The-Tickling-Master
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The packed arena was holding their breath in anticipation. RAW Women’s Champion Asuka was on the ring, dancing and celebrating her recent crowning, but everyone who has watched a WWE show before knew that her celebration wouldn’t last long without some sort of interruption. Interruption that always, without fail, brought excitement. Maybe a brawl, maybe a fiery promo, something was for sure going to happen.
And happen it did. The crowd erupted as the first notes of “Sky’s the Limit” hit, announcing the arrival of The Boss, Sasha Banks, beloved by the entire WWE Universe – and, perhaps most importantly, the current Smackdown Women’s Champion. She strolled into the stage, stopping for her usual pose, letting the spotlight shine on her for a moment as she soaked in the energy from the crowd, her form-fitting bright blue ring-gear a sea of color in the grey ramp, the silver spots reflecting slightly in the lights. She shined like a hero, like the hero she was, the hero the crowd recognized her as being. Then, without delay, she made her way to the ring, eyes focused on the Champion, head rushing with the words she would say.
When she slipped into the ring, the tension was immediate. Asuka did not back down or showed any respect at all, which flared up Sasha, who went to stare her down face-to-face, foreheads touching.
“Think you can handle me? Believe me, I’m more than ready for you.” She said to the Empress of Tomorrow. Sasha expected blows to start flying any second now, and was prepared for the confrontation. But instead of the fiery screams in Japanese that she was expecting, Asuka merely smirked.
“You. Are. Not.” She said, with long pauses typical of her struggles with the English language. But instead of an attack, instead of the fiery fury she was used from Asuka, Sasha only saw a smirk full of wicked intentions. Sasha did not have time to figure out the meaning of those words or that smirk; suddenly, out of nowhere, she was attacked from behind, colliding into Asuka, which clearly was prepared for it, sidestepping and letting her fall into the floor. Sasha barely had time to notice her attacker – it was Carmella, the self-centered blonde. And it clearly had been some sort of arrangement between her and the reigning champion, based on how the two immediately started stomping on her together, in perfect coordination. When a particularly nasty stomp hit her square in the jaw, the world became darkness, and the last sounds she heard were the roaring boos of the crowd.
Slowly, she came back to consciousness, her head threatening to split open from all the pain. But she was used to pain; any wrestler was. Slowly, she started getting her bearings. She was in a dark-lit room; the muffled sounds of cheers and boos signaled to her that she was probably still in the arena, on some backstage portion of it, while the show was running its normal course. The sudden muffled sounds of Bobby Lashley’s music confirmed her suspicions. She tried getting up, and that revealed a new and much more worrisome factor of her condition: She was restrained. Tied down to some sort of flat wooden table. Every limb was tied to a leg of the table, leaving her X-spread in the middle of it. The table had some amount of padding, a poor attempt to make its victim at least slightly more comfortable. Sasha was no stranger to kinks, and had seen implements like these before. Even been on one, on occasion. But being dragged into one, restrained so helplessly, without her consent was a much direr situation.
She was starting to recall her previous attack – and starting to imagine who was the person that abducted her – when she heard a noise from behind, and the cracked, annoying voice confirmed her obvious hypothesis.
“Oh my god, finally! Thought you’d be sleeping forever, stupid thing.” Carmella said, stepping from the back of the room to stare down at the restrained and vulnerable Sasha, which glared back at her. If Carmella expected to intimidate her, she would be in for a surprise!
“Of course it was you that brought me here, you freaky bimbo. If you think you’ll get away with this, you’re stupider than you look!” Despite her fury, Sasha kind of knew that her threat was empty. WWE tended to be awfully lenient with straight-up crimes happening on their backstage areas. Wrestling was still a business with a very old-school mentality, a mentality that was not conductive to calling the cops when things go wrong. If she complained to higher-ups about being kidnapped, she’d be told to take matters into her own hands, and that would be that. Such was the life of an employee of an insane old man like Vincent McMahon.
“Yeah yeah, talk as much as you want. You’ll be singing a different tune soon!” Carmella taunted, leaning closer with a wicked smirk. “Me and Asuka were sure that your egotistical ass would be first in line to challenge her. One belt is not enough for your airhead, huh? And we struck a deal. I take you down when you step up to her… And she lets me bring you here.” She said, every word dripping with malice. Clearly Carmella did not have nice intentions in mind. Sasha tried to remain brave, staring back at her, but feeling some amount of helplessness was inevitable.
Still, in professional wrestling, one lives and dies by the appearance one projects. “And what do you plan to do to me?”
“First, to make you relinquish your belt. To me. Second, to make you admit I’m better than you. And hotter too.” She added with a giggle.
Sasha chuckled, a laughter charged with irony. “Don’t make me laugh, Carmella.”
“Oh, dear…” She said, stepping closer, as if she had been waiting for that phrase, as if Sasha had just activated a perfectly-laid trap. “That’s precisely my plan…”
The words left Sasha completely puzzled. Perhaps she should have expected it, based on the way she was restrained; on how, coupled with her revealing outfit, it left every single patch of sensitive skin exposed. Perhaps she should have figured out from Carmella’s words and demeanor, or figured out when she stepped forward, looking down upon her with predatory eyes. And yet, the notion of what was about to happen was so absurd, so out-of-the-box, that it didn’t even cross Sasha’s mind until it was far too late. Only when Carmella’s long-nailed fingers made contact with her lower sides, goosing the skin slowly and methodically, and only when Sasha erupted in a surprised fit of desperate giggles, that she understood what was going on.
Carmella was tickling her! Carmella planned to tickle-torture her out of her championship! And that’s an idea that would have made her scoff if someone came and told it to her face. For all torments seem much more bearable from a distance.
But when you’re in the situation, it’s different. She didn’t have the time or energy to ridicule the notion, because her sides were on fire and every fiber of her being was too focused on either struggling to escape the prodding fingers or laughing in response to the overwhelming stimulation. Even though the assault was light, Sasha was, and had always been, deathly ticklish. Sometimes that spiced her love-life, but currently her sensitiveness was working hard against her.
As her mind slowly adjusted to the situation and her pride took control once more, she bit her lower lip, almost to the point of drawing blood, in the effort to suppress her laughing fit. Carmella seemed to notice, and slowed the assault even further, just sloooowly dragging her nails from navel to rib.
“Oh wow Sasha, I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive! This is going to be so easy.” She said. It was a trap, and Sasha was too hot-headed to notice. The Champion opened her mouth to reply, and when she did, Carmella attacked at once, squeezing her flanks with sadistic vigor, making Sasha erupt in the middle of her phrase.
“As if-- YOHOHOHOHHUHUHU BIHIHIHIHITTCHCHCH!!!!” She screamed, finally opening the floodgates of laughter under the powerful assault. Her well-toned body, fueled by athletic and nearly endless stamina, twitched from side to side; her midsection moved as it had a life of its own, bumping into all directions in a desperate search for any spot without a tormenting finger. Such a spot did not exist; Carmella could follow her pretty skillfully, and her restraints didn’t allow for much movement anyways.
“You really need to watch your mouth, silly… You’re not in a position to insult me.” She said, in a threatening tone, as her fingers dug deeper into the toned flesh, vibrating in place to drive Sasha wilder and wilder. And so it did; her laughter rose, her throat quickly getting sore from the effort. Her limbs were getting exhausted from the mighty struggles, from pulling and twisting hopelessly against the restraints. That ridiculous form of torment was quickly taking its toll, and slowly, Sasha started to drift into a different sensation. One she hated with all her might: Fear. She started to realize how much of an ordeal it would be to withstand Carmella’s ticklish torture for however long it was necessary for someone to find her. She could take a few more minutes, sure – but she didn’t know where they were. What if no one can hear her? What if she needs to wait for RAW to end before they start searching for her? That would be two hours from now!
Oh… And the thought made her shudder… What if no one comes? What if they think she left earlier to recover from the attack? What if no help is on the way?
Carmella’s hands shifted, and Sasha’s eyes popped, her train of thought derailed by pure, unfiltered torment as the blonde started attacking her exposed, hairless armpits. The Boss howled, her mind overwhelmed by the sensations. The tickling on her midsection had been bad, but this was much worse. She never knew how overwhelmingly sensitive her armpits were; she couldn’t think straight, and she could barely breathe. All she could do, all that her world had become, was a blurr of suffering, or horrible sensations flaring up from her underarms, shooting into her brain in a cacophony that drowned out everything else in the world. Worse, Carmella’s fingers seemed tailor-made for the subject; she wasn’t digging them into the spot this time, but instead using her long nails to scratch the surface with maddening speed. They were also absurdly pointy, which made them even more effective; Carmella probably done her nails like that on purpose and for this exact reason. And by God, it was working. Sasha screamed and screamed, twitching like a madwoman in her bondage, testing the limits of her bonds. And yet, none budged, leaving her stranded in a world of mirthful torment.
This went on for a two-minutes long eternity until Carmella withdrew the demonic instruments of torture that were her nails. Sasha almost cried of relief, her muscles all relaxing at once into the table she was tied to, lacking the strength to even sustain themselves against gravity. She huffed and puffed in a desperate attempt to catch her breath, that quick session of torture much more exhausting than any recent match she could recall.
“So, Sasha. Ready to relinquish the belt?” Carmella asked, with that annoying high-pitched voice. Gods, the thought of being under that ordeal under CARMELLA of all people was driving the Boss almost as insane as the prodding fingers themselves.
And yet, the words made her heart sunk further, because they highlighted that the bimbo meant business. It was not a prank, it was not a way to get even, it was a plan, one that Carmella would see to its end.
But would Sasha? The Boss shuddered, trying to tell herself that she could take it, unsure if she was being resolute or deluded.
The silence seemed to displease Carmella, for the fingers returned, scratching her hollows with renewed vigor; Sasha almost jumped in the table, screaming her head off and pulling against the bonds that, maddeningly, refused to budge. “NOHOHOHOHOH!!! STOHOHOHOHOHPP!! PLEHEHEEHAHAHAHASSHEHEEH!!” She could barely believe her ears; the rational part of her brain did not birth those words. Even in distress, begging for mercy to someone as despicable as the blonde didn’t even cross her proud mind. And yet, seems some deeper, hidden part of her psyche had betrayed, for beg she did – and the begging seemed to only drive Carmella further, for she smirked in pure satisfaction and made the torment even worse, speeding up her fingers.
“Hmmmm… God, you’re really sensitive. Although I guess I can’t blame you – I know I’d be going mad if I was in your place! Hell, I’d have relinquished my championship already if you tickled MY armpits like that…” She said, punctuating the words with a deep squeeze in Sasha’s hollows that made a few tears roll down the Boss’ eyes. “But this is still not good enough. I’m sure you can suffer a bit more. And it just so happens that we still have a spot left to test, huh?” She said, teasingly, as she stopped the torment once more.
But Sasha did not allow herself to relax this time, for the words struck fear into her very soul. The Boss started struggling harder than even while under the tickling, a despair fueled by the anticipation of what was to come. “No, Carmella! Please! Please, please, not my FEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHTTTT!!!!” She screamed when the fingers made contact with her exposed and tightly-restrained soles, shrieking like a banshee, the sounds echoing and reverberating into the walls of the room.
Unlike her armpits, whose sensitiveness caught her by surprise, she knew exactly how sensitive her feet were, and nothing else came close. She never managed to have pedicures throughout her entire life; the very thought would send her into a fit of giggles. As she felt the fingers scratching against them, raking those nails – those FUCKING nails – over her soles, Sasha was filled with a terror she never felt in her whole life. The terror of being forced to endure the unendurable, to be subjected to torments beyond one’s limits, entirely at the mercy of a different person. Uncapable of making it end.
“OHOHOHOKAHAHAHHYHY! YOHOHOHOU’RHEHEEHEH BETTER!! BEHEHEHEHEHETETEHEHEHEHRRR!! BEHEHEHEHETTERR THANAHYAHAHANN MEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!!” She blurted out, again moved by that irrational, subconscious part of her brain that just wanted to make the torture stop. Although this time, the rational brain was in agreement – her pride wasn’t worth this. Not these horrible sensations flaring up her soles, not that lack of breath and utter exhaustion from the struggles. She would say anything to make this horrible torture stop. If Carmella wants to gloat, she is goddamn welcome to do so. “NOHOHOHOHOWW STOHOHOHOPPP!! PLEHEHEEHEHHAHAHAHASSHEHEHEH CARMEHHEHEHEHEHELAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!”
“Oh, Sasha dear I’m so glad you’ve started to see the light!” Carmella teased, increasing the pace of the torture, moving her fingers – her nails – into Sasha’s inner toes, making the symphony of screams rise an octave and grow a lot more erratic. “But you’re forgetting something. Aren’t you?”
She actually was – either forgotten, or because her brain was trying to protect her. But there was another, much direr condition that Carmella demanded to stop the tickling.
The SmackDown Women’s Championship.
Her first instinct was to scream YES, TAKE IT YOUR BITCH, JUST LEAVE MY SOLES ALONE, but something stronger than even her suffering made the phrase die before it left her lips. She couldn’t do this. Not this. Not throwing away her crowning achievement, the thing she worked so hard to get. She’d rather die than relinquish the title, ESPECIALLY to someone as unworthy as Carmella. Thus, despite a part of her mind begging her to give in, she just stared at Carmella and muttered. “NEHEHEHEHEHEVEVHEHEHEHEHRRRR”
“Oh, really? We’ll see about that…” The blonde superstar said, as she kneeled to pick up something from below the table. That gave Sasha just the briefest moment of reprieve, which she did her best to enjoy and use to recover some of her breath. Alas, it was over has too quick, and in the worst manner possible.
Sasha received no warnings of what was about to happen. Carmella didn’t waste time taunting her, showing her the tool, or making a speech. She just grabbed a nasty hairbrush, with bristles that were bizarrely both soft but also very sharp, and jammed them into one of Sasha’s soles, holding the foot in place with her other hand. The extra restraint was necessary, because Sasha went ballistic, screaming so loud that her voice broke midway, emitting a raspy guttural noise of pure torment and suffering.
“NOHOHOHO!!! NOHOHOHOHOHOTT HTHAHAHAHAHATTT!! STOTOHOHOOHOPPP!!! YOHOHOHOHUHUH’REHEHEHE BETTTER!! GREHEHEEHAAHAHASTEHEHEHESST OOHOHOHOFF ALL TIHIHIHIMEME!! NOOOOOOO” She howled, now crying proper tears, bawling like a child. That was too much. Too much! She couldn’t take it. It needed to stop, and stop NOW. Good Lord, that was the worst feeling she ever had in her life – and she had sustained multiple injuries throughout her career. And she’d take them all again, all at once, rather that go through a single more minute of that torture. “IHIHIHIHILL GIHIHIHIHVHEHEHEHE YOHOHOHOHUHUH MYY SHAHAHAHALARYYY!!” She screamed, desperate to find some sort of bargaining chip. “MY CAHAHAHAHAHRRR!” It all fell in deaf ears. Carmella just wanted one thing. Both of them knew what it was.
Sasha cried harder. She didn’t want to give up the belt. Please, not the belt. Not the accolade she suffered so much to earn. The thing that showed to the whole world that she was, indeed, the best female wrestler on the planet.
The hairbrush started sliding even faster, and Sasha was yanked off her inner conflict. It reminded that none of that mattered. Nothing mattered, except making the tickling stop. The sounds of her laughter drowned out all internal protests, all doubts and reservations.
Yes, she suffered to get that belt – but she never suffered as much as she was now. And this torture was not going to stop. She couldn’t take this for hours. She couldn’t take this for a single second anymore.
She tried screaming YOU WIN in all forms she could think of, but her laughter drowned out her words again and again. For a moment, Sasha sunk deeper into despair, fearing she may never find the strength to admit her surrender. She picture herself, tied in that place, that god-forsaken brush scratching her soles, broken beyond belief, and Carmella continuing her torment, unaware that she had already won.
And that panic pushed her further; with superhuman strength only made possible by such fears, she managed, after much effort, to blurt out “YOHOHOUHUH WIHIHINN!! I GIHIHIHIHIHVHEHEHEHEHEHEEHHEHEEH UUHUHUHUHUHHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHAEHEAH” before the laughter once again took center stage.
Again, to her horror, Carmella didn’t stop, at least for a few more instants – but this time, it was just out of pure, wicked malice (as well as to make sure she was broken properly). Sasha merely budged in place, desperate for a way to make the blonde understand she was serious, before Carmella finally, mercifully, stopped, and the Boss was left alone with her tears, her ruined make-up, her messy hair, her erratic breath.
“Sooo you’ll give me the belt?” Carmella asked, and Sasha merely nodded as frantically as she could manage. “Good! I knew I’d make you see reason, Sasha. That being said…” She said, as she grabbed Sasha’s foot again, raising the brush once more. “I did find your admitting my superiority to be a bit unconvincing. Let’s see if you’ll sound a bit more natural in thirty minutes…” She said, opening the widest, most wicked smirk Sasha had ever seen, and the Boss screamed – first out of fear and despair, then out of forced hilarity and ticklish torment.
It would indeed take hours before she was found. Hours in which she was tortured far beyond her breaking point; in which she admitted everything Carmella wanted to hear, promised twice as much, and cried enough tears to fill a bottle. When she was finally found by venue staff, she kept the secrets of that night for herself, for Carmella made sure to drill into her mind what would happen if Sasha crossed her, and the part of the Boss that would have challenged that risk had died on that night. Died laughing, short of breath, exceeding in ticklishness.
Sasha now knew her place in the pecking order, and wouldn’t risk upsetting her superior in any way. Nothing was worth risking going through that again. Ever.
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The packed arena was holding their breath in anticipation. RAW Women’s Champion Asuka was on the ring, dancing and celebrating her recent crowning, but everyone who has watched a WWE show before knew that her celebration wouldn’t last long without some sort of interruption. Interruption that always, without fail, brought excitement. Maybe a brawl, maybe a fiery promo, something was for sure going to happen.
And happen it did. The crowd erupted as the first notes of “Sky’s the Limit” hit, announcing the arrival of The Boss, Sasha Banks, beloved by the entire WWE Universe – and, perhaps most importantly, the current Smackdown Women’s Champion. She strolled into the stage, stopping for her usual pose, letting the spotlight shine on her for a moment as she soaked in the energy from the crowd, her form-fitting bright blue ring-gear a sea of color in the grey ramp, the silver spots reflecting slightly in the lights. She shined like a hero, like the hero she was, the hero the crowd recognized her as being. Then, without delay, she made her way to the ring, eyes focused on the Champion, head rushing with the words she would say.
When she slipped into the ring, the tension was immediate. Asuka did not back down or showed any respect at all, which flared up Sasha, who went to stare her down face-to-face, foreheads touching.
“Think you can handle me? Believe me, I’m more than ready for you.” She said to the Empress of Tomorrow. Sasha expected blows to start flying any second now, and was prepared for the confrontation. But instead of the fiery screams in Japanese that she was expecting, Asuka merely smirked.
“You. Are. Not.” She said, with long pauses typical of her struggles with the English language. But instead of an attack, instead of the fiery fury she was used from Asuka, Sasha only saw a smirk full of wicked intentions. Sasha did not have time to figure out the meaning of those words or that smirk; suddenly, out of nowhere, she was attacked from behind, colliding into Asuka, which clearly was prepared for it, sidestepping and letting her fall into the floor. Sasha barely had time to notice her attacker – it was Carmella, the self-centered blonde. And it clearly had been some sort of arrangement between her and the reigning champion, based on how the two immediately started stomping on her together, in perfect coordination. When a particularly nasty stomp hit her square in the jaw, the world became darkness, and the last sounds she heard were the roaring boos of the crowd.
Slowly, she came back to consciousness, her head threatening to split open from all the pain. But she was used to pain; any wrestler was. Slowly, she started getting her bearings. She was in a dark-lit room; the muffled sounds of cheers and boos signaled to her that she was probably still in the arena, on some backstage portion of it, while the show was running its normal course. The sudden muffled sounds of Bobby Lashley’s music confirmed her suspicions. She tried getting up, and that revealed a new and much more worrisome factor of her condition: She was restrained. Tied down to some sort of flat wooden table. Every limb was tied to a leg of the table, leaving her X-spread in the middle of it. The table had some amount of padding, a poor attempt to make its victim at least slightly more comfortable. Sasha was no stranger to kinks, and had seen implements like these before. Even been on one, on occasion. But being dragged into one, restrained so helplessly, without her consent was a much direr situation.
She was starting to recall her previous attack – and starting to imagine who was the person that abducted her – when she heard a noise from behind, and the cracked, annoying voice confirmed her obvious hypothesis.
“Oh my god, finally! Thought you’d be sleeping forever, stupid thing.” Carmella said, stepping from the back of the room to stare down at the restrained and vulnerable Sasha, which glared back at her. If Carmella expected to intimidate her, she would be in for a surprise!
“Of course it was you that brought me here, you freaky bimbo. If you think you’ll get away with this, you’re stupider than you look!” Despite her fury, Sasha kind of knew that her threat was empty. WWE tended to be awfully lenient with straight-up crimes happening on their backstage areas. Wrestling was still a business with a very old-school mentality, a mentality that was not conductive to calling the cops when things go wrong. If she complained to higher-ups about being kidnapped, she’d be told to take matters into her own hands, and that would be that. Such was the life of an employee of an insane old man like Vincent McMahon.
“Yeah yeah, talk as much as you want. You’ll be singing a different tune soon!” Carmella taunted, leaning closer with a wicked smirk. “Me and Asuka were sure that your egotistical ass would be first in line to challenge her. One belt is not enough for your airhead, huh? And we struck a deal. I take you down when you step up to her… And she lets me bring you here.” She said, every word dripping with malice. Clearly Carmella did not have nice intentions in mind. Sasha tried to remain brave, staring back at her, but feeling some amount of helplessness was inevitable.
Still, in professional wrestling, one lives and dies by the appearance one projects. “And what do you plan to do to me?”
“First, to make you relinquish your belt. To me. Second, to make you admit I’m better than you. And hotter too.” She added with a giggle.
Sasha chuckled, a laughter charged with irony. “Don’t make me laugh, Carmella.”
“Oh, dear…” She said, stepping closer, as if she had been waiting for that phrase, as if Sasha had just activated a perfectly-laid trap. “That’s precisely my plan…”
The words left Sasha completely puzzled. Perhaps she should have expected it, based on the way she was restrained; on how, coupled with her revealing outfit, it left every single patch of sensitive skin exposed. Perhaps she should have figured out from Carmella’s words and demeanor, or figured out when she stepped forward, looking down upon her with predatory eyes. And yet, the notion of what was about to happen was so absurd, so out-of-the-box, that it didn’t even cross Sasha’s mind until it was far too late. Only when Carmella’s long-nailed fingers made contact with her lower sides, goosing the skin slowly and methodically, and only when Sasha erupted in a surprised fit of desperate giggles, that she understood what was going on.
Carmella was tickling her! Carmella planned to tickle-torture her out of her championship! And that’s an idea that would have made her scoff if someone came and told it to her face. For all torments seem much more bearable from a distance.
But when you’re in the situation, it’s different. She didn’t have the time or energy to ridicule the notion, because her sides were on fire and every fiber of her being was too focused on either struggling to escape the prodding fingers or laughing in response to the overwhelming stimulation. Even though the assault was light, Sasha was, and had always been, deathly ticklish. Sometimes that spiced her love-life, but currently her sensitiveness was working hard against her.
As her mind slowly adjusted to the situation and her pride took control once more, she bit her lower lip, almost to the point of drawing blood, in the effort to suppress her laughing fit. Carmella seemed to notice, and slowed the assault even further, just sloooowly dragging her nails from navel to rib.
“Oh wow Sasha, I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive! This is going to be so easy.” She said. It was a trap, and Sasha was too hot-headed to notice. The Champion opened her mouth to reply, and when she did, Carmella attacked at once, squeezing her flanks with sadistic vigor, making Sasha erupt in the middle of her phrase.
“As if-- YOHOHOHOHHUHUHU BIHIHIHIHITTCHCHCH!!!!” She screamed, finally opening the floodgates of laughter under the powerful assault. Her well-toned body, fueled by athletic and nearly endless stamina, twitched from side to side; her midsection moved as it had a life of its own, bumping into all directions in a desperate search for any spot without a tormenting finger. Such a spot did not exist; Carmella could follow her pretty skillfully, and her restraints didn’t allow for much movement anyways.
“You really need to watch your mouth, silly… You’re not in a position to insult me.” She said, in a threatening tone, as her fingers dug deeper into the toned flesh, vibrating in place to drive Sasha wilder and wilder. And so it did; her laughter rose, her throat quickly getting sore from the effort. Her limbs were getting exhausted from the mighty struggles, from pulling and twisting hopelessly against the restraints. That ridiculous form of torment was quickly taking its toll, and slowly, Sasha started to drift into a different sensation. One she hated with all her might: Fear. She started to realize how much of an ordeal it would be to withstand Carmella’s ticklish torture for however long it was necessary for someone to find her. She could take a few more minutes, sure – but she didn’t know where they were. What if no one can hear her? What if she needs to wait for RAW to end before they start searching for her? That would be two hours from now!
Oh… And the thought made her shudder… What if no one comes? What if they think she left earlier to recover from the attack? What if no help is on the way?
Carmella’s hands shifted, and Sasha’s eyes popped, her train of thought derailed by pure, unfiltered torment as the blonde started attacking her exposed, hairless armpits. The Boss howled, her mind overwhelmed by the sensations. The tickling on her midsection had been bad, but this was much worse. She never knew how overwhelmingly sensitive her armpits were; she couldn’t think straight, and she could barely breathe. All she could do, all that her world had become, was a blurr of suffering, or horrible sensations flaring up from her underarms, shooting into her brain in a cacophony that drowned out everything else in the world. Worse, Carmella’s fingers seemed tailor-made for the subject; she wasn’t digging them into the spot this time, but instead using her long nails to scratch the surface with maddening speed. They were also absurdly pointy, which made them even more effective; Carmella probably done her nails like that on purpose and for this exact reason. And by God, it was working. Sasha screamed and screamed, twitching like a madwoman in her bondage, testing the limits of her bonds. And yet, none budged, leaving her stranded in a world of mirthful torment.
This went on for a two-minutes long eternity until Carmella withdrew the demonic instruments of torture that were her nails. Sasha almost cried of relief, her muscles all relaxing at once into the table she was tied to, lacking the strength to even sustain themselves against gravity. She huffed and puffed in a desperate attempt to catch her breath, that quick session of torture much more exhausting than any recent match she could recall.
“So, Sasha. Ready to relinquish the belt?” Carmella asked, with that annoying high-pitched voice. Gods, the thought of being under that ordeal under CARMELLA of all people was driving the Boss almost as insane as the prodding fingers themselves.
And yet, the words made her heart sunk further, because they highlighted that the bimbo meant business. It was not a prank, it was not a way to get even, it was a plan, one that Carmella would see to its end.
But would Sasha? The Boss shuddered, trying to tell herself that she could take it, unsure if she was being resolute or deluded.
The silence seemed to displease Carmella, for the fingers returned, scratching her hollows with renewed vigor; Sasha almost jumped in the table, screaming her head off and pulling against the bonds that, maddeningly, refused to budge. “NOHOHOHOHOH!!! STOHOHOHOHOHPP!! PLEHEHEEHAHAHAHASSHEHEEH!!” She could barely believe her ears; the rational part of her brain did not birth those words. Even in distress, begging for mercy to someone as despicable as the blonde didn’t even cross her proud mind. And yet, seems some deeper, hidden part of her psyche had betrayed, for beg she did – and the begging seemed to only drive Carmella further, for she smirked in pure satisfaction and made the torment even worse, speeding up her fingers.
“Hmmmm… God, you’re really sensitive. Although I guess I can’t blame you – I know I’d be going mad if I was in your place! Hell, I’d have relinquished my championship already if you tickled MY armpits like that…” She said, punctuating the words with a deep squeeze in Sasha’s hollows that made a few tears roll down the Boss’ eyes. “But this is still not good enough. I’m sure you can suffer a bit more. And it just so happens that we still have a spot left to test, huh?” She said, teasingly, as she stopped the torment once more.
But Sasha did not allow herself to relax this time, for the words struck fear into her very soul. The Boss started struggling harder than even while under the tickling, a despair fueled by the anticipation of what was to come. “No, Carmella! Please! Please, please, not my FEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHTTTT!!!!” She screamed when the fingers made contact with her exposed and tightly-restrained soles, shrieking like a banshee, the sounds echoing and reverberating into the walls of the room.
Unlike her armpits, whose sensitiveness caught her by surprise, she knew exactly how sensitive her feet were, and nothing else came close. She never managed to have pedicures throughout her entire life; the very thought would send her into a fit of giggles. As she felt the fingers scratching against them, raking those nails – those FUCKING nails – over her soles, Sasha was filled with a terror she never felt in her whole life. The terror of being forced to endure the unendurable, to be subjected to torments beyond one’s limits, entirely at the mercy of a different person. Uncapable of making it end.
“OHOHOHOKAHAHAHHYHY! YOHOHOHOU’RHEHEEHEH BETTER!! BEHEHEHEHEHETETEHEHEHEHRRR!! BEHEHEHEHETTERR THANAHYAHAHANN MEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!!” She blurted out, again moved by that irrational, subconscious part of her brain that just wanted to make the torture stop. Although this time, the rational brain was in agreement – her pride wasn’t worth this. Not these horrible sensations flaring up her soles, not that lack of breath and utter exhaustion from the struggles. She would say anything to make this horrible torture stop. If Carmella wants to gloat, she is goddamn welcome to do so. “NOHOHOHOHOWW STOHOHOHOPPP!! PLEHEHEEHEHHAHAHAHASSHEHEHEH CARMEHHEHEHEHEHELAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!”
“Oh, Sasha dear I’m so glad you’ve started to see the light!” Carmella teased, increasing the pace of the torture, moving her fingers – her nails – into Sasha’s inner toes, making the symphony of screams rise an octave and grow a lot more erratic. “But you’re forgetting something. Aren’t you?”
She actually was – either forgotten, or because her brain was trying to protect her. But there was another, much direr condition that Carmella demanded to stop the tickling.
The SmackDown Women’s Championship.
Her first instinct was to scream YES, TAKE IT YOUR BITCH, JUST LEAVE MY SOLES ALONE, but something stronger than even her suffering made the phrase die before it left her lips. She couldn’t do this. Not this. Not throwing away her crowning achievement, the thing she worked so hard to get. She’d rather die than relinquish the title, ESPECIALLY to someone as unworthy as Carmella. Thus, despite a part of her mind begging her to give in, she just stared at Carmella and muttered. “NEHEHEHEHEHEVEVHEHEHEHEHRRRR”
“Oh, really? We’ll see about that…” The blonde superstar said, as she kneeled to pick up something from below the table. That gave Sasha just the briefest moment of reprieve, which she did her best to enjoy and use to recover some of her breath. Alas, it was over has too quick, and in the worst manner possible.
Sasha received no warnings of what was about to happen. Carmella didn’t waste time taunting her, showing her the tool, or making a speech. She just grabbed a nasty hairbrush, with bristles that were bizarrely both soft but also very sharp, and jammed them into one of Sasha’s soles, holding the foot in place with her other hand. The extra restraint was necessary, because Sasha went ballistic, screaming so loud that her voice broke midway, emitting a raspy guttural noise of pure torment and suffering.
“NOHOHOHO!!! NOHOHOHOHOHOTT HTHAHAHAHAHATTT!! STOTOHOHOOHOPPP!!! YOHOHOHOHUHUH’REHEHEHE BETTTER!! GREHEHEEHAAHAHASTEHEHEHESST OOHOHOHOFF ALL TIHIHIHIMEME!! NOOOOOOO” She howled, now crying proper tears, bawling like a child. That was too much. Too much! She couldn’t take it. It needed to stop, and stop NOW. Good Lord, that was the worst feeling she ever had in her life – and she had sustained multiple injuries throughout her career. And she’d take them all again, all at once, rather that go through a single more minute of that torture. “IHIHIHIHILL GIHIHIHIHVHEHEHEHE YOHOHOHOHUHUH MYY SHAHAHAHALARYYY!!” She screamed, desperate to find some sort of bargaining chip. “MY CAHAHAHAHAHRRR!” It all fell in deaf ears. Carmella just wanted one thing. Both of them knew what it was.
Sasha cried harder. She didn’t want to give up the belt. Please, not the belt. Not the accolade she suffered so much to earn. The thing that showed to the whole world that she was, indeed, the best female wrestler on the planet.
The hairbrush started sliding even faster, and Sasha was yanked off her inner conflict. It reminded that none of that mattered. Nothing mattered, except making the tickling stop. The sounds of her laughter drowned out all internal protests, all doubts and reservations.
Yes, she suffered to get that belt – but she never suffered as much as she was now. And this torture was not going to stop. She couldn’t take this for hours. She couldn’t take this for a single second anymore.
She tried screaming YOU WIN in all forms she could think of, but her laughter drowned out her words again and again. For a moment, Sasha sunk deeper into despair, fearing she may never find the strength to admit her surrender. She picture herself, tied in that place, that god-forsaken brush scratching her soles, broken beyond belief, and Carmella continuing her torment, unaware that she had already won.
And that panic pushed her further; with superhuman strength only made possible by such fears, she managed, after much effort, to blurt out “YOHOHOUHUH WIHIHINN!! I GIHIHIHIHIHVHEHEHEHEHEHEEHHEHEEH UUHUHUHUHUHHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHAEHEAH” before the laughter once again took center stage.
Again, to her horror, Carmella didn’t stop, at least for a few more instants – but this time, it was just out of pure, wicked malice (as well as to make sure she was broken properly). Sasha merely budged in place, desperate for a way to make the blonde understand she was serious, before Carmella finally, mercifully, stopped, and the Boss was left alone with her tears, her ruined make-up, her messy hair, her erratic breath.
“Sooo you’ll give me the belt?” Carmella asked, and Sasha merely nodded as frantically as she could manage. “Good! I knew I’d make you see reason, Sasha. That being said…” She said, as she grabbed Sasha’s foot again, raising the brush once more. “I did find your admitting my superiority to be a bit unconvincing. Let’s see if you’ll sound a bit more natural in thirty minutes…” She said, opening the widest, most wicked smirk Sasha had ever seen, and the Boss screamed – first out of fear and despair, then out of forced hilarity and ticklish torment.
It would indeed take hours before she was found. Hours in which she was tortured far beyond her breaking point; in which she admitted everything Carmella wanted to hear, promised twice as much, and cried enough tears to fill a bottle. When she was finally found by venue staff, she kept the secrets of that night for herself, for Carmella made sure to drill into her mind what would happen if Sasha crossed her, and the part of the Boss that would have challenged that risk had died on that night. Died laughing, short of breath, exceeding in ticklishness.
Sasha now knew her place in the pecking order, and wouldn’t risk upsetting her superior in any way. Nothing was worth risking going through that again. Ever.
