t disappear completely. “You know, I think you’re the first person who’s ever made me an offer like that without wanting to get into my pants.”
“You have my number now.”
“Yeah…” The buxom girl said, slipping into silent thought for a few seconds. When the thought was done her big blue eyes lit up and her broad grin returned, like a light switch going on in the dancer’s head. “And you, the big city reporter!”
“Heh, yeah. Not quite, but-“ The smaller girl said, quickly cut off by the vivacious woman sitting opposite.
“Now, now!” Wendy said. “Don ‘t down play it, you’ve gone a lot further than most folk from this town. Heck, I bet you’ve broken a bunch of big stories already!”
“You never know.” The curvy journalist said, making a point to make direct eye contact. “Right now I’m kind of thinking the story’s here.”
“Haha oh yeah, I was pretty surprised to get your call.” Wendy said, wobbling her head in a fanciful fashion. “I’m guessing you want to know about the other night?”
“If you’re okay to talk about it. If not, we can enjoy our coffee. And my offer still stands about New York, either way.”
Tapping her long nails on the table, the busty blonde thought for a moment. “I guess…you’re not going to use my name are you?”
“Nono.” Emma said with a quick shake of her head. “This is just exploratory. Fact gathering. No names until later, if I need them, and then I won’t mention you if you don’t want.”
“Okay well, I’ll tell you whatever you want but they already did a story. I think you might be late to the party.”
“The thing is Wendy…” The redhead hesitated. She had thought about Wendy and her time trapped in Mr. Lucas’ office a great deal. For the entire plane ride Emma had debated with herself whether or not to confess that she had been there that evening, right outside the office door. In the moment, finally face to face with the source of her internal conflict, she remained undecided. “That story they did, I don’t think it really told the true story. That piece, the way it was written, it was like a…”
“It wasn’t very dramatic.” Wendy said, surprising Emma with her perceptiveness.
“No. No, it wasn’t.” Emma said. “In fact I’d go so far as to say it was silly. They completely glossed over what happened to you and focused almost everything on the farmers who found you.” The freckle-faced girl’s mood soured considerably, irritated by the notion of sloppy, irresponsible journalism. “I’d like to know what happened before you met Mr. and Mrs. Brown. When you met the girls in white, and how you ended up in the countryside.”
“The girls in white…” The blonde repeated in a whisper as she let her mind reel back to a few days before. “Well, they weren’t in white when I first met ‘em.” Wendy said, her smile turning from gleeful to almost non-existent as she went on to tell the untold tale of her previous Friday. “I work the afternoons mostly, it’s slow until around dinner time except for the occasional bunch of yuppies who come in for a business lunch or whatever. Friday, ‘round three maybe, everything’s quiet, normal day and these…” The blonde paused as if trying to think of another word. “…girls come in. They’re all young and pretty.”
“How were they dressed?” Emma asked.
“Normal? Like normal women out for a good time.” The buxom girl turned out her bottom lip a little. “Anyway, they come in and like, right away they’re throwing cash around. They all had money to burn. Me and the other dancers, we were loving it. Pulling out all our best moves. Have you ever thought about strippin’?”
“It never occurred to me.”
“You could…” Wendy grinned, looking the suddenly rather bashful redhead up and down. “You’ve always had that whole cute thing going on, but I can tell you’re hot as a Carolina pepper underneath!”
“Let’s just…let’s get back to you.” Emma blushed, scratching the back of her neck where there was no itch.
“Haha, alright you.” The blonde said through her amused grin. “Where was I? Oh right, so these girls are tipping and buying drinks and then after a bit they start getting private dances. The owner, Skip-” Wendy’s demeanor shifted briefly, her expression turning to one of borderline anger. “-who is an asshole, by the way-” She said and returned quickly back to her cheerful self. “-he’s about ready to cream his jeans at all the money we were making. But, and I didn’t think anything of it at the time, all the girls kept ticklin’ us. You know, you’re not really supposed to let customers touch you but with the private dances there’s a curtain so…and besides, it was girls right? What are they gonna do?”
“You and the other dancers, you didn’t mind that they were tickling you?”
“It wasn’t like it was a whole lot.” Wendy said. “I could hear the other girls laughing a little a bit and I got pinched or whatever a couple times. It was playful, there was no reason to think it was anything more than that.”
“And now?” Emma said, lifting her coffee cup halfway off the table. “You think it was something else?”
“Honestly? And you can all me crazy if you want.” The blonde said. “I think they were testing us. I think they were trying to figure out which of us was the most ticklish.”
“Why do you think someone would do that?”
“Well I’ve been wondering that since Friday and I still don’t know.” Wendy laughed a little. “I get it with boys, but girls I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh you know boys.” The taller girl said as she looked up from under her neatly trimmed brow. “Boys’ll tickle you just to tickle you, especially if you’re ticklish. Gives them an excuse to put their hands on you, or they’re just mean, or both. Just this morning my boss tickled the shit out of me, the bastard.”
“Your boss?” Emma said, even more confused by Wendy’s continued run-ins with tickling than she was already. Perhaps Wendy, by some cosmic smack of terrible luck, was just a magnet for being tickled. Perhaps there was no story after all.
“Right on his office floor, can you believe that?” The busty girl said. “Perv had some excuse about owing money cause of what happened Friday. Those girls really did a number on me, you know?”
“So you went with them, the girls?”
“Hm…yeah. I guess we’re getting to it now, aren’t we?” Wendy said, nodding gently. “We go on house calls or outcalls, whatever, all the time. Bachelor parties, that sort of thing. Skip gets a cut, we make better money than we would on stage. Everyone wins.”
“Is it normal to end up that far out of the city?” The redhead said before taking a sip of her drink.
Shaking her head, the bosomy girl said “No, no way. I still don’t even really know where we were. They had a big limo, windows were all blacked out. Couldn’t see anything.”
“How long were you driving for, do you know?”
“Mmm…” Wendy pursed her full lips off to one side and looked up in the opposite direction as she thought. “We were really out in the sticks. An hour and a half, maybe two.”
“You ended up in a house?” The redhead said.
“A house, no.” The blonde laughed and shook her head. “This was uh, a palace. Not really, but a mansion definitely.”
“I see.” Emma said with one eyebrow raised. She didn’t see at all, in fact she was completely baffled by the whole scenario. A thousand question rattled around in her head and none of the answers the inquisitive girl could imagine made even a little sense. “What about the ride out there? Did the girls do anything or…?”
“Nothing.” The buxom girl said, sounding a little surprised. “They talked, mostly to each other. Kind of ignored me actually, until we got there.”
“Was anyone else there, at the mansion?”
“The place was so big, I have no idea.” Wendy said. “I didn’t see anybody. We just went inside, up this huge set of stairs and into a…not a living room really, more like…like kind of a hang out room? Leather couches in a circle. It was kind of weird.”
“What did you think at the time?”
“I thought I was going to be making a lot of money.” The blonde quipped, chuckling at her own wit. “No, I didn’t really think anything was off until the girls left me alone. Said they were going to go freshen up, came back a few minutes later and they were all wearing like, kind of spandex?”
“Spandex?”
“Something like that.” Wendy said, and it seemed clear her mind had already moved on to the next part of her sorrowful story. “I danced…they watched, except for the white suits and the giant mansion it was all pretty normal. Then…” She paused for a long moment, staring at her coffee. “...when I was done, I mean naked, they all got up to dance with me.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No, no it was fine. Even kind of fun at first.” The voluptuous dancer said. “But after a few minutes, just a little bit, they started tickling me. They kept doing it more and more. I guess I should have figured it out but…”
“You couldn’t have known.” Emma said, her sympathy genuine. Imagining herself in a similar scenario sent a chill up the shorter girl’s spine.
“Well, you might not get this, but I have this thing, when I’m tickled really bad?” The leggy girl asked rhetorically. “I tend to just end up on the floor.”
“Oh no…I understand. Believe me.”
“Really?” Wendy laughed softly, relieved by the rare show of empathy on the subject. “It’s the worst, isn’t it?” She lowered her voice, careful so as only Emma could hear. “All they need to do is wiggle a finger and we’re just putty in their hands…is it like that for you?”
“More or less.” Emma nodded, knowing full well she had never experienced the lengths of torment Wendy had.
“I hate that, the loss of power. Controlled by something so small.” The blonde continued. “One minute I’m dancing and the next minute I’m on the floor laughing my ass off. All six of those bitches were tickling me and I am screaming for them to stop. The fun was over, you know?”
“I can imagine.” The budding journalist said, recalling with great dread the sounds of Wendy’s howling laughter from years before. “How did you get away?”
“Okay so, this is the really, really weird part.” Wendy said, raising her eyebrows and pausing for dramatic effect. “At some point, I don’t know exactly when, some of the girls started tickling each other. None of them seemed to really enjoy being tickled, I don’t think, but they really enjoyed being one of the ticklers. Eventually I noticed they were all so busy having this giant tickle fight they pretty much forgot about me. I didn’t even grab my clothes, I just ran like hell.”
“They let you go?”
“Oh no, they chased me.” The taller girl said, her lips smiling but her eyes distant, a little sad. “I was so scared because….because I knew if they caught me they wouldn’t bother tickling each other anymore. They were going to get me and…well, I really don’t want to think about what they would have done.”
“Do you mean they would have hurt you?” Emma said, narrowing her eyes.
The shapely blonde shook her head. “No, nono. They weren’t interested in pain or anything like that. Suffering, I think…I think they enjoyed that part, making whoever they were tickling upset. It was always tickling though. And like, I’m running and I can’t help thinking about what they’re going to do if they catch me, and I’m laughing. Like really laughing.”
“But you weren’t being tickled at the time?”
“Once I got away they never touched me.” Wendy said. “Dancing five days a week keeps me pretty fit.” She said, sliding her coffee cup around the table aimlessly. “It’s like…it’s hard to explain. Have you ever had someone stop tickling you, or about to tickle you, and you keep laughing anyway?
“No, but I think I know what you mean.” The redhead said, sympathetic to her new friend.
“Okay so, it was like that.” Wendy said. “I was naked, terrified and laughing like crazy. It was a madhouse. I knew if I didn’t get away I’d be driven out of my mind.”
Emma shook her head in disbelief. She believed the bosomy blonde of course, she believed every word. From there, as Wendy told it, she had run through a maze of hallways, downstairs and finally found her way out through a kitchen window. As best the bubbly girl could remember she had spent the rest of the night, bare ass under the stars before running into the elderly farmers. Old Mr. Brown had given Wendy a ride home in his pick up truck, in which she promptly passed out, exhausted.
Over the course of the next hour Emma asked every question she could think of to gather more detail. Wendy, helpful though she wanted to be, had little memory of much beyond the broad strokes from her Friday evening. Naturally the investigative redhead could not blame the buxom blonde, and imagined she herself would not be a lot of help either after such an experience. Worst of all, there seemed to be no connection between the girls in white, Jason Whitmore and Mr. Lucas. When Emma and Wendy parted ways and promised to hang out again, Emma knew she would need to conduct more interviews.
Continued...
