SIGMAS AREN'T BORN, THEY'RE MADE
Everyone has heard of evil sorority sisters tormenting helpless pledge for their own kicks, but few have heard of their opposite, the Sigmas. The most revered and powerful sorority, not just on campus, but in the world, a life-long network of rich, powerful, and successful women whose gauntlet of tickle challenges are not there for their own amusement, but as a tool - Sigmas aren't born, they're made.
Three young adult women choose to join despite the ordeal they're warned will come: complicated games, fiendish puzzles, merciless torture, and terrifying mind games await them and the pledges of other sororities they'll be tickling as part of their training. Yet there is love in every touch, unity in each shed tear, even the newest girls would agree they are becoming stronger and wiser thanks to the Sigmas... if they could stop laughing long enough to speak, that is.
EXCERPT...
Almost as if choreographed, the pledges screamed and begin laughing uncontrollably. One sister was now tickling frantically both of her pledge's armpits, the skin teased to highest sensitivity by the earlier stroking now maddened by the wriggling fingernails scratching rapidly all up and down their poor underarms. At the same time, the other sister had grabbed her girl's lower ribs and was squeezing her nails into them, wriggling the tips as she did so to maximize the torture. The jump from the earlier teasing to this sudden attack caught the girls so off guard they couldn't even process what was happening, they could only scream with laughter and shake their poor ticklish bodies in a feeble attempt to gain a respite. The sisters were utterly ruthless, the one carefully moving about her victim's helpless pits to look for the really sensitive spots, while the other squeezed all over her pledge's ribcage to give the girl's upper body as thorough a tickling as possible. One of the girls began shrieking to be let out, but Diane found her way over and joined in by tickling both the pledge's flanks until she got the hint and stopped. The girl then started begging quietly amidst her laughs. The sisters didn't seem to care, but continued to explore her ticklish pits and ribs while she laughed so hard it could hardly be heard.
"Time for their little toes to get it," Diane said into her megaphone. The girls had a brief respite to catch their breath while they moved into position. "Don't worry, girls, that's four minutes down, you're 1/60th of the way there!" Now most of the girls were begging to be let out, but soon they were all too busy laughing as each sister took a foot and worked it over in her own way. One liked to hold her victim’s foot steady and start by gently running one nail up and down the sole over and over, then scratching in just one spot while the pledge tried to twist her foot free. The other sister was scratching with all ten fingers up and down the twisting foot, making up for the lack of precision in favor of overwhelming it. But that was just one sample; each sister seemed to have her own preferred form of foot tickling, some even using feathers or, for real cruelty, hairbrushes. Victims of that technique were easy to spot; they were the ones screaming in between their laughs.
