Dave2112
Level of Cherry Feather
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2001
- Messages
- 10,293
- Points
- 0
As Tara approached the door to the apartment she shared with her boyfriend Alan, she sensed something she couldn't put her finger on. It was one of those moments where you could swear you heard the low cellos of haunting music...the type of music overused in horror movies when something's about to happen. She didn't know where it came from, only that it was surprisingly real. Everything around her was familiar, nothing looked different, but there may as well have been a grey shadow over the comfortable image she usually saw when coming home from work. The door with the "Home Sweet Home" plaque upon it, the two Old World wrought-iron wall lamps on either side, the Welcome mat...all of it was right where it should be. But the feeling was...oppresive. Like someone following you home from the park or a stranger watching you at the store from a few aisles over. You can't see it, but you know it's there.
As she slipped the key into the lock, the subconscious cellos rose in pitch. Get a hold of yourself, Tara whispered to herself, it's just been a long day, that's all. And you've really got to stop watching those fright flicks with Alan all night. You know they bother you. Still, she couldn't get that damned imagined music and sense of dread out of her head as the door creaked open in slow motion.
In the way that only an unexpected event can provide, time slowed down as three things happened at once. The world seemed blurry and vague as images that did not agree with Tara's perfect world were forced upon her senses. The first thing that shocked her into immobility was the sight of Alan tied to a chair in the middle of the living room. There was a nasty looking bruise on the side of his face and his hair was disheveled. It seemed to Tara that he was trying to catch his breath. The second thing that happened shocked her out of her transfixed state, if only for a moment. Alan took in a deep breath and screamed at her "Tara, RUN!" The look in his eyes was one of sheer desperation. Those two words carried more impact than anything she'd heard before in her life. She was about to turn and follow his dire instruction when the third thing happened...
An arm like a band of steel crossed her chest, pinning her arms to her side. Its mate held a pungent-smelling rag and pressed it into her face, covering her nose and mouth. Her first reactive breath drew sour fumes into her lungs. Her wide eyes locked onto the sight of Alan struggling like a rabbit in a trap as the second whiff of chloroform brought tingling points of light to her peripheral vision and a lightness to her head. "Leave her alone!" Alan yelled, terror in his eyes, wild anger etched onto his face. The third breath rendered Tara nearly paralyzed as her struggles grew weaker and weaker. Halfway through her fourth and fifth breaths, the world spun once then went dark...
Reality crept back into Tara's world, but it wasn't the reality she expected or wanted. This was an invasive reality, one that simply couldn't be real, but forced itself upon her. Just as the room spun counter-clockwise out of existence before (ten minutes ago? An hour?), it snapped back in a clockwise circle, everything coming into focus. She was in her living room, but it had taken on dark tones and shadows she was not accustomed to. She was sitting up, she could feel that, but her legs were uncomfortably straight out in front of her. As more cobwebs freed themsleves from her mind, she saw why she couldn't pull them under her in an instictively protective curl. Each leg was tied to the back of another chair, her legs apart. The two chairs that held her feet captive were about four feet apart and facing away from her. On each one sat a man (at least she assumed they were men by thier size), his weight on the chair keeping her from pulling her legs back. Each man looked identical, black pants, black sweater and a black ski-mask. Each foot protruded through the decorative rails that made up the back of the expensive chairs, wrapped in pass after pass of soft white rope.
Across the room from her was Alan, still tied to his chair, hands behind his back and looking like he'd seen many, many better days. Through his obvious exhaustion, he spoke in tattered spurts, both to Tara and thier captors...although it was clear that he wasn't too sure which one he was addressing from one moment to the next.
"L-Leave her alone! Tara, I'm so sorry. Don't hurt her, please! She doesn't know anything. Tara, do whatever they say. It me they want, don't give them any--"
"Enough!" said a voice coming from behind where Tara was tied. With her hands tied behind her back, she wasn't in a position to turn fully around, but she didn't need to see the speaker to know one thing. Thier lead abuctor was female. As she walked from behind Tara and over to the spot where Alan continued to weakly struggle, there was no mistaking her gender. The same black outfit and ski-mask concealed her identity, but the shape that sought to burst free from the tight cotton sweater was most decidedly feminine. Was this someone Alan had cheated on her with, seeking revenge or something more sinister? No, it couldn't be. Alan was somewhat secretive about his work, but not about his life. Alan was a good looking, very rich man who could have any girl he wanted. Tara always knew she was a "pick" of sorts, a pretty girl to go with a rich guy, but she was pretty sure that physical attraction and trophy status had grown into love over the last year. It had to be something else. She had little time to think about it as the answers started to unfold.
"The stakes have been raised, have they not?" the woman rhetorically asked Alan as she grabbed a handful of his hair.
"Don't you fucking TOUCH her, you bitch!" he spat.
"Oh, please," the woman answered, "Spare me. It's obvious you don't care enough about your own well-being to give me the information I need, so perhaps we test your level of empathy. If torturing you doesn't work...perhaps torturing your lovely girlfriend will."
"I swear, if you hurt one hair on her head..."
"Yeah, yeah, you'll kill me...blah, blah, blah."
"Alan!" Tara cried, "What's happening? What have you done?"
"Oh, he hasn't done anything," the woman answered in Alan's place, "it's what he hasn't done that has brought us all together in this unfortunate circumstance." She strolled over to the side of the chair that Tara was tied to. "You see, your loving boyfriend has our resources tied up, a bit like we have you, you might say. Our...organization requires certain funding, and this funding is unavailable to us at the moment. We simply want what is ours."
"What are you talking about?" Tara asked as she stole a glance at Alan, "He works in a bank, for Christ's sake!"
"Yes," the woman replied, circling her captive, "a very large bank. A very important bank. A bank that holds over two million dollars in my group's assets. Assests that have been frozen by your government. Alan here has access to this particular account. He seems...unwilling to give it back."
"Because you're a terrorist, that's why!" Alan spat out. "Tara, I had nothing to do with this! I didn't even know what those funds were or who they belonged to until some guys from the FBI or CIA or something came in and told us to freeze all activity. They think I picked them out! They think..."
"Haven't we been through this already, my dear boy?" the woman said, "The beating must have knocked your memory loose, if not your tongue. You see, my dear...Tara, was it? Yes, Tara, it was your government who froze our assets. Alan, however, is much more likely to give into our request for access than the United States Treasury is, don't you think? And we're not terrorists, as your misguided boyfriend claims. We're activists. We expose the crimes of the government, and they seem to have taken a dim view of our activities. Short and sweet, we have something rather large planned, and we really need these funds."
"But why are you doing this to me?" Tara whined, "I don't know anything about Alan's work! I only know that he works in a bank and he's gotten rich from it. I don't know anything about accounts or whatever it is that you want!"
"Perhaps," the woman calmly said, "but we need to be sure of that first. How do we know that you aren't privy to all of dear Alan's secrets? And you can call me...Lex. Yes, that will work. Lex. I like that. Can't have you calling me "Hey You" once you start to babble and beg for mercy, can we?"
"Please let me go...."
"Not yet, my dear, not yet. Gentlemen?"
At that, the two heretofore silent men sitting in the chairs that Tara's feet were tied to suddenly sprung into action. Tara was afraid that they'd zeroed in on her crotch or something sick like that. When attacked, she was wearing a skirt and g-string panties, and in the position she was in, she assumed that some sort of violation was in her near future.
But she was wrong.
The men simply removed her high-heeled shoes, exposing her bare feet. Alan liked her feet, it was one of the things he said attracted him to her, along with her tiny, well-built 4' 11" frame and pretty face. But she didn't like the way these men were looking at her feet. What were they going to do? She'd heard horror stories of torture camps in wartime where soldiers had needles stuck into thier feet or under thier toenails. Was that was these militants intended to do to her? The question was suspended in her thoughts as the woman calling herself Lex spoke again.
"You see, Alan," she said as she toyed with his disheveled hair, "we are not animals. We don't intend to hurt your girlfriend, at least not yet. But there are more civilised ways to make people tell thier secrets. Perhaps Tara here has secrets to tell?"
"No!" Alan begged, "She doesn't know anything! Don't do any--"
"Begin!" Lex said to the two black-clad men, cutting Alan's pleas off.
Tara was simply not prepared for what came next. Each of the men grabbed a tiny foot in his hand, immobilizing them further. Then the other hand went to work....
...tickling her feet.
"NOOOO!!!!" Tara screamed as her sensitive feet received the worst torture she could imagine. She didn't know if these people knew it or not, but she did have a secret. She was almost painfully ticklish. Alan seemed to have a kink for tickling, but it was the one thing she was unable to fulfill for him. She hated being tickled and found nothing about it enjoyable. The first stroke of the fingers over her bare and helpless soles sent unbearable shocks up her legs. She felt a single finger on each foot trail up and down the length of her arch, exciting each nerve along the way. Up and down the fingers went, tickling her feet as Tara thrashed her head and laughed out loud.
"P-PLEASE!!!! HAAAHAAA...ST-STOOOOOPPPIIIITTTTT!!! HEEEHEEEHEEHAAAAA!!!"
"Stop it you bitch!" Alan screamed, "You'll kill her! She can't stand to be tickled!"
"Oh really?" Lex leered at him and then at the struggling Tara, "then we have found a useful method of torture..."
"G-GOD-Haaahaaaaaa-DAMMITALAN!!!!" Tara shrieked, "You IDIOT!!!! HAAHAAAHAAAAAA!!! WHY...haahaahaaaa...D-Did you .....NOOOOHAAAHAAAAA...TELL HER?!?!?!?"
"It seems Alan here has a problem with secrets, telling the ones he shouldn't and keeping the ones that get his friends in trouble, wouldn't you say, Tara?"
The men tickling Tara's feet were merciless. Her long legs tugged at the chairs they were tied to, but to no avail. The ropes were tight and her feet were helpless. Every inch of her bare soles received pure tickle-torture...for that's what it was. Torture. Some people neede to be beaten, some threatened, but it seemed to the evil Lex that if Tara did know anything, this method would soon bring it out of her. Lex approached Tara's expensive prison and taunted her as the men continued to scrabble thier fingers over her twitching, ticklish feet.
"Does that really tickle that bad?"
"Y-YEEESSS!!!! PLEASESTOPPLEASEPLEASE!!!!! I D-DON'T---HAAAHAAAAIIGGHH!!!!--KNOWANYTHINGPLEASESTOP!!!!NOOO!!!!!"
"I think you know more than you're telling us, my dear. Gentlemen? Please show Tara here the meaning of real tickle-torture."
The men stopped tickling her feet for a moment and reached into a bag at thier feet. Tara fought to catch her breath as Lex taunted her again, continuing the interrogation.
"P-Please.....n-no more. I swear to God I don't know anything about this....please lemme go...Alan, help me please!!!!"
"Oh, you just calm down, my dear" Lex said as she stroked Tara's blond-streaked auburn hair and pretty but tortured face, "I think that perhaps a little pillow-talk has passed between you two, and these men are going to refresh you memory...."
"Nooooooo....."
Tara's eyes went wide as each man pulled a small ball-point pen out of the bag. Pinning each foot helpless with one hand, the other hand of the men lightly brought the sharp tip of the pens to her bare soles. When the pens started to move, Tara nearly lost her mind.
"AAAIIGGHHH!!!!!!! NONONONONOOOOOOOO!!!HAAAHAAHAAHAAAAAHAAAAA!!!! STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPPLEASEPLEASE!!!!! NOMORENOMORENOMORE!!!!"
Lex circled to the chairs holding Tara's feet captive. The men were writing in very small letters, from just under Tara's toes and down the length of her feet. They were writing "Tell us what we want to know" over and over and over, leaving not one open spot on the parchment that Tara's feet had become. Lex repeated the words to her beautiful captive as the men wrote them.
"Tell us what we want to know."
"I D-DON'T HAAAHAAAHAAHAAA KNOWANYTH-THING!!!"
"Tell us what we want to know."
"PLEASESTOPPLEASE!!!!! I C-CAN'T TAKE IT!!!! AAAIIGGHG NO NO NO NO NO!!!! HAAHAAHAHAAAAAAA!!!"
"Tell us what we want to know."
"Leave her alone!" Alan screamed as Tara's laughter took on a decible of madness. He could see what the tickling was doing to his girlfriend, and could almost feel the torture himself. He saw the words written tens, perhaps hundreds of times all over her bare feet. He had always wanted to do something like this to his gorgeous girlfriend, but not like this. Or did he? The confusion of the kidnapping, the questions and the sight of Tara being tickle-tortured was jumbling his mind.
Eventually, the men finally ran out of room to write. Tara's feet looked like the fabled twin tablets of Moses, but there was only one commandment expressed with these words: "Thou Shalt Suffer".
"Are you ready to tell us what Alan will not?" Lex asked her captive with mock concern, "it's a simple access code. That's all. We can get our money with this code, and you'll never see us again. Doesn't that sound nice right about now?"
Tara's hair was a wreck, and her angelic face was twisted into a Dali-style caricature of itself. She breathed in short, raspy pulls of oxygen. Her chest heaved up and down and her feet continued to twitch.
"I swear," she gasped, "I don't know what you're talking about! Alan doesn't tell me about his work, and I dont know any codes! I'm a trophy girlfriend for Christ's sake! Alan," she begged, "I know somewhere deep in your heart that you love me, so please tell these people what they want to know, PLEASE!!!"
"Tara, I-" Alan hesitated for a brief, but noticable moment, "I don't know! I don't know any codes! I can't help these people! I'll get us out of this, please hold on!"
"Oh, very touching," Lex purred with evil as she motioned to the men waiting patiently for thier next order. "I think Tara's feet could use some cleaning so that we can begin again, don't you?"
Without a word, them reached into the bag and pulled out a small bottle of liquid soap and a small, stiff brush.
"OH GOD NOOO!!!!!" Tara screamed with what air she had regained. "Please don't! ALAN TALK TO THEM!!!!"
Alan closed his eyes and lowered his head. He was torn now, not thinking that the terrorists, no, activists they claimed, would torment his girlfriend in such a manner. He did have information. He could not, however, give it to them, under any circumstances. His only hope was that they would grow tired of torturing the poor girl and return to him. He could take any abuse they gave him. Hopefully, they would become convinced that Tara knew nothing and go back to beating on him for a while until he figured away out of this. His reverie was broken by a pitiful scream.
"OOOOHHHH....GGGAAAWWWDDDD.....NNOOOOOOOOO!!!!! AAAIIIGGHH!!!!!"
The two men had covered Tara's feet in the cleansing lotion and were starting to scrub them with the stiff-bristled brushes. Her face twisted into a tormented scream, sonic agony filling the room. The brushes covered her feet in tickles and the muscles in her legs strained with new-found strength in an attempt to pull her feet away. But they were trapped, helpless. Her bare feet were open to anything the men wanted to do to them, and that helplessness only increased the sensations that were assualting Tara's brain. Wave after wave of electric tickling coursed up her legs. The bristles glided over the slick soles, invading the tender spaces between her toes, drawing down her ticklish arches and pummelling her heels with inescapable and unwanted sensations. It could have minutes, it could have been hours, but they finally finished scrubbing Tara's soles clean.
As Tara's screams of laughter and torment subsided, the woman who called herself Lex knelt down between the two chairs.
"My dear girl," she said, "now is the time for you to give us any information you might have. This next part is going to be rather....unpleasant..."
"Please," Tara whimpered, "I don't know anything. I SWEAR I'd tell you! No more tickling, PLEASE!!! Alan, make them stop...I know you know something, please make them stop..." Tara started to cry.
"Leave her alone!" Alan screamed, "Neither of us know anything!"
Tara wasn't sure, as her brain was a muddled jumble of questions, sensations, confusion and echoes of her tickle-torture, but she could swear Alan sounded less convincing than he did before. She had little time to contemplate this as Lex took it upon herself to continue the poor girl's torture. Tara flinched as Lex raised her skirt even higher, exposing her long legs and small panties to the world.
"Tickle, tickle tickle...." Lex sang as she went to work.
The woman had long nails, and they were murder on Tara's tiny feet. Slowly, they dragged up the length of her bare soles, trailing ticklish destruction in thier wake. The bound girl shrieked with laughter, but it was growing desperate. It wasn't the laugh of a girl enjoying herself, it was the forced laugh of a girl being tickled to death against her will.
"Come on now, you can tell us...." Lex teased as one of her hands started to skitter up Tara's right leg.
"NOOOOOOO!!!!!PLEASESTOPIT!!!!!HAAAHAAAHHAAAAIIGGHH!!!!"
She thrashed against her bonds, but she wasn't able to escape or move. Lex's fingernails tickled her left foot like crazy, while her other hand slowly crept up Tara's leg. Her hand settled over Tara's knee and squeezed, causing the bound girl to jump with renewed energy and a desperation to escape.
"Oh, is this the spot?" Lex teased as she tickled the girl's knee. If Tara knew anything, she wasn't talking. She wasn't able to. Her howls had become stuttering screams as air fought with laughter to enter her lungs. Lex's hand inched up further, tickling Tara along the outer edges of her panty-line.
"Either one of you can tell me, you know," Lex said to both of them at the same time, "I think you'r girl is ready to piss herself, Alan. You sure you have nothing to tell me?"
"Please stop," Alan begged, "she doesn't, I mean...We don't know anything!"
"I think you're lying." Lex said as she lowered both hands now to Tara's helpless soles. Ten fingers scrabbled like mad over the tortured and ticklish feet of the tied girl.
Tara's laughter sounded more like screaming now, with a good dose of crying thrown in for good measure. It had been almost forty-five minutes since Lex had begun torturing the girl, and if she knew anything, she would have talked. This was for Alan's benefit.
"How much more do you think she can take?" she asked the man. "I'd feel like shit if I were you, keeping all your secrets while this poor girl suffers."
"I swear, I was never given the access codes!" Alan pleaded, but no one was sure if he was saying this to Lex...or to Tara.
As Tara's head started to dip down in exhaustion and her protests became incoherant babble, Lex finally let up.
"Perhaps we need more persuasive measures," she said as she pulled another rag out of the bag. It reeked of the same smell that Tara first caught a whiff of when she entered the apartment. It seemed like years had passed since then. In her condition, Tara was out in five seconds when the rag was placed against her face.
"Take her to the bedroom and strip her," she ordered the black-clad men, "I'll be along shortly." She turned her attention to Alan. "Look, we all know that you have the codes. Even your girlfriend has figured it out. How much more do think she can take? And do you think you're ever going to see her again when and if this is over? Is it worth it? Is it worth what we're going to do to her next?"
"Please let her go," Alan begged, "she doesn't know anything."
"But you do," Lex spat, "and sweet Tara is going to suffer for your lack of cooperation. I wonder just how much you can watch, how much torture we can inflict on that luscious body before you act like a man and rescue her."
With that, Lex turned away and followed the men into the bedroom where they'd carried Tara's limp body. Alan didn't know how much more his girlfriend could take, but he hoped it was a lot. She would never understand, but the secrets he kept were more important than any one person. This group needed to be stopped, and stopped now. Lex didn't know it, but he'd managed to send a signal of sorts with his cell phone to a friend. It was only a metter of time before the police came crashing in. Unless his friend never got the message. Or if it were intercepted. He had to take that chance. This was too important.
As his mind pondered this predicament, he couldn't help overhearing the words coming from the bedroom.
"No, stretch her out. Tighter. Better gag her now, she might bite you later...."
Alan could only wonder if his call went through, and if Tara could hold out a little longer...
(To be Continued...)
As she slipped the key into the lock, the subconscious cellos rose in pitch. Get a hold of yourself, Tara whispered to herself, it's just been a long day, that's all. And you've really got to stop watching those fright flicks with Alan all night. You know they bother you. Still, she couldn't get that damned imagined music and sense of dread out of her head as the door creaked open in slow motion.
In the way that only an unexpected event can provide, time slowed down as three things happened at once. The world seemed blurry and vague as images that did not agree with Tara's perfect world were forced upon her senses. The first thing that shocked her into immobility was the sight of Alan tied to a chair in the middle of the living room. There was a nasty looking bruise on the side of his face and his hair was disheveled. It seemed to Tara that he was trying to catch his breath. The second thing that happened shocked her out of her transfixed state, if only for a moment. Alan took in a deep breath and screamed at her "Tara, RUN!" The look in his eyes was one of sheer desperation. Those two words carried more impact than anything she'd heard before in her life. She was about to turn and follow his dire instruction when the third thing happened...
An arm like a band of steel crossed her chest, pinning her arms to her side. Its mate held a pungent-smelling rag and pressed it into her face, covering her nose and mouth. Her first reactive breath drew sour fumes into her lungs. Her wide eyes locked onto the sight of Alan struggling like a rabbit in a trap as the second whiff of chloroform brought tingling points of light to her peripheral vision and a lightness to her head. "Leave her alone!" Alan yelled, terror in his eyes, wild anger etched onto his face. The third breath rendered Tara nearly paralyzed as her struggles grew weaker and weaker. Halfway through her fourth and fifth breaths, the world spun once then went dark...
Reality crept back into Tara's world, but it wasn't the reality she expected or wanted. This was an invasive reality, one that simply couldn't be real, but forced itself upon her. Just as the room spun counter-clockwise out of existence before (ten minutes ago? An hour?), it snapped back in a clockwise circle, everything coming into focus. She was in her living room, but it had taken on dark tones and shadows she was not accustomed to. She was sitting up, she could feel that, but her legs were uncomfortably straight out in front of her. As more cobwebs freed themsleves from her mind, she saw why she couldn't pull them under her in an instictively protective curl. Each leg was tied to the back of another chair, her legs apart. The two chairs that held her feet captive were about four feet apart and facing away from her. On each one sat a man (at least she assumed they were men by thier size), his weight on the chair keeping her from pulling her legs back. Each man looked identical, black pants, black sweater and a black ski-mask. Each foot protruded through the decorative rails that made up the back of the expensive chairs, wrapped in pass after pass of soft white rope.
Across the room from her was Alan, still tied to his chair, hands behind his back and looking like he'd seen many, many better days. Through his obvious exhaustion, he spoke in tattered spurts, both to Tara and thier captors...although it was clear that he wasn't too sure which one he was addressing from one moment to the next.
"L-Leave her alone! Tara, I'm so sorry. Don't hurt her, please! She doesn't know anything. Tara, do whatever they say. It me they want, don't give them any--"
"Enough!" said a voice coming from behind where Tara was tied. With her hands tied behind her back, she wasn't in a position to turn fully around, but she didn't need to see the speaker to know one thing. Thier lead abuctor was female. As she walked from behind Tara and over to the spot where Alan continued to weakly struggle, there was no mistaking her gender. The same black outfit and ski-mask concealed her identity, but the shape that sought to burst free from the tight cotton sweater was most decidedly feminine. Was this someone Alan had cheated on her with, seeking revenge or something more sinister? No, it couldn't be. Alan was somewhat secretive about his work, but not about his life. Alan was a good looking, very rich man who could have any girl he wanted. Tara always knew she was a "pick" of sorts, a pretty girl to go with a rich guy, but she was pretty sure that physical attraction and trophy status had grown into love over the last year. It had to be something else. She had little time to think about it as the answers started to unfold.
"The stakes have been raised, have they not?" the woman rhetorically asked Alan as she grabbed a handful of his hair.
"Don't you fucking TOUCH her, you bitch!" he spat.
"Oh, please," the woman answered, "Spare me. It's obvious you don't care enough about your own well-being to give me the information I need, so perhaps we test your level of empathy. If torturing you doesn't work...perhaps torturing your lovely girlfriend will."
"I swear, if you hurt one hair on her head..."
"Yeah, yeah, you'll kill me...blah, blah, blah."
"Alan!" Tara cried, "What's happening? What have you done?"
"Oh, he hasn't done anything," the woman answered in Alan's place, "it's what he hasn't done that has brought us all together in this unfortunate circumstance." She strolled over to the side of the chair that Tara was tied to. "You see, your loving boyfriend has our resources tied up, a bit like we have you, you might say. Our...organization requires certain funding, and this funding is unavailable to us at the moment. We simply want what is ours."
"What are you talking about?" Tara asked as she stole a glance at Alan, "He works in a bank, for Christ's sake!"
"Yes," the woman replied, circling her captive, "a very large bank. A very important bank. A bank that holds over two million dollars in my group's assets. Assests that have been frozen by your government. Alan here has access to this particular account. He seems...unwilling to give it back."
"Because you're a terrorist, that's why!" Alan spat out. "Tara, I had nothing to do with this! I didn't even know what those funds were or who they belonged to until some guys from the FBI or CIA or something came in and told us to freeze all activity. They think I picked them out! They think..."
"Haven't we been through this already, my dear boy?" the woman said, "The beating must have knocked your memory loose, if not your tongue. You see, my dear...Tara, was it? Yes, Tara, it was your government who froze our assets. Alan, however, is much more likely to give into our request for access than the United States Treasury is, don't you think? And we're not terrorists, as your misguided boyfriend claims. We're activists. We expose the crimes of the government, and they seem to have taken a dim view of our activities. Short and sweet, we have something rather large planned, and we really need these funds."
"But why are you doing this to me?" Tara whined, "I don't know anything about Alan's work! I only know that he works in a bank and he's gotten rich from it. I don't know anything about accounts or whatever it is that you want!"
"Perhaps," the woman calmly said, "but we need to be sure of that first. How do we know that you aren't privy to all of dear Alan's secrets? And you can call me...Lex. Yes, that will work. Lex. I like that. Can't have you calling me "Hey You" once you start to babble and beg for mercy, can we?"
"Please let me go...."
"Not yet, my dear, not yet. Gentlemen?"
At that, the two heretofore silent men sitting in the chairs that Tara's feet were tied to suddenly sprung into action. Tara was afraid that they'd zeroed in on her crotch or something sick like that. When attacked, she was wearing a skirt and g-string panties, and in the position she was in, she assumed that some sort of violation was in her near future.
But she was wrong.
The men simply removed her high-heeled shoes, exposing her bare feet. Alan liked her feet, it was one of the things he said attracted him to her, along with her tiny, well-built 4' 11" frame and pretty face. But she didn't like the way these men were looking at her feet. What were they going to do? She'd heard horror stories of torture camps in wartime where soldiers had needles stuck into thier feet or under thier toenails. Was that was these militants intended to do to her? The question was suspended in her thoughts as the woman calling herself Lex spoke again.
"You see, Alan," she said as she toyed with his disheveled hair, "we are not animals. We don't intend to hurt your girlfriend, at least not yet. But there are more civilised ways to make people tell thier secrets. Perhaps Tara here has secrets to tell?"
"No!" Alan begged, "She doesn't know anything! Don't do any--"
"Begin!" Lex said to the two black-clad men, cutting Alan's pleas off.
Tara was simply not prepared for what came next. Each of the men grabbed a tiny foot in his hand, immobilizing them further. Then the other hand went to work....
...tickling her feet.
"NOOOO!!!!" Tara screamed as her sensitive feet received the worst torture she could imagine. She didn't know if these people knew it or not, but she did have a secret. She was almost painfully ticklish. Alan seemed to have a kink for tickling, but it was the one thing she was unable to fulfill for him. She hated being tickled and found nothing about it enjoyable. The first stroke of the fingers over her bare and helpless soles sent unbearable shocks up her legs. She felt a single finger on each foot trail up and down the length of her arch, exciting each nerve along the way. Up and down the fingers went, tickling her feet as Tara thrashed her head and laughed out loud.
"P-PLEASE!!!! HAAAHAAA...ST-STOOOOOPPPIIIITTTTT!!! HEEEHEEEHEEHAAAAA!!!"
"Stop it you bitch!" Alan screamed, "You'll kill her! She can't stand to be tickled!"
"Oh really?" Lex leered at him and then at the struggling Tara, "then we have found a useful method of torture..."
"G-GOD-Haaahaaaaaa-DAMMITALAN!!!!" Tara shrieked, "You IDIOT!!!! HAAHAAAHAAAAAA!!! WHY...haahaahaaaa...D-Did you .....NOOOOHAAAHAAAAA...TELL HER?!?!?!?"
"It seems Alan here has a problem with secrets, telling the ones he shouldn't and keeping the ones that get his friends in trouble, wouldn't you say, Tara?"
The men tickling Tara's feet were merciless. Her long legs tugged at the chairs they were tied to, but to no avail. The ropes were tight and her feet were helpless. Every inch of her bare soles received pure tickle-torture...for that's what it was. Torture. Some people neede to be beaten, some threatened, but it seemed to the evil Lex that if Tara did know anything, this method would soon bring it out of her. Lex approached Tara's expensive prison and taunted her as the men continued to scrabble thier fingers over her twitching, ticklish feet.
"Does that really tickle that bad?"
"Y-YEEESSS!!!! PLEASESTOPPLEASEPLEASE!!!!! I D-DON'T---HAAAHAAAAIIGGHH!!!!--KNOWANYTHINGPLEASESTOP!!!!NOOO!!!!!"
"I think you know more than you're telling us, my dear. Gentlemen? Please show Tara here the meaning of real tickle-torture."
The men stopped tickling her feet for a moment and reached into a bag at thier feet. Tara fought to catch her breath as Lex taunted her again, continuing the interrogation.
"P-Please.....n-no more. I swear to God I don't know anything about this....please lemme go...Alan, help me please!!!!"
"Oh, you just calm down, my dear" Lex said as she stroked Tara's blond-streaked auburn hair and pretty but tortured face, "I think that perhaps a little pillow-talk has passed between you two, and these men are going to refresh you memory...."
"Nooooooo....."
Tara's eyes went wide as each man pulled a small ball-point pen out of the bag. Pinning each foot helpless with one hand, the other hand of the men lightly brought the sharp tip of the pens to her bare soles. When the pens started to move, Tara nearly lost her mind.
"AAAIIGGHHH!!!!!!! NONONONONOOOOOOOO!!!HAAAHAAHAAHAAAAAHAAAAA!!!! STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPPLEASEPLEASE!!!!! NOMORENOMORENOMORE!!!!"
Lex circled to the chairs holding Tara's feet captive. The men were writing in very small letters, from just under Tara's toes and down the length of her feet. They were writing "Tell us what we want to know" over and over and over, leaving not one open spot on the parchment that Tara's feet had become. Lex repeated the words to her beautiful captive as the men wrote them.
"Tell us what we want to know."
"I D-DON'T HAAAHAAAHAAHAAA KNOWANYTH-THING!!!"
"Tell us what we want to know."
"PLEASESTOPPLEASE!!!!! I C-CAN'T TAKE IT!!!! AAAIIGGHG NO NO NO NO NO!!!! HAAHAAHAHAAAAAAA!!!"
"Tell us what we want to know."
"Leave her alone!" Alan screamed as Tara's laughter took on a decible of madness. He could see what the tickling was doing to his girlfriend, and could almost feel the torture himself. He saw the words written tens, perhaps hundreds of times all over her bare feet. He had always wanted to do something like this to his gorgeous girlfriend, but not like this. Or did he? The confusion of the kidnapping, the questions and the sight of Tara being tickle-tortured was jumbling his mind.
Eventually, the men finally ran out of room to write. Tara's feet looked like the fabled twin tablets of Moses, but there was only one commandment expressed with these words: "Thou Shalt Suffer".
"Are you ready to tell us what Alan will not?" Lex asked her captive with mock concern, "it's a simple access code. That's all. We can get our money with this code, and you'll never see us again. Doesn't that sound nice right about now?"
Tara's hair was a wreck, and her angelic face was twisted into a Dali-style caricature of itself. She breathed in short, raspy pulls of oxygen. Her chest heaved up and down and her feet continued to twitch.
"I swear," she gasped, "I don't know what you're talking about! Alan doesn't tell me about his work, and I dont know any codes! I'm a trophy girlfriend for Christ's sake! Alan," she begged, "I know somewhere deep in your heart that you love me, so please tell these people what they want to know, PLEASE!!!"
"Tara, I-" Alan hesitated for a brief, but noticable moment, "I don't know! I don't know any codes! I can't help these people! I'll get us out of this, please hold on!"
"Oh, very touching," Lex purred with evil as she motioned to the men waiting patiently for thier next order. "I think Tara's feet could use some cleaning so that we can begin again, don't you?"
Without a word, them reached into the bag and pulled out a small bottle of liquid soap and a small, stiff brush.
"OH GOD NOOO!!!!!" Tara screamed with what air she had regained. "Please don't! ALAN TALK TO THEM!!!!"
Alan closed his eyes and lowered his head. He was torn now, not thinking that the terrorists, no, activists they claimed, would torment his girlfriend in such a manner. He did have information. He could not, however, give it to them, under any circumstances. His only hope was that they would grow tired of torturing the poor girl and return to him. He could take any abuse they gave him. Hopefully, they would become convinced that Tara knew nothing and go back to beating on him for a while until he figured away out of this. His reverie was broken by a pitiful scream.
"OOOOHHHH....GGGAAAWWWDDDD.....NNOOOOOOOOO!!!!! AAAIIIGGHH!!!!!"
The two men had covered Tara's feet in the cleansing lotion and were starting to scrub them with the stiff-bristled brushes. Her face twisted into a tormented scream, sonic agony filling the room. The brushes covered her feet in tickles and the muscles in her legs strained with new-found strength in an attempt to pull her feet away. But they were trapped, helpless. Her bare feet were open to anything the men wanted to do to them, and that helplessness only increased the sensations that were assualting Tara's brain. Wave after wave of electric tickling coursed up her legs. The bristles glided over the slick soles, invading the tender spaces between her toes, drawing down her ticklish arches and pummelling her heels with inescapable and unwanted sensations. It could have minutes, it could have been hours, but they finally finished scrubbing Tara's soles clean.
As Tara's screams of laughter and torment subsided, the woman who called herself Lex knelt down between the two chairs.
"My dear girl," she said, "now is the time for you to give us any information you might have. This next part is going to be rather....unpleasant..."
"Please," Tara whimpered, "I don't know anything. I SWEAR I'd tell you! No more tickling, PLEASE!!! Alan, make them stop...I know you know something, please make them stop..." Tara started to cry.
"Leave her alone!" Alan screamed, "Neither of us know anything!"
Tara wasn't sure, as her brain was a muddled jumble of questions, sensations, confusion and echoes of her tickle-torture, but she could swear Alan sounded less convincing than he did before. She had little time to contemplate this as Lex took it upon herself to continue the poor girl's torture. Tara flinched as Lex raised her skirt even higher, exposing her long legs and small panties to the world.
"Tickle, tickle tickle...." Lex sang as she went to work.
The woman had long nails, and they were murder on Tara's tiny feet. Slowly, they dragged up the length of her bare soles, trailing ticklish destruction in thier wake. The bound girl shrieked with laughter, but it was growing desperate. It wasn't the laugh of a girl enjoying herself, it was the forced laugh of a girl being tickled to death against her will.
"Come on now, you can tell us...." Lex teased as one of her hands started to skitter up Tara's right leg.
"NOOOOOOO!!!!!PLEASESTOPIT!!!!!HAAAHAAAHHAAAAIIGGHH!!!!"
She thrashed against her bonds, but she wasn't able to escape or move. Lex's fingernails tickled her left foot like crazy, while her other hand slowly crept up Tara's leg. Her hand settled over Tara's knee and squeezed, causing the bound girl to jump with renewed energy and a desperation to escape.
"Oh, is this the spot?" Lex teased as she tickled the girl's knee. If Tara knew anything, she wasn't talking. She wasn't able to. Her howls had become stuttering screams as air fought with laughter to enter her lungs. Lex's hand inched up further, tickling Tara along the outer edges of her panty-line.
"Either one of you can tell me, you know," Lex said to both of them at the same time, "I think you'r girl is ready to piss herself, Alan. You sure you have nothing to tell me?"
"Please stop," Alan begged, "she doesn't, I mean...We don't know anything!"
"I think you're lying." Lex said as she lowered both hands now to Tara's helpless soles. Ten fingers scrabbled like mad over the tortured and ticklish feet of the tied girl.
Tara's laughter sounded more like screaming now, with a good dose of crying thrown in for good measure. It had been almost forty-five minutes since Lex had begun torturing the girl, and if she knew anything, she would have talked. This was for Alan's benefit.
"How much more do you think she can take?" she asked the man. "I'd feel like shit if I were you, keeping all your secrets while this poor girl suffers."
"I swear, I was never given the access codes!" Alan pleaded, but no one was sure if he was saying this to Lex...or to Tara.
As Tara's head started to dip down in exhaustion and her protests became incoherant babble, Lex finally let up.
"Perhaps we need more persuasive measures," she said as she pulled another rag out of the bag. It reeked of the same smell that Tara first caught a whiff of when she entered the apartment. It seemed like years had passed since then. In her condition, Tara was out in five seconds when the rag was placed against her face.
"Take her to the bedroom and strip her," she ordered the black-clad men, "I'll be along shortly." She turned her attention to Alan. "Look, we all know that you have the codes. Even your girlfriend has figured it out. How much more do think she can take? And do you think you're ever going to see her again when and if this is over? Is it worth it? Is it worth what we're going to do to her next?"
"Please let her go," Alan begged, "she doesn't know anything."
"But you do," Lex spat, "and sweet Tara is going to suffer for your lack of cooperation. I wonder just how much you can watch, how much torture we can inflict on that luscious body before you act like a man and rescue her."
With that, Lex turned away and followed the men into the bedroom where they'd carried Tara's limp body. Alan didn't know how much more his girlfriend could take, but he hoped it was a lot. She would never understand, but the secrets he kept were more important than any one person. This group needed to be stopped, and stopped now. Lex didn't know it, but he'd managed to send a signal of sorts with his cell phone to a friend. It was only a metter of time before the police came crashing in. Unless his friend never got the message. Or if it were intercepted. He had to take that chance. This was too important.
As his mind pondered this predicament, he couldn't help overhearing the words coming from the bedroom.
"No, stretch her out. Tighter. Better gag her now, she might bite you later...."
Alan could only wonder if his call went through, and if Tara could hold out a little longer...
(To be Continued...)
Last edited:
