Country of ticklish agony

Country of Ticklish Agony

By Marauder


Shania Twain was checking her make-up in the small mirror set into the divider of her limousine. She was lounging in the comfortable back area, looking stunning in the red, sparkling dress that was cut out low and slit on the right side, falling away from her legs covered in beige nylon hose. Her long brown hair flowed down her back, and as she finished her check up, her dark eyes were beautifully accented by her professional mascara. She stretched her luscious 5'4'' body with cat-like grace, flexing her size 6.5 feet, which she had freed from her black heels to allow them to breath and relax from the confining footwear. She was pleased with her looks - 36 years old, but looking no older than 28. She needed to look extra pretty today... Her manager had called her, asking her to attend a special meeting with some important people of the country music industry, to discuss next year's tour dates and gigs. Shania smiled with happy anticipation, certain that she could secure the best-paying gigs for herself, but the smile turned into a frown as the car slowed and suddenly took a sharp turn, now driving - as evident from the bumps and sways - down some kind of uneven dirt road. Shania knocked on the window of the divider, and the driver rolled it down electrically. "Where are we going ?" demanded Shania to know. The driver only shrugged. "Diversion, Miss Twain. I'm just following the road signs." Shania leaned back and relaxed, trying to steady herself despite the constant swaying, not wanting to risk her outfit to be ruffled. Gazing through the windshield, she saw the road block ahead as soon as the driver stepped on the brakes. Someone had parked a van across the street ! Shania fumed. This was turning out to be a day governed by Murphy's Law, it seemed. The limo came to a complete halt, and the driver left the car, going over to the van and muttering something about waking the presumably drunk driver. Shania waited patiently, but he didn't return. In a sudden flash of overconfidence, she stepped out of the vehicle to look what was up, slipping into her heels first and walking towards the lumbering hulk of machinery that blocked her way with uneven steps, struggling to keep her balance on the ill-maintained road. Just as she reached the van, she realized what she was doing and began to consider the sensibility of walking along an unlit road in almost complete darkness without any kind of defense, but by now it was too late. With a loud "GET HER !!!", she was jumped by shadowy figures that had been hidden by the shadows at the roadside. Shania screamed in alarm and struggled as much as she could, but the three assailants were a lot stronger than her and subdued her quickly. She saw that they wore black combat fatigues and had clown masks on, and that was to be the last thing she noticed for some time, because the world went totally black for her as a strong burlap bag was pulled over her head, large enough to enclose her entire body. The attackers quickly pulled it down to her ankles and then proceeded to tie lengths and lengths of sturdy rope around the package, completely immobilizing the singer. Shania struggled some more as she felt herself being lifted up, and then put onto a soft surface...
The two men and the woman who had abducted Shania dusted their hands with proud accomplishment. They looked at the struggling, totally helpless form now lying on the mattress that took up most of the van's cargo hold. One of the men stepped aside and quickly took off his mask and fatigues, revealing his uniform beneath. He turned out to be the driver of Shania's limo. The other man walked over, whispered something into his ear concerning money that would be paid into an anonymous account, and the man nodded and closed his eyes, lifting his head. The other man took aim and felled the driver with a short left hook to the chin. He then entered the van's drivers seat, starting the engine, while the woman climbed into the cargo area and proceeded to tie even more ropes around the captive country star, anchoring them firmly to rings to the side of the mattress, completing the Shania's utter immobility. The only part of her that could be seen were the wildly struggling feet in their beige hose and black heels. While the woman was busy binding her, Shania began to plead nervously... "Look, can't we talk about this ? I haven't seen your faces, I won't press charges, I'll forget this ever happened, okay ? Listen, what do you want ? Money ? No problem, we'll go right up to a bank and I'll withdraw as much as you want..." The woman remained silent, finishing her work and looked at it with pleasure, just as the van set itself into motion. "If not money, then what ? I mean, did anyone put you up to this ? If it's that, I can pay you double the amount you got from them ! Listen, there's no need to do anything we will all regret, let's stay sensible, okay ? Okay ? Hello ? Say something, damn it !" Her captor looked her up and down, not that she would notice, and seemed to decide that she would not wait any longer. She lay down on the mattress besides the bound singer, her head at Shania's feet... Shania only noticed that something had been put down besides her and continued her monologue. "If you don't say anything, how should I know what you want ? This is probably just a big mistake ! Abducting me won't work, you know ! People know where I was going, they'll come looking for me. What... What are you doing ? Why are you taking off my shoes ?!?" And indeed, the woman had removed the heels with ease, licking her lips beneath the garish grin of her mask, seeing the smooth size 6.5 soles with their round, short toes, the medium, slightly wrinkled arches, very nicely groomed, a little on the fleshy side, covered nicely by the flimsy, yet firm, semitransparent material of the hose, which was reinforced at the toes and the heel... She extended her hand, very slowly, enjoying the anticipation... "Hey, put my shoes back on ! What do you think you're doing ? Are you some kind of pervert ?!?" Shania barked, frustrated by her captor's continued muteness. When the woman finally said something, though, Shania at once wished she had kept up the silence, because the only thing that the woman whispered was : "Are you ticklish ?"
Shania's mind was suddenly aflame with terror. The woman had asked if she was ticklish, and she was bound and completely helpless ! With horror she remembered the times she had been parenting her four brothers and sisters after her parents' death, and how one day Jill, Carrie-Ann, Mark and Darryl had pounced on her for fun and gang tickled her for what had seemed like hours... The four had been too lost in their fun to notice that Shania had suffered the tortures of the damned at their kneading and dancing hands... She had forgiven them, but she had never allowed ANYONE to tickle her since that horrible experience ! She could simply not stand to be tickled ! She was so incredibly sensitive, and the woman's voice had come from her feet, and she had removed her shoes, and her feet were in nylons, and she couldn't do anything... Shania broke out in desperate begging, hoping to avoid the inevitable hellish tortures that would come if she didn't stop that... maniac ! "No, please, wait, not that ! Don't tickle me ! Not the feet ! Please, you have to understand, it will be pure torture ! I can't stand to be tickled ! Especially not like this ! Please, don't do that to meeEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE OH GOD NOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOO !!!" She felt the fingertips gliding over her soles like burning points of unbearably sensation, tracing hellishly tickling lines across her hypersensitive, wildly squirming soles and toes, mercilessly, running all over the smoothly nylon-covered soles with brutal recklessness, reducing the country star to peals of helpless laughter and desperate screams for mercy... "OH OH OH AAHAHAHAHAHA !!! NO STOOOHOHOHOHOP ! PLEEHEHEHEHEZE !!! NOT THAAHAHAHAHAT ! DOHOHOHONT TEEHEHEHEKLE MEEEHEHEHEHE !!! NOT THE FEEEHEHEHEHEHET !!! NONONOnono... oh thank you, please, I'll do anything, don't tickle my feet, please they're too sensitive, please tell me what you want, I'll give you anything, please, no, not the feet ! Not that ! Please, oh god please, you can't do that, it's unbearable, I swear I'm going to dieEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHE NOOOHOHOHO NOT AGAAAHAHAHAHAHAIN !!! AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO STOOOHOHOHOHOHOP PLEEEHEHEHEZE STOOOHOHOHOHOP OH NOOOHOHOHOHO NOT WITH BOOHOHOHOTH HAAAAHAHAHANDS NOOHOHOHOHOHOHO !!!" The captor smiled, tickling wildly all over the desperately twitching and flailing feet, enjoying the feel of smooth, warm nylon under her ten wickedly scratching, prodding and gliding fingertips, and laughing silently to herself while observing the bound, burlap covered form beside her bucking and screaming inside her covers. The van sped off into the night, leaving behind it the stench of an old diesel engine and a ghostly banshee wail of a helpless woman being tickled beyond her worst nightmares...

Faith Hill had been sitting alone in this horrible room for many hours. Her hazel eyes were reddened from crying. She had awakened here, still in her white lace slip and pink nightgown, a flimsy silken piece displaying more of her beautiful 5'8'' body than hiding. Her small feet were bare, and her short blonde hair was in serious disarray, ruffled from sleep and sticking out in random directions. She had been securely tied to a high-backed wheelchair, and her light, smooth skin showed Goosebumps from the chill in this... dungeon, yes, that was the best was to describe her surroundings. The 34 years old country singer had no idea why she was here, staring at the rough, stone walls and the few naked 40 Watt light bulbs that seemed so strangely out of place here, where one would expect torches, their dim light illuminating the large metal rings with the chains and shackles that were set into the walls, and... the rack. A genuine, medieval torture device, complete with individual stocks for the feet and a winch to stretch the arms over the head stood in the middle of the room, and Faith had regarded it with absolute horror. Whatever had happened, she was still praying for it to be a nightmare, but she knew better... This was real. Somebody must have drugged her while she slept, in her own home, too, for heavens sake, and brought her here, to be... she shivered. To be tortured. She was fairly sure of that. But why ? Who could possible want to do anything like that to her ?!? She sobbed silently, at the same time wishing for something to happen and hoping for things to just stay like this, because anything that would happen was bound to be a lot worse than what was going on now... She was completely right, of course. Suddenly, the single, rough, wooden door to the room opened and another wheelchair was pushed into the room. Faith eyes went wide as she saw its occupant - Shania Twain ! The other singer was in no better shape than herself. First of all, she was unconscious. Her long brown hair was matted to her head with sweat, and her face and body flushed with exhaustion. She was dressed only in her underwear, a black short slip and a lace bra, also black. She still wore a beige hose, though, something that struck Faith as odd, and was shoeless. Despite her unconsciousness, her feet seemed to twitch slightly for a reason unknown to the blonde singer... The two people pushing the chair, a muscular, tall male and a slender, athletic female from the looks of them, were clad in black fatigues and wore ugly clown masks. They brought their blacked out victim over to the rack and prepared to fasten her to it. Faith piped up in desperation. "What are you doing ? What do you want ? Why am I here ? Please, I'll do anything ! Let me go ! PLEASE !" The abductors continued their work, paying no attention to the pleading singer in the corner. They quickly and professionally stretched Shania out on the rack, locked her feet in the stocks and cuffed her wrists to the shackles connected to the winch with chains, and then pulled her taut, so that she was completely incapable of movement. Then, still ignoring Faith Hill's begging and protesting, they left the room once more. Faith stared at the newly occupied rack in terror. What was going to happen ? And why were Shania's feet still twitching ? What was going on ?

Shania awoke slowly, her whole body sore. She opened her eyes and looked around with dread. What she saw did nothing to lift her spirits... "Shania, thank god, you're awake !" Faith had already feared Shania to be in a deep coma. "What's going on ? Who are these people ? Why did they take us ?!?" Shania whimpered. "I don't know... Oh god, please don't let them tickle me anymore..." Faith Hill's questions stopped dead in their tracks when she heard this. That couldn't possibly... She asked with growing dread, "Did you say... (gulp)... they... tickled ...?" Shania broke out into loud sobs at this... "Yes, they tickled me the entire time, it was torture, they kept tickling my feet for hours and hours, it tickled so bad, I can't take that again, oh god, let me wake up from this nightmare..." Faith turned even whiter than she had already been. Tickled... They had... tickled... She was horribly aware of her flimsy garment, and worst of all, her bare feet ! She crossed them unconsciously, covering one with the other for protection as far as the bonds that secured her in the chair would allow her... She remembered being held down by two of her dates when she was a teen, and how they had tickled her... That had been unbearable, and she had promised them anything if they'd stop, but that had still been comparatively playful... To be tied up and then tickled for hours by ruthless sadists... She understood Shania's death wish fully ! She was utterly, unbearably hypersensitive to tickling, and her soft, squirming feet were her absolutely worst spot, followed closely by her neck... Faith joined Shania in her sobbing, desperately hoping and praying for anyone to find them before their captors could start to subject them to ticklish tortures... Their hope was in vain. The door opened again, and the abductors entered, the woman going over to the rack to look at Shania, who collapsed into new pleads for mercy, the man pushing Faith's wheelchair out of the room and into the hallway it bordered on, locking the chair's brakes there. "You'll be dealt with in a few minutes, never fear," he promised darkly and went back into the room where Shania's pleads had reached a new height, leaving Faith Hill to contemplate her fate with anguish and forcing her to listen what was going on inside the room, knowing that it was going to happen to her next...

In the rack room, the man had set up a folding chair that had been stashed beneath the massive contraption upon which the trembling body of Shania Twain lay. He sat down upon it and proceeded to pick up a clipboard and a ballpoint pen. He showed the clipboard to Shania. All that was written down on it was the word 'CONFESSION' in huge, bold letters at the very top. The woman had sat down on the edge of the rack in the meantime, still eyeing the near-naked body of the bound singer with rapt fascination. Shania was begging constantly now, lost in blind terror. "Oh god PLEASE don't tickle me, don't tickle, please ! NO ! NOOOO ! I'll do anything ! Please, not that !!! Confession ?!? What do you want ? What kind of confession ?!?" The man whispered, "YOU'LL have to tell US. Just start confessing. Once you said the right thing, we will let you go, but until then, we will put you to the tickle torture." Shania slid further into panic, seeing the woman prepare for the attack, aiming hands with wriggling fingers at her unprotected ribs, that were protruding from being stretched out so thoroughly... "NO ! NO ! NO !!! WAIT !!! Please, what do you want to hear, tell me, please, I'll sign anythEEEHEHEHEHE !!!" The woman dug into the thrashing singers ribs gleefully, kneading them gently, extracting ceaseless bouts of laughter from the tortured artist with skillful manipulations... "AAAHAHAHAHAHA !!! I CONFEEHEHEHESS TO ANEEHEHEHETHEEHEHEHENG OH NOOHOHOHOHOH PLEEHEHEHEZE NOOHOHOHOHOHOHO STOOOHOHOHOHOP EEEEHEHEHET PLEEEHEHEHEHEZE EEEEK ! EEK !!! EEEEEEEK !!! EEK EEK EEK !!! NOOHOHOHEEEHEHEHE EEEEEK AAARGH HAHAHAHA NOOHOHOHO AAHH AAAAAH AAAAAHHHAHAHAHAHA EEEHEHE EEK NOOHOHOHOHO THAT TEEHEHEHEKLES NOOHOHOHOHO STOOHOHOHOHOP PLEEHEHEZE PLEEEHEHEHEZE EEEK EEK EEEEEK AAAHAHAHA EEEEK !!! NOOOHOHOHO STOOOHOHOHO (gasp) STOOHOHOP AAHAHAHA !!!" But all her pleading was in vain... up and down the tender, slender ribcage went the fingers, sometimes gently poking, then grazing the skin oh so gently with the outmost tips of sharp fingernails... They tickled the warm, sweaty, firm body of Shania Twain with professional effectiveness, never once stopping, minute after minute, sending the country star into a world of unbearably ticklish grief... Shania lost all tracks of time while being tortured in this horribly effective and insidious way, a torture that she feared more than physical pain, and her ribs were not even her worst spots... It went on for over ten minutes, always tickling, nothing but the merciless fingers roaming her hypersensitive, tender ribcage, sometimes, to her horror, fluttering and grazing over her trim stomach, eliciting more desperate plead between peals of tortured laughter... "NOOHOHOHO Ack (gulp) AAAHAHAHAHA !!! NOOHOHOHO !!! NOT THE TUMMEEEHEHEHEHEHE HEHEHEHAHAHAHA AAAAHAHAARGH AAAAHAHAHA EEK NOT THAAHAHAHAT not that stop STOP STOOHOHOHOHOP PLEEEHEHEHEZE NOOOOHOHOHOHO EEEHEHEHE EEEEEK EEEHEHEK HAHAHA AAARGH AAHAHAHAHAHA !!! AHAHahaha... (gasp) haha, nonono... oh god, please, oh god, thanks you stopped, you stopped, thank you thank you thank you (sob)... oh god, it tickles so much, please, what do you want me to say, I don't know what you want to hear, I'll sign anything just write it down and I'll sign what are you looking at OH GOD NOT THE ARMPEEHEHEHEHETS !!! EEEEAAAAAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHEHEHEHE HEHEHE EEEEEHEHEHEHEHE EEEEEEHEHEHE !!! NOT THEEEEHEHEHERE NOOOHOHOHOHO NOT THAAAHAHAHAT NOHOHOHOHAHAHA AAAAAH AAAH AAAAAAAH EEEEHEHEHE !!!" The woman was happily dusting the deep, smooth hollows under Shania's arms, making only minute movements with her fingers, still not saying a word, while gently grazing the smooth, clean shaven skin of Shania's underarms, letting her fingers glide up the arms a bit, returning to the warm hollows, spidering her fingers down some, over the bra and onto the rips, then up again, over and over... The man got up after watching this for ten more minutes and yelling "Confess !" a few times with plain sarcasm, as Shania was in no shape to say anything intelligible. "Time to see that our second guest is dealt with," he yelled over the noise of Shania's desperate squeals. "Keep her amused, please !" The woman only nodded her agreement while keeping up her torturous tickling, never stopping, not letting up... The man went outside for Faith Hill, hanging the clipboard on a nail in the wall besides the door, and left to the sounds of Shania trying to say something, anything, to stop this horrible ticklish agony... "eek EEEK AAAAAHAHAHAHA PLEEHEHEZE I CONFEEHEHEESS TO ANEEEHEHEHEHE ANEEEHEHEHE AAAHAHAHAHA AHAHA EEEK ANEEHEHETHING NOOOHOHO NOT HERE NOT THAAAHAHAHAHAT NOOHOHOHO (gasp) noNONOOOO NOOOOHOHOHOHEHEHEHE EEEEEARGH EEEK AHAHA (choke) ack ack (gulp) YAAAAAHAHAHARGH !!! I DEEEHEHEHED EEEEHEHEHET !!! I ADMEEEHEHET EEEK EEEEEK NOOOHOHO !!! EEEK !!! AAHAHAHA (gasp) I admit it I admEEEHEHEHEHEHE EEEK !!!" The woman continued unfazed, not caring, not hearing, chuckling quietly to herself behind the loathsome clown mask, apparently only wanting to stay here with the bound singer and tickle and tickle and tickle...

Country of ticklish agony (cont.)

Faith was pushed along the corridor. The singer was crying in blind panic now, listening to Shania Twain's gales of tortured laughter, scared to death of the fate that was in store for her... The man pushing her chair opened the door to a dark room and shoved her inside. He then switched the light on. Faith stopped her sobbing with a sharp gasp as she saw what was in the room... Another dungeon, lit by naked bulbs, but with a high ceiling, about ten feet up... and furnished very strangely. On one wall was a huge crate, at least ten feet to a side. Strange noises emitted from it. In the center of the room stood some strange contraption, half sunken into the ground. It looked like an interlacing network of small, wooden walkways, ramps and tubes, forming a strange, mixed-up jumble, but leaving a tubular, oblong space in the middle, big enough to allow for an upright human body. Only the top part of the weird architectural compilation was visible, about two feet high, but evidently continuing underground. And in one corner was something resembling a covered vat. On the ceiling hung a system of ropes and pulleys, able to traverse the entire room and lifting and lowering a metal pole with straps attached to it that now lay in a corner... Faith had barely finished taking all this in and slipping into another, truly justified, fit of panic, when her captor pressed a sodden handkerchief to her mouth and nose. She gasped sharply in alarm, smelled something sickeningly sweet, and felt the world slipping... in the near darkness, she felt herself being lifted... carried... something hard and cold on her back... her nightgown gone... somebody stretching her out, pressure around her wrists, ankles, between her legs, around her hips... sudden movement... The chloroform wore off, and she felt herself swinging gently. She opened her eyes and realized that she had been undressed to her slip and was now tied to the metal pole, her arms stretched over her head, her back to the pole, sitting on a padded protruding between her legs. Furthermore, a sturdy, yet narrow, leather strap had been fastened around her hips, holding her back firmly to the pole, preventing her from slipping off it... And her feet were tied firmly to the end of the pole with leather cuffs around her ankles... Bound in an upright position that left virtually every part of her exposed to whatever the fiend, who was grinning at her from the door, had in mind... The chill let the nipples of her pert, bare breasts stand at attention, and she flexed her toes, grasped at the air with her hands in desperation... The pole she was tied to was gently swinging back and forth with her squirms, her bare feet about half a foot of the floor. The man went to the vat in the corner and opened it, revealing it to be containing some thick, white liquid. He then began to operate a series of ropes and levers, in the progress moving the helpless Faith over the top of the container. Faith stared down in horror... What did this mean... "Please don't ! Whatever you have in mind, oh god, please don't ! PLEASE !!!" The man only looked at her, chuckled and asked quietly : "Are you ticklish, Miss Hill ?" Faith lost her mind with stark terror. "NOOO !!! PLEASE !!! NOOO !!! DON'T TICKLE ME !!! PLEASE DON'T DO IT ! PLEASE ! I'LL GO INSANE !!! THIS IS TORTURE !!!" Her captor only shrugged with another dry chuckle and released a rope, lowering Faith into the liquid. It felt cold and thick as Faith's feet touched it, breaking the surface and descending, followed by the inch after inch of the country singers' magnificent body... "Please NOOO ! What IS THIS GUNK ?!? DON'T DROWN ME IN THAT ! OH PLEASE ! What is this.. looks like... cream ? Is this cream ? Why are you dunking me into a vat of cream ?!? YOU CRAZY BASTARD, SAY SOMETHING !!!" The man kept lowering her down until only her head and arms remained above the white fluid. Everything from her chin down was now being soaked in it, including her underarms... "Yes, it's cream. I won't explain this. It will become clear to you soon. Oh by the way, you'll need to confess before you'll be released." Having said that, he once more pulled Faith out of the vat, most of her body now covered with rich cream, dripping and squirming... "Confess ?!? Confess WHAT ?!? Okay, I'll confess ! To what, for God's sake ?" The man began directing her wet form over to the nightmarish mix of apparently thrown together ramps and planks, then lowering her down the central hole until once more only her head And arms showed. Her entire body was now surrounded by... access ramps ?!? While the man walked over to the crate, Faith finally made out what the noises coming from it were... mews ! Mewing kittens ! She realized what was about to happen as the man prepared to open the crate... "Cats ? Cats... CATS ?!? CREAM ?!? NOOOO !!! DONT RELEASE THEM !!! I'LL SIGN !!! DON'T LET THEM NEAR ME !!! Please, not while I'm helpless, have some compassion, please, they can reach every part of my skin in here, they're going to... lick the cream... OH GOOOOOD !!! NOOOO !!! YOU CAN'T DO THIS !!! IT'S MURDER !!!" With a last shrug, the man opened the crate, and kittens stumbled out. Hungry kittens. Unbearably cute and fuzzy, but absolutely ravenous... They sniffed, sniffed... tracked the scent... The man hurriedly closed the vat in the corner and nodded, pleased, as the cats diverted their attention to the helpless woman in the center of the room... They practically pounced on her then, running up and down the walkways and ramps, each of the kittens finding its own spot to lick the cream. Faith felt the first furry muzzles, the first soft tongues caress her skin with hungry licks, all over her body, and exploded with helpless shrieks. Soon, there were two dozen cats, licking everywhere, under her arms, over her belly, her back, her thighs, swirling in her knees, even at her extremely ticklish neck, and more on her hypersensitive bare feet, tongues darting between the toes, gliding over her soles... It tickled more than anything she would have believed possible. She lost all capability of uttering anything articulate at once, lost in a world of tickle torture... "AAAHAHAHAHA !!! AAHAHAHA !!! EEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE !!! EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE !!! EEEEEEEEE(gulp)EEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE !!! AAHAHAHAHAHA !!! YAAAAHHHH !!! YAAAH YAAAAAH AAAHAHAHAHA EEEHEHEHEHE NYEARGH YAAHAHAHAHA !!! YAAHAHA(gasp)AAHAHAHAHAHA !!!" She flexed and curled her toes, trying to escape, or at least trap or divert, the horribly invasive tongues, but not a chance, the kittens at her feet were nimble enough to avoid her feeble attempts of protection, treating her soft, terribly ticklish feet with merciless and thorough licking, while the other cats were equally unimpressed by her weak writhing motions, sating their hunger with the cream they reaped from her baby-soft skin with fast paced licking, setting her mind aflame with unbearable torments... Then, two cats discovered the way to her breasts and, in a terrible parody of the act of stilling, began nibbling and licking the milk from her tender, upright nipples... "YEEEEEAAAARGH !!! TAKE THEM OOOHOHOHOFFFF !!! oh no, the NEEEEHEHEHEPLES HAHAHAHAHAHA AAAAAH !!! AAAAAH !!! AAAAAAAAH !!!! YEARGH !!! YEEEEEAAAAARGH !!! EEEEEHEHEHEHEK EEEHEHEHEHEK AAHAHAHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA AHAHAHA NOHOHOHO AAHAHAHAHA !!!" Her captor made for the door, happy with the results. Before leaving, he hung another clipboard on a nail besides the door and said : "I'll be back later to refresh the cream cover. Think about what we might want you to confess in the meantime. Think about it thoroughly. You might be here for a long time of you don't get it." Having said this, he left, closing the door behind him. Faith, of course, couldn't muster any thoughts but... "NOOOHOHOHOHOHO !!!"

The two country stars were tortured in this way for five days straight, only stopping for a nights rest or a forced meal, or to be cleaned up while half knocked out with small doses of chloroform. They begged, they pleaded, and they screamed with shrill cascades of tortured laughter under the constant, unbearable tickling, but they never received mercy from their cruel torturers, who kept asking them to confess, and laughingly waved aside any attempts of the singers to admit to anything, claiming that the sins in the women's youth were not the reasons for their being here, nor was the back-stabbing behind the music industries facade, and no, it had nothing to do with their contracts either... They kept torturing the women, Shania Twain on the rack under the woman's expert fingers, tickling all over her body, finding and exploiting every hyper-ticklish spot, spending quality time on the nyloned soles and in the smooth armpits... Faith Hill in the cat room, being licked, dunked in cream like a cookie, then licked again and again by so many soft, gentle, TICKLING tongues... Then on the fifth day, their torturers gave them a hint, maybe showing mercy for the first time. "We want you to confess to what you are doing," the man told them, and after another long day of horribly ticklish ministrations, they got on the right track. Shania was the first one to understand... "AAAHAHAHAHA !!! AAAHAHAHA !!! I !!! CONFEEHEHESSS ! TOOHOHOHO !!! BEEEHEHE HEHEHE EEEK BEEEHEH !! A ! BAAHAHAHAD OH GOOOHOHOD DOOHOHONT MAKE MEHEHE SAAHAHAY THIS AAHAHAHA OKAAAHAHAY OKAAHAAHAY !!! BAAAHAHAD COOHOHOHOHO HOHO COUNTREEEHEHEHE !!! SEEEHEHEHENGER !!! I CONFEEHEHEHESS !!!" The man nodded, apparently happy with this result, and wrote something down. He motioned for the woman to stop her incessant tickling of Shania's feet, which she had been doing without pause for the last three hours, and stood up. "Thank you, Miss Twain, for this confession. You have indeed committed the heinous crime of being a performer in that abysmal branch of the music industry, country. Now that we have your confession, we will decide your punishment. But until then - unfortunately for you, a forced confession must always be verified." He nodded to the woman again. "I'd recommend the armpits, the feet have seen enough action for now." Shania pried her eyes open with inhumane effort. "What... (pant) do you mean... (pant) by verifying... oh no. Oh no ! NO ! NONONONONOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO !!! EEEK EEEEEEK !!! NOT AGAAAHAHAHAHAIN !!! YAAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHA NOOOHOHOHO NOT THE PEEEHEHEHEHETS PLEEHEHEHEZE OH NONONO AHAHAHAHAH EEK EEEEHEHEHEHE EEEK AAHAHAHAHA NOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO !!!" The man left the room, ready to hear what Faith had to say for herself. He entered her cell of horror, walking over to her head and arms protruding from between the many boards, her face distorted by terrible laughter, her hands grasping, clutching helplessly at nothing as her entire body was subjected to thorough tickle torture... He gazed down into the hole at her gently swinging, nude bode, shiny with while rivulets of milk and a layer of sweat, and saw the heads of all those little kittens surrounding her on all sides, seeing them licking, just barely making out the four cats that were milling around at the deepest point of the hole, where her naked feet were desperately squirming under the incessantly licking tongues... "Ready to confess ?" he asked. Faith squeaked and yelped, unable to utter anything. Fortunately for her, he granted her relief an hour later, lifting her from the hole, and she, too, confessed under ceaseless crying to her "crime" of being a country performer. Of course, her confession had to be checked as well, and soon she was in agony inside this pit of torture again, screaming with a hoarse voice, knowing nothing but the constant tickling...

They found themselves in a different chamber the next day. Both had been tied to wooden posts, their arms over their heads, side by side. To their horror, their feet were enclosed in large, wooden stocks. They were still wearing the same flimsy clothing, Shania her beige, now rather worn hose, and her black underwear, Faith her white, thoroughly sodden slip. The two tormentors entered the chamber, and both singers collapsed once more into fits of desperate crying, expecting the worst... This time, it was the woman who spoke. "Shania Twain, Faith Hill, hear our verdict. You have both confessed to be so called 'stars' of the country music industry. This constitutes a crime against good taste. We hereby sentence you, Faith, to no less than two days of public penance in the stocks. You, Shania, have committed even more heinous acts of composing and performing, and will therefore stay here for a whole day longer, namely three full days of ticklish punishment. Let the people carry out the verdict !" The two looked at one another in horror. But their eyes went even wider when the door to the cell opened and scores of people entered, all black clad, all with those horrible clown masks, chatting, joking, pointing at the two bound figure... The female abductor called, "Who hates country ?" And all of them cheered "ME !!!" in a happy chorus, while the man was strolling around, passing out tickets with numbers on them... When all were gone, he yelled "Now serving numbers one through four !" and four masked people advanced towards the screaming singers, fingers wriggling at them, cheering "Kootchy kootchy Koo ! Tickle tickle !" while taking their places, behind the desperate female's backs to grope at the ribs, and one in front of each bound beauties wildly wriggling feet... And then, for the next two, respectively three, days, the desperate women were cast into an abyss of ticklish teasing and torturous titillation, laughing and screaming under the fingers of many, many country-hating "executioners", all the while the rest of the people were throwing a party, having drinks, laughing at the struggling females dissolving into giggles and screams under the unbearable tickling of at least forty fingers crawling over each shaking body... For Faith Hill, the tickling of her soft, small, bare soles was the worst. It almost blotted out all the other sensations, those fingers dancing in the low, slightly wrinkled arches, scribbling up and down the instep, feeling and tormenting her even, short toes... It tickled so bad... For Shania, it were the armpits. The slowly stroking fingers corrupted her mind, breaking her spirit... But the pits were followed closely by her nylon covered feet. She couldn't stand the tortures anymore, she would have done anything to make them stop... Soon, each singer had four torturers tending to her at all times. Faith's bare feet were surrounded by three people, one stroking the tops, and one tickling each sole with all ten fingers, while another one stood behind her, using feathers on her ticklish neck, driving her wild with laughter. Shania had one tormentor at each foot, fingering the nylon surface with torturous touches, while one was on each of her sides, one hand stroking an armpit, the other counting her ribs... The two women were in stitches, screaming in a mad chorus of insane laughter... "NOOOOHOHOHO PLEEEHEHEHEZE AAAHAHAHAHAAA ! THE FEEEHEHEHET !!! STOOHOHOHOHOP PLEEHEHEHEZE NOHOHOOHOHO AAAHAHAHAHAAHAHA..."

Shania Twain awoke from a drug-induced sleep once more. She woke up with a scream, and to her surprise found she was able to move ! Sitting up, she discovered herself to be in her own living room. She looked wildly around herself, at first not believing the nightmarish tortures had ended, but then she broke into relieved sobs... When she managed to collect herself, she suddenly noticed a package sitting innocuously in front of her VCR. "Open Me" was written on it in bold, red letters. She obliged, timidly, and discovered its contents to be two Video Tapes and one letter. The letter was simply inscribed with the words "Read Me First." She did so... "Dear Shania Twain, please allow me to explain to you why you don't want to go to the police. See the attached files., then read on." She looked at the sheets of paper clipped to the letter, and saw them to be photocopies of partially blurred badges of police officers and FBI agents, over a dozen on each of the five pages, all looking uncomfortably authentic. She read on, her eyes filling with helpless tears. "As you can see, we have sympathizers everywhere. We will be watching you. Please play tape one, and read on." She obliged, cringing when she saw that the first tape contained a recording of her in the stocks, showing their ticklish punishment at the hands of all those masked people. They had recorded the last day, the day when Faith had already been released. She sobbed when she heard her own hoarse voice begging desperately for release, interrupted by loud, shrill shrieks of ticklish laughter, and could almost feel those hands again, exploring her helpless body... she read on, blinking away at the tears... "It seems that your colleague, whom we released a day prior to you, did not heed our warnings. Please insert tape number two, and have a pleasant night." Shania ejected the tape showing her cruel punishment, relieved that she didn't have to watch it anymore, and inserted the second tape with trembling fingers. The screen lit up, showing the man in the clown mask. "Good evening, Miss Twain," he said calmly. "This is what will happen if you decide to tell anybody about your experiences." The camera turned and now pointed at something that looked like a human sized box, with a pair of squirming, bare feet sticking out of the end facing the camera. Faith Hill's muffled voice came from inside the box, pleading, begging, crying... "It seems that your colleague has decided to press her luck by going to the cops. Well, we will make sure that she'll never even think about this again. And you may take this as a warning. Don't cross us." He walked over to the struggling feet, now being joined by the masked woman, who held two electrical toothbrushes in her hand, and passed him one of them. Both squatted down besides the feet, granting Shania a clear view of the pink, wriggling, wrinkling soles and the spreading, clutching toes... The man addressed his female partner now, with a hint of mischievous malice in his voice. "How long will we keep the Faith, darling ?" The woman snorted. "You punster, you. I guess her fans will have to wait for at least a month until she can appear anywhere." And then, while both activated their tools of torment, bringing them close to the helpless, flexing soles, and while Faith-In-The-Box went absolutely crazy from the sound and the anticipation, they faced the camera once more. "Don't let this be you !" they said in chorus, emphasizing it by touching the toothbrushes to the soft, ticklish soles of the trapped singer, and beginning to brush them thoroughly... Shania forced herself to watch the entire tape, all three hours of it. She heard the screams, saw what they DID to those poor, rapidly reddening feet... She realized that they would choose her worst spot, too, and tickle her there exclusively for a whole month if she should talk to anyone about this... When the tape was done, and the last whir of the brushes as well as the last desperate shriek had subsided, Shania Twain calmly burned both tapes and the letter in her yard. She would never tell anyone about this. Entering her house again, she approached the phone. She wouldn't tell anybody. But she WOULD hire bodyguards. AND, while she was at it, she needed to talk to her manager... It seemed that some of Faith Hills gigs would have to be cancelled during the next month, and Shania intended to be there, to... jump in. She put on a wry half-smile. After all, She deserved at least SOME compensation for what she went through... And, maybe, just maybe, a whole month of ceaseless, intense tickling of her soles would render Faith's voice useless for singing. That would mean one less competitor on the market. Shania allowed herself to smile more fully. Maybe this whole problem would work itself out, and leave her an even richer woman. After all, the tickling had ended, but money was there to stay. Whistling under her breath, Shania dialed her manager's number, secretly wishing for her abductors to do a very thorough job on Faith Hill's hyper-ticklish soles...

She needn't have worried.



If you liked this tale of ticklish torture, pay heed ! You can read more of my works, along with many other pieces of high quality fiction, in Tales From The Asylum, the ultimate resource for fiendish tickling fiction and art, and on the magazine's website -
http://www.MTJpub.com !

Great Story

This is one of my favorite stories because it has two insanely drop dead gorgeous women being mercilessly tickle tortured. Again great job.

🙂 Two beautiful women in a tickle dungeon..this is one hell of a great story!!!

Pirate, you're back! Fantastic story, my friend. What a set of contraptions, and I couldn't think of a better reason for these two fluff-bags to be tormented! I hope to see more from you son, my friend.😎

Beautiful.

Great story! I always love your detailed description of foot-tickling.

Hope that you have a story in the March issue of TFTA, to be mailed on Friday of this week.

That was absolutely incredible!!! You could not have chosen two better victims and a better crime to confess to.

Poor Faith... Poor Shania... I'll resque you!!! NOT!!

Glorious my friend......whew!

Fantastic job Marauder! A deliciously vivid scene full of everything we want to see. Masterfully done!

I totally love this story. It gets better everytime I read it. It is so sadistic and inhumane that you almost feel sorry for Shania and Faith...almost.

Excellent! Good choices for celebrities to be tickle tortured, also. I really liked the idea to have Faith Hill dipped in cream and then lowered into that ingenius contraption to be licked by those hungry kittens, great job!

wow

good story