Hidden Agenda III
By Marauder
you might want to start with Hidden Agenda I ! -->
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?threadid=93
Sun burning down from an angry, dust laden sky. Air filled with floating particles, turned to the color of beaten copper by the merciless rays, dry enough to parch the throat in seconds. A city in sea of baking sand, houses the color of long withered, bleached bones, scattered in the hostile environment like an ancient graveyard of mythical beasts. In the streets -FOCUS- a throng of people, chanting, yelling, a bazaar in full swing, the mood desperately animate, as if to belie the deadly heat. Flowing robes shelter hot bodies from the unforgiving blaze. There, moving through the bustling streets with an ease given only to those born here -FOCUS- a young woman, long, flowing black hair only barely tamed by the cloth wrapped around her head, spilling outwards in dusty coils, her body accentuated by her dress, wide enough to hide her long legs, tight enough to display her supple chest. Her face dominated by high cheekbones and dark, hungry eyes. She passes a stand -FOCUS- of a street vendor offering fruit, dates mostly. A customer is busily bartering with the man behind the laden cart. As she passes, they look after her. The customer looks at the vendor. "Is that her ?" The man nods. "We know her here. No relatives, a street urchin. Very receptive." "How do you know that ?" The vendor chuckles. "We set her up with one of our associates when she offered her body for money. He tested it. She kicked him hard enough to break his chin. You will find her highly sensitive, effendi." The customer nods. Coins are passed from hand to hand, and in return the vendor hands over a piece of paper. "Here are the places you can set up the meeting with her. These hideouts are deserted. No-one will see you." The customer nods. "Thank you. It is always a pleasure doing business with you." He turns around and vanishes into the boiling throng of the sweating masses. Wiping his forehead, he mutters "Damn heat," and once more curses his dark suit - He'd have to start looking for some of those robes. In a side alley, he walks towards a black van, greeted by the tormented howl of the strained air condition.
The long, desperate screams subsided and gave way to the usual sobbing and begging. Kaleel stood up and surveyed her accomplishments. Her victim was tied to a wooden table with criss-crossing leather strips, tied tightly enough to allow only a minimum of bucking and struggling. The small, bare feet, white soles marked by a network of pink traces from the latest session of foot tickling, were flailing about still, the short, rounded toes groping and flexing in aftershock. Kaleel was pleased. The victim had been once more taken far over the edge. She would be ready for interrogation in a few days. The torturer walked around the table and looked down on the desperate face of the bound woman. Very pretty, fragile, shoulder-length straight black hair, now matted with sweat, as it was every day after the regular sessions Kaleel had with those soft, hyper-ticklish feet. The slightly slanted eyes in the Asian face wide open in fear and horror, the small, pretty mouth letting out a steady stream of Japanese pleas for relief, mercy, even death...
Kaleel, as always, pretended not to understand a word of it. In fact, she was schooled in many languages, but she always made sure to let her victims think that she didn't understand them. They always were so desperate to talk, even after the first session, the introduction, as Kaleel liked to call it. Oh, how they begged and whimpered when her long fingernails started caressing those helpless soles, how they strained to make themselves understood, how they searched for any way to stop those horrible, professional caresses of the twitching toes, the wrinkling soles... It was always a sight to behold, and it greatly added to Kaleel's job satisfaction. She let the woman beg some more, relishing the sight of a job well done. "please... PLEASE... I can't take it... please ! Don't tickle my feet again... Not that... please, anything ! Anything but that ! Not the feet, not the FEET..." The woman broke down into a crying fit when Kaleel replied something in her own language. "I can't understand you..." she whistled sadistically. "What does my little lotus flower want ?" The woman shook her head in desperation. "PLEASE ! NO ! NO !" Kaleel shook her head sadly. She pointed downwards to the pair of trapped feet. "Would you like me to continue ?" The tied woman saw the gesture, and that was enough. "NO ! NO NO NO ! OH NO ! Please, not again not AGAIN !!! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE !!! NOOOOO !!! I'll tell you EVERYTHING ! PLEASE !" Kaleel grinned without humor. "As you wish..." she said as she went back towards her chair at the foot of the table.
The bound Asian went insane with screams at this - "NOOOO ! NOOOO !!! HELP !!! ANYBODY !!! PLEASE GET HER AWAY !!!! PLEASE !!! NOOOOOOOOO !!!" Kaleel ignored the screams, as she had always done. Once more she sat down in front of the writhing pair of soles. Once more, she extended her sharp, long fingernails towards them. "This might tickle a little," she said sadistically, and then she once again started the ancient art of tickle torture by raking her fingernails down from the toes to the heels, and back up again. It was tradition to start the intricate motions of the torture by this warm-up exercise. She smiled cruelly as she heard the howls of ticklish laughter these relatively easy caresses forced from her victim. Up and down the nails traveled, up and down, and up again... She sang an ancient song as she administered the first four hundred strokes of the tickle torture. After that, she would start tracing the lines that increased the torture to new levels, that made it tickle more and more and more, and that led to that ultimate intensity, where any victim would crack, even the non-ticklish ones. Kaleel smiled while she sang. This woman was far from non-ticklish. But that was her problem, not Kaleel's. Scribbling, stroking, tickling, her fingers traversed the smooth, soft skin, the low arches, the round heels and balls of the feet, always in motion, keeping up with the movement of the tormented peds with professional ease... Her victim howled and screamed with laughter, desperate for anything, willing to do anything, but there was no relief.
When the four hundred strokes were done, Kaleel concentrated on the toes, and the laughing and shrieking went up a few octaves... Another day of tickle torture for the captured Japanese business spy, and this was only the third session today. Kaleel was sure that she would have a lot of fun with her victim until the scheduled ten daily sessions were over.
Rayma Shakar was sitting at her desk, busying herself with the most recent developments of her facility, when her intercom beeped. She looked up, distressed. "Yes ?" The intercom's tinny, mechanical voice replied, "You have a visitor, doctor Shakar. He identified himself as an Emissary from Doctor Craig. He brought the exchange merchandise for our captured spy." Rayma stood up. With a swift, studied gesture she stroked her long, dark hair back and pulled her short skirt down to her knees. "Enter."
The man who entered was clearly one of the American branch. He was soaked in sweat from his short dashes between the air-conditioned airport, the taxi, and the facility. Rayma still didn't understand why those people had to keep wearing those black suits. They not only stood out like a sore thumb among the local populace, but they were also risking a heat stroke... Well, professional pride running amok, she figured. Extending her hand, she welcomed her visitor. "Good to see you, Mr. ..." He filled the gap. "Acquisitioner first class Charlton, at your service, doctor Shakar. Thank you for your hospitality." She nodded. "Please do sit down, Mr. Charlton." He did so, visibly relieved. She followed suit. "So, you have our merchandise with you. Is she in good shape ?" He nodded. "Of course. Been taken care off the whole trip. At least her body is perfectly fine - you might find her to be slightly disturbed mentally, though. My men were bored during the shipment and took it upon themselves to take advantage of her exposed situation." Rayma gasped in mock shock and smiled to take the edge out of it. "You mean she hasn't gotten any rest during the entire trip ? How long have you been on that ship ?" He smiled back. "We've been travelling for eight days. Don't worry, whenever I caught my people at her exposed feet, I called them to order. I checked in there once a day, so she should have had plenty of rest. And now she's all yours. What about our price ?" Rayma nodded. "She's been well taken care of. I can safely say that this is one heck of a sensitive victim. Your people will have no trouble accessing her secrets - she'll probably be so thankful to get out of here that she'll see you all as friends - that is, until you start working her over yourself," she laughed.
Charlton couldn't repress the grin. "Probably. She'll take our victim's place in the storage box. I suppose she's primarily a foot-victim, too ?" "Of course, at least she is now !" Rayma sounded amused. "They all are when we are through with them. And this thief you brought us is a very promising object for our treatments here. I would like to express my government's deepest gratitude for the exchange, by the way. We've been trying to get her into our hands for a long time, and we couldn't wait to get her here once we heard that you had captured our little thief. Those national treasures will be found in no time at all, I'm sure." Charlton nodded at her. "Yes. She's ready to crack, anyway. You'll just have to ask her - she'll tell you where she's hidden or sold them." "Oh yes, she will," Rayma said. "But after that, we have a very uncomfortable fate in store for her. She'll be most disturbed once we show her what awaits her in the future." "I can imagine. Your people have quite a reputation in the pedal stimulation business." "And a well deserved one." Rayma stood up, and Charlton followed her lead. She went for the door and asked him, "Could I inspect the merchandise now ?" He smiled. "Certainly ! She's a sight to behold... Well, however much can be seen of her in that crate, anyway. I really wanted to see what state she's in when we unpack her." "And afterwards, I'll show you that we held up our end of the deal." They both left the room, smiling with anticipation.
Kaleel was in the middle of the day's sixth treatment of the Asian spy's soles when someone entered the cell. She didn't look up from the task at hand, which was to dance her sharp fingernails all over the soft, flawless, pink skin of her victims heels and watch the toes grope and flex in direct response to the unbearable stimulation. The victim had been tied up in a different device for this treatment - The V-chair. It was shaped like a right angle and could be set up to have the feet straight outwards, one foot off the ground, or to have them point straight up, in which case the upper body and head were held horizontally. Right now, the device was inclined at forty-five degrees, to allow Kaleel easy access to the flexing feet while she was standing in front of them. The feet emerged from individual stocks, and the rest of the struggling woman's body was held fast by a blanket of sturdy cloth that was attached to the sides of the chair, in effect mummifying her so that only head and feet emerged. Underneath the cloth she wore a straightjacket.
Kaleel loved this device, as she had archived her greatest results with it. There was a contraption on the top of the foot stocks that allowed the toes to be tied back, but that would have to wait - it was time to scribble her fingernails all over the heels now, the toes would be her main target in the next session. She loved the toe session, they were among the most intense. Scratching, scribbling, stroking... Her ceaseless ministrations caused her victim to shriek and screech in ticklish agony. A hand fell heavily on Kaleel's shoulder. "Pardon me." A male voice. Kaleel didn't look up, as she didn't want to miss a beat - she had her victim so worked up, any interruption would set her efforts back at least half an hour. "What do you want ?" she asked distractedly, while slowly running a single nail all around the left heel, around and around, and scratching the other heel right where it met the instep with rapid scribbles. "Kaleel, we'll have to take this one away from you," the man yelled over the din of ticklish screams. Kaleel frowned. "How come ? I'm really making some progress here. She starts screaming as soon as she hears my steps approach her cell..." she said while drumming both heels in their center with two fingers. The screams of her victim gave way to a series of squeaks, which were then replaced by a desperate, long fit of shrill staccato laughter. The man behind her interrupted her concentration again. "We are trading her for another victim. She is wanted in the US. We get somebody else for her, somebody who is wanted by our own government."
Kaleel shrugged. "When is she due for transport ?" she asked, now using four fingers on each heel to slowly go upwards to the arch with the back of her nails, and then rapidly scribble them while moving the hands very, very slowly down to the bottom part again. The feet flexed and squirmed like mad at this, the small soles casting slight wrinkles, the toes spasming as if subjected to electric shocks, and the body in the chair shook and twitched as well like that of a woman possessed. The screams were barely audible now, and the face was contorted into a grimace of such agony that it was barely recognizable as human. Kaleel knew that she was almost there. Just a few more minutes, and her victim would once again be catapulted into a state of mind where time had no meaning. This was where Kaleel excelled - The ultimate tickle torture. The man mumbled something, and Kaleel shrugged without taking her nails off the squirming feet and the rapidly reddening heels. "You can have her after I'm through with her. It'll only be another thirty minutes." The man started to say something, but then, looking at the rapid progression of the state of tickled agony of the victim, thought better of it. After all, what harm would another half-hour do ? Their American guests would simply have to wait. He exited the room as quietly as he had come and left Kaleel to her task. The torturer smiled while strumming the heels rapidly. She glanced at her victim's reddened face, almost hidden behind the wildly flexing toes from her vintage point. "Tickle tickle tickle..." she taunted, and began swirling her nails around and around. The laughter picked up once more, then became silent. Only the open mouth and the shaking of the body betrayed the unbearable torture the Asian spy was suffering now.
Kaleel grinned, pleased. The final stage was reached. Her victim had lost all possible thoughts, except for the sensations shooting up her legs. Now all she needed to do was to keep her in that state for the rest of the session. Kaleel was confident that she'd manage that. After all, she had done it to this small woman countless times since her capture all those months ago. "Tickle tickle tickle..." she chanted absentmindedly, tickling and tickling and tickling away with sadistic, professional precision.
Charlton followed Rayma through the corridors, marveling as much at the architecture of the place as at the sounds of insane laughter emanating from the torture chamber doors. The Egyptian facility was housed in the dungeons of an old palace, but unlike the dungeons of medieval Europe, this one was made of huge blocks of white marble, hung with tapestries and lovingly decorated. It was cool, being sheltered from the sun, and the thick walls swallowed all sound. He was amazed at the openness with which the facility was handled here - the government was largely in on the whole endeavor. Not much of all that secrecy business that hindered them in the States.
He noticed that there were a lot of large, framed pictures on the walls, all displaying a proud man or woman who was looking at the camera, grinning, while busy raking the bound soles of a bound victim. They had really developed the cutting edge of foot tickling here, he thought with a bit of envy. There was still a lot to learn for his American employers. On the other hand, he mused, they missed out on a lot of potential by restricting themselves to just one area of ticklishness. Charlton didn't know why the whole business with tickling had come to be, of course, but he didn't care, either. He had a well paying job that kept his family fed, and he could put up with tickle torture. He would have had a problem with mutilations or rape, but when he made an effort, he could push tickling away as just some playful teasing. That helped a lot whenever his consciousness started nagging... that, and the fat paychecks he received at the end of each month. He looked at the doctor leading the way. Fine looking woman, he thought. Must have been difficult to reach this position in a largely patriarchal country. Well, she had probably worked her way up...
His thought was interrupted as they reached the loading bay of the facility. The huge room was brightly lit by electrical chandeliers hanging from the white ceiling, and the light played over the large metal doors that connected the facility with the outside world. In the center of the room, his delivery was held on the jack of a forklift. The metal case showed no signs of wear. He was amused to see that two of his men were busy using paintbrushes to flit between the delicate toes of the pair of bare feet sticking out, and even more amused to realize that they were watched by some of the facilities' personnel. "They have to think of us as complete amateurs," he thought to himself. Doctor Shakar turned to face him. "I'm glad to see that you have delivered the package in one piece," she said. "We should unpack her now and take her to one of our own interrogation cells. We have really waited long enough to finally get at those soles." Charlton nodded. "True enough. Guys !" He shouted at his colleagues, who stopped their ticklish brushing of the trapped toes with a look of regret. "I know that it's hard for you, but it's over now. We really need to leave it to those nice people" - he pointed at the surrounding staff - "to continue the entertainment of this little thief."
His men nodded, laughed and prepared the sole-storage compartment Corinne Dwight was held in to open. They pushed a few buttons, entered a code, and with a pneumatic "Whoosh", the lid started to lift. Immediately, the room was filled with screams. "PLEASE ! ARGH !!! PLEASE ! PLEASE ! NO MORE ! NOOOO !!!!" The volume was amazing, hardly decreased by the oxygen mask Charlton knew the woman inside was wearing. He went over to the coffin-like box and looked inside. Corinne was a complete wreck. Ever since she had been put into this horrible box, she had know nothing but almost constant tickling on her soles and toes, endless torture, and nothing she could do to stop it - all her screams had fallen on deaf ears, her desperate pleads in between the ticklish touches that had been applied all over her hypersensitive soles, the scratching, the brushing... Her begging hadn't been recognized, her offers of everything imaginable had been for nothing. She had only felt the horrible tickling, nothing but the tickling... For all those long eternities in the box, she had been forced to look at an illuminated photo of her own soles, taken just before the torture had started, attached to the lid of her coffin-like prison, and she had been hearing only her own desperate shrieks as the tools had been applied to her feet... She hadn't know what was being done to her bare soles, just that it TICKLED so horribly, it TICKLED... Oh GOD, how it had TICKLED... The man standing above her, looking down at her, smiled. "Welcome once more to the land of the living, Corinne. We have arrived !"
Corinne rolled her eyes desperately. "PLEASE !!! PLEASE !!! No more ! Please ! No tickling ! Not the feet! Please !" The man's face split into a grin. "But that's EXACTLY what will happen, my poor girl. More tickling. And I mean REAL tickling now. No more fooling around." Corinne's eyes went wide as saucers. She started to say something, scream in disbelieving horror at the implication of foot tickling that was even worse than the agony her soles had endured for so long, but another person, an exotic-looking woman, approached the casket. "We have been waiting for you to arrive here, Corinne..." she said threateningly with a thick accent. A thick Egyptian accent. Corinne suddenly realized the implications. She recalled dimly what that voice had said somewhere, ages ago, when the tortures had just started... Something about Egypt... and foot specialists... and tickle torture... Eternal tickle torture... "NOOOOO !!! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NO NO NOOOOOOO !!!" The woman grinned and waved for two strong men to come over. "Remove her from this device and take her to one of the cells." She smiled down at Corinne, who was going crazy with blind terror. "PLEASE !!! NOT THAT !!! PLEASE !!! NOT THE FEET AGAIN !!!"
The woman grinned. "Only the feet, just like this man here said. You are looking forward to be foot tickled for the rest of your life, foot tickled like you never imagined..." The men removed the tubes and wires attached to the woman and took her wildly bucking form out of the casket. They then proceeded to take her away, carrying the screaming woman down one of the adjoining corridors. Once she was far enough away to allow for a conversation in a civil volume, Rayma faced Charlton once more. "And now for your part of the deal." She waved to one of the men still in the room, and he came over, whispering a few quick sentences in his native tongue. Rayma nodded. "Of course she's disappointed. But tell her that she'll have a new guest immediately. Kaleel has never been one to turn down a challenge." The man nodded and hurried out. Charlton raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Rayma looked at him, amused. "I'll have her interrogated by Kaleel. She's our best finger tickling expert. She's right now busy with the spy." Charlton nodded. "Okay." "And," Rayma continued, "she's always very unwilling to let one of her victims go... Well, she'll live, and I bet she'll really enjoy tickling this new victim."
They both nodded and shared a few laughs. Charlton stretched. "I can wait. The longer this takes, the longer it is until I have to return to that oven out there." He motioned to his men. "Clean the storage unit. We want the new guest to be comfortable on her way back..." And, turning to Rayma, "I bet we'll have a lot of fun with those ticklish Asian tootsies on our way back." Rayma grinned. "Oh yes. Though after what Kaleel put her through, this will probably be a relief for her..."
By Marauder
you might want to start with Hidden Agenda I ! -->
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?threadid=93
Sun burning down from an angry, dust laden sky. Air filled with floating particles, turned to the color of beaten copper by the merciless rays, dry enough to parch the throat in seconds. A city in sea of baking sand, houses the color of long withered, bleached bones, scattered in the hostile environment like an ancient graveyard of mythical beasts. In the streets -FOCUS- a throng of people, chanting, yelling, a bazaar in full swing, the mood desperately animate, as if to belie the deadly heat. Flowing robes shelter hot bodies from the unforgiving blaze. There, moving through the bustling streets with an ease given only to those born here -FOCUS- a young woman, long, flowing black hair only barely tamed by the cloth wrapped around her head, spilling outwards in dusty coils, her body accentuated by her dress, wide enough to hide her long legs, tight enough to display her supple chest. Her face dominated by high cheekbones and dark, hungry eyes. She passes a stand -FOCUS- of a street vendor offering fruit, dates mostly. A customer is busily bartering with the man behind the laden cart. As she passes, they look after her. The customer looks at the vendor. "Is that her ?" The man nods. "We know her here. No relatives, a street urchin. Very receptive." "How do you know that ?" The vendor chuckles. "We set her up with one of our associates when she offered her body for money. He tested it. She kicked him hard enough to break his chin. You will find her highly sensitive, effendi." The customer nods. Coins are passed from hand to hand, and in return the vendor hands over a piece of paper. "Here are the places you can set up the meeting with her. These hideouts are deserted. No-one will see you." The customer nods. "Thank you. It is always a pleasure doing business with you." He turns around and vanishes into the boiling throng of the sweating masses. Wiping his forehead, he mutters "Damn heat," and once more curses his dark suit - He'd have to start looking for some of those robes. In a side alley, he walks towards a black van, greeted by the tormented howl of the strained air condition.
The long, desperate screams subsided and gave way to the usual sobbing and begging. Kaleel stood up and surveyed her accomplishments. Her victim was tied to a wooden table with criss-crossing leather strips, tied tightly enough to allow only a minimum of bucking and struggling. The small, bare feet, white soles marked by a network of pink traces from the latest session of foot tickling, were flailing about still, the short, rounded toes groping and flexing in aftershock. Kaleel was pleased. The victim had been once more taken far over the edge. She would be ready for interrogation in a few days. The torturer walked around the table and looked down on the desperate face of the bound woman. Very pretty, fragile, shoulder-length straight black hair, now matted with sweat, as it was every day after the regular sessions Kaleel had with those soft, hyper-ticklish feet. The slightly slanted eyes in the Asian face wide open in fear and horror, the small, pretty mouth letting out a steady stream of Japanese pleas for relief, mercy, even death...
Kaleel, as always, pretended not to understand a word of it. In fact, she was schooled in many languages, but she always made sure to let her victims think that she didn't understand them. They always were so desperate to talk, even after the first session, the introduction, as Kaleel liked to call it. Oh, how they begged and whimpered when her long fingernails started caressing those helpless soles, how they strained to make themselves understood, how they searched for any way to stop those horrible, professional caresses of the twitching toes, the wrinkling soles... It was always a sight to behold, and it greatly added to Kaleel's job satisfaction. She let the woman beg some more, relishing the sight of a job well done. "please... PLEASE... I can't take it... please ! Don't tickle my feet again... Not that... please, anything ! Anything but that ! Not the feet, not the FEET..." The woman broke down into a crying fit when Kaleel replied something in her own language. "I can't understand you..." she whistled sadistically. "What does my little lotus flower want ?" The woman shook her head in desperation. "PLEASE ! NO ! NO !" Kaleel shook her head sadly. She pointed downwards to the pair of trapped feet. "Would you like me to continue ?" The tied woman saw the gesture, and that was enough. "NO ! NO NO NO ! OH NO ! Please, not again not AGAIN !!! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE !!! NOOOOO !!! I'll tell you EVERYTHING ! PLEASE !" Kaleel grinned without humor. "As you wish..." she said as she went back towards her chair at the foot of the table.
The bound Asian went insane with screams at this - "NOOOO ! NOOOO !!! HELP !!! ANYBODY !!! PLEASE GET HER AWAY !!!! PLEASE !!! NOOOOOOOOO !!!" Kaleel ignored the screams, as she had always done. Once more she sat down in front of the writhing pair of soles. Once more, she extended her sharp, long fingernails towards them. "This might tickle a little," she said sadistically, and then she once again started the ancient art of tickle torture by raking her fingernails down from the toes to the heels, and back up again. It was tradition to start the intricate motions of the torture by this warm-up exercise. She smiled cruelly as she heard the howls of ticklish laughter these relatively easy caresses forced from her victim. Up and down the nails traveled, up and down, and up again... She sang an ancient song as she administered the first four hundred strokes of the tickle torture. After that, she would start tracing the lines that increased the torture to new levels, that made it tickle more and more and more, and that led to that ultimate intensity, where any victim would crack, even the non-ticklish ones. Kaleel smiled while she sang. This woman was far from non-ticklish. But that was her problem, not Kaleel's. Scribbling, stroking, tickling, her fingers traversed the smooth, soft skin, the low arches, the round heels and balls of the feet, always in motion, keeping up with the movement of the tormented peds with professional ease... Her victim howled and screamed with laughter, desperate for anything, willing to do anything, but there was no relief.
When the four hundred strokes were done, Kaleel concentrated on the toes, and the laughing and shrieking went up a few octaves... Another day of tickle torture for the captured Japanese business spy, and this was only the third session today. Kaleel was sure that she would have a lot of fun with her victim until the scheduled ten daily sessions were over.
Rayma Shakar was sitting at her desk, busying herself with the most recent developments of her facility, when her intercom beeped. She looked up, distressed. "Yes ?" The intercom's tinny, mechanical voice replied, "You have a visitor, doctor Shakar. He identified himself as an Emissary from Doctor Craig. He brought the exchange merchandise for our captured spy." Rayma stood up. With a swift, studied gesture she stroked her long, dark hair back and pulled her short skirt down to her knees. "Enter."
The man who entered was clearly one of the American branch. He was soaked in sweat from his short dashes between the air-conditioned airport, the taxi, and the facility. Rayma still didn't understand why those people had to keep wearing those black suits. They not only stood out like a sore thumb among the local populace, but they were also risking a heat stroke... Well, professional pride running amok, she figured. Extending her hand, she welcomed her visitor. "Good to see you, Mr. ..." He filled the gap. "Acquisitioner first class Charlton, at your service, doctor Shakar. Thank you for your hospitality." She nodded. "Please do sit down, Mr. Charlton." He did so, visibly relieved. She followed suit. "So, you have our merchandise with you. Is she in good shape ?" He nodded. "Of course. Been taken care off the whole trip. At least her body is perfectly fine - you might find her to be slightly disturbed mentally, though. My men were bored during the shipment and took it upon themselves to take advantage of her exposed situation." Rayma gasped in mock shock and smiled to take the edge out of it. "You mean she hasn't gotten any rest during the entire trip ? How long have you been on that ship ?" He smiled back. "We've been travelling for eight days. Don't worry, whenever I caught my people at her exposed feet, I called them to order. I checked in there once a day, so she should have had plenty of rest. And now she's all yours. What about our price ?" Rayma nodded. "She's been well taken care of. I can safely say that this is one heck of a sensitive victim. Your people will have no trouble accessing her secrets - she'll probably be so thankful to get out of here that she'll see you all as friends - that is, until you start working her over yourself," she laughed.
Charlton couldn't repress the grin. "Probably. She'll take our victim's place in the storage box. I suppose she's primarily a foot-victim, too ?" "Of course, at least she is now !" Rayma sounded amused. "They all are when we are through with them. And this thief you brought us is a very promising object for our treatments here. I would like to express my government's deepest gratitude for the exchange, by the way. We've been trying to get her into our hands for a long time, and we couldn't wait to get her here once we heard that you had captured our little thief. Those national treasures will be found in no time at all, I'm sure." Charlton nodded at her. "Yes. She's ready to crack, anyway. You'll just have to ask her - she'll tell you where she's hidden or sold them." "Oh yes, she will," Rayma said. "But after that, we have a very uncomfortable fate in store for her. She'll be most disturbed once we show her what awaits her in the future." "I can imagine. Your people have quite a reputation in the pedal stimulation business." "And a well deserved one." Rayma stood up, and Charlton followed her lead. She went for the door and asked him, "Could I inspect the merchandise now ?" He smiled. "Certainly ! She's a sight to behold... Well, however much can be seen of her in that crate, anyway. I really wanted to see what state she's in when we unpack her." "And afterwards, I'll show you that we held up our end of the deal." They both left the room, smiling with anticipation.
Kaleel was in the middle of the day's sixth treatment of the Asian spy's soles when someone entered the cell. She didn't look up from the task at hand, which was to dance her sharp fingernails all over the soft, flawless, pink skin of her victims heels and watch the toes grope and flex in direct response to the unbearable stimulation. The victim had been tied up in a different device for this treatment - The V-chair. It was shaped like a right angle and could be set up to have the feet straight outwards, one foot off the ground, or to have them point straight up, in which case the upper body and head were held horizontally. Right now, the device was inclined at forty-five degrees, to allow Kaleel easy access to the flexing feet while she was standing in front of them. The feet emerged from individual stocks, and the rest of the struggling woman's body was held fast by a blanket of sturdy cloth that was attached to the sides of the chair, in effect mummifying her so that only head and feet emerged. Underneath the cloth she wore a straightjacket.
Kaleel loved this device, as she had archived her greatest results with it. There was a contraption on the top of the foot stocks that allowed the toes to be tied back, but that would have to wait - it was time to scribble her fingernails all over the heels now, the toes would be her main target in the next session. She loved the toe session, they were among the most intense. Scratching, scribbling, stroking... Her ceaseless ministrations caused her victim to shriek and screech in ticklish agony. A hand fell heavily on Kaleel's shoulder. "Pardon me." A male voice. Kaleel didn't look up, as she didn't want to miss a beat - she had her victim so worked up, any interruption would set her efforts back at least half an hour. "What do you want ?" she asked distractedly, while slowly running a single nail all around the left heel, around and around, and scratching the other heel right where it met the instep with rapid scribbles. "Kaleel, we'll have to take this one away from you," the man yelled over the din of ticklish screams. Kaleel frowned. "How come ? I'm really making some progress here. She starts screaming as soon as she hears my steps approach her cell..." she said while drumming both heels in their center with two fingers. The screams of her victim gave way to a series of squeaks, which were then replaced by a desperate, long fit of shrill staccato laughter. The man behind her interrupted her concentration again. "We are trading her for another victim. She is wanted in the US. We get somebody else for her, somebody who is wanted by our own government."
Kaleel shrugged. "When is she due for transport ?" she asked, now using four fingers on each heel to slowly go upwards to the arch with the back of her nails, and then rapidly scribble them while moving the hands very, very slowly down to the bottom part again. The feet flexed and squirmed like mad at this, the small soles casting slight wrinkles, the toes spasming as if subjected to electric shocks, and the body in the chair shook and twitched as well like that of a woman possessed. The screams were barely audible now, and the face was contorted into a grimace of such agony that it was barely recognizable as human. Kaleel knew that she was almost there. Just a few more minutes, and her victim would once again be catapulted into a state of mind where time had no meaning. This was where Kaleel excelled - The ultimate tickle torture. The man mumbled something, and Kaleel shrugged without taking her nails off the squirming feet and the rapidly reddening heels. "You can have her after I'm through with her. It'll only be another thirty minutes." The man started to say something, but then, looking at the rapid progression of the state of tickled agony of the victim, thought better of it. After all, what harm would another half-hour do ? Their American guests would simply have to wait. He exited the room as quietly as he had come and left Kaleel to her task. The torturer smiled while strumming the heels rapidly. She glanced at her victim's reddened face, almost hidden behind the wildly flexing toes from her vintage point. "Tickle tickle tickle..." she taunted, and began swirling her nails around and around. The laughter picked up once more, then became silent. Only the open mouth and the shaking of the body betrayed the unbearable torture the Asian spy was suffering now.
Kaleel grinned, pleased. The final stage was reached. Her victim had lost all possible thoughts, except for the sensations shooting up her legs. Now all she needed to do was to keep her in that state for the rest of the session. Kaleel was confident that she'd manage that. After all, she had done it to this small woman countless times since her capture all those months ago. "Tickle tickle tickle..." she chanted absentmindedly, tickling and tickling and tickling away with sadistic, professional precision.
Charlton followed Rayma through the corridors, marveling as much at the architecture of the place as at the sounds of insane laughter emanating from the torture chamber doors. The Egyptian facility was housed in the dungeons of an old palace, but unlike the dungeons of medieval Europe, this one was made of huge blocks of white marble, hung with tapestries and lovingly decorated. It was cool, being sheltered from the sun, and the thick walls swallowed all sound. He was amazed at the openness with which the facility was handled here - the government was largely in on the whole endeavor. Not much of all that secrecy business that hindered them in the States.
He noticed that there were a lot of large, framed pictures on the walls, all displaying a proud man or woman who was looking at the camera, grinning, while busy raking the bound soles of a bound victim. They had really developed the cutting edge of foot tickling here, he thought with a bit of envy. There was still a lot to learn for his American employers. On the other hand, he mused, they missed out on a lot of potential by restricting themselves to just one area of ticklishness. Charlton didn't know why the whole business with tickling had come to be, of course, but he didn't care, either. He had a well paying job that kept his family fed, and he could put up with tickle torture. He would have had a problem with mutilations or rape, but when he made an effort, he could push tickling away as just some playful teasing. That helped a lot whenever his consciousness started nagging... that, and the fat paychecks he received at the end of each month. He looked at the doctor leading the way. Fine looking woman, he thought. Must have been difficult to reach this position in a largely patriarchal country. Well, she had probably worked her way up...
His thought was interrupted as they reached the loading bay of the facility. The huge room was brightly lit by electrical chandeliers hanging from the white ceiling, and the light played over the large metal doors that connected the facility with the outside world. In the center of the room, his delivery was held on the jack of a forklift. The metal case showed no signs of wear. He was amused to see that two of his men were busy using paintbrushes to flit between the delicate toes of the pair of bare feet sticking out, and even more amused to realize that they were watched by some of the facilities' personnel. "They have to think of us as complete amateurs," he thought to himself. Doctor Shakar turned to face him. "I'm glad to see that you have delivered the package in one piece," she said. "We should unpack her now and take her to one of our own interrogation cells. We have really waited long enough to finally get at those soles." Charlton nodded. "True enough. Guys !" He shouted at his colleagues, who stopped their ticklish brushing of the trapped toes with a look of regret. "I know that it's hard for you, but it's over now. We really need to leave it to those nice people" - he pointed at the surrounding staff - "to continue the entertainment of this little thief."
His men nodded, laughed and prepared the sole-storage compartment Corinne Dwight was held in to open. They pushed a few buttons, entered a code, and with a pneumatic "Whoosh", the lid started to lift. Immediately, the room was filled with screams. "PLEASE ! ARGH !!! PLEASE ! PLEASE ! NO MORE ! NOOOO !!!!" The volume was amazing, hardly decreased by the oxygen mask Charlton knew the woman inside was wearing. He went over to the coffin-like box and looked inside. Corinne was a complete wreck. Ever since she had been put into this horrible box, she had know nothing but almost constant tickling on her soles and toes, endless torture, and nothing she could do to stop it - all her screams had fallen on deaf ears, her desperate pleads in between the ticklish touches that had been applied all over her hypersensitive soles, the scratching, the brushing... Her begging hadn't been recognized, her offers of everything imaginable had been for nothing. She had only felt the horrible tickling, nothing but the tickling... For all those long eternities in the box, she had been forced to look at an illuminated photo of her own soles, taken just before the torture had started, attached to the lid of her coffin-like prison, and she had been hearing only her own desperate shrieks as the tools had been applied to her feet... She hadn't know what was being done to her bare soles, just that it TICKLED so horribly, it TICKLED... Oh GOD, how it had TICKLED... The man standing above her, looking down at her, smiled. "Welcome once more to the land of the living, Corinne. We have arrived !"
Corinne rolled her eyes desperately. "PLEASE !!! PLEASE !!! No more ! Please ! No tickling ! Not the feet! Please !" The man's face split into a grin. "But that's EXACTLY what will happen, my poor girl. More tickling. And I mean REAL tickling now. No more fooling around." Corinne's eyes went wide as saucers. She started to say something, scream in disbelieving horror at the implication of foot tickling that was even worse than the agony her soles had endured for so long, but another person, an exotic-looking woman, approached the casket. "We have been waiting for you to arrive here, Corinne..." she said threateningly with a thick accent. A thick Egyptian accent. Corinne suddenly realized the implications. She recalled dimly what that voice had said somewhere, ages ago, when the tortures had just started... Something about Egypt... and foot specialists... and tickle torture... Eternal tickle torture... "NOOOOO !!! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NO NO NOOOOOOO !!!" The woman grinned and waved for two strong men to come over. "Remove her from this device and take her to one of the cells." She smiled down at Corinne, who was going crazy with blind terror. "PLEASE !!! NOT THAT !!! PLEASE !!! NOT THE FEET AGAIN !!!"
The woman grinned. "Only the feet, just like this man here said. You are looking forward to be foot tickled for the rest of your life, foot tickled like you never imagined..." The men removed the tubes and wires attached to the woman and took her wildly bucking form out of the casket. They then proceeded to take her away, carrying the screaming woman down one of the adjoining corridors. Once she was far enough away to allow for a conversation in a civil volume, Rayma faced Charlton once more. "And now for your part of the deal." She waved to one of the men still in the room, and he came over, whispering a few quick sentences in his native tongue. Rayma nodded. "Of course she's disappointed. But tell her that she'll have a new guest immediately. Kaleel has never been one to turn down a challenge." The man nodded and hurried out. Charlton raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Rayma looked at him, amused. "I'll have her interrogated by Kaleel. She's our best finger tickling expert. She's right now busy with the spy." Charlton nodded. "Okay." "And," Rayma continued, "she's always very unwilling to let one of her victims go... Well, she'll live, and I bet she'll really enjoy tickling this new victim."
They both nodded and shared a few laughs. Charlton stretched. "I can wait. The longer this takes, the longer it is until I have to return to that oven out there." He motioned to his men. "Clean the storage unit. We want the new guest to be comfortable on her way back..." And, turning to Rayma, "I bet we'll have a lot of fun with those ticklish Asian tootsies on our way back." Rayma grinned. "Oh yes. Though after what Kaleel put her through, this will probably be a relief for her..."
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