TickleMantis
4th Level Red Feather
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Hello Again Friends! 
Mid-March already? That must mean it's time for the third of the five short stories I'm posting each month!
As with the previous two tales of ticklish torment, there's no need at all to have ready anything else -this is a completely standalone affair. For those of you have been keeping up with the core Tickle Tutor series however, you may recognize this month's protagonist; Izan! Izan was a relatively late addition to the series and has remained mostly a mystery -until now! To find out more about the enigmatic and sadistically sinister fellow, read on...
I hope you all enjoy this third of the five stories. As always, any comments, compliments, critiques or queries are always welcomed!
'Mantis
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Tickle Tutor: Collateral
A Short Story Collection From The World of Tickle Tutor
By TickleMantis
M/f
Scary men, hard men, those were the type of sour faced fellows that stood around Don Collazo’s picturesque pool. Or, they thought they were tough at any rate. By Izan’s estimation not one among them was more than a halfwit, all brawn and mean-stares with little to back it up besides the guns clumsily held in their oafish, unskilled hands. The Don himself wasn’t much better, a little smarter and good bit meaner maybe, but still the same breed of insecure, anxiety-ridden imbecile who fancied himself a gangster. It was all so surface level. Izan knew mean men, and these cartel goons and their ox-headed boss didn’t begin to measure up.
“Senor Rocha.” Don Collazo smiled politely.
“Don Collazo.” Izan inclined his head. A feigned act of respect, one that came across as real as any of the other usual human acts he performed almost daily. “It is an honor.” He lied well.
“I appreciate you coming all this way.” The Don gestured to a nearby table under a large umbrella, the only spot shaded from the searing Mexican sun. “You father seems convinced you can help me out.”
“I’ll do everything I can, Don Collazo.”
“You’re how old now?”
“Eighteen and some months.” Izan took a seat, a pleasant yet not-too-joyful smile upon his normally emotionless face.
“Young, very young.” Glaring at one of his men, the Don sat opposite and pointed at a pair of empty glasses. “I have a lot of young men in my employ, you understand? I rarely meet any of them, to have one sitting at my table –one that does not even work for me- I want you to appreciate how much respect I have for your father to make this happen.”
“My father is a great man.” And one of perhaps two men on the entire planet that the icy-eyed young man had any actual respect for. “He would not send me here to let you down.”
“No, I do not believe he would. It is strange though, Basilio was very guarded about telling me exactly how it is you’re supposed to help me.”
“I understand.” Izan leaned back a little as one of the Don’s henchmen poured a jug of ice water into their glasses. “To tell you the truth, Don Collazo, I am reluctant to tell you myself. The fact of the matter is, if my father were to explain it, you would likely deny him.”
“Basilio Rocha is not a man even a Don of my standing says ‘no’ to without good reason.”
“And you would, I believe, think you had good reason.”
“Go on.” Don Collazo waved his man away.
“Put simply, it is better to see for yourself. You have a woman?”
“A prisoner, yes.”
“Tell me about her.”
“A journalist, and an ambitious one.” Said the Don before pausing to take a sip from his glass. “Her name is Andrea Velez and she thinks she can change the way the world works. Unfortunately, a great many in my city agree with her. She is very, very popular among the people here. I too, as a point of fact, am well-loved, and I require the love of my people to ensure business runs smooth.”
“Velez threatens that?”
“She does. Normally I would do to her what I’d do to any other pinche journalist.”
“You don’t want her hurt.”
“Visibly, no. There can be no bruises, no signs she was interrogated.”
“Interrogated?”
“Velez has written a story.” Collazo sneered. “It is scathing, very harmful to my reputation. She knew things she had no way of knowing without talking to people. I would know who she spoke to, I would know her sources.”
“I can make that happen.” Izan said matter-of-factly.
“I like your confidence, young man.” The Don put one large hand flat upon the table and moved to stand. “Come. Velez is stubborn, but if you can make her talk then I can discredit her sources. Have them recant or shut them up. Regain some of what has already been lost.”
For all his desire to keep others quite, Don Collazo enjoyed the sound of his own voice. From the poolside and through his illustrious mansion the loquacious kingpin continued spilling a slew of extraneous details. Izan did not care, he cared not for the troubles of the cartel nor their reputation. Plain faced, the wiry native of Santa Selva cared only for his own ends. Andrea Velez would serve as a stepping stone toward greater things, no longer would he need to stalk the slums searching for lost souls. Izan Rocha could do the only thing he’d ever desired to do, without persecution. With respect, and due fear. All he needed to do was make the journalist talk.
Two levels below the ground floor, Andrea Velez sat tied to a heavy wooden chair. In the confines of Don Collazo’s well-lit wine cellar, the statuesque columnist had her arms hooked over the back of the seat, wrists bound to the lowest slat by thick brown rope. Busty with long dark hair, the twenty-something year old captive wore heeled slip-on boots, tight blue jeans and a purple, partly open button-up blouse over the top of what looked like a white singlet. As he neared and took note of her hefty cleavage, Izan wondered if showing so much of her ballooning breasts was her choice or that of the Don’s henchmen. The latter would go a long way to explaining the daring journalist’s scowl, though being kidnapped likely had more to do with it. Nevertheless, Andrea would not be scowling for much longer.
“Andrea Velez-“ Don Collazo put out a hand like he was making a perfectly civilized introduction. “Izan Rocha.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Snapped the bound woman.
“You’ll tell us where you learned the information for your recent article on Don Collazo.” Straight to business, Izan had little use for pleasantries.
“Ha.” Velez scoffed. “I’ll tell you what I told the Don, my sources are protected. I’ll never give them up and even if did, it’d take more than some skinny boy to make me talk.”
“Don Collazo.” Izan turned his attention to the older man. “Please have your men tie señorita Velez’s arms over her head. They can fix her ankles to the front legs of the chair as well, if you’d be so kind.”
The Don tilted his head curiously to one side, looked at the bound woman and turned his bottom lip out. A moment of thought passed before he snapped his fingers and a trio of goons standing near the stairwell moved to the center of the room. In a flurry of activity, Velez doing her level best not to make it easy for them, the three men forced the struggling woman’s arms above her head. With the same rope that was around the back of the chair, they kept her wrists firmly tied and secured the slack end to an iron lighting fixture in the low, brickwork ceiling. Through a cacophony of grunts and enraged bellowing, Andrea soon found herself tied in the exact way Izan had specified.
“Her resolve is strong.” He said without admiration.
“I’ll tell you nothing!” Velez jerked her arms, barely moving against the taut rope above. “My sources are good people! You think I’ll just hand them over to this monster?”
“Of course not.” Izan kneeled on one leg and faced the tenacious prisoner just inches from her forcibly spread thighs. “But you will hand them over…” He reached forward with one hand, thumb and index finger poised, and gently pinched through the two layers of cotton covering her midriff.
“Mmf!” Pursing her lips, the buxom journalist flinched.
“You will tell us everything we want to know, Ms. Velez.” Another couple of quick pokes through her blouse sent the slender woman’s nostrils flaring, breath coming short and hard.
“S-stop it!” Andrea hissed through clenched teeth.
“What are you doing?” The Don loomed right behind his kneeling guest, the man’s tone thick with disdain.
“I am beginning the process.” Without looking back, Izan continued darting his two fingers around the wincing woman’s stomach. “It may take some time given her will.”
“This is doing nothing.”
“She’s uncomfortable, isn’t she?”
“This is a child’s game. This cannot be your plan.”
“Don Collazo, please.” Izan stopped and turned back to look at the towering man, Andrea panting sharply at his back. “My method is unconventional, but I –and my father- assure you that it will work.”
Eyes flicking to the trio of men by the stairs, the Don said “Out.” before looking back to his would-be interrogator. “Do not make a fool of me, young Rocha.”
“I would not dream of it.” Which was true, he would not, because he did not care one way or the other how Don Collazo was perceived by anyone.
As the three armed men disappeared back upstairs, their frowning boss took a few steps back and leaned against a countertop. “Get on with your child’s game then, boy. But know this, if it does not work your father and I are going to be having some very serious words for wasting my time.”
Unfazed by the baseless threat, Izan turned back to the bosomy journalist. She’d regained her composure and steadied herself. Despite a deathly glare, one to rival that of Don Collazo’s irritated gaze, Andrea Velez had already given herself away. Though she made a good show of remaining courageous, there was the most minute hint of fear behind those big brown eyes. It was not the kind of fear one would normally look for, certainly not the kind a Neanderthal like Collazo would think to notice. Izan noticed it, the nervousness, the ever-so-slight tremble, the worry of an afraid little girl. He’d seen the look many times in the young women of poor families snatched from the streets and alleyways. He’d seen it in his mother and sister, before the Americans had driven them both insane.
“If you knew what was about to happen to you, Ms. Velez-“ Izan bought both hands up this time, thumbs and index fingers pinching like crab claws. “You would tell me everything you know, right now.”
Sucking her tummy in, the long legged prisoner stared down at the advancing digits. “I’m…not telling you…nff…a damn thing…ever!”
“We disagree.” The eerily calm young man shot both pairs of nimble fingers to the bottom of the cringing woman’s blouse.
“Mmhmhm!” Andrea jerked from side to side, pushing back against the chair as she held her full lips tightly together.
Her brow menacingly furrowed, the wide eyed young woman strained to keep from letting the erratic sounds within her chest from bubbling free. As she fought against the involuntary reactions of her own body, there was no hiding how painfully susceptible she was to that particular type of touching. Boots wiggling and curvaceous butt shuffling awkwardly, the shapely journalist’s swelled cleavage jiggled and her cheeks puffed as each well-practiced poke chipped away at her self-control.
“You can’t hold out forever, señorita.” Izan slid his gently biting fingertips around to the fitful captive’s sides.
“MMhmff!” Velez arched her back, head shaking and long locks dancing around her shoulders.
“Maddening isn’t it?”
“What is the point of this?” Don Collazo sounded no more agreeable than he had moments before. “Just ask her what we want to know.”
“She knows the question.” Eyes fixed on the panicked stare of his latest victim, Izan kept his four fingers running up and down her hurriedly twitching sides. “The effects of verbal teasing on top of physical discomfort cannot be understated. Do not make the mistake of thinking this is anything but a mental game.”
“From where I’m standing the only mistake I’ve made is letting you down here to fondle her!”
“Eeieehaha!” Andrea bucked when two wiggling fingers slipped beneath her blouse and stroked along the skin just above her well defined hips. “Hahahaha! Stop!”
“You know I won’t.” Ignoring the Don’s displeasure, the dispassionate younger man slid his other two fingers under the bottom of Velez’s shirts. Using the same simple pinching technique, he kept the wriggling woman fighting back an unwanted grin as his digits moved along the soft skin just above her beltline. “This doesn’t stop until you tell us what we want to know.”
“Eeeheeheiiehe! No! Nnnno!” Gritting her teeth, the determined journalist dug deep to reassemble some measure of dignity.
“When the Don’s men bought you down here, what did you think?” Izan wormed his index fingers further under Andrea’s shirts, his fingertips circling up her convulsing sides. “That they would hurt you, that they would beat you? I don’t imagine that scared you one bit, did it? No, pain you could handle. Pain you were ready for, you had accepted.”
“G-get off! Eeiihehehe!”
“Don Collazo doesn’t see it yet, but you and I know the truth.”
“Eieiehaha! Get outahaha!”
“You’re going to break.”
“Never! Eheiiehehe!”
“Who are you trying to convince, I wonder?” Before she could answer, the stoic lad turned all ten fingers onto the perplexed woman’s slim sides, squeezing firm into her tender, flexing flesh.
“Ahahaha! Neeehahahah!” Andrea shook, her abdomen tensing as she tried and tried to curl forward. “Noahahaha! Nohostohop!”
Between the open mouth grins repeatedly spreading across her face, the loudly laughing columnist’s expression twisted through mirth, confusion and fiery anger. It was there Izan felt some semblance of humanity, albeit the darker, more sadistic side. Whereas any other time the pitiless young man could barely claim to have a single emotion about anything, taking command of another’s body, using their own sensitivities against them, that was where he excelled most. Far from joy, or even mild happiness, the dead-eyed teen did manage some sensation deep within, Andrea’s squeaking pleas and hopelessness the fuel for his sparking fire.
“Do you have any scissors, Don Collazo?” Izan’s thumbs drilled into the svelte woman’s flat tummy, his fingers jabbing wildly into her heaving sides.
“I have this.” The Don leaned over, pulled his pant-leg up and slid a rather large knife from a sheath on his ankle. “But you can’t leave any marks. She cannot be able to prove what was done here.”
“It is not for her.”
Standing up and taking the knife handle, the majority of the unfazed young man’s attention was fixed on Velez’s heavily panting breaths. He wasn’t impressed, the Don, not yet, and leaned back against his countertop with a disgruntled sigh. With the knife in one hand, Izan turned back and reached to take hold of the journalist’s right sleeve. Easily, without so much as grazing her skin, the skillful lad sliced down the full length of Andrea’s blouse from cuff to breast. Repeating the same motion, he cut the left sleeve and let the now shredded top collapse around his prisoner’s waist. Though he was tempted to throw the blade into the fine wood of a wine rack, Izan resisted the urge and instead gave it back to Don Collazo.
“Are you starting to understand, Ms. Velez?” The sinewy interrogator grabbed at either side of the purple blouse and tore the front open, buttons all popping apart in one quick swoop. He tossed the cut-up shirt aside and looked over the journalist’s stretched upperbody, her bosoms squished up behind her bra and singlet, silky smooth underarms taut and defenseless. “Do you get the picture of where we’re going with this?”
“Y-your insane!” Ever defiant, the tightly restrained journalist couldn’t completely mask the slight warble or worry in her tone.
“So I’ve been told.” Izan wandered casually around to the back of the chair. “Something we’ll soon have in common…” Reaching around, he made sure to show his slowly wiggling fingers as he raised them up to Andrea’s elbows. “If you don’t give us some names.”
“You’re wai-mff!” Cutting herself off, the captive woman tensed as fingertips brushed against the undersides of her biceps. “You’re wasting your time! Don Collazo, this b-boyeehehe! This boy is wasting your time!”
“We shall see.” Don Collazo stroked his chin as he watched the kidnapped writer stifle her growing giggles.
Hardly caressing the trembling skin, Izan moved his fingers with feathery light strokes. Inching downward at a painstakingly gradual pace, the cruel lad could feel his victim’s muscles struggling more and more as the intended target drew closer. Halfway down and Velez began shaking her head, an almost silent protest not against what was being done but what she knew was about to happen. Less than an inch remaining and stifled laughter was only just held back, snorting in the shaking woman’s throat as the chair rocked beneath her. Finally, after nearly a full minute of purposely building suspense, Izan let his fingers start creeping back up Andrea’s arms again.
“Mmmnn-mnn-nn.” Velez groaned, a series of shuddering breaths blowing from her nose.
“You know what I’m going to do, don’t you?” Leaning close, the dark haired young man lowered his voice as he spoke less than an inch from the back of his captive’s right ear.
“Nfmmf!”
“You can’t escape. You can’t avoid it.”
“S-stop!”
“Only you can make this stop.”
“This-this will never work!” Velez gasped, squirming as the ten teasing fingers circled her elbows and began descending back down toward her utterly vulnerable underarms.
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“I’m telling yoIIIIEEEEHEEE!” Like she’d just been shocked by lightning, the bosomy woman lurched as far forward as her bonds would allow when ten dancing digits ran amok into her taut hollows. “EEEEHAHAHA! NOIIIEEEHAHAHA!”
Stood upright and showing no change in feeling across his youthful features, Izan freely scribbled five fingertips all over the squealing woman’s unprotected underarms. Sinfully soft to the touch, the speedy yet simple strokes sent Andrea reeling, her cackling laughter echoing through the tunnels of the cellar. As her large breasts bounced and her limbs yanked desperately at the binding ropes, Don Collazo raised a single quizzical eyebrow. Velez wouldn’t talk yet, despite her anguish, but the pleas that wailed amongst her uproarious reactions were a clear sign that her willpower was devolving.
“Hypnotic isn’t, senor?” Izan raked his short nails down the full length of the journalist’s hypersensitive hollows.
“I remain unconvinced of it’s effectiveness, young Rocha.” Said the Don, his weary eyes glinting with interest as they remained fixed on the busty prisoner. “Although I do admit, it is entertaining to watch.”
Entertaining would have to do, as long as the work could continue. Spidering further down, the unimpeded interrogator skated around the fleshy sides of Velez’s bulging bosoms, her sporadic twisting becoming sharper and more forceful by the second. The ropes notwithstanding, the wailing woman was a hostage to her own body and the idea fascinated Izan to no end. It was the one thing in all the world that could pique his interest, the only thing he’d ever known to make his heart beat a little faster. He’d been shot at once in Venezuela during one of the many attempts on his father’s life and the unflappable boy hadn’t even blinked, let alone jumped out the way.
“STOOHAHAHA! STOOOOPAHAHAHA!” Andrea howled, her cheeks blushing pink.
“Are you going to talk?” Frolicking fingers into the center of the frantic woman’s hollows, the callous lad traced unpredictable lines all over. “Say a name, Ms. Velez, say a name and I will give you rest.”
“OKAY! OKAEEHEEIAHAHA!”
“The name!”
“STOPAHAHA!”
“Name. First.”
“AIEEEHAHAH! I CAHAHAN’T!”
“As you like.” Izan scurried both hands downward, over the screaming journalist’s protruding ribs and clutched at the bottom of her singlet. Pulling the sleeveless shirt upward, Andrea rocked madly, unable to keep her tanned midriff from being exposed.
“No! No, wait!” Velez squirmed as the white cotton slid over her lacy purple bra, the marshmallowy soft flesh of her breasts swelling around the top and sides.
“I’ve no interest in seeing you nude, Ms. Velez.” Said the ruthless interrogator, telling the truth while working the singlet up and passed the captive woman’s head.
“Speak for yourself…” Don Collazo muttered under his breath.
“Removing your clothes has one purpose…besides the Don’s amusement.” Izan slid the stripped singlet up the entire length of the busty prisoner’s arms, tucking it neatly between her bound wrists. “I mean to expose all of your most ticklish areas. I will find each one and I will tickle you there. I will make you naked and I will keep tickling you until you tell us what we want to know. You won’t be able to stand it, Ms. Velez, I promise you.”
“Y-you…you won’t! Don Collazo, you are a man of honor!” Andrea stammered, clearly reaching the bottom of the barrel if she were appealing to Collazo’s ego. “This isn’t the way things are done! You know this! You can’t let this continue!”
His focus unwaveringly locked on the curvaceous woman’s wobbling bosoms, the older man stood with his arms folded and a noticeable bulge between his legs. “I won’t.” He said before finally making eye contact with the begging captive. “On my honor I will stop your torture…as soon as you tell us the names.”
“No! No PLEASE!” Velez glared at the Don, then turned her attention instantly downward as Izan’s hands reached around from behind and clawed in the air just inches from her uncovered abdomen. “Pleheeheese! Please don’t dohoo this!” She tensed her stomach, giggles disrupting her words in dreaded anticipation.
“Think of your most ticklish of all spots, Ms. Velez.” Izan whispered, his hot breath right on the back of the scantily clad columnist’s neck. “Think of the worst time someone tickled you there…and then imagine how much more terrible it will be when I discover it.”
“Pleaseplease, NO!” The hurriedly worming woman squawked. “Don’t do this! Don Collazo! Don CollazOOOOOAAAIIEEE!”
Andrea squealed, her stomach muscles contracting as every one of the young tormentor’s deftly moving digits raced around her midriff. From her lower tummy, up alongside her navel and across the bottom of her overstuffed bra, Izan’s fingers explored the flexing, tissue-soft skin. Bouncing feverishly in place, chair legs making woody taps against the stone floor, breathless pleas poured from the helpless woman’s broad and toothy grin. Each and every finger stroke was at once an enthralling thrill and infuriating agony, as was the natural order of things between the tickler and the one being tickled.
Conveniently for the end goal, Velez happened to be one of the unlucky few who were truly, naturally, uncontrollably ticklish. There had been those over the years who claimed to have no sensitivity to it at all, and every reason to believe it were true until the lad from Santa Selva got his hands on them. People like that, they required more work, more breaking down of their psyches before the suffering began. Most people, even those who were especially ticklish in their daily lives, they would not usually respond with laughter in a high-stress situation, like being kidnapped. Anger, discomfort certainly, often even tears, but in unskilled hands the shock of their predicament would rarely bring on the desired result. Andrea Velez however, was so atrociously, tragically ticklish it didn’t matter what else was going on. For someone as excruciatingly sensitive as her, the laughter always flowed.
“What do we have here, Ms. Velez?” Izan crouched to his haunches and without needing to look around, lazily circled the tip of one finger around her navel.
“Nohohoho! Pleeheeheeeaaheeese!” Her head craned forward, no one needed to see the babbling journalist’s face to know she was staring wide-eyed at her tummy as it zigzagged away from the offending digit.
“Are you trying to keep away from me?”
“D-don’t! N-n-n-noeeieiehee!”
“Is it your belly button, is that the problem?”
“Ohgodeeieeheehee! Don’tpleaseheeheese!”
“You don’t want me sticking my finger in there, do you?” A quick swipe across the small, oval shaped rim caused a loud shriek and sharp tensing of the abdomen. “No you don’t, do you?”
“NOiieehehehee!”
“It’s an unusual place to get tickled, but it can be quite crippling.” Izan continued his teasing circles, the sultry woman’s stomach wriggling, flexing and dancing to avoid the bullseye being hit. “Is it instinct, or did someone tickle you there? How do you know your belly button is so ticklish, Ms. Velez?”
“I-I can’t tell you eeiehhee! I can’t! The names!” Andrea spluttered, every word a great effort as she couldn’t take her eyes off the roaming digit at her belly. “Pleeeheeiie! I won’teeheehee!”
“Who tickled you here, hmm?”
“No one! No onneeeheieiee!”
“A former lover, perhaps? A few seconds at most, maybe, that’s all it would have took.”
“Don Colleeeheeheiie! Don! Please! Eeiiehheee!”
“This time it’s going to be a lot longer, Ms. Velez.”
“Nono!” The dark haired captive’s head shook and when that lone digit delved into her navel she craned back, jaw dropped and screeched like a lost desert spirit. “NYYYEEIIIEEE! EEEHAHAHAHA!”
From the tips of her fingers to the pointed ends of her boots, Andrea thrashed violently. Throwing her head all over, long locks flailed every which way, her stomach muscles heaving to be free of the wiggling fingertip. Deep within her navel the single digit worked, tiny burrowing movements that stroked the bottom and swept the explosively sensitive sides. Seconds into the hellish ordeal the crazed journalist’s pinkish cheeks had turned a rosy red, her laughter maniacal and wordless. Both raised arms tugged as furiously as her legs pulled, every ounce of Velez’s being wanting to curl up and hide her tummy forever.
Peering around his mindlessly laughing subject, Izan took note of Don Collazo’s state of mind. That bulge at the front of his pants had swelled considerably and a light coat of sweat had pooled along the man’s brow. He was a sadist by nature, it was rare not to be in a position like his, a fact that had been well measured prior to the meeting by the pool. Collazo liked watching Andrea shake, her large breasts quaking behind her bra, the way her screams wrenched out and the permanent look of panic in her eyes even as she smiled wider than she ever would have on purpose. The way her curvaceous body moved without her say-so, the way she begged for it to end, all from the miniscule, easy wiggling of one finger. The Don enjoyed the manipulation, even as he himself was being played.
Picking his moment carefully, Izan narrowed his eyes when Collazo’s already parted lips dropped slightly further. A commander of dozens upon dozens of armed men, the engrossed kingpin was in awe. Precisely on time, the crouching younger man snaked his free hand upward and nimbly unclipped Andrea’s overworked bra clasp, the purple cups loosening instantly. Though it was not a full unveiling, the newly found freedom of the prisoner’s bosoms certainly impressed the Don, his eyes widening at the sight of her heavily bouncing cleavage.
“Do you still have that knife, Don Collazo?” Izan called through the riotous squealing. “If you’d like to do the honors?”
“Absolutamente!” Snatching his blade from the tabletop behind him, the eager crime boss walked quicker than he likely did most days. He took one shoulder strap and sliced it clean, then split the other and tossed the half naked woman’s bra to the floor. “Dios mío!” The Don exclaimed as he watched Velez’s large, bare breasts jiggle in the open. “She would look a lot better by my pool in a bikini than running around trying to ruin my reputation, no?”
“As you say.” The wiry lad slid his finger free and with both hands crawled over Andrea’s tummy, sides and supple ribcage.
“Ahahaha! Aiieehahaha!” Too frazzled to speak, the shrill edge of the topless journalist’s laughter subsided some, even as she continued to wriggle and pull away.
“She is ready, I think.” Collazo set his knife back to the table, leaned again and gave a misguided nod.
“Not yet.” Izan ran his fingertips along the undersides of the prisoner’s hefty bosoms. “Her mind is weaker, yes, but we must take control of her body.”
“You have it, surely!”
“It is all external, Don Collazo. To gain full dominion, our control must come from within. Ms. Velez is strong, nothing less will break her.”
Upping Andrea’s giggles with a high pitched surprise, the savvy lad flickered his fingertips around the edges of her large, pink areoles. Using expertise learned on victims from his homeland through to Colombia, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico and more, Izan moved blindly, still never quite touching the tied woman’s moving nipples. Subtle though it was, unnoticeable to an ogre like Collazo, Velez’s rapid breathing changed after a minute or so. Through her ongoing, insuppressible squeaking and yelps, gasps for much needed air took on a faint raspy sound. It was just the signal needed to venture a swipe onto the buxom captive’s areoles directly, a move that made her buck, twist and shriek.
For her horrified response, the defiant columnist received five digits swirling around both nipples, each deft stroke narrowly missing her protruding nubbins. Paying inhumanly close attention to the barely perceptible changes at his fingertips, Izan soon felt Velez’s areoles begin to swell. In the face of deathly threats Andrea would have gladly planted her feet and stood her ground, tickling however, was her undoing. Laugh and laugh as she did for minutes on end, the once sturdy walls of her befuddled mind were crumbling. Those places meant to uphold societal inhibitions were now overrun by tickling fingers, the tickler free to do as he pleased.
Merciless to the point he lacked the concept, Izan stood from his crouched position and gently flicked at the tips of the slender woman’s now engorged nipples. Much like the Don, Andrea too had begun to sweat, her collarbone and hard working abdomen both glossy in the cellar light. The rosy hue of her cheeks had spread and turned darker red, her expression all anguish and confusion above a maddened smile. Instinctively, deep in the primal parts of her mind the shapely journalist knew what was happening, her shattered consciousness on the other hand probably had no previous experience to explain the sensations.
“I do believe Ms. Velez is becoming aroused.” Izan stated plainly when he finally removed his hands, but not before giving both the heavily panting woman’s nipples a firm pinch each.
“Ahnnh!” Andrea moaned hoarsely.
“You are joking!” Collazo opened his palms wide, a boyish glee in his tone.
“Not at all.” Leaving the topless woman to wheeze behind him, the nonchalant young man wandered around to stand before the Don. “She does not do it willingly.”
“Impossible…how?”
“Simply; Ms. Velez is so caught up in being tickled she hasn’t noticed her own body working against her. If you were to touch her as I did under normal circumstances-“
“She would fight back.”
“Yes. Except now, we’ve left her with nothing to fight with.”
“And now she will talk?”
“Do you want her to?” Izan let the question hang and turned back to the unwittingly titillated Velez.
“Please….what…what are doing to me…?” Andrea huffed between breaths, dark disheveled locks dangling around her limply hanging head.
Dropping to his haunches again, the unusually stoic young man sat just inches from the puzzled woman’s knees. “I’m tickling you.” And with that he clutched both Velez’s supple sides and kneaded with unforgiving force.
“Aaaaiiieehahaha! Nohoho! NO MORE!”
“A lot more.”
“Eieiee! I can’t breeeheeheeaaathe!”
“Then you will pass out.” Izan slid his thumbs behind the buxom journalist’s beltline, digging deep into the soft flesh between her shaking hips. “And when you awake, I will keep tickling you.”
“NNNIIIEEHAHAHA! NOHO! NOHOEEEIIEEE!” Eyes closed so tight it looked like she was trying to will herself out of existence, the unhinged prisoner howled.
“Another underappreciated spot.”
“STOPAAAHAHA! STOOOOOP!”
“People are often surprised by how uncomfortable getting touched here can be. In the right way, of course.” Burrowing his thumbs further under the half naked woman’s jeans, the unexpressive tormentor prodded savagely into the crease between her hips and thick thighs. “For someone as ticklish as Ms. Velez, it is the work of nightmares.”
The waistline of her jeans bunched down between her bucking hips, Andrea’s screaming laughter turned wordless all over again. A few seconds in and the harsh gripping at her hips sent chaotic squeals descending into silence. For a brief moment the self-muted captive swayed about, the only sounds the wooden chair rocking on the floor and the iron light fixture creaking above. Apparently devoid of air, Velez let out a few small dry gasps as she struggled, her head shaking so fast one might have thought she were covered in bees. Ending with a harrowing wail, the moment passed and the bosomy woman’s hysterics erupted as loudly as if they had never gone away.
Keeping someone so hyperticklish in a state of hapless, spasming laughter was easy. Frankly, anyone willing to wiggle their fingers could have done it, Izan knew this and knew well he had to offer something more. As he’d explained in part to Don Collazo, more than anything the art of tickle torture was a game of the mind. To take full advantage of a victim’s psyche required patience and precision, it took an ability to read people. No two were alike in either mind nor body. It was here, with an almost innate ability of understanding, that the younger Rocha excelled. Even if by his own admission, humanity was something he severely lacked.
In her raving lunacy, there was next to nothing Velez could notice outside of her own helpless agony. Raising one hand up her sweat-slicked abdomen, it was hardly any effort at all to maintain the abject delirium by darting five fingers erratically around. From ribs to tummy to underarms, the rushing bunch of digits had the once willful journalist cackling without pause. Making sure to give her rigid nipples the occasional unexpected stroke, Izan set his other hand to work unbuckling Andrea’s belt. A quick pluck, pull and slip of the leather had the buckle parted, the button and zipper of the unaware prisoner’s jeans swiftly following. There was no need to look down at the lacy purple panties to confirm what Izan already knew.
“Proof, if you needed it, Don Collazo…” Ceasing his latest overwhelming assault, the wiry younger man hooked his fingers around the back of the blubbering woman’s pants and pulled down.
“Ah! No…no!” Andrea whimpered and wriggled in vain to keep her jeans from sliding further under her well-rounded butt.
The Don stepped closer and as he did, Izan tugged the begging prisoner’s jeans out to her parted knees. Other than not being cut to pieces, the bound columnist’s panties had one other key difference to the matching bra, a distinctive wet patch down between her bronze thighs. More interested in the older man’s reaction than his latest hopeless quarry, the ice-blooded lad turned to see Collazo’s eyebrows rise. A shark like grin crossing his lips, the cartel kingpin chuckled and shook his head. Disbelief, admiration, a few sinister fantasies of what he might do given the chance, all of it as plain as if it were painted in neon across his well lined face.
Caught by disbelief herself, Velez’s voice trembled. “No…no this isn’t right…you’ve…you’ve done something to me! Fed me something, some poison or-“
“No chemicals.” Izan crept his fingers slowly off the worrisome woman’s stretched jeans and on to her bare thighs. “Tickling, Ms. Velez. All I’ve done is tickle you…and you have become very, very aroused.”
“Noheie!” Shaking her legs, the giggly captive watched as those unyielding hands wandered closer, muscles flexing and making her inner thighs quiver. “I’m not! Eeiiehee! Stop! Stoeeheiiee!”
“You are. I know you are, Don Collazo knows you are.”
“No! Eieeheehee!” Andrea’s knees pushed inward, vibrating in place as the young man’s forearms pressed against the insides, his fingertips a little halfway toward her panties.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?
“Please! N-not there!”
“Not where?” Izan drew his swirling digits within an inch either side of the purple lace, the damp patch showing off curves and creases of the flustered woman’s labia. “I’ve been getting to know your body, Ms. Velez. If I go any further you know as well as I do this little stain between your legs is going to get much bigger.”
“Don’t! Eheeiehe! DON’T!” The bosomy journalist jerked harshly at her bonds. “I can’t! Eieiehe! Please! I can’t tell yohoohoo anything!”
“Of course you can.” Letting one fingertip graze the line between leg and cotton lace, the man some Honduran women called ‘The Devil of Danli’ made his latest unlucky victim squeal. “And if you do decide to talk, I may let you keep your boots on.”
“Nohohooo! Th-they’re goohoohood! Eieie!” Velez spluttered as more fingertips stroked the barely covered outer edges of her pussy. “Eieehe! They’re good people! Eieiehaha! Pleeheeheease!”
“Tickle her!” Barked the Don, over-eager to watch the show and too bullish a fellow for patience or thoughtful tact.
“PLEASE N-“
Turning his palms outward to face the frazzled captive’s thighs, Izan danced eight fingertips all over her puffy labia. Shrieking wildly, the busty journalist tried with full, furious force to clamp her legs shut, the fondling of her most private area causing any sense of coordination to crash. With his fingers busy, the unflinching lad hooked his thumbs inward and poked cruelly into the cotton, skirting the painfully sensitive skin at the border of Velez’s taint. If asked then for the names, in the throws of her agony, the screaming prisoner would likely have spilled every one without a thought, babbled off all of her sources just to avoid one more hellish stroke. As it was, Andrea was in not fit state to do anything but laugh in berserk fashion.
Propped open like the wings of a vulture, the almost emotionless lad’s elbows pressed at the insides of the bound woman’s knees. It was all animal instinct trying to close her legs, maddened as Velez was there could be no conscious decision making. He’d used the same trick before, more or less, with unbearably ticklish women tied in similar positions. Knees open, aroused and pussy exposed, under Izan’s skilled hands they were almost always putty in his fingers. Even if their physical strength wasn’t severely weakened the way Andrea’s was, the wiry young man had always been deceptively strong. Only one had ever given him trouble, a gym owner in Zacapa.
Gianna was her name and it had taken four of the senior Rocha’s men to tie her down. Some steroid deal gone sideways or some such, it was usually something like that. Money was the problem, as it ever was. Once firmly bound his father let Izan loose on the muscular woman, no amount of bulging biceps or rippling abs able to save her from the younger man’s tickling touch. Through girlish laughter and wailing pleas, Gianna had put the ropes and the wooden chair she was trapped on to an almighty test, all of it somehow barely holding together as tears streamed down her cheeks. Finally, stripped of her Lycra and down only to a g-string, Izan had moved in on the Amazonian captive just as he did now to Andrea Velez. The difference of course, was that even in a bewildered mess of ticklish hysterics the gym owner’s powerful thighs could not be pried apart by one fellow alone. In the end it had taken those same four men of his father’s to pry Gianna’s legs apart, and when her sopping wet pussy was at last teased she’d pulled so hard on the rope overhead it tore a wooden rafter clean out of the ceiling.
“Ms. Velez…“ Izan slid his fingers back along the smooth skin of Andrea’s thighs, beads of sweat trickling down to the chair. Digits wiggling, he kept the exhausted woman shuddering as she wheezed, the wetness between her legs spread almost to the outer edges of her soaked-through panties. “I’m going to take your boots now. You may say the names if you wish, it makes no difference. I am going to tickle your feet.”
“Neehhei! Nhhheehee! Neeheehe!” Forming what was probably the beginning of the word ‘no’ over and over again, the breathless captive continuously trailed off into weary laughter.
“You’re not going to climax, are you?”
“I ceeheehe! Ican’teehhee!”
“You’re not allowed to climax, you understand.” Dancing his fingers over the tops of her legs and down her jeans, the cunning young man kept Velez giggling mindlessly. “If you climax before I say so, you will be tickled for an hour without rest.”
“Nonono!” Andrea wrestled at her bonds as the torturer’s hands cupped around her left boot. “Eiieehhee! Ple-please! The-the naehehehemes! The names!”
“Yes!” Don Collazo interjected unhelpfully. “The names! Give us the-“
“Names if you want.” Izan talked over top of the older man as he plucked the first boot free. “Or don’t, it makes no difference to you now.”
One white sock squirming in the open, the dark haired woman breathed heavy and closed her eyes while her right boot was tugged away. “I can’t!” She squeaked, her voice cracking like she disagreed with her own statement. “Th-they’re good people! Honest people!”
“They’re rats!” Roared the Don as he jabbed a finger toward the floor. “Dirty ratas who deserve what I will do to them!”
“As you like.” Hooking a thumb under the elastic of each sock, the unbreakably calm lad slowly peeled back the thin cotton coverings. “Remember, do not climax.”
“PLEHEESE!” Andrea rocked as her socks slid free, the tips of her slender toes wriggling nervously just above the cold stone floor. “I-I can’t control it! Please! I’m begging you! Do not do this!”
“Alas.” Izan kneeled, snaked his hands around the desperate journalist’s calves and looked up at her from between her knees.
“NO! GOD NO!” One feathery light stroke caressed the ball of Velez’s silky left sole and she curled her toes tight. “I’LL TELL YOU! I’ll TEEEEIIIGGGHHAAHAHAHAAAA!”
Determined as the crazed captive was to talk, Izan was almost as determined to keep her from giving up the information so soon. Unlikely though it was given the Don’s keen interest in her suffering, there still existed the narrowest possibility that he would put an end to Andrea’s interrogation if she gave him what he wanted. Chance was seldom the kind of thing worth toying with if it could be avoided, the stoic tormentor thought as he scribbled ten fingers around the bottoms of Velez’s feet, he always preferred to control any outcome. Besides, his pulse was running quicker now than it had in months. Izan wasn’t about to give up his sadistic enjoyment for anything, especially a brute like Collazo.
Without looking at her soles directly, finding the most agonizing areas and techniques across the nearly nude woman’s soles had to be done entirely by feel. From her tender heels down to the undersides of her terribly ticklish toes Izan felt out every curve, committing to memory the effects of different speeds and pressures. Fast fingertips along the heels and slow nails over the balls, Andrea fell to silence and shrieked on command, the chair swaying wildly from side to side beneath her. When he wormed his digits beneath her toes, the nimble handed lad imagined Velez wanting to give up her sources more than anything, to scream the names only for laughter to echo forth. The idea made his heartbeat pound like a jackhammer.
“The pants if you please, senor.” Izan danced his swiftly moving digits directly in the center of the bare foot journalist’s helplessly wriggling soles.
“Are you sure this is wise, young Rocha?” Said the Don as he appeared on the right, knife in hand. “She looks like she’s going mad. If she snaps she may not tell us anything!”
“Do not fear, Don Collazo.” Forcing fingertips through Andrea’s toes, the merciless young man stroked at the direly sensitive skin between each one. “Most people can go days before they go truly out of their mind, even ones as sensitive as Ms. Velez.”
While the older man hacked away at one side of his feverishly aroused prisoner’s jeans, Izan kept his eyes firmly locked on her contorting face. As she bellowed and squealed some small part of the svelte woman’s conscious surely knew that every second of her humiliating ordeal was being observed. Few people enjoy being watched during embarrassing times, especially at their most mortifying moments. Preoccupied with her suffering, Izan knew in the back of her mind that Andrea could feel his eyes upon her. All her rattling wildly in dismay, laughter and ever-increasing arousal, her heaving ribs and steaming sweat. No matter how much she wished it were otherwise, every indignity forced upon Velez was being witnessed and remembered.
“You have done this before then?” Don Collazo wandered around and began cutting at the other side of the deranged woman’s pants. “Tickled a woman for days, until she’s gone insane?”
“No.” Izan drew tiny circles just beneath the sultry prisoner’s heels, her head whipping forward and back as she screeched. “I’ve seen it done.”
“That must have been quite the sight.” Snipping the last small piece of denim near Andrea’s ankle, the inquisitive Don pulled the shredded jeans away and cast them backward.
“It was memorable.”
For the first time in many long minutes, the purposefully vague tormentor looked away from Velez’s anguished expression. Her panties were drenched to the point the wooden chair beneath had turned slick and slippery between her thighs. By Izan’s estimation the cackling captive could climax at any second. That lustful release was one aspect of his craft that, unfortunately, couldn’t be handled with complete accuracy. Instead the threat of further torment usually had to suffice, leaving the thought of additional punishment looming over a victim’s head should they disobey. Naturally, Andrea and all those who’d come before had just as much, if not less say in the timing of their orgasms as their torturer did.
“You’re doing well, Ms. Velez.” Izan ran his palms up the wheezing woman’s bare calves and gripped firmly just below her knees. Pulling her legs apart, the artful young man slowly leaned forward. “Keep this up-“ He flickered the tip of his tongue across the inside of her left thigh. “And I won’t have to tickle you for an hour straight.”
“Aiieeha! Hhh! Eeeihahaha!” Deep belly laughter caused Andrea’s hefty bosoms to jiggle as she shook her head, heavily panting breaths cut short by baffled mirth.
“You’ve had a lot of breaks, believe it or not.” He darted his tongue a little further in, hot breath on her sweat glossed thighs when he spoke. “There will be no rest if you climax. None at all.”
“Iiieehahaha! Hh-hh! Ahahahaieee!” Velez gasped, her legs vibrating in a determined effort to snap shut as the wiry lad’s evil tongue licked nearer and nearer toward her sordid panties.
“You will be naked.” Izan’s hair brushed against the bound journalist’s abdomen and he turned to take his teasing tongue lower. “And I will tickle you everywhere.”
“NEIHEEIEEHEE!” Andrea bucked as the slippery point of her tormentor’s tongue snaked down her inner most thigh, right along the lacey line of her underwear.
“Don’t you cum!” The shrewd lad put a little sternness in his tone, a little dominance.
“EEIIGGHAHA! EEIIIHAHAHA!”
Using the full width of his tongue, Izan licked to the side, across the rough cotton and onto the bittersweet wetness. Lodging his shoulders tight between the berserk woman’s knees, the sinister heir to the Rocha name lapped at Velez’s barely protected pussy, her swollen clit easily found amid the chaos. Keeping his tongue to a methodical rhythm had the buxom prisoner moaning in seconds, her laughter blending together with lewd cries. Never had Izan let one of his victim’s come to climax that easy, and now that his hands were free Andrea would be no exception.
Ever patient, the craftily cruel lad waited briefly for an especially lustful and loud moan, the kind that’s almost always followed immediately by orgasm. Halfway through the befuddled journalist’s most impassioned gasp, Izan dropped his hands from behind her knees to directly in front of her upturned soles. Fingers spidering quickly, he raced every skilled digit from Velez’s painfully ticklish heels to her alarmingly sensitive toes, her body wrenching moan instantly dissolving into unhinged laughter. In the same moment two tears drained from Andrea’s tightly shut eyes, thick drops that drizzled down either side of her wrinkled nose and parted around her wide, screaming lips.
“You’re not going to cum, are you Velez?!” Izan’s voice turned from stern to booming command as he paused just long enough to speak, returning quickly to licking ravenously at the demented woman’s panties. “Don’t you cum!” Lick lick lick. “You think this is bad?!” Lick lick lick. Lick lick. “Imagine it without your underwear!”
Lost to the world beyond her hyperticklish misery, if the maddened prisoner heard any of the taunting words at all they were surely sent into a whirlwind of shattered thoughts. Whether or not his words were fully comprehended or not made little difference, Izan figured it was always worthwhile to try. Just one sentence, one tiny terrible tease entering Andrea’s mind would only compound her waking nightmare. How furiously hard she tried to hold back, how raging she tried to keep from a sinful explosion of carnality. Velez had as much hope of suppressing her orgasm as she did from stifling laughter when tickled. Ten fingers scribbling upon her vulnerable soles, the pace of her tormentor’s tongue increased, and the floodgates burst.
“AHHH!” Arching her back sharply, Andrea howled and threw her head back.
“Oh no!” Izan leaned back and continued racing his digits up and down the quaking woman’s arches. “That won’t do, Ms. Velez!”
Those words the loudly moaning journalist definitely didn’t hear. Fingers clawing at the rope between her hands, Andrea’s slender toes curled to fists, her tickled soles wrinkling all over. With the young sadist’s shoulders out the way, she clamped her knees shut tight and twisted violently in the chair, wooden legs screeching on the stone floor. Raising her curvaceous ass off the seat revealed a mess of liquid lust, her sopping panties unable to keep anything back. Where the orgasm faded and raspy, near-silent laughter began even Izan had a hard time telling, either way Velez continued to rock calamitously in her bonds for a good long while.
“I suppose you have guessed this already-“ Don Collazo only spoke when his young guest finally stopped tickling the captive’s feet. “but, I am impressed.”
“Thank you, senor.” Izan stood and turned toward the older man. Behind him, Andrea hung limply in her sweat soaked disgrace, whimpering and tittering as if someone were still feathering fingers around her flesh. “Ms. Velez will talk now.”
“Bien, bien!” The big man brushed by and strode right toward the disheveled woman. Pinching her chin between his thumb and index finger, the Don lifted Andrea’s head. “The. Names.”
Weary eyes peering out from behind matted strands of hair, the teary eyed captive’s bottom lip trembled. “Facundo Xospa…” Her voice shook, barely more than a whisper. “Mireya Tintos…Abdundio Zosaya…that-that’s it…that’s all of them, I swear…”
“Hm.” Collazo gave a satisfied grunt as he lowered Velez’s head. “There is a cupboard at the back there.” He turned and gestured to the far end of the room. “Your money’s back there. You’ve done well, young Rocha, you’ll be well paid.”
“Respectfully, Don Collazo, it is not your money that I seek.” Izan put on his best polite demeanor, an act that no one yet had ever seen through. “I would ask a favor.”
“You have done me a great service today. Name your request and I will do my best to fill it.”
“You are a man of great renown. Great reputation.” Stroke the ego, it always worked on men who thought themselves powerful. “And you have many connections all over the world.”
“Your father is equally well connected. What can I do that he cannot?”
“This is true.” Izan nodded. “But he is my father, and with that comes the belief that there is bias. A bias you yourself questioned until very recently. You’ve seen now what I am capable of. I would like it very much if you could tell others, friends, business associates. People who may be in need of similar services, like you were today.”
“Mmm…” The Don’s eyes narrowed as he looked thoughtfully off to one of the many surrounding wine racks. Slowly, a smile grew across his hard features and he turned back. “Alright young Rocha, you have a deal. I will offer your services, put my word behind you. And…if anyone should hire you, I think a modest finder’s fee will be in order, no?”
“Of course.” Said the quick-witted lad without skipping a beat. He didn’t care if Collazo made more money. Money was meaningless when you had enough of it. And money couldn’t buy what Izan wanted. “One more thing, if you’ll indulge me…”
“I must return her soon.” Turning to Velez, the dark haired kingpin said. “She will be missed before much longer.”
“I promised her an hour.” Izan strolled to stand beside the Don, both of them looking down at the ravaged woman. “Would you mind cutting her underwear off?”
Collazo chuckled and held up his blade. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Mid-March already? That must mean it's time for the third of the five short stories I'm posting each month!
As with the previous two tales of ticklish torment, there's no need at all to have ready anything else -this is a completely standalone affair. For those of you have been keeping up with the core Tickle Tutor series however, you may recognize this month's protagonist; Izan! Izan was a relatively late addition to the series and has remained mostly a mystery -until now! To find out more about the enigmatic and sadistically sinister fellow, read on...
I hope you all enjoy this third of the five stories. As always, any comments, compliments, critiques or queries are always welcomed!
'Mantis
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Tickle Tutor: Collateral
A Short Story Collection From The World of Tickle Tutor
By TickleMantis
M/f
‘Izan’
Scary men, hard men, those were the type of sour faced fellows that stood around Don Collazo’s picturesque pool. Or, they thought they were tough at any rate. By Izan’s estimation not one among them was more than a halfwit, all brawn and mean-stares with little to back it up besides the guns clumsily held in their oafish, unskilled hands. The Don himself wasn’t much better, a little smarter and good bit meaner maybe, but still the same breed of insecure, anxiety-ridden imbecile who fancied himself a gangster. It was all so surface level. Izan knew mean men, and these cartel goons and their ox-headed boss didn’t begin to measure up.
“Senor Rocha.” Don Collazo smiled politely.
“Don Collazo.” Izan inclined his head. A feigned act of respect, one that came across as real as any of the other usual human acts he performed almost daily. “It is an honor.” He lied well.
“I appreciate you coming all this way.” The Don gestured to a nearby table under a large umbrella, the only spot shaded from the searing Mexican sun. “You father seems convinced you can help me out.”
“I’ll do everything I can, Don Collazo.”
“You’re how old now?”
“Eighteen and some months.” Izan took a seat, a pleasant yet not-too-joyful smile upon his normally emotionless face.
“Young, very young.” Glaring at one of his men, the Don sat opposite and pointed at a pair of empty glasses. “I have a lot of young men in my employ, you understand? I rarely meet any of them, to have one sitting at my table –one that does not even work for me- I want you to appreciate how much respect I have for your father to make this happen.”
“My father is a great man.” And one of perhaps two men on the entire planet that the icy-eyed young man had any actual respect for. “He would not send me here to let you down.”
“No, I do not believe he would. It is strange though, Basilio was very guarded about telling me exactly how it is you’re supposed to help me.”
“I understand.” Izan leaned back a little as one of the Don’s henchmen poured a jug of ice water into their glasses. “To tell you the truth, Don Collazo, I am reluctant to tell you myself. The fact of the matter is, if my father were to explain it, you would likely deny him.”
“Basilio Rocha is not a man even a Don of my standing says ‘no’ to without good reason.”
“And you would, I believe, think you had good reason.”
“Go on.” Don Collazo waved his man away.
“Put simply, it is better to see for yourself. You have a woman?”
“A prisoner, yes.”
“Tell me about her.”
“A journalist, and an ambitious one.” Said the Don before pausing to take a sip from his glass. “Her name is Andrea Velez and she thinks she can change the way the world works. Unfortunately, a great many in my city agree with her. She is very, very popular among the people here. I too, as a point of fact, am well-loved, and I require the love of my people to ensure business runs smooth.”
“Velez threatens that?”
“She does. Normally I would do to her what I’d do to any other pinche journalist.”
“You don’t want her hurt.”
“Visibly, no. There can be no bruises, no signs she was interrogated.”
“Interrogated?”
“Velez has written a story.” Collazo sneered. “It is scathing, very harmful to my reputation. She knew things she had no way of knowing without talking to people. I would know who she spoke to, I would know her sources.”
“I can make that happen.” Izan said matter-of-factly.
“I like your confidence, young man.” The Don put one large hand flat upon the table and moved to stand. “Come. Velez is stubborn, but if you can make her talk then I can discredit her sources. Have them recant or shut them up. Regain some of what has already been lost.”
For all his desire to keep others quite, Don Collazo enjoyed the sound of his own voice. From the poolside and through his illustrious mansion the loquacious kingpin continued spilling a slew of extraneous details. Izan did not care, he cared not for the troubles of the cartel nor their reputation. Plain faced, the wiry native of Santa Selva cared only for his own ends. Andrea Velez would serve as a stepping stone toward greater things, no longer would he need to stalk the slums searching for lost souls. Izan Rocha could do the only thing he’d ever desired to do, without persecution. With respect, and due fear. All he needed to do was make the journalist talk.
Two levels below the ground floor, Andrea Velez sat tied to a heavy wooden chair. In the confines of Don Collazo’s well-lit wine cellar, the statuesque columnist had her arms hooked over the back of the seat, wrists bound to the lowest slat by thick brown rope. Busty with long dark hair, the twenty-something year old captive wore heeled slip-on boots, tight blue jeans and a purple, partly open button-up blouse over the top of what looked like a white singlet. As he neared and took note of her hefty cleavage, Izan wondered if showing so much of her ballooning breasts was her choice or that of the Don’s henchmen. The latter would go a long way to explaining the daring journalist’s scowl, though being kidnapped likely had more to do with it. Nevertheless, Andrea would not be scowling for much longer.
“Andrea Velez-“ Don Collazo put out a hand like he was making a perfectly civilized introduction. “Izan Rocha.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Snapped the bound woman.
“You’ll tell us where you learned the information for your recent article on Don Collazo.” Straight to business, Izan had little use for pleasantries.
“Ha.” Velez scoffed. “I’ll tell you what I told the Don, my sources are protected. I’ll never give them up and even if did, it’d take more than some skinny boy to make me talk.”
“Don Collazo.” Izan turned his attention to the older man. “Please have your men tie señorita Velez’s arms over her head. They can fix her ankles to the front legs of the chair as well, if you’d be so kind.”
The Don tilted his head curiously to one side, looked at the bound woman and turned his bottom lip out. A moment of thought passed before he snapped his fingers and a trio of goons standing near the stairwell moved to the center of the room. In a flurry of activity, Velez doing her level best not to make it easy for them, the three men forced the struggling woman’s arms above her head. With the same rope that was around the back of the chair, they kept her wrists firmly tied and secured the slack end to an iron lighting fixture in the low, brickwork ceiling. Through a cacophony of grunts and enraged bellowing, Andrea soon found herself tied in the exact way Izan had specified.
“Her resolve is strong.” He said without admiration.
“I’ll tell you nothing!” Velez jerked her arms, barely moving against the taut rope above. “My sources are good people! You think I’ll just hand them over to this monster?”
“Of course not.” Izan kneeled on one leg and faced the tenacious prisoner just inches from her forcibly spread thighs. “But you will hand them over…” He reached forward with one hand, thumb and index finger poised, and gently pinched through the two layers of cotton covering her midriff.
“Mmf!” Pursing her lips, the buxom journalist flinched.
“You will tell us everything we want to know, Ms. Velez.” Another couple of quick pokes through her blouse sent the slender woman’s nostrils flaring, breath coming short and hard.
“S-stop it!” Andrea hissed through clenched teeth.
“What are you doing?” The Don loomed right behind his kneeling guest, the man’s tone thick with disdain.
“I am beginning the process.” Without looking back, Izan continued darting his two fingers around the wincing woman’s stomach. “It may take some time given her will.”
“This is doing nothing.”
“She’s uncomfortable, isn’t she?”
“This is a child’s game. This cannot be your plan.”
“Don Collazo, please.” Izan stopped and turned back to look at the towering man, Andrea panting sharply at his back. “My method is unconventional, but I –and my father- assure you that it will work.”
Eyes flicking to the trio of men by the stairs, the Don said “Out.” before looking back to his would-be interrogator. “Do not make a fool of me, young Rocha.”
“I would not dream of it.” Which was true, he would not, because he did not care one way or the other how Don Collazo was perceived by anyone.
As the three armed men disappeared back upstairs, their frowning boss took a few steps back and leaned against a countertop. “Get on with your child’s game then, boy. But know this, if it does not work your father and I are going to be having some very serious words for wasting my time.”
Unfazed by the baseless threat, Izan turned back to the bosomy journalist. She’d regained her composure and steadied herself. Despite a deathly glare, one to rival that of Don Collazo’s irritated gaze, Andrea Velez had already given herself away. Though she made a good show of remaining courageous, there was the most minute hint of fear behind those big brown eyes. It was not the kind of fear one would normally look for, certainly not the kind a Neanderthal like Collazo would think to notice. Izan noticed it, the nervousness, the ever-so-slight tremble, the worry of an afraid little girl. He’d seen the look many times in the young women of poor families snatched from the streets and alleyways. He’d seen it in his mother and sister, before the Americans had driven them both insane.
“If you knew what was about to happen to you, Ms. Velez-“ Izan bought both hands up this time, thumbs and index fingers pinching like crab claws. “You would tell me everything you know, right now.”
Sucking her tummy in, the long legged prisoner stared down at the advancing digits. “I’m…not telling you…nff…a damn thing…ever!”
“We disagree.” The eerily calm young man shot both pairs of nimble fingers to the bottom of the cringing woman’s blouse.
“Mmhmhm!” Andrea jerked from side to side, pushing back against the chair as she held her full lips tightly together.
Her brow menacingly furrowed, the wide eyed young woman strained to keep from letting the erratic sounds within her chest from bubbling free. As she fought against the involuntary reactions of her own body, there was no hiding how painfully susceptible she was to that particular type of touching. Boots wiggling and curvaceous butt shuffling awkwardly, the shapely journalist’s swelled cleavage jiggled and her cheeks puffed as each well-practiced poke chipped away at her self-control.
“You can’t hold out forever, señorita.” Izan slid his gently biting fingertips around to the fitful captive’s sides.
“MMhmff!” Velez arched her back, head shaking and long locks dancing around her shoulders.
“Maddening isn’t it?”
“What is the point of this?” Don Collazo sounded no more agreeable than he had moments before. “Just ask her what we want to know.”
“She knows the question.” Eyes fixed on the panicked stare of his latest victim, Izan kept his four fingers running up and down her hurriedly twitching sides. “The effects of verbal teasing on top of physical discomfort cannot be understated. Do not make the mistake of thinking this is anything but a mental game.”
“From where I’m standing the only mistake I’ve made is letting you down here to fondle her!”
“Eeieehaha!” Andrea bucked when two wiggling fingers slipped beneath her blouse and stroked along the skin just above her well defined hips. “Hahahaha! Stop!”
“You know I won’t.” Ignoring the Don’s displeasure, the dispassionate younger man slid his other two fingers under the bottom of Velez’s shirts. Using the same simple pinching technique, he kept the wriggling woman fighting back an unwanted grin as his digits moved along the soft skin just above her beltline. “This doesn’t stop until you tell us what we want to know.”
“Eeeheeheiiehe! No! Nnnno!” Gritting her teeth, the determined journalist dug deep to reassemble some measure of dignity.
“When the Don’s men bought you down here, what did you think?” Izan wormed his index fingers further under Andrea’s shirts, his fingertips circling up her convulsing sides. “That they would hurt you, that they would beat you? I don’t imagine that scared you one bit, did it? No, pain you could handle. Pain you were ready for, you had accepted.”
“G-get off! Eeiihehehe!”
“Don Collazo doesn’t see it yet, but you and I know the truth.”
“Eieiehaha! Get outahaha!”
“You’re going to break.”
“Never! Eheiiehehe!”
“Who are you trying to convince, I wonder?” Before she could answer, the stoic lad turned all ten fingers onto the perplexed woman’s slim sides, squeezing firm into her tender, flexing flesh.
“Ahahaha! Neeehahahah!” Andrea shook, her abdomen tensing as she tried and tried to curl forward. “Noahahaha! Nohostohop!”
Between the open mouth grins repeatedly spreading across her face, the loudly laughing columnist’s expression twisted through mirth, confusion and fiery anger. It was there Izan felt some semblance of humanity, albeit the darker, more sadistic side. Whereas any other time the pitiless young man could barely claim to have a single emotion about anything, taking command of another’s body, using their own sensitivities against them, that was where he excelled most. Far from joy, or even mild happiness, the dead-eyed teen did manage some sensation deep within, Andrea’s squeaking pleas and hopelessness the fuel for his sparking fire.
“Do you have any scissors, Don Collazo?” Izan’s thumbs drilled into the svelte woman’s flat tummy, his fingers jabbing wildly into her heaving sides.
“I have this.” The Don leaned over, pulled his pant-leg up and slid a rather large knife from a sheath on his ankle. “But you can’t leave any marks. She cannot be able to prove what was done here.”
“It is not for her.”
Standing up and taking the knife handle, the majority of the unfazed young man’s attention was fixed on Velez’s heavily panting breaths. He wasn’t impressed, the Don, not yet, and leaned back against his countertop with a disgruntled sigh. With the knife in one hand, Izan turned back and reached to take hold of the journalist’s right sleeve. Easily, without so much as grazing her skin, the skillful lad sliced down the full length of Andrea’s blouse from cuff to breast. Repeating the same motion, he cut the left sleeve and let the now shredded top collapse around his prisoner’s waist. Though he was tempted to throw the blade into the fine wood of a wine rack, Izan resisted the urge and instead gave it back to Don Collazo.
“Are you starting to understand, Ms. Velez?” The sinewy interrogator grabbed at either side of the purple blouse and tore the front open, buttons all popping apart in one quick swoop. He tossed the cut-up shirt aside and looked over the journalist’s stretched upperbody, her bosoms squished up behind her bra and singlet, silky smooth underarms taut and defenseless. “Do you get the picture of where we’re going with this?”
“Y-your insane!” Ever defiant, the tightly restrained journalist couldn’t completely mask the slight warble or worry in her tone.
“So I’ve been told.” Izan wandered casually around to the back of the chair. “Something we’ll soon have in common…” Reaching around, he made sure to show his slowly wiggling fingers as he raised them up to Andrea’s elbows. “If you don’t give us some names.”
“You’re wai-mff!” Cutting herself off, the captive woman tensed as fingertips brushed against the undersides of her biceps. “You’re wasting your time! Don Collazo, this b-boyeehehe! This boy is wasting your time!”
“We shall see.” Don Collazo stroked his chin as he watched the kidnapped writer stifle her growing giggles.
Hardly caressing the trembling skin, Izan moved his fingers with feathery light strokes. Inching downward at a painstakingly gradual pace, the cruel lad could feel his victim’s muscles struggling more and more as the intended target drew closer. Halfway down and Velez began shaking her head, an almost silent protest not against what was being done but what she knew was about to happen. Less than an inch remaining and stifled laughter was only just held back, snorting in the shaking woman’s throat as the chair rocked beneath her. Finally, after nearly a full minute of purposely building suspense, Izan let his fingers start creeping back up Andrea’s arms again.
“Mmmnn-mnn-nn.” Velez groaned, a series of shuddering breaths blowing from her nose.
“You know what I’m going to do, don’t you?” Leaning close, the dark haired young man lowered his voice as he spoke less than an inch from the back of his captive’s right ear.
“Nfmmf!”
“You can’t escape. You can’t avoid it.”
“S-stop!”
“Only you can make this stop.”
“This-this will never work!” Velez gasped, squirming as the ten teasing fingers circled her elbows and began descending back down toward her utterly vulnerable underarms.
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“I’m telling yoIIIIEEEEHEEE!” Like she’d just been shocked by lightning, the bosomy woman lurched as far forward as her bonds would allow when ten dancing digits ran amok into her taut hollows. “EEEEHAHAHA! NOIIIEEEHAHAHA!”
Stood upright and showing no change in feeling across his youthful features, Izan freely scribbled five fingertips all over the squealing woman’s unprotected underarms. Sinfully soft to the touch, the speedy yet simple strokes sent Andrea reeling, her cackling laughter echoing through the tunnels of the cellar. As her large breasts bounced and her limbs yanked desperately at the binding ropes, Don Collazo raised a single quizzical eyebrow. Velez wouldn’t talk yet, despite her anguish, but the pleas that wailed amongst her uproarious reactions were a clear sign that her willpower was devolving.
“Hypnotic isn’t, senor?” Izan raked his short nails down the full length of the journalist’s hypersensitive hollows.
“I remain unconvinced of it’s effectiveness, young Rocha.” Said the Don, his weary eyes glinting with interest as they remained fixed on the busty prisoner. “Although I do admit, it is entertaining to watch.”
Entertaining would have to do, as long as the work could continue. Spidering further down, the unimpeded interrogator skated around the fleshy sides of Velez’s bulging bosoms, her sporadic twisting becoming sharper and more forceful by the second. The ropes notwithstanding, the wailing woman was a hostage to her own body and the idea fascinated Izan to no end. It was the one thing in all the world that could pique his interest, the only thing he’d ever known to make his heart beat a little faster. He’d been shot at once in Venezuela during one of the many attempts on his father’s life and the unflappable boy hadn’t even blinked, let alone jumped out the way.
“STOOHAHAHA! STOOOOPAHAHAHA!” Andrea howled, her cheeks blushing pink.
“Are you going to talk?” Frolicking fingers into the center of the frantic woman’s hollows, the callous lad traced unpredictable lines all over. “Say a name, Ms. Velez, say a name and I will give you rest.”
“OKAY! OKAEEHEEIAHAHA!”
“The name!”
“STOPAHAHA!”
“Name. First.”
“AIEEEHAHAH! I CAHAHAN’T!”
“As you like.” Izan scurried both hands downward, over the screaming journalist’s protruding ribs and clutched at the bottom of her singlet. Pulling the sleeveless shirt upward, Andrea rocked madly, unable to keep her tanned midriff from being exposed.
“No! No, wait!” Velez squirmed as the white cotton slid over her lacy purple bra, the marshmallowy soft flesh of her breasts swelling around the top and sides.
“I’ve no interest in seeing you nude, Ms. Velez.” Said the ruthless interrogator, telling the truth while working the singlet up and passed the captive woman’s head.
“Speak for yourself…” Don Collazo muttered under his breath.
“Removing your clothes has one purpose…besides the Don’s amusement.” Izan slid the stripped singlet up the entire length of the busty prisoner’s arms, tucking it neatly between her bound wrists. “I mean to expose all of your most ticklish areas. I will find each one and I will tickle you there. I will make you naked and I will keep tickling you until you tell us what we want to know. You won’t be able to stand it, Ms. Velez, I promise you.”
“Y-you…you won’t! Don Collazo, you are a man of honor!” Andrea stammered, clearly reaching the bottom of the barrel if she were appealing to Collazo’s ego. “This isn’t the way things are done! You know this! You can’t let this continue!”
His focus unwaveringly locked on the curvaceous woman’s wobbling bosoms, the older man stood with his arms folded and a noticeable bulge between his legs. “I won’t.” He said before finally making eye contact with the begging captive. “On my honor I will stop your torture…as soon as you tell us the names.”
“No! No PLEASE!” Velez glared at the Don, then turned her attention instantly downward as Izan’s hands reached around from behind and clawed in the air just inches from her uncovered abdomen. “Pleheeheese! Please don’t dohoo this!” She tensed her stomach, giggles disrupting her words in dreaded anticipation.
“Think of your most ticklish of all spots, Ms. Velez.” Izan whispered, his hot breath right on the back of the scantily clad columnist’s neck. “Think of the worst time someone tickled you there…and then imagine how much more terrible it will be when I discover it.”
“Pleaseplease, NO!” The hurriedly worming woman squawked. “Don’t do this! Don Collazo! Don CollazOOOOOAAAIIEEE!”
Andrea squealed, her stomach muscles contracting as every one of the young tormentor’s deftly moving digits raced around her midriff. From her lower tummy, up alongside her navel and across the bottom of her overstuffed bra, Izan’s fingers explored the flexing, tissue-soft skin. Bouncing feverishly in place, chair legs making woody taps against the stone floor, breathless pleas poured from the helpless woman’s broad and toothy grin. Each and every finger stroke was at once an enthralling thrill and infuriating agony, as was the natural order of things between the tickler and the one being tickled.
Conveniently for the end goal, Velez happened to be one of the unlucky few who were truly, naturally, uncontrollably ticklish. There had been those over the years who claimed to have no sensitivity to it at all, and every reason to believe it were true until the lad from Santa Selva got his hands on them. People like that, they required more work, more breaking down of their psyches before the suffering began. Most people, even those who were especially ticklish in their daily lives, they would not usually respond with laughter in a high-stress situation, like being kidnapped. Anger, discomfort certainly, often even tears, but in unskilled hands the shock of their predicament would rarely bring on the desired result. Andrea Velez however, was so atrociously, tragically ticklish it didn’t matter what else was going on. For someone as excruciatingly sensitive as her, the laughter always flowed.
“What do we have here, Ms. Velez?” Izan crouched to his haunches and without needing to look around, lazily circled the tip of one finger around her navel.
“Nohohoho! Pleeheeheeeaaheeese!” Her head craned forward, no one needed to see the babbling journalist’s face to know she was staring wide-eyed at her tummy as it zigzagged away from the offending digit.
“Are you trying to keep away from me?”
“D-don’t! N-n-n-noeeieiehee!”
“Is it your belly button, is that the problem?”
“Ohgodeeieeheehee! Don’tpleaseheeheese!”
“You don’t want me sticking my finger in there, do you?” A quick swipe across the small, oval shaped rim caused a loud shriek and sharp tensing of the abdomen. “No you don’t, do you?”
“NOiieehehehee!”
“It’s an unusual place to get tickled, but it can be quite crippling.” Izan continued his teasing circles, the sultry woman’s stomach wriggling, flexing and dancing to avoid the bullseye being hit. “Is it instinct, or did someone tickle you there? How do you know your belly button is so ticklish, Ms. Velez?”
“I-I can’t tell you eeiehhee! I can’t! The names!” Andrea spluttered, every word a great effort as she couldn’t take her eyes off the roaming digit at her belly. “Pleeeheeiie! I won’teeheehee!”
“Who tickled you here, hmm?”
“No one! No onneeeheieiee!”
“A former lover, perhaps? A few seconds at most, maybe, that’s all it would have took.”
“Don Colleeeheeheiie! Don! Please! Eeiiehheee!”
“This time it’s going to be a lot longer, Ms. Velez.”
“Nono!” The dark haired captive’s head shook and when that lone digit delved into her navel she craned back, jaw dropped and screeched like a lost desert spirit. “NYYYEEIIIEEE! EEEHAHAHAHA!”
From the tips of her fingers to the pointed ends of her boots, Andrea thrashed violently. Throwing her head all over, long locks flailed every which way, her stomach muscles heaving to be free of the wiggling fingertip. Deep within her navel the single digit worked, tiny burrowing movements that stroked the bottom and swept the explosively sensitive sides. Seconds into the hellish ordeal the crazed journalist’s pinkish cheeks had turned a rosy red, her laughter maniacal and wordless. Both raised arms tugged as furiously as her legs pulled, every ounce of Velez’s being wanting to curl up and hide her tummy forever.
Peering around his mindlessly laughing subject, Izan took note of Don Collazo’s state of mind. That bulge at the front of his pants had swelled considerably and a light coat of sweat had pooled along the man’s brow. He was a sadist by nature, it was rare not to be in a position like his, a fact that had been well measured prior to the meeting by the pool. Collazo liked watching Andrea shake, her large breasts quaking behind her bra, the way her screams wrenched out and the permanent look of panic in her eyes even as she smiled wider than she ever would have on purpose. The way her curvaceous body moved without her say-so, the way she begged for it to end, all from the miniscule, easy wiggling of one finger. The Don enjoyed the manipulation, even as he himself was being played.
Picking his moment carefully, Izan narrowed his eyes when Collazo’s already parted lips dropped slightly further. A commander of dozens upon dozens of armed men, the engrossed kingpin was in awe. Precisely on time, the crouching younger man snaked his free hand upward and nimbly unclipped Andrea’s overworked bra clasp, the purple cups loosening instantly. Though it was not a full unveiling, the newly found freedom of the prisoner’s bosoms certainly impressed the Don, his eyes widening at the sight of her heavily bouncing cleavage.
“Do you still have that knife, Don Collazo?” Izan called through the riotous squealing. “If you’d like to do the honors?”
“Absolutamente!” Snatching his blade from the tabletop behind him, the eager crime boss walked quicker than he likely did most days. He took one shoulder strap and sliced it clean, then split the other and tossed the half naked woman’s bra to the floor. “Dios mío!” The Don exclaimed as he watched Velez’s large, bare breasts jiggle in the open. “She would look a lot better by my pool in a bikini than running around trying to ruin my reputation, no?”
“As you say.” The wiry lad slid his finger free and with both hands crawled over Andrea’s tummy, sides and supple ribcage.
“Ahahaha! Aiieehahaha!” Too frazzled to speak, the shrill edge of the topless journalist’s laughter subsided some, even as she continued to wriggle and pull away.
“She is ready, I think.” Collazo set his knife back to the table, leaned again and gave a misguided nod.
“Not yet.” Izan ran his fingertips along the undersides of the prisoner’s hefty bosoms. “Her mind is weaker, yes, but we must take control of her body.”
“You have it, surely!”
“It is all external, Don Collazo. To gain full dominion, our control must come from within. Ms. Velez is strong, nothing less will break her.”
Upping Andrea’s giggles with a high pitched surprise, the savvy lad flickered his fingertips around the edges of her large, pink areoles. Using expertise learned on victims from his homeland through to Colombia, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico and more, Izan moved blindly, still never quite touching the tied woman’s moving nipples. Subtle though it was, unnoticeable to an ogre like Collazo, Velez’s rapid breathing changed after a minute or so. Through her ongoing, insuppressible squeaking and yelps, gasps for much needed air took on a faint raspy sound. It was just the signal needed to venture a swipe onto the buxom captive’s areoles directly, a move that made her buck, twist and shriek.
For her horrified response, the defiant columnist received five digits swirling around both nipples, each deft stroke narrowly missing her protruding nubbins. Paying inhumanly close attention to the barely perceptible changes at his fingertips, Izan soon felt Velez’s areoles begin to swell. In the face of deathly threats Andrea would have gladly planted her feet and stood her ground, tickling however, was her undoing. Laugh and laugh as she did for minutes on end, the once sturdy walls of her befuddled mind were crumbling. Those places meant to uphold societal inhibitions were now overrun by tickling fingers, the tickler free to do as he pleased.
Merciless to the point he lacked the concept, Izan stood from his crouched position and gently flicked at the tips of the slender woman’s now engorged nipples. Much like the Don, Andrea too had begun to sweat, her collarbone and hard working abdomen both glossy in the cellar light. The rosy hue of her cheeks had spread and turned darker red, her expression all anguish and confusion above a maddened smile. Instinctively, deep in the primal parts of her mind the shapely journalist knew what was happening, her shattered consciousness on the other hand probably had no previous experience to explain the sensations.
“I do believe Ms. Velez is becoming aroused.” Izan stated plainly when he finally removed his hands, but not before giving both the heavily panting woman’s nipples a firm pinch each.
“Ahnnh!” Andrea moaned hoarsely.
“You are joking!” Collazo opened his palms wide, a boyish glee in his tone.
“Not at all.” Leaving the topless woman to wheeze behind him, the nonchalant young man wandered around to stand before the Don. “She does not do it willingly.”
“Impossible…how?”
“Simply; Ms. Velez is so caught up in being tickled she hasn’t noticed her own body working against her. If you were to touch her as I did under normal circumstances-“
“She would fight back.”
“Yes. Except now, we’ve left her with nothing to fight with.”
“And now she will talk?”
“Do you want her to?” Izan let the question hang and turned back to the unwittingly titillated Velez.
“Please….what…what are doing to me…?” Andrea huffed between breaths, dark disheveled locks dangling around her limply hanging head.
Dropping to his haunches again, the unusually stoic young man sat just inches from the puzzled woman’s knees. “I’m tickling you.” And with that he clutched both Velez’s supple sides and kneaded with unforgiving force.
“Aaaaiiieehahaha! Nohoho! NO MORE!”
“A lot more.”
“Eieiee! I can’t breeeheeheeaaathe!”
“Then you will pass out.” Izan slid his thumbs behind the buxom journalist’s beltline, digging deep into the soft flesh between her shaking hips. “And when you awake, I will keep tickling you.”
“NNNIIIEEHAHAHA! NOHO! NOHOEEEIIEEE!” Eyes closed so tight it looked like she was trying to will herself out of existence, the unhinged prisoner howled.
“Another underappreciated spot.”
“STOPAAAHAHA! STOOOOOP!”
“People are often surprised by how uncomfortable getting touched here can be. In the right way, of course.” Burrowing his thumbs further under the half naked woman’s jeans, the unexpressive tormentor prodded savagely into the crease between her hips and thick thighs. “For someone as ticklish as Ms. Velez, it is the work of nightmares.”
The waistline of her jeans bunched down between her bucking hips, Andrea’s screaming laughter turned wordless all over again. A few seconds in and the harsh gripping at her hips sent chaotic squeals descending into silence. For a brief moment the self-muted captive swayed about, the only sounds the wooden chair rocking on the floor and the iron light fixture creaking above. Apparently devoid of air, Velez let out a few small dry gasps as she struggled, her head shaking so fast one might have thought she were covered in bees. Ending with a harrowing wail, the moment passed and the bosomy woman’s hysterics erupted as loudly as if they had never gone away.
Keeping someone so hyperticklish in a state of hapless, spasming laughter was easy. Frankly, anyone willing to wiggle their fingers could have done it, Izan knew this and knew well he had to offer something more. As he’d explained in part to Don Collazo, more than anything the art of tickle torture was a game of the mind. To take full advantage of a victim’s psyche required patience and precision, it took an ability to read people. No two were alike in either mind nor body. It was here, with an almost innate ability of understanding, that the younger Rocha excelled. Even if by his own admission, humanity was something he severely lacked.
In her raving lunacy, there was next to nothing Velez could notice outside of her own helpless agony. Raising one hand up her sweat-slicked abdomen, it was hardly any effort at all to maintain the abject delirium by darting five fingers erratically around. From ribs to tummy to underarms, the rushing bunch of digits had the once willful journalist cackling without pause. Making sure to give her rigid nipples the occasional unexpected stroke, Izan set his other hand to work unbuckling Andrea’s belt. A quick pluck, pull and slip of the leather had the buckle parted, the button and zipper of the unaware prisoner’s jeans swiftly following. There was no need to look down at the lacy purple panties to confirm what Izan already knew.
“Proof, if you needed it, Don Collazo…” Ceasing his latest overwhelming assault, the wiry younger man hooked his fingers around the back of the blubbering woman’s pants and pulled down.
“Ah! No…no!” Andrea whimpered and wriggled in vain to keep her jeans from sliding further under her well-rounded butt.
The Don stepped closer and as he did, Izan tugged the begging prisoner’s jeans out to her parted knees. Other than not being cut to pieces, the bound columnist’s panties had one other key difference to the matching bra, a distinctive wet patch down between her bronze thighs. More interested in the older man’s reaction than his latest hopeless quarry, the ice-blooded lad turned to see Collazo’s eyebrows rise. A shark like grin crossing his lips, the cartel kingpin chuckled and shook his head. Disbelief, admiration, a few sinister fantasies of what he might do given the chance, all of it as plain as if it were painted in neon across his well lined face.
Caught by disbelief herself, Velez’s voice trembled. “No…no this isn’t right…you’ve…you’ve done something to me! Fed me something, some poison or-“
“No chemicals.” Izan crept his fingers slowly off the worrisome woman’s stretched jeans and on to her bare thighs. “Tickling, Ms. Velez. All I’ve done is tickle you…and you have become very, very aroused.”
“Noheie!” Shaking her legs, the giggly captive watched as those unyielding hands wandered closer, muscles flexing and making her inner thighs quiver. “I’m not! Eeiiehee! Stop! Stoeeheiiee!”
“You are. I know you are, Don Collazo knows you are.”
“No! Eieeheehee!” Andrea’s knees pushed inward, vibrating in place as the young man’s forearms pressed against the insides, his fingertips a little halfway toward her panties.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?
“Please! N-not there!”
“Not where?” Izan drew his swirling digits within an inch either side of the purple lace, the damp patch showing off curves and creases of the flustered woman’s labia. “I’ve been getting to know your body, Ms. Velez. If I go any further you know as well as I do this little stain between your legs is going to get much bigger.”
“Don’t! Eheeiehe! DON’T!” The bosomy journalist jerked harshly at her bonds. “I can’t! Eieiehe! Please! I can’t tell yohoohoo anything!”
“Of course you can.” Letting one fingertip graze the line between leg and cotton lace, the man some Honduran women called ‘The Devil of Danli’ made his latest unlucky victim squeal. “And if you do decide to talk, I may let you keep your boots on.”
“Nohohooo! Th-they’re goohoohood! Eieie!” Velez spluttered as more fingertips stroked the barely covered outer edges of her pussy. “Eieehe! They’re good people! Eieiehaha! Pleeheeheease!”
“Tickle her!” Barked the Don, over-eager to watch the show and too bullish a fellow for patience or thoughtful tact.
“PLEASE N-“
Turning his palms outward to face the frazzled captive’s thighs, Izan danced eight fingertips all over her puffy labia. Shrieking wildly, the busty journalist tried with full, furious force to clamp her legs shut, the fondling of her most private area causing any sense of coordination to crash. With his fingers busy, the unflinching lad hooked his thumbs inward and poked cruelly into the cotton, skirting the painfully sensitive skin at the border of Velez’s taint. If asked then for the names, in the throws of her agony, the screaming prisoner would likely have spilled every one without a thought, babbled off all of her sources just to avoid one more hellish stroke. As it was, Andrea was in not fit state to do anything but laugh in berserk fashion.
Propped open like the wings of a vulture, the almost emotionless lad’s elbows pressed at the insides of the bound woman’s knees. It was all animal instinct trying to close her legs, maddened as Velez was there could be no conscious decision making. He’d used the same trick before, more or less, with unbearably ticklish women tied in similar positions. Knees open, aroused and pussy exposed, under Izan’s skilled hands they were almost always putty in his fingers. Even if their physical strength wasn’t severely weakened the way Andrea’s was, the wiry young man had always been deceptively strong. Only one had ever given him trouble, a gym owner in Zacapa.
Gianna was her name and it had taken four of the senior Rocha’s men to tie her down. Some steroid deal gone sideways or some such, it was usually something like that. Money was the problem, as it ever was. Once firmly bound his father let Izan loose on the muscular woman, no amount of bulging biceps or rippling abs able to save her from the younger man’s tickling touch. Through girlish laughter and wailing pleas, Gianna had put the ropes and the wooden chair she was trapped on to an almighty test, all of it somehow barely holding together as tears streamed down her cheeks. Finally, stripped of her Lycra and down only to a g-string, Izan had moved in on the Amazonian captive just as he did now to Andrea Velez. The difference of course, was that even in a bewildered mess of ticklish hysterics the gym owner’s powerful thighs could not be pried apart by one fellow alone. In the end it had taken those same four men of his father’s to pry Gianna’s legs apart, and when her sopping wet pussy was at last teased she’d pulled so hard on the rope overhead it tore a wooden rafter clean out of the ceiling.
“Ms. Velez…“ Izan slid his fingers back along the smooth skin of Andrea’s thighs, beads of sweat trickling down to the chair. Digits wiggling, he kept the exhausted woman shuddering as she wheezed, the wetness between her legs spread almost to the outer edges of her soaked-through panties. “I’m going to take your boots now. You may say the names if you wish, it makes no difference. I am going to tickle your feet.”
“Neehhei! Nhhheehee! Neeheehe!” Forming what was probably the beginning of the word ‘no’ over and over again, the breathless captive continuously trailed off into weary laughter.
“You’re not going to climax, are you?”
“I ceeheehe! Ican’teehhee!”
“You’re not allowed to climax, you understand.” Dancing his fingers over the tops of her legs and down her jeans, the cunning young man kept Velez giggling mindlessly. “If you climax before I say so, you will be tickled for an hour without rest.”
“Nonono!” Andrea wrestled at her bonds as the torturer’s hands cupped around her left boot. “Eiieehhee! Ple-please! The-the naehehehemes! The names!”
“Yes!” Don Collazo interjected unhelpfully. “The names! Give us the-“
“Names if you want.” Izan talked over top of the older man as he plucked the first boot free. “Or don’t, it makes no difference to you now.”
One white sock squirming in the open, the dark haired woman breathed heavy and closed her eyes while her right boot was tugged away. “I can’t!” She squeaked, her voice cracking like she disagreed with her own statement. “Th-they’re good people! Honest people!”
“They’re rats!” Roared the Don as he jabbed a finger toward the floor. “Dirty ratas who deserve what I will do to them!”
“As you like.” Hooking a thumb under the elastic of each sock, the unbreakably calm lad slowly peeled back the thin cotton coverings. “Remember, do not climax.”
“PLEHEESE!” Andrea rocked as her socks slid free, the tips of her slender toes wriggling nervously just above the cold stone floor. “I-I can’t control it! Please! I’m begging you! Do not do this!”
“Alas.” Izan kneeled, snaked his hands around the desperate journalist’s calves and looked up at her from between her knees.
“NO! GOD NO!” One feathery light stroke caressed the ball of Velez’s silky left sole and she curled her toes tight. “I’LL TELL YOU! I’ll TEEEEIIIGGGHHAAHAHAHAAAA!”
Determined as the crazed captive was to talk, Izan was almost as determined to keep her from giving up the information so soon. Unlikely though it was given the Don’s keen interest in her suffering, there still existed the narrowest possibility that he would put an end to Andrea’s interrogation if she gave him what he wanted. Chance was seldom the kind of thing worth toying with if it could be avoided, the stoic tormentor thought as he scribbled ten fingers around the bottoms of Velez’s feet, he always preferred to control any outcome. Besides, his pulse was running quicker now than it had in months. Izan wasn’t about to give up his sadistic enjoyment for anything, especially a brute like Collazo.
Without looking at her soles directly, finding the most agonizing areas and techniques across the nearly nude woman’s soles had to be done entirely by feel. From her tender heels down to the undersides of her terribly ticklish toes Izan felt out every curve, committing to memory the effects of different speeds and pressures. Fast fingertips along the heels and slow nails over the balls, Andrea fell to silence and shrieked on command, the chair swaying wildly from side to side beneath her. When he wormed his digits beneath her toes, the nimble handed lad imagined Velez wanting to give up her sources more than anything, to scream the names only for laughter to echo forth. The idea made his heartbeat pound like a jackhammer.
“The pants if you please, senor.” Izan danced his swiftly moving digits directly in the center of the bare foot journalist’s helplessly wriggling soles.
“Are you sure this is wise, young Rocha?” Said the Don as he appeared on the right, knife in hand. “She looks like she’s going mad. If she snaps she may not tell us anything!”
“Do not fear, Don Collazo.” Forcing fingertips through Andrea’s toes, the merciless young man stroked at the direly sensitive skin between each one. “Most people can go days before they go truly out of their mind, even ones as sensitive as Ms. Velez.”
While the older man hacked away at one side of his feverishly aroused prisoner’s jeans, Izan kept his eyes firmly locked on her contorting face. As she bellowed and squealed some small part of the svelte woman’s conscious surely knew that every second of her humiliating ordeal was being observed. Few people enjoy being watched during embarrassing times, especially at their most mortifying moments. Preoccupied with her suffering, Izan knew in the back of her mind that Andrea could feel his eyes upon her. All her rattling wildly in dismay, laughter and ever-increasing arousal, her heaving ribs and steaming sweat. No matter how much she wished it were otherwise, every indignity forced upon Velez was being witnessed and remembered.
“You have done this before then?” Don Collazo wandered around and began cutting at the other side of the deranged woman’s pants. “Tickled a woman for days, until she’s gone insane?”
“No.” Izan drew tiny circles just beneath the sultry prisoner’s heels, her head whipping forward and back as she screeched. “I’ve seen it done.”
“That must have been quite the sight.” Snipping the last small piece of denim near Andrea’s ankle, the inquisitive Don pulled the shredded jeans away and cast them backward.
“It was memorable.”
For the first time in many long minutes, the purposefully vague tormentor looked away from Velez’s anguished expression. Her panties were drenched to the point the wooden chair beneath had turned slick and slippery between her thighs. By Izan’s estimation the cackling captive could climax at any second. That lustful release was one aspect of his craft that, unfortunately, couldn’t be handled with complete accuracy. Instead the threat of further torment usually had to suffice, leaving the thought of additional punishment looming over a victim’s head should they disobey. Naturally, Andrea and all those who’d come before had just as much, if not less say in the timing of their orgasms as their torturer did.
“You’re doing well, Ms. Velez.” Izan ran his palms up the wheezing woman’s bare calves and gripped firmly just below her knees. Pulling her legs apart, the artful young man slowly leaned forward. “Keep this up-“ He flickered the tip of his tongue across the inside of her left thigh. “And I won’t have to tickle you for an hour straight.”
“Aiieeha! Hhh! Eeeihahaha!” Deep belly laughter caused Andrea’s hefty bosoms to jiggle as she shook her head, heavily panting breaths cut short by baffled mirth.
“You’ve had a lot of breaks, believe it or not.” He darted his tongue a little further in, hot breath on her sweat glossed thighs when he spoke. “There will be no rest if you climax. None at all.”
“Iiieehahaha! Hh-hh! Ahahahaieee!” Velez gasped, her legs vibrating in a determined effort to snap shut as the wiry lad’s evil tongue licked nearer and nearer toward her sordid panties.
“You will be naked.” Izan’s hair brushed against the bound journalist’s abdomen and he turned to take his teasing tongue lower. “And I will tickle you everywhere.”
“NEIHEEIEEHEE!” Andrea bucked as the slippery point of her tormentor’s tongue snaked down her inner most thigh, right along the lacey line of her underwear.
“Don’t you cum!” The shrewd lad put a little sternness in his tone, a little dominance.
“EEIIGGHAHA! EEIIIHAHAHA!”
Using the full width of his tongue, Izan licked to the side, across the rough cotton and onto the bittersweet wetness. Lodging his shoulders tight between the berserk woman’s knees, the sinister heir to the Rocha name lapped at Velez’s barely protected pussy, her swollen clit easily found amid the chaos. Keeping his tongue to a methodical rhythm had the buxom prisoner moaning in seconds, her laughter blending together with lewd cries. Never had Izan let one of his victim’s come to climax that easy, and now that his hands were free Andrea would be no exception.
Ever patient, the craftily cruel lad waited briefly for an especially lustful and loud moan, the kind that’s almost always followed immediately by orgasm. Halfway through the befuddled journalist’s most impassioned gasp, Izan dropped his hands from behind her knees to directly in front of her upturned soles. Fingers spidering quickly, he raced every skilled digit from Velez’s painfully ticklish heels to her alarmingly sensitive toes, her body wrenching moan instantly dissolving into unhinged laughter. In the same moment two tears drained from Andrea’s tightly shut eyes, thick drops that drizzled down either side of her wrinkled nose and parted around her wide, screaming lips.
“You’re not going to cum, are you Velez?!” Izan’s voice turned from stern to booming command as he paused just long enough to speak, returning quickly to licking ravenously at the demented woman’s panties. “Don’t you cum!” Lick lick lick. “You think this is bad?!” Lick lick lick. Lick lick. “Imagine it without your underwear!”
Lost to the world beyond her hyperticklish misery, if the maddened prisoner heard any of the taunting words at all they were surely sent into a whirlwind of shattered thoughts. Whether or not his words were fully comprehended or not made little difference, Izan figured it was always worthwhile to try. Just one sentence, one tiny terrible tease entering Andrea’s mind would only compound her waking nightmare. How furiously hard she tried to hold back, how raging she tried to keep from a sinful explosion of carnality. Velez had as much hope of suppressing her orgasm as she did from stifling laughter when tickled. Ten fingers scribbling upon her vulnerable soles, the pace of her tormentor’s tongue increased, and the floodgates burst.
“AHHH!” Arching her back sharply, Andrea howled and threw her head back.
“Oh no!” Izan leaned back and continued racing his digits up and down the quaking woman’s arches. “That won’t do, Ms. Velez!”
Those words the loudly moaning journalist definitely didn’t hear. Fingers clawing at the rope between her hands, Andrea’s slender toes curled to fists, her tickled soles wrinkling all over. With the young sadist’s shoulders out the way, she clamped her knees shut tight and twisted violently in the chair, wooden legs screeching on the stone floor. Raising her curvaceous ass off the seat revealed a mess of liquid lust, her sopping panties unable to keep anything back. Where the orgasm faded and raspy, near-silent laughter began even Izan had a hard time telling, either way Velez continued to rock calamitously in her bonds for a good long while.
“I suppose you have guessed this already-“ Don Collazo only spoke when his young guest finally stopped tickling the captive’s feet. “but, I am impressed.”
“Thank you, senor.” Izan stood and turned toward the older man. Behind him, Andrea hung limply in her sweat soaked disgrace, whimpering and tittering as if someone were still feathering fingers around her flesh. “Ms. Velez will talk now.”
“Bien, bien!” The big man brushed by and strode right toward the disheveled woman. Pinching her chin between his thumb and index finger, the Don lifted Andrea’s head. “The. Names.”
Weary eyes peering out from behind matted strands of hair, the teary eyed captive’s bottom lip trembled. “Facundo Xospa…” Her voice shook, barely more than a whisper. “Mireya Tintos…Abdundio Zosaya…that-that’s it…that’s all of them, I swear…”
“Hm.” Collazo gave a satisfied grunt as he lowered Velez’s head. “There is a cupboard at the back there.” He turned and gestured to the far end of the room. “Your money’s back there. You’ve done well, young Rocha, you’ll be well paid.”
“Respectfully, Don Collazo, it is not your money that I seek.” Izan put on his best polite demeanor, an act that no one yet had ever seen through. “I would ask a favor.”
“You have done me a great service today. Name your request and I will do my best to fill it.”
“You are a man of great renown. Great reputation.” Stroke the ego, it always worked on men who thought themselves powerful. “And you have many connections all over the world.”
“Your father is equally well connected. What can I do that he cannot?”
“This is true.” Izan nodded. “But he is my father, and with that comes the belief that there is bias. A bias you yourself questioned until very recently. You’ve seen now what I am capable of. I would like it very much if you could tell others, friends, business associates. People who may be in need of similar services, like you were today.”
“Mmm…” The Don’s eyes narrowed as he looked thoughtfully off to one of the many surrounding wine racks. Slowly, a smile grew across his hard features and he turned back. “Alright young Rocha, you have a deal. I will offer your services, put my word behind you. And…if anyone should hire you, I think a modest finder’s fee will be in order, no?”
“Of course.” Said the quick-witted lad without skipping a beat. He didn’t care if Collazo made more money. Money was meaningless when you had enough of it. And money couldn’t buy what Izan wanted. “One more thing, if you’ll indulge me…”
“I must return her soon.” Turning to Velez, the dark haired kingpin said. “She will be missed before much longer.”
“I promised her an hour.” Izan strolled to stand beside the Don, both of them looking down at the ravaged woman. “Would you mind cutting her underwear off?”
Collazo chuckled and held up his blade. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The End
