The Perils of Paula
Episode One
by Kimberly Drake
Great. Here is was, first day on her new job, and Paula was
already ten minutes late. The subway was taking forever to make
the simple trip from New Jersey to 42nd street. Finally, the
doors opened and the mass of people rushed out into the station.
Hustling and shoving her way through the crowd, Paula finally
made it to the street and looked around to get her bearings.
There was her objective; the Fisk Building. She ran across the
street, nearly getting run over by two taxis and getting her new
shoes totally soaked. It wasn't looking to be a good day.
The elevator only took about five years to take her to the
tenth floor, and by the time she made it into the office, her
watch said 8:20. Disaster.
But Paula was in luck! There wasn't anybody else in the
office yet; the boss, Mr. White, must be running later than her!
This was the first good thing that happened to her all day; she
couldn't get docked if they didn't know she was late.
She hurriedly got her coat off and sat at the front desk,
looking through the stack of work Mr. White had left for her to
type up. Running a hand through her short strawberry blonde hair,
she kicked off her soggy high heels and got to typing.
It struck her that she wasn't exactly sure what it was Mr.
White did. The sign on the door just said "White and Associates-
Import/Export". The papers she was typing weren't any help; in
fact they puzzled her even more. It seemed to have more to do
with trivia than commerce; here was an article on the social
class system of India, there was one on the Senate Committee for
Wildlife Management, and yet another was on electric automobiles.
Why did all this seemingly random information have to be put in
the computer? She'd ask when Mr. White came in.
All through the morning she worked, taking no more than the
usual number of breaks, and eventually slogging through most of
the stack of papers. The phone had only rung twice all morning,
which she also thought was a bit strange. The first time had been
Mr. White, calling to make sure she was doing all right and to
say that he'd be in this afternoon with some more work to be
inputted. No one was on the other end of the line when she had
picked up the second call.
Around eleven o'clock, the door opened, and a man entered
the office. Paula turned from the computer to see who it was,
expecting Mr. White. But instead, there was a strange man. He was
tall, with dark hair and a well-trimmed beard and mustache. He
wore a nice suit and everything about him exuded class.
"Is Mr. White in?" he asked.
"No, I'm afraid he won't be coming in until this afternoon.
Is there something I can do for you?" Paula asked, smiling. She
didn't see a ring on his finger.
"Actually, yes. Mr. White was preparing a report for me, and
I was wondering if I could take a look at the current draft."
"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. White told me never to give out
copies of reports without his express permission." In fact, that
was one of the things he had stressed during her hiring inter-
view; he was the only one who was allowed to give out the fin-
ished products. Yet another mystery to add to the collection.
"But this is very important. Are you sure there's nothing I
can do to persuade you?"
"I'm sorry, sir. But Mr. White was very specific; no one can
get into the computer except him and myself." Paula closed the
file she was working on and logged off. It might take a minute to
persuade this man to wait for Mr. White.
When she looked up from the computer, however, the man had
moved. He had moved around the desk with lightning quickness and
pushed Paula out of his way. However, all that was on the screen
was
PASSWORD?
If Paula hadn't logged out of the file, that man would have
certainly roamed around the computer looking for what he wanted.
And Paula would have been out of a job. Besides, she had a feel-
ing that this man wasn't a client at all.
"Hey!" Paula shouted. "What's the big idea? I think you'd
better get out of her before I call the police."
The man was no longer the image of friendliness. His eyes
had turned cold, and he was no longer smiling. "What is the
password to the computer?"
"Ha! You're crazy if you think I'll tell you that! Now get
the hell out of here!" Paula looked at the phone on the desk; he
was between her and it. There'd be no way for her to call the
police unless they moved.
And move he did. The man came right at Paula. She tried to
turn away and run, but the man was far too quick. He grabbed her
arms and shoved her towards the chair. Roughly, he sat her down
in the chair. She tried to get up, to scramble away, but his grip
was like iron.
Then Paula heard an audible "click" and felt something cold
on her wrists. The man had handcuffed her to the chair! This was
getting too intense for Paula. She drew air into her lungs to
scream for help, but the man immediately shoved a rubber ball
into her mouth. Before she could spit it out, he grabbed tape off
the desk and wrapped it around her mouth, trapping the ball
inside.
"That's better," he said as he moved to the office door. He
threw the latch, locking it. "Now, are you going to tell me that
password?"
She glared at him in response.
"No?" he sighed. "Then I guess we're going to have to do
this the hard way." He walked over to where she was cuffed to the
chair and looked down at the floor. "Do you always work
barefoot?"
Paula looked at him, a puzzled expression on her frightened
features. He sat down on the edge of the desk.
"You heard me. Or maybe you took your shoes off just for
me." And with that, he reached down and lifted her legs up so
that her stockinged feet were in his lap. She tried to struggle,
but again it was no use. His grip was unbreakable. He crossed her
ankles and, using more tape, taped her ankles together tightly.
"This is your last chance to cooperate. I want that pass-
word. Give it to me, and nothing will happen to you."
Paula glared at him again. He smiled, and then ran the tips
of his fingers down the length of Paula's stockinged sole. It was
like an electric charge! Her entire body jerked and she tried to
pull her feet away, but it was no use.
"Oh-ho!" he said. "What have we here? You're not ticklish or
anything, are you?" He ran his fingers down her other sole, and
Paula's feet cringed beneath the black nylon. She was ticklish;
very ticklish.
"You sure you won't give me that password now? I might stop
if you do," he offered. But while he spoke his fingers kept
stroking her trapped arches. Paula began to sweat, and she felt
laughter welling up within her.
"Come on. Kitchey kitchey!" He wiggled his fingers against
the tight, slick fabric of her stockings, and it was maddening!
She started to laugh through the makeshift gag. Her pale face was
turning bright red, redder even than her hair.
Desperately, she tried to stop his fingers in their dance on
her soles. She wiggled her toes, crossed them, and tried to move
her feet around, but it was no use. Her crossed ankles made it
impossible for her to cover one foot with the other. She was at
his mercy, and it didn't look like he was inclined to be too
merciful at the moment!
"Tickle tickle tickle!" he taunted. She was laughing con-
stantly now, but all that could be heard past the gag was faint
muffled squeals. If she could have spoken a word, she would have
been begging him to stop. But of course she couldn't. His fingers
were finding their way under her toes, where they meet the ball
of the foot. She was going into hysterics!
"You know what it'll take for me to stop," he said. "Just
nod your head 'yes' when you're ready to give me that password.
Until then, I'll just keep sitting her and tickling your lovely
feet. Kitchey kitchey!"
Paula's world was a dull haze at this point, but she wasn't
going to give in. To give in now would be to admit defeat, and to
show that she was weak. She'd never do that. At least, not now.
She didn't know how much more she could stand.
Something happened. Paula was vaguely aware that the tick-
ling stopped. Looking up through her tear-filled eyes, she caught
a glimpse of the man who had been torturing her running out the
door. Looking around puzzled, she saw Mr. White! Immediately he
removed the gag and began to untie her ankles.
"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked.
As soon as she caught her breath, Paula answered. "Yes, I'm
okay. But I quit!"
"Oh, you can't quit now. Please trust me, and give me a
chance to explain. Your safety, and the safety of the whole
country is at stake."
She set her feet on the floor, stretching the knees. "Safety
of the country? What are you talking about?"
"Here, let me cut those handcuffs off while I explain. If
you still want to quit after you hear the truth, then I won't
stop you. Fair?"
"Okay, it's a deal."
The Perils of Paula
Episode Two
by Kimberly Drake
SYNOPSIS- On the first day of her strange new job, Paula Courtney
is confronted by a stranger who tries to force her to give him
the computer password. He ties her up and tickles her feet with-
out mercy, but she refuses. Her new employer is about to explain
what this mysterious new job is all about.
"This is going to be a little difficult to explain, Paula,"
began Mr. White, as he was sawing at the handcuffs that kept
Paula fastened to the chair. "This is no simple importing house."
"I figured that much out on my own!" she said. "All those
clippings on everything from politics to electric cars. None of
it made any sense!"
"Well," he said as one of the bracelets fell off, cut in
two. "We do import and export. But what we deal in is informa-
tion, not trinkets or clothes or furniture. You see, we collect
information on a vast array of subjects-- this isn't the only
office, understand-- and organize it. People come to us for
information because they know we collect so much that something
relevant is bound to be in the computer." The other bracelet fell
off, and Paula stood up, rubbing her wrists. "And very often we
make connections that no one else can see."
"Connections? I don't understand," asked Paula.
"Well, like those articles you entered in this morning," he
said. "Let's take a look." He sat down at the computer terminal
and tapped in a few words. "See?" he gestured at the screen. "If
we do a search on, say, alternate energy sources, we are referred
to two articles you entered. The one on electric cars and the one
on India."
"And that article said that India was developing some sort
of new solar power plant. Wow!"
"And so you see how valuable our service can be. No one
would normally make that association. But with the help of our
computer, we can make linkages that no one else can. And, very
often, we deal in somewhat... controversial subjects."
"Controversial?"
"Yes. Like that man who was in here this morning. He repre-
sents a group that we've been contracted to investigate. It seems
that they've been active in everything from supplying weapons to
neo-Nazis in Argentina to buying US Congressmen."
"No wonder they wanted to see that report. It could ruin
them!"
"Exactly. And do you see why you are so important? Now that
you know about us, and have been associated with us, even for so
short a period, you become valuable to our enemies. We can offer
you some protection for you and your family, as well. What do you
say?"
"When I originally interviewed for the job, you mentioned
something about travel. What was that about?"
"Oh, yes," said Mr. White. "I forgot to mention. Most of our
information is obtained first-hand. We didn't just hire you to
type, my dear. You're also to be our newest field researcher. In
fact, here are your tickets to Bermuda, for next week. There's
some interesting things going on down there that bear looking
into." He smiled. "Are you in?"
She thought about it. All of a sudden, she was going to be
thrust into a kind of James Bond world! She'd never even thought
of anything so exciting would happen to her. Her response was
quick.
"Yes. I'm in."
"Great!" said Mr. White. "But for right now, if you're
recovered from your ordeal, I'll take you to lunch. It's the
least I can do."
The next few days at White and Associates were a series of
ups and downs. Most of the time was spent doing the tedious data
entry work. Of course that was really the heart of what they did,
but it was still dull work. The exciting parts were spent with
Mr. White himself, listening to him tell of his exploits, and the
insights he'd made into world affairs since starting his company.
They had an impressive list of clients, too. Everything from the
CIA to the Mossad to IBM had called upon the unique talents of
White and Associates from time to time. Most were mundane and
routine assignments. But some, like the one they were working on
now, were definitely on the dangerous side. Paula's encounter on
her first day was proof of that.
It was the first Friday after she began working for Mr.
White. Her first paycheck. And Paula was going to celebrate her
new job; it had turned out to be much more than the simple office
job she had expected!
After work, Paula made her hour-long trek back to New Jer-
sey. It was a lot cheaper to live in Jersey; the rents were a lot
less and the crime rate was a lot lower. Pulling into the drive-
way of her parents' old house she shared with her sister, she was
in high spirits. She left for Bermuda on Monday, and at company
expense!
Walking into the kitchen, she noticed something was wrong.
She couldn't quite put her finger on it. The back door! Someone
had left the screen door unlocked, and it was slightly open.
"Bren?" she shouted. "Did you leave the back door open?" No
answer.
"Brenda?" she shouted again, to the house. "Are you home?"
Nothing.
"What's going on?" she muttered to herself. Brenda was her
kid sister; no, she corrected herself. Brenda was 20 years old
and an adult in her own right, no longer a kid. She was enrolled
in the local college. Paula was 25 and got this wonderful job.
Mom and dad would have been proud.
Searching the house, she saw it. Taped to the television was
a note. Brenda must have left it for her. Of course she would
have thought the natural place for a note was the television;
that was the first place Brenda always went when she got home!
Paula took the note and read it. "Turn on the television,"
it read. Was this some kind of joke? Curious, she turned on the
set. Something was wrong. What was on the screen was no ordinary
program.
On the screen was some sort of dungeon or basement. But in
the middle of the room was a table with shackles on either end.
And worst of all; there spread-eagle on the improvised rack,
naked, was Brenda. There was no mistaking her; small, helpless,
only five feet tall. And that raven-black hair. It was Bren,
all right.
Horrified, Paula stared at the screen. Another figure came
into view; the same man that had tried to get the computer pass-
word! He looked into the camera.
"Ah, good, Miss Courtney. I see you're finally home. I'm
sure you remember me. We have some unfinished business to dis-
cuss, you and I. No doubt you're aware of your new employer's
interest in me and my friends. Well, this young lady here is our
insurance policy. Do you understand? When you get down to Bermu-
da, you aren't going to be able to find anything out. It's a dead
end. No leads. And that will be the end of it."
He walked over to the table where Brenda lay, helpless and
trembling with fear.
"And, just to give you a demonstration of what will lie in
store for your sweet little sister if you were so foolish as to
defy us, I invite your attention to your television."
He moved over to the table as Paula watched, horrified. From
seemingly out of nowhere, he produced a long black feather. Paula
gasped. She knew exactly what was going to happen, and how power-
less she was to stop it.
Slowly, deliberately, the man reached down to Brenda's feet
with the feather. He looked directly into the camera and smiled.
It was an evil smile.
Brenda was already begging pitifully. Paula knew just how
ticklish Brenda was-- it was hard to grow up as sisters without
knowing little details like that!
"Please! Don't do this! I haven't done anything! I don't
even know who you are! Why are you doing this?" Brenda was plead-
ing.
It was to no avail. The man reached down with the feather
and ran its tip down the length of her sole. Brenda immediately
burst out laughing.
"Hahahahaha! Plehehehehese stop!"
Paula watched, unable to tear her eyes from the television,
horrified. The man dragged the feather up one sole and down the
other, sending Brenda in more fits of hysterical laughter. Paula
could see her hands futilely grasping at the air.
"No more! Please! Hahahahahaha!" Brenda was gasping for
breath now. Paula could see her pale face flushing crimson. It
was horrible! She squirmed and curled her toes in sympathy for
her sister; she knew what sort of torture she was going through.
Paula had been forced to endure it herself only a few days earli-
er.
The monster was dragging the feather along the bottom of
Brenda's bare toes, now, and it was driving her absolutely crazy!
She wasn't even breathing right now; all she could do was gasp
desperately for air.
The man then moved up from her feet and ran the feather
around Brenda's stomach, circling her belly button in ever-
shrinking circles.
"Nononononononono!" was all Brenda could manage, as the
cruel feather got closer and closer to her navel. Once it finally
struck the small pocket on Brenda's stomach, her entire body
jerked off the table and she let out a long sustained giggle.
"Hehehehehehehehe!"
"No!" Paula was screaming at the television. "Stop it!" But
the people on the screen couldn't hear.
Eventually the man stopped torturing poor Brenda. She lay
limp on the table and sobbed, obviously exhausted. Her naked body
was covered in sweat. The man looked once more at the camera.
"Just a little sample, Miss Courtney, of what is going to
happen to your darling sister if you do not cooperate. And please
don't bother to tell your Mr. White. We will know. And if you
displease us, we will tickle your dear sister to death. And then
we shall do the same to you."
The Perils of Paula
Chapter Three
by Kimberly Drake
SYNOPSIS- Paula Courtney discovered her new job was a lot more
than she bargained for! Far from being a mere secretary, she has
signed on as a researcher for an firm doing intelligence work,
and they have some nasty enemies. In fact, their most recent
targets have kidnapped Paula's sister and tickle-tortured her to
demonstrate what will happen to Paula if she didn't purposefully
fail in her mission.
Paula was a bundle of nerves as she said goodbye to Mr.
White at the airport. She was supposed to be on her way to Bermu-
da to investigate the very people who had tortured her and kid-
napped and tortured her sister. They had threatened to torture
both Paula and her sister to death if she came back from Bermuda
with any information.
"What's wrong, Paula?" asked Mr. White.
"Wrong? What makes you think something is wrong? Nothing is
wrong!"
"That was just about the most unconvincing lie I've ever
heard."
Paula collapsed on White's shoulder and began to cry.
"They've got Bren! And they're torturing her! And if I find
anything out they'll kill her! And me!"
Mr. White looked at her. "Paula, I want to tell you someth-
ing. I wish you had called me on Friday. Now it'll be harder to
get your sister away. But believe me. We will get her back.
Before you step off the return plane, Bren will be safe and sound
at home. In our line of work we get owed more than a few favors."
Paula sniffled and smiled at Mr. White. "I believe you.
Thank you."
White escorted Paula down the hall to the security check.
"Be careful. And have fun! And remember; don't worry. Everything
will be fine. We'll get her back."
Paula had been in Bermuda for three days now, and was due to
return to New York tomorrow. She had completed her research, and
had come up with quite a number of interesting tidbits on the
people they were investigating. Bermuda, it turned out, was one
of their prime bases, and there was a definite link between the
island and the small central American nation of Honduras. What it
was would have to wait until the information could be loaded into
the computer in New York. For now, she was content to sun herself
on the beach.
Paula had already decided that she wouldn't tell Mr. White
anything of her findings unless he was able to fulfill his prom-
ise to free Brenda from the clutches of her captors. She still
couldn't forget the look of helplessness and agony on her sis-
ter's face as she was tickle-tortured for Paula's benefit. Horri-
ble.
But today was for relaxation. She believed Mr. White's
promise that he could get Brenda away from them, so now she was
just lying on the beach, getting as much sun as she could before
she had to go. She didn't really know why she even bothered; her
skin was so fair that she went from white to sunburn and right
back again. But still she tried.
She made a slight adjustment to her yellow bikini top and
went back to her sunbathing. A small girl, no more than 7 or 8,
came up to her. "Would you like to play?" the sweet-faced little
girl asked.
"No, dear. Thank you, though," Paula answered.
"Pleeeeease?"
"Oh, okay," Paula said, smiling. She didn't have anything
better to do, really.
"Yay!" cheered the girl. "Let's look for buried treasure!"
She said, and immediately started digging in the sand.
Paula smiled again and started digging alongside the girl.
After about twenty minutes, they had dug quite a sizable hole.
"Aren't you tired of this game yet?" asked Paula.
"Yeah," said the girl. "Hey! Now that we have this hole, I
could bury you in the sand!"
"No, I don't think so," began Paula.
"C'mon! Pleeeeease?"
Paula smiled again. The little girl was a charmer, all
right. "Sure, why not?"
Paula climbed into the hole. They had dug deeper on one end
than the other, and Paula sat with her rear at the lowest end of
the hole. When the little girl finished piling and packing the
sand on top of her, all that could be seen were Paula's head and
feet. Feeling slightly claustrophobic, Paula tried moving her
arm. She couldn't. She tried moving her legs. No luck. The sand
was just too well packed around her. She couldn't move.
"Uh, Jessie, could you unbury me now?" she asked, trying to
keep the friendly tone of voice with the girl.
"No, not yet. Bye!" and the child ran off.
"Jessie!" shouted Paula after the fleeing girl. "Come back
here and dig me out! Come on!" But it was no use. Jessie had
disappeared down the beach.
"What am I supposed to do now?" she said to nobody in par-
ticular.
"Why hello there, miss!" said a soft voice from behind.
Paula tried to turn her neck to see who was there, but she could-
n't move it far enough.
"Hello! Could you get me out of here, do you think?"
"Can't you get out?" asked the voice.
"No, I'm afraid I can't. That little girl did a good job!"
The person walked around so Paula could see her. She was in
her mid-30's, an Asian woman with long black hair down to her
rear. She was very tan, and her bright red bikini showed well
against her. "My name is Ayla," she said.
"Paula," was her reply.
"You do seem to have gotten yourself into a spot, haven't
you?" smiled Ayla.
"Yes," Paula said, getting more than a little nervous. "Uh,
do you think you could get me out of here?"
"Oh, I could," was Ayla's reply. "But maybe not just yet. Do
you want to tell me what you've learned since you got here?"
Paula gasped in realization. She'd been set up! Right here
in public!
"I'll scream, I swear!"
"Oh, you'll scream, no doubt. But if you raise a fuss, I
suggest you remember that interesting program that was on the
television not too long ago. There could very well be a sequel."
"What do you want," asked Paula, suddenly very conscious of
her vulnerable position, trapped in the sand.
"I just want to remind you of the conditions of our agree-
ment," she said. Ayla's incredibly long hair fell over her large
breasts, and she idly took up a lock and played with it. "Just
wanted to let you know we haven't forgotten," and with that she
took the feathery end of her hair and lightly brushed it against
Paula's upturned soles.
"Hehehe! Stop, please! I still remember!"
"Are you sure...?" asked Ayla as she ran the end of her hair
over Paula's arches again, causing another bout of laughter.
"Hahaha! Yes! I'm sure!"
"Good," said Ayla. "Glad we understand each other. Now I
hope you don't mind if I have a little fun. Just for my own
amusement, you understand; it has nothing to do with out business
arrangements."
Ayla took her hair and began systematically brushing it
against Paula's trapped soles. Try as she might, Paula couldn't
fight the up welling laughter from coming out.
"Hehehehe! Cut it out! Please!"
"I've always dreamed of something like this happening," Ayla
said. "But I never thought it actually would! And you're so
ticklish! Such a wonderful victim!"
The torture went on. Ayla's unique instrument of torture,
that went everywhere she did, was utterly maddening to Paula. It
was so silky smooth, and yet the ends were rough enough to cause
immediate sensations. The ends of Ayla's locks ranged all over
Paula's feet, from her arches to the very tips of her toes and
everywhere in between.
"Hahahahaha! Stop! I beg you! I'm going nuts! Hehehehehe!"
"Yes," replied Ayla. "I know you are. That's what I love to
hear. You can't move at all, can you?" she taunted as she con-
tinued the merciless tickle torture.
"No! Hahahahaha! No! Plehehehehese stop! Hahahaha!"
"It's soooo sexy to hear you begging me like that," said
Ayla. It almost makes me wish you weren't so well buried in that
sand. I'm getting soooo horny hearing you beg. But, we can't have
everything, can we? Maybe the next time you're on the island, we
can arrange something a little more revealing."
She continued the torture for about half an hour. She
switched from her hair to her long fingernails, and that was
almost too much for Paula. The sharp ends of the nails scraping
up and down her arches, in between her toes, it was agony! And
all Paula could do was laugh.
Eventually, of course, the merciless oriental torturess
tired of her sport and left Paula to her own devices. In only a
few minutes she persuaded a local to get her out of the sand. She
spent the rest of the day in her room.
The next day her plane left for New York. In only a few
hours she would know if Mr. White had been able to get Bren away
from her captors. Even then, how safe would any of them be? Just
what had she done by accepting this job?
The Perils of Paula
Episode Four
by Kimberly Drake
SYNOPSIS- Paula Courtney's new job as an intelligence-gatherer is
having unexpected and dangerous side effects. Her own sister has
been kidnapped and tickle-tortured, and she herself has been
caught off guard twice and subjected to the same torment. She has
just completed an assignment in Bermuda; an assignment which she
has been instructed to fail, or face the consequences. Her em-
ployer, Mr. White, has promised to rescue her sister, but she
does not know if he was successful or not.
Mr. White was there at the end of the hallway, just past the
security checkpoint. And there, standing next to him, was Brenda!
Paula ran up to her and wrapped her arms around her, lifting her
sister clear off the ground.
"Bren! I'm so glad you're all right!" Paula turned to Mr.
White. "Thank you so much!"
Mr. White beamed, his fatherly figure fairly glowing.
"You're very welcome. After all, it's mostly my fault that you
got mixed up in all this. Now, then. I've got my car here; why
don't I drive you home. You can tell me what you learned on the
way."
The three walked off to Mr. White's Mercedes, and soon they
were on the interstate heading back to Paula and Brenda's house.
Paula explained all she had learned while she was in Bermuda; the
connections to Honduras, the drug-money laundering, everything.
Mr. White was obviously very pleased with her work. They arrived
at the house, and Brenda and Paula got out of the car.
"And don't worry about anything," Mr. White was saying as
they got out. "I've made sure that they won't be able to get at
either you or your sister here, my dear. I shall see you at the
office first thing tomorrow! Good night, ladies!"
Mr. White's Mercedes drove away.
The two girls sat around the kitchen table, eating sandwich-
es and talking about the bizarre new turn their lives had taken.
Brenda explained about her rescue; a single man had burst into
the torture chamber and single-handedly took out four of her
captors. They were rotting in a jail cell now, but the leaders
had escaped. Brenda didn't even know the man's name who had
rescued her. All he had said was "Now I only owe Mr. White a
dozen favors."
Paula related her own experiences in Bermuda, telling her
sister about the incident that last day on the beach with who
could only have been an agent of the same group that they were up
against. The same group that had kidnapped Brenda and tortured
her.
That night neither of them slept well, despite Mr. White's
assurances. But nothing untoward happened, and Paula went through
her usual morning routine. The train into the city was just as
crowded as usual, but at least she made it into the office of
White and Associates on time. She immediately got to work enter-
ing into the computer a vast stack of material that had piled up
during her fact-finding mission to Bermuda. Mr. White came in
only a little after she did and went straight to his office,
after exchanging the usual pleasantries.
The next few days were fairly routine. The report was shap-
ing up, and it was monstrous in its complexity. This group was
truly international, and involved in everything from gun running
to white slavery. The computer searches suggested they had com-
pletely subverted at least two Central American governments, and
were well on their way to gaining control over one of the largest
oil companies in the world. And they finally had a name to pin on
this shadowy conglomerate, and it fit.
The World Power Foundation.
After two weeks of constant work, however, there were still
some vital pieces of the puzzle still missing. Namely, who exact-
ly was the power behind the Foundation, and what were their
ultimate goals? More information was needed if the report was to
be complete. And in order to ensure White and Associates' sterl-
ing reputation, all reports had to be complete.
"Feel up to another trip, my dear?" asked Mr. White.
"I guess so," replied Paula, still remembering what had
happened on the last fact-finding trip. "Where to this time?"
"There's a hospital upstate; the Fishbeck Institute. Ever
heard of it?"
"Yes, it's a psychiatric hospital, isn't it?"
"That's the one. One of their patients is somehow connected
with all this, and I want you to go up there and interview her.
We'll rent you a car."
"No problem," answered Paula. "When do I leave?"
"Tomorrow, if it's all right. It should only take you two
days or so."
"Tomorrow it is, then."
As Paula drove through the freshly-manicured lawns of the
Institute, she felt vaguely uneasy. After all the stresses of the
last few weeks, though, it wasn't surprising. Maybe she should
check in here for a few weeks' rest! She smiled to herself at the
thought. Not on your life.
She parked the car and entered the main office. The nurse
behind the desk looked up. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here to see a Gloria Adams. I phoned yesterday,"
answered Paula.
"Oh, yes," said the nurse, turning a page in her appointment
book. "Dr. Lambert is expecting you. Just have a seat."
After a few minutes, Dr. Lambert appeared. "Well, Miss
Courtney, what can I do for you?"
"I'm here to see Gloria Adams."
"Oh, yes. Well, could you come this way, please?" They
walked down the hall as he continued. "Understand that Mrs. Adams
doesn't get a lot of visitors. In fact, she's been so disturbed
lately that we've had to sedate her rather heavily. I doubt that
you'll get a lot of conversation out of her."
"Anything will help," Paula replied.
"Right in here," Dr. Lambert said, opening a heavy steel
door. There was Gloria Adams, lying limply on a small hard cot,
the room barely large enough for the bed and a small toilet.
Gloria was young, no more than 22 or so, with a full head of
blonde hair. She was bound up in a straight jacket, and her legs
and feet were bare. She looked up dopily as they entered the
room.
"Mrs. Adams?" Paula said softly. "Can you understand me? I
understand you know something about the Foundation. Can you tell
me anything about the Foundation, Mrs. Adams?"
At the mention of the Foundation, the straitjacketed
blonde perked up a little. Her eyes got round and large, fear-
filled. And then she shook her head sleepily, "No, I don't know
anything. I told you before. Nothing."
"Told me before, Mrs. Adams?" Paula asked. "I don't under-
stand." She turned to Dr. Lambert. "Do you know why she'd say..."
But she never finished her sentence. Two burly orderlies
were there with them now. At a signal from Lambert, one took a
straitjacket he had been holding and went towards Paula. The
other grabbed her as she tried to run off, and within minutes
they had secured her in the heavy burlap straitjacket.
"What's going on?" she shouted. "Let me out of here! Help!"
"Nonsense, Mrs. Adams. It's time for your morning therapy,"
said Dr. Lambert calmly. He shut the door to the cell where the
real Mrs. Adams still lay, drugged up.
"What are you talking about?" asked Paula frantically. "I'm
Paula Courtney! Let me out of this right now! I'm warning you!"
"Of course you are," Dr. Lambert replied. He turned to the
orderlies. "Take her to the therapy room and get her ready. I'll
be there shortly."
The orderlies took the shouting Paula down the corridor and
to a lower level. There, they removed the straight jacket and
roughly stripped her. There was nothing she could do to escape
their powerful grips, and there would have been no way to get out
of the hospital even if she had. The orderlies placed heavy
leather cuffs on her wrists, and a wide leather strap above her
knees. Another wide strap was put in place around her ankles. To
the cuffs on her wrists they attached a rope, and hoisted her
arms above her head until she was standing on her tiptoes.
"Please let me go!" she begged, but they ignored her. They
strapped a weighted barbell to her ankles and she was then low-
ered into a square pit in the floor. Her feet were about two feet
below the level of the room, but were still at least two feet
from the floor. With the barbell pulling down on her ankles,
there was no way she could move other than to gently sway. She
was completely helpless, dangling from the ceiling. At the last,
a blindfold was put on her.
"Help!" she shouted into the darkness, unable to move. There
was no answer. After a few minutes, she heard the door open and
two people enter the room. "Help me, please!" she begged at the
unseen duo.
"We are going to help you Mrs. Adams," she could hear Dr.
Lambert's calm voice. "This is part of your therapy, remember?"
"Why are you doing this?" Barbara pleaded.
She could feel Lambert's breath very close to her face. "You
were warned about Bermuda. And now we have you, and you'll never
get away from us." He stepped away. "Nurse, get's get to work. I
have a feeling that Mrs. Adams here is going to be a particularly
stubborn patient today."
Paula tensed, not knowing exactly what was going to happen.
And then she found out. She could feel the edge of a feather
being dragged through her exposed and helpless armpit, and though
she tried to hold it in, there was nothing she could do to keep
from laughing out loud.
"Hahahahahaha! No! Please don't!"
"That's right, Mrs. Adams," said Dr. Lambert calmly, as
always. "Laugh. Let out all those tensions. All those anxieties.
Laughter is the best medicine, Mrs. Adams!"
She felt more feathers being applied to her other armpit,
and her laughter was twice as hard. Her breathing became desper-
ate. Despite her thrashing and twisting, there was nothing she
could do to get away from those demonic feathers tormenting her
soft flesh. Every stroke of their tips on her armpits was agony.
And then the feathers moved down, tormenting the undersides of
her breasts.
"Hehehehehehe! Plehehehehese! I can't stand it!"
There was no reply. She couldn't see the faces of her tor-
mentors through the blindfold, but she could imagine the expres-
sions of glee on their faces as they continued the torture. The
feathers found their way to her pelvis, and one lingered right at
the edge of her pussy-hair, lightly flicking along the hairline.
That was absolutely maddening!
All she could do was laugh uncontrollably, but every once in
a while she managed to gulp in enough air to plead for mercy. She
wasn't given any.
The feathers continued their dance over her totally exposed
and helpless body. From her armpits to her pelvis, every stroke
was another step on the road to madness. The fact that she could
not see, could not even anticipate by a second where the feather
would next strike, only increased the intensity of the agony.
Eventually, though, the torment stopped. As she was gasping
for breath, trying to keep from crying with relief, she could
hear Dr. Lambert's voice, calm as ever.
"That should do for now, nurse," he was saying. "Get her a
room and make sure she's restrained. Wouldn't do to have her
wandering around before her afternoon therapy session."
