clean_kitchen
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I was browsing through the requests and decided to attempt to fill this request by feetadell1: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=161867
. . .
It all happened so fast. The house had been dark and quiet, a typical weekday night. Lynn and her daughter Sara had gone to bed a few hours earlier. Now they were both very awake. Now Lynn was very frightened, and Sara was being tickled within an inch of of her life.
Lynn's eyes darted back and forth from her daughter to her assailants, her mind grasping for some explanation, some reason why two intruders had broken into her house and were tickling her daughter's feet.
The two captors wore black outfits and ski masks, but Lynn could tell they were both women. She had heard them speak briefly to each other and then to Sara before tickling began. She couldn't make out the entire conversation, but it sounded as if they asked Sara a question. They must not have heard what they wanted, because Sara immediately began to beg for mercy as they went to the foot of the bed. Each assailant grabbed one of Sara's bare feet, holding it firmly with one hand, and began furiously tickling the sole with the other. Sara's pleas erupted in a scream which gave way to desperate laughter.
Sara's feet were famously ticklish, and this was not a playful tickle. These were women who knew what they wanted, they somehow knew that Sara's feet were a sure-fire way to get it, and they ween't messing around.
Lynn began to beg with tears in her eyes for the torture to stop. It broke her heart to see her daughter suffer like this, especially as the result of such intentional cruelty. The only reply to her pleas was more laughter from Sara. One of the captors was now holding sara's toes back and raking long fingernails up and down the outstretched skin. The other had let go and the fingers of both hands were skittering up and adown and all over the sides of her feet. The differences in sensation was maddening, and the ticklers seemed to know just how to mix it up to maintain the most ticklish effect.
While Sara was awash in tickles, Lynn was awash in conflict. The situation was horrifying (she was watching intruders torture her daughter), yet cartoonish (they were tickling her feet). She found herself wondering how frightened and concerned for Sara she should be. On one hand, they were only tickling Sara's feet. On the other hand, there was no such thing to Sara as `just tickling her feet.'
As Lynn pondered whether the intruders would move on to more `real' torture, she also for the first time if they would move on to her! The trauma of the situation delayed her realization that her own bare, and quite ticklish feet were restrained and vulnerable at the end of the bed, inches from one pair of those tickling hands. This raised new conflict in Lynn. Her maternal instinct longed to make her daughter's suffering stop, even if it meant taking her place. But her toes involuntarily curled at the thought of those fingers on her own feet. It had been a long time since anyone had tickled her feet, and then it was only for a second or two. These women had been tickling Sara for nearly ten minutes, now, and Lynn wasn't sure she could take it any better than Sara was. Lynn could only guess what it was like to be tickled like that, but given the situation she thought it likely she would find out before all this was over.
. . .
It had been a good semester for Sara. As a junior at the state university, she was completing a semester-long internship at a local research lab. Her advisor had pulled some strings to get Sara a placement in her hometown so that she could live at home. It was good to be away from campus for a while, and she really liked her position. Not only was it technically challenging and completely in line with the work she wanted to do when she graduated, it also make her feel kind of like a spy.
The firm Sara worked for did R&D work for Defense contracts. As an intern, Sara never got to see any of the classified project files, but security was very tight — retinal scanners and everything — and it made Sara feel like she was in the CIA or something. Her real role wasn't as grand as all that, but she didn't mind. She was only there for a couple months, and t would look good on her resume.
The night was like any other. Her mom picked her up after work, they had dinner, watched some TV and went to bed. She had no idea how remarkable hte night would truly be.
She awoke to a shadowy figure in a room, the feel of a gun on her cheek and a whispered warning to keep quiet – a warning she promptly ignored, though her scream was muffled by a gloved hand on her mouth. She was escorted roughly to her mother's room, where she was met with the bizarre sight of her mom tied hand and foot to her bed with her arms above her head. She called out to her mom, but was quickly shoved onto the bed. The intruder's gun convinced her to let the captors tie her down beside her mother.
She had hardly begun to process the situation when one of the intruders leaned over an whipered in her ear.
``We've come for information. But first, do you know what we're going to do if you don't tell us? I've heard your feet are ticklish, is that true?''
Sara's eyes widened in horror. `Ticklish' didn't even begin to cover it. She begged and pleaded for the women not to tickle her. She said she'd tell them anything they wanted. She'd cooperate. She'd do anything. Just don't tickle her feet!
In those brief seconds, she forgot about everything: her job, her school, even her mother. She was only aware of was the intruders, her feet and how desperately she didn't want to be tickled. She begged and let out a giggle as each intruder grabbed a foot near the toes and held it firm. In anticipation, even holding her feet tickled, and she braced herself as best she could.
When the fingers hit her feet, she didn't even try to hold back. She let out a scream and then dissolved into histerical laughter. Her feet didn't get tickled often, but it always shocked her just how much it tickled. It was always worse than she expected — and she expected it to be bad.
The intruders scribbled their fingers all over her soles, never resting to let her get used to it, always moving to the next ticklish spot, vigorously wringing laughter from her faster than she could get it out. They changed their techniques frequently to keep her off balance. One stretched her foot tight and tickled her with fingernails while the other tickled her other foot all over with both hands. Every once in a while one would immobilize a foot with both hands while hte other plied her nails to the helpless soles with both hands.
After a few seconds she felt as though she would die. After a few minutes she almost wished she would. The ticklers were relentless, and hers was a world of tickled feet and nothing else, though she could occasionally make out her mother's voice, pleading with the ticklers to stop.
. . .
Lynn was yelling now at the intruders to stop, to tickle her instead, but she was barely audible over her daugher's laughter. She could tell Sara had taken all she could. Why wouldn't they stop? What did they want?
Finally, the ticklers stopped. Lynn braced herself in fear that they'd move on to her, but they didn't. Instead, they told Sara she could expect more of the same unless she cooperated. The threat brought new energy to Sara, though completely exhausted from the tickling. She said she'd tell them anything they wanted to know.
. . .
Sara's eye's grew and her spirit sunk to desperation when the intruders made their request. They wanted access codes to one of the classified project files where she worked. She tried to explain that she didn't know the codes. She tried to explain that she was only an intern, and they don't give interns clearance. She tried to explain that she would tell them if she knew!
Her mind raced as the intruders returned to the foot of the bed. She didn't know the information they wnated from her, and they were going to tickle her until they believed her. It was out of her control, and she didn't know how long that would be.
Laughter and sensation quickly drowned out her thoughts.
. . .
Lynn begged the intruders to leave her daughter alone. She said she didn't know, but apparently the captors weren't convinced. They went back to work, enthusiastically tickling her feet. Sara responded as she did before, with screaming laughter intermingled with almost-comprehensible pleas for mercy.
This was unreal, like something out of a bad movie. Lynn watched Sara's face. One moment her eyes would be wide with astonishment, gasping for air; the next her eyes would be shut tight, her mouth wide with laughter and a smile inconsistent with her state, laughing as though she could not get it out fast enough. Her laugh was sometimes a deep cackle, other times a sort of giggly twitter, and other times no sound escaped at all. Her head whipped back and forth while she strained against her bonds and her body bounced and twisted as much as it was able.
Lynn wondered if Sara knew the information. Lynn didn't know much about what Sara did, but she knew Sara worked for a Defense contractor. Were the intruders wrong and tickling an innocent woman? or were they right, and Sara which meant Sara was choosing to get tickled instead of talk? Was that possible? She supposed people did that, but they were soldiers and spies. This was Sara. Could she really be making a decision to let herself get tickled? How long could she hold out?
Lynn found herself wondering if she could make that same decision to let herself be tickled when she knew she could stop it. She guessed she alrady had a partial answer from offering to let the intruders tickle her instead of Sara. If Lynn was wiling to be tickled for Sara, maybe Sara was willing to be tickled for secrecy? If so, Sara was the most dedicated woman she ever knew. If the intruders didn't get their information, it wouldn't be because they didn't tickle Sara badly enough.
. . .
Eventually the tickling stopped again, and Sara immediately began a breathless plea that she didn't know and to please stop tickling her. Lynn didn't know how long it had been this time. She couldn't move enough to see the alarm clock.
The intruders whispered to each other and then repeated their request. Sara again told them she didn't have the codes. They said that after the tickling they gave her she was either telling the truth or one of the toughest people they knew, but they weren't convinced. They said maybe she could stand the tickling, but they wondered if she could stand seeing her mother get it.
Time seemed to stand still in that instant for Lynn. She heard Sara continue to plead with the intruders, but her voice sounded distant. Lynn watched as the women moved toward her side of the bed, toward her feet. They seemed to be moving almost in slow motion. Lynn could suddenly feel every inch of her bare feet, every air current. This was it. She feared and expected this would happen, but now it was a reality. As the fingers decended and she braced herself, she wondered if it would be as bad as she expected.
It was worse. She couldn't remember the last time someone had playfully tickled her feet, but now she was really getting it. All she could think of was getting her feet away from those fingers, and how badly she wanted it to stop. She strained against her bonds, and laughed harder than she thought possible. Already her stomach ached.
. . .
For the moment, Sara was simply relieved that they stopped tickling her, and it made her feel a little guilty. Her mom was clearly as ticklish as she was, so she knew just what she was going through. The sensations were still fresh in her mind, and her feet still tingled from the tickling.
She kept silent as her mother wailed hysterically. It made her feel like a coward, but she knew if the ticklers stopped on her mother, they would just come back to her, and she just couldn't take it any more. She desperately wished that she had the information the intruders wanted. Hopelessness washed over her, realizing that her mother and her were doomed to be tickled until the intruders believed her.
Sara began once again to plead with her captors. She begged them to leave her mother alone, that she didn't know anything — all the things she had already told them a dozen times already that night. Dread filled her heart when they stoppde tickling her mother.
. . .
Lynn didn't know how long they tickled her feet. It seemed like forever. They had been merciless and relentless, determined to get her as bad as they could. She was still giggling as the sensation slowly wore off.
She didn't know what to think any more. The situation was so strange. These women wanted some information, and they thought Sara had it. Sara said she didn't know, so they had ruthlessly tickled her feet before turning their attention on Lynn. Lynn had never been tickled lie that in her life. It was torture, and she couldn't take it.
She began to wonder if Sara was telling the truth. Had her daughter let her get tickled, knowing she could stop it? Lynn didn't want to believe it, but she wanted to have her feet tickled like that again even less. She turned her head toward Sara and began to beg her to please tell them what they wanted to know, to not let the tickle her any more.
Sara repeated her claim of ignorance, that she would stop it if she could.
Their conversation was cut short by the intruders. They said they were starting to think maybe Sara was telling the truth, but they going to be sure.
Lynn was desperate as each intruder climbed up on the bed and straddled one of the outstreched women. She wathced as the woman on her daughter unbuttoned Sara's pajamas top.
"Are you sure you don't want to tell us? Last chance," the intruder threatened, wiggling her fingers just above Sara's now bare torso.
Sara begged and pleaded for her not to do this, but was soon back in tickled hysterics as the intruder scribbled her nails up and down and all over Sara's upper body. Sara shrieked and twisted, but could not escpae the fingers that were furiously tickling her body.
Tears filled Lynn's eyes as the sight of her daughter's ticklish torture was joined by the sensation of her own top being unbuttoned. She shook her head, pleading for mercy, but within seconds she was lost in the sensation of fingers tickling madly all over her torso. They alternated from lightly tracing across her belly, to sqeezing and poing her ribs, to dancing in her armpits, and back again.
Her feet had been bad, but this was somehow worse. The changes in sensations from hard to soft and the greater area being tickled made this much more unbearable.
She and her daughter screamed and laughed and begged as the intruders tickled the pair nearly to unconsciousness. When they finally stopped, the only sound in the room were the breathless giggles of the mother and daughter, too exhausted from the tickling to beg. When the tickling did not immediately resume, they both drifted to sleep.
THE END
.. ?
. . .
It all happened so fast. The house had been dark and quiet, a typical weekday night. Lynn and her daughter Sara had gone to bed a few hours earlier. Now they were both very awake. Now Lynn was very frightened, and Sara was being tickled within an inch of of her life.
Lynn's eyes darted back and forth from her daughter to her assailants, her mind grasping for some explanation, some reason why two intruders had broken into her house and were tickling her daughter's feet.
The two captors wore black outfits and ski masks, but Lynn could tell they were both women. She had heard them speak briefly to each other and then to Sara before tickling began. She couldn't make out the entire conversation, but it sounded as if they asked Sara a question. They must not have heard what they wanted, because Sara immediately began to beg for mercy as they went to the foot of the bed. Each assailant grabbed one of Sara's bare feet, holding it firmly with one hand, and began furiously tickling the sole with the other. Sara's pleas erupted in a scream which gave way to desperate laughter.
Sara's feet were famously ticklish, and this was not a playful tickle. These were women who knew what they wanted, they somehow knew that Sara's feet were a sure-fire way to get it, and they ween't messing around.
Lynn began to beg with tears in her eyes for the torture to stop. It broke her heart to see her daughter suffer like this, especially as the result of such intentional cruelty. The only reply to her pleas was more laughter from Sara. One of the captors was now holding sara's toes back and raking long fingernails up and down the outstretched skin. The other had let go and the fingers of both hands were skittering up and adown and all over the sides of her feet. The differences in sensation was maddening, and the ticklers seemed to know just how to mix it up to maintain the most ticklish effect.
While Sara was awash in tickles, Lynn was awash in conflict. The situation was horrifying (she was watching intruders torture her daughter), yet cartoonish (they were tickling her feet). She found herself wondering how frightened and concerned for Sara she should be. On one hand, they were only tickling Sara's feet. On the other hand, there was no such thing to Sara as `just tickling her feet.'
As Lynn pondered whether the intruders would move on to more `real' torture, she also for the first time if they would move on to her! The trauma of the situation delayed her realization that her own bare, and quite ticklish feet were restrained and vulnerable at the end of the bed, inches from one pair of those tickling hands. This raised new conflict in Lynn. Her maternal instinct longed to make her daughter's suffering stop, even if it meant taking her place. But her toes involuntarily curled at the thought of those fingers on her own feet. It had been a long time since anyone had tickled her feet, and then it was only for a second or two. These women had been tickling Sara for nearly ten minutes, now, and Lynn wasn't sure she could take it any better than Sara was. Lynn could only guess what it was like to be tickled like that, but given the situation she thought it likely she would find out before all this was over.
. . .
It had been a good semester for Sara. As a junior at the state university, she was completing a semester-long internship at a local research lab. Her advisor had pulled some strings to get Sara a placement in her hometown so that she could live at home. It was good to be away from campus for a while, and she really liked her position. Not only was it technically challenging and completely in line with the work she wanted to do when she graduated, it also make her feel kind of like a spy.
The firm Sara worked for did R&D work for Defense contracts. As an intern, Sara never got to see any of the classified project files, but security was very tight — retinal scanners and everything — and it made Sara feel like she was in the CIA or something. Her real role wasn't as grand as all that, but she didn't mind. She was only there for a couple months, and t would look good on her resume.
The night was like any other. Her mom picked her up after work, they had dinner, watched some TV and went to bed. She had no idea how remarkable hte night would truly be.
She awoke to a shadowy figure in a room, the feel of a gun on her cheek and a whispered warning to keep quiet – a warning she promptly ignored, though her scream was muffled by a gloved hand on her mouth. She was escorted roughly to her mother's room, where she was met with the bizarre sight of her mom tied hand and foot to her bed with her arms above her head. She called out to her mom, but was quickly shoved onto the bed. The intruder's gun convinced her to let the captors tie her down beside her mother.
She had hardly begun to process the situation when one of the intruders leaned over an whipered in her ear.
``We've come for information. But first, do you know what we're going to do if you don't tell us? I've heard your feet are ticklish, is that true?''
Sara's eyes widened in horror. `Ticklish' didn't even begin to cover it. She begged and pleaded for the women not to tickle her. She said she'd tell them anything they wanted. She'd cooperate. She'd do anything. Just don't tickle her feet!
In those brief seconds, she forgot about everything: her job, her school, even her mother. She was only aware of was the intruders, her feet and how desperately she didn't want to be tickled. She begged and let out a giggle as each intruder grabbed a foot near the toes and held it firm. In anticipation, even holding her feet tickled, and she braced herself as best she could.
When the fingers hit her feet, she didn't even try to hold back. She let out a scream and then dissolved into histerical laughter. Her feet didn't get tickled often, but it always shocked her just how much it tickled. It was always worse than she expected — and she expected it to be bad.
The intruders scribbled their fingers all over her soles, never resting to let her get used to it, always moving to the next ticklish spot, vigorously wringing laughter from her faster than she could get it out. They changed their techniques frequently to keep her off balance. One stretched her foot tight and tickled her with fingernails while the other tickled her other foot all over with both hands. Every once in a while one would immobilize a foot with both hands while hte other plied her nails to the helpless soles with both hands.
After a few seconds she felt as though she would die. After a few minutes she almost wished she would. The ticklers were relentless, and hers was a world of tickled feet and nothing else, though she could occasionally make out her mother's voice, pleading with the ticklers to stop.
. . .
Lynn was yelling now at the intruders to stop, to tickle her instead, but she was barely audible over her daugher's laughter. She could tell Sara had taken all she could. Why wouldn't they stop? What did they want?
Finally, the ticklers stopped. Lynn braced herself in fear that they'd move on to her, but they didn't. Instead, they told Sara she could expect more of the same unless she cooperated. The threat brought new energy to Sara, though completely exhausted from the tickling. She said she'd tell them anything they wanted to know.
. . .
Sara's eye's grew and her spirit sunk to desperation when the intruders made their request. They wanted access codes to one of the classified project files where she worked. She tried to explain that she didn't know the codes. She tried to explain that she was only an intern, and they don't give interns clearance. She tried to explain that she would tell them if she knew!
Her mind raced as the intruders returned to the foot of the bed. She didn't know the information they wnated from her, and they were going to tickle her until they believed her. It was out of her control, and she didn't know how long that would be.
Laughter and sensation quickly drowned out her thoughts.
. . .
Lynn begged the intruders to leave her daughter alone. She said she didn't know, but apparently the captors weren't convinced. They went back to work, enthusiastically tickling her feet. Sara responded as she did before, with screaming laughter intermingled with almost-comprehensible pleas for mercy.
This was unreal, like something out of a bad movie. Lynn watched Sara's face. One moment her eyes would be wide with astonishment, gasping for air; the next her eyes would be shut tight, her mouth wide with laughter and a smile inconsistent with her state, laughing as though she could not get it out fast enough. Her laugh was sometimes a deep cackle, other times a sort of giggly twitter, and other times no sound escaped at all. Her head whipped back and forth while she strained against her bonds and her body bounced and twisted as much as it was able.
Lynn wondered if Sara knew the information. Lynn didn't know much about what Sara did, but she knew Sara worked for a Defense contractor. Were the intruders wrong and tickling an innocent woman? or were they right, and Sara which meant Sara was choosing to get tickled instead of talk? Was that possible? She supposed people did that, but they were soldiers and spies. This was Sara. Could she really be making a decision to let herself get tickled? How long could she hold out?
Lynn found herself wondering if she could make that same decision to let herself be tickled when she knew she could stop it. She guessed she alrady had a partial answer from offering to let the intruders tickle her instead of Sara. If Lynn was wiling to be tickled for Sara, maybe Sara was willing to be tickled for secrecy? If so, Sara was the most dedicated woman she ever knew. If the intruders didn't get their information, it wouldn't be because they didn't tickle Sara badly enough.
. . .
Eventually the tickling stopped again, and Sara immediately began a breathless plea that she didn't know and to please stop tickling her. Lynn didn't know how long it had been this time. She couldn't move enough to see the alarm clock.
The intruders whispered to each other and then repeated their request. Sara again told them she didn't have the codes. They said that after the tickling they gave her she was either telling the truth or one of the toughest people they knew, but they weren't convinced. They said maybe she could stand the tickling, but they wondered if she could stand seeing her mother get it.
Time seemed to stand still in that instant for Lynn. She heard Sara continue to plead with the intruders, but her voice sounded distant. Lynn watched as the women moved toward her side of the bed, toward her feet. They seemed to be moving almost in slow motion. Lynn could suddenly feel every inch of her bare feet, every air current. This was it. She feared and expected this would happen, but now it was a reality. As the fingers decended and she braced herself, she wondered if it would be as bad as she expected.
It was worse. She couldn't remember the last time someone had playfully tickled her feet, but now she was really getting it. All she could think of was getting her feet away from those fingers, and how badly she wanted it to stop. She strained against her bonds, and laughed harder than she thought possible. Already her stomach ached.
. . .
For the moment, Sara was simply relieved that they stopped tickling her, and it made her feel a little guilty. Her mom was clearly as ticklish as she was, so she knew just what she was going through. The sensations were still fresh in her mind, and her feet still tingled from the tickling.
She kept silent as her mother wailed hysterically. It made her feel like a coward, but she knew if the ticklers stopped on her mother, they would just come back to her, and she just couldn't take it any more. She desperately wished that she had the information the intruders wanted. Hopelessness washed over her, realizing that her mother and her were doomed to be tickled until the intruders believed her.
Sara began once again to plead with her captors. She begged them to leave her mother alone, that she didn't know anything — all the things she had already told them a dozen times already that night. Dread filled her heart when they stoppde tickling her mother.
. . .
Lynn didn't know how long they tickled her feet. It seemed like forever. They had been merciless and relentless, determined to get her as bad as they could. She was still giggling as the sensation slowly wore off.
She didn't know what to think any more. The situation was so strange. These women wanted some information, and they thought Sara had it. Sara said she didn't know, so they had ruthlessly tickled her feet before turning their attention on Lynn. Lynn had never been tickled lie that in her life. It was torture, and she couldn't take it.
She began to wonder if Sara was telling the truth. Had her daughter let her get tickled, knowing she could stop it? Lynn didn't want to believe it, but she wanted to have her feet tickled like that again even less. She turned her head toward Sara and began to beg her to please tell them what they wanted to know, to not let the tickle her any more.
Sara repeated her claim of ignorance, that she would stop it if she could.
Their conversation was cut short by the intruders. They said they were starting to think maybe Sara was telling the truth, but they going to be sure.
Lynn was desperate as each intruder climbed up on the bed and straddled one of the outstreched women. She wathced as the woman on her daughter unbuttoned Sara's pajamas top.
"Are you sure you don't want to tell us? Last chance," the intruder threatened, wiggling her fingers just above Sara's now bare torso.
Sara begged and pleaded for her not to do this, but was soon back in tickled hysterics as the intruder scribbled her nails up and down and all over Sara's upper body. Sara shrieked and twisted, but could not escpae the fingers that were furiously tickling her body.
Tears filled Lynn's eyes as the sight of her daughter's ticklish torture was joined by the sensation of her own top being unbuttoned. She shook her head, pleading for mercy, but within seconds she was lost in the sensation of fingers tickling madly all over her torso. They alternated from lightly tracing across her belly, to sqeezing and poing her ribs, to dancing in her armpits, and back again.
Her feet had been bad, but this was somehow worse. The changes in sensations from hard to soft and the greater area being tickled made this much more unbearable.
She and her daughter screamed and laughed and begged as the intruders tickled the pair nearly to unconsciousness. When they finally stopped, the only sound in the room were the breathless giggles of the mother and daughter, too exhausted from the tickling to beg. When the tickling did not immediately resume, they both drifted to sleep.
THE END
.. ?
