Who am I?1
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Hello! I'm a deviantart fetish writer and a long-time user of this forum.
I've decided to post all my stories here for your enjoyment.
I take commissions! If you want to commission me a story, please contact me THROUGH DA. My profile is: http://the-tickling-master.deviantart.com/gallery/
Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you liked (And especially if you disliked) the story, leave a comment!
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- Hyah! Hah! HAAAGYYAHH! – She exclaimed, roundhouse-kicking a motion-caption actor in the face. The actor flipped over before falling into the ground. She imagined, for a moment, how cool that would look with post-production – She just fucked up a giant rocky monster!
Her name was Rebecca Marie Gomez, but was better known by her stage name, Becky G. She used to be a low-profile actor trying to earn her place in Hollywood, but now her career had skyrocketed. She had finally earned her first big role in the Power Rangers reboot movie – oh my god, she got so excited at the time! She got to be one of her favorite childhood icons in the figure of the Yellow Ranger, Trini, and maybe inspire a ton of new kids like the original Power Rangers did with her. Well, she was cute enough to win the boys, she thought – her body was well toned but not too thin, and her hair was good too, of a deep, voluminous brown. Her face was cute too, if a bit too chubby.
Oh shit, she had to focus! Another motion-captor rushed towards her, and she flipped backwards, nailing the landing – working in the Power Rangers had made her much more athletic. She remembered how much she struggled with it in the beginning. All of them did, actually – none of them were very used with filming action stuff. They were all just starting in their careers, and getting hired to such a big-profile movie was a dream come true, an opportunity from the heavens – and only possible due to Hollywood’s usual stinginess with uncertain movies. Even for such a huge intellectual property, the movie was still a huge risk the first time around.
But not this time! No, the first movie was a success, more than enough to justify the sequel, and now, at least for the foreseeable future, her and everyone else’s careers were safe. She had no doubt the franchise would only grow with the awesome sequel they were putting together – the directions heard the fan’s feedback, and they were doing tons of action scenes this time around! In suit, out of suit, with the mechs…
She dodged another rushing mocap actor and kicked a third in the chin – without connecting, of course. Still, he jumped backwards, falling into the ground. She remembered her first “bumping” lessons – something used in both pro-wrestling and cinema, basically learning how to fall in a visually impressive and yet safe way. “Safe”, however, never meant “painless”. It hurt a whole damn lot. But they got used to it in time. In fact, time to do it, as the fifth actor rushed towards her. Before he hit her, she jumped backwards, tucked her chin inwards, and extended her arms. Her back hit the ground with a loud thud, but her head, the most important thing, was safe. She quickly jumped back up and into the fictional fray.
Things went smooth through the entire shooting, which lasted from morning all the way to 6pm. She heard a lot of tales about Saban Inc. overworking the original Power Rangers and, honestly, the reboot was not that far away – but it was fun, and the pay was good. And she was so thankful for the opportunity… For some time, she was actually afraid she would never make it big in Hollywood. A lot of producers told her that her face was “too chubby” for a female star, and that “it made her look fat entirely”. Bunch of sexist idiots! Now she was the one on top. Well, not really, but getting there! She had to deal with hardships, the usual for a female star – some sexual harassment, one stupid producer trying to take her to bed here, a figurinist trying to fondle her there… And she rarely could complain, since she had absolutely no pull inside the industry. But she was sure things were going to improve from now on.
After the shooting was completed, she waved goodbye to the whole team, hugged her fellow Rangers, and started leaving the studio. Her car was parked not far from there, and she couldn’t wait to get home and get some rest. The next days would be resting days for the crew, as the studio was going to be used to shoot something else. She had a concert in a few days – she was not only an actor but also an accomplished singer – and needed to rest up properly.
She could barely wait to get home, change into her pajamas, put on her slippers and—
Her thoughts were cut short as a figure quickly sneaked behind her and pressed a handkerchief into her face. She felt the peculiar smell of chloroform before losing consciousness.
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Confused, Becky G. woke up. She blinked twice before realizing she was awakened, and tried to recall what happened. Her hear raced when she remembered the chloroform, and, by reflex, tried to get up, only to find out she could not. She struggled, trying to get free of the bonds she had not yet fully realized she was in, but failed.
Finally, her brain started functioning properly, and she realized the predicament she was in. She was sitting in some sort of “bondage chair” – a chair in the shape of a reclined “X”, where each of her limbs were tied to one of the extremities. Her wrists and ankles were tied to it by tight straps of leather, and another strapped locker her biceps and her thighs, making it impossible to move much. She was also tied to the bizarre chair thanks to an additional strap on her waist and one in her neck. They were so tightly locked that they allowed very minimal movement. Also, apparently, her feet were trapped in some sort of stocks, and something was tying back her toes.
She also noticed, from the strange coldness she was feeling and from looking as downwards as her bonds allowed, that she was exposed. Her captors, whoever they were, took out her clothes, leaving her in her yellow set of bra and panties - she wanted to make sure that if anything peeked out during filming, the kids would see that the Yellow Ranger was colorfully appropriate even in her undergarments. She felt a bit stupid right now for doing it, though.
She looked around, trying to understand where she was. But the room was featureless, concrete painted grey, and no windows, just a single solitary lamp hanging above her.
She still had to wait a few more minutes before getting answers, minutes spent wondering – and fearing – what fate would befall her. What were her caption’s intentions? She could guess, and that made her fear. She wanted to cry, but she also didn’t want to be weak… Though, thinking a bit better, the way she was tied would make that act very impractical.
Okay, what the hell was he planning??
As if to answer her questions, the door in front of her swung open, and three men entered. Two were dressed impeccably, in three-piece black suits, while the third was dressed much more casually, with a black sleeveless shirt and white pants. The two in suits had black hair – in fact, they looked like twins – and the casual one was blond. He also had a huge grin on his face, with the other two being much sterner.
- Rise and Shine, Becky! – The blonde spoke, apparently the leader of the bunch. The girl looked at him, furious.
- Who are you? Why am I here?!
- The first question isn’t important, but I’ll answer the second – Said the man, his hands in his pockets. – Actually, I’m pretty sure you should have heard of us already… But maybe you’re too much of a novice to do so. We are known around here as the Gang.
- The G-Gang? – She asked, trying to sound brave, and failing miserably. Was she captured by the freaking mafia?
- Yes. And you are far from being the first Hollywood babe in this chair. Oh, man, the day we got Scarlett! Those were the times! – He said, excited. – Too bad she’s too high up the food chain now. Untouchable. So is Jennifer Lawrence… But hey, we still have the memories, am I right boys? And the footage. – He said, more to himself than to Becky. – But today, you will have to do. And I’m not complaining. You’re damn fine. Gonna be big someday, maybe.
Becky heard all that, shocked. How the hell did no one tell her that there was a kidnapping gang acting in Hollywood?! And how had she never heard the news? Maybe they kidnapped the girls when they were still at the start of their careers?
The blond man stared at her for a moment, as if waiting for her to do something. She remained there, puzzled, and he sighed.
- Not going to ask what we did with them? – He asked, disappointed.
- I don’t care what you did to them! Let me go!! – She exclaimed, struggling furiously. Still, the bonds were too tight. She could barely move, let alone free herself.
The man, once again, seemed disappointed.
- We like to have a peculiar kind of fun. Some call us The Gang, but we are mostly known as the Tickling Gang.
She was not sure she heard it right.
- Excuse me? – Becky asked, puzzled.
- Having troubles hearing, sweetie? – He asked, in a teasing tone. – I said we are going to tickle your pretty ass. Well, actually, not the ass, it’s not that good of a spot. But still… Everywhere else.
That sounded so stupid, almost like if it was the sick fantasy of some horny teenager. Who the hell captures people just to tickle them??
Though, as weird as that as, she was relieved that it was only tickling. She was afraid of much, much worse stuff.
- You… Are quite sick – She answered. The man chuckled. – Listen, just let me go, and I won’t tell the police, okay?
- It seems you haven’t understood it yet your situation. You are not getting out, Becky. Not until we are satisfied. And if you are thinking people will notice you’re gone… they won’t. We selected the perfect day and, honestly, the entire police force is in our pockets, as well as Hollywood’s higher-ups. Money opens a lot of doors, and having compromising footage of Hollywood’s stars, as well as of the daughters, wives and sisters of the higher-ups do it too – He commented, with a never-faltering grin. – So just sit back and accept your fate, okay? Be a good girl, and you might leave early. Though we do have all the time in the world – I have already arranged for your concert to be cancelled, and there will be no filming of the Power Rangers for a few weeks.
She gulped as the two twins started moving. Each of them sat in front of one of her trapped feet. It was then that it hit her that this was totally 100% happening.
This is crazy. She struggled again instinctively, but only managed to buckle up and down in place, uselessly. The twins grabbed her feet with one hand and, slowly, started sliding one finger down her soles.
- Ohohohohoo nohohohohohoh!! – She exclaimed amongst giggles. She was very ticklish, always have been. Her feet were especially effective, to the point even this very subtle teasing had her giggling like a child. Her feet vibrated in place, trying to flee even an inch away, but the tight bonds didn’t allow her to.
The two twins started to slowly speed things up. The lone finger sped up its travel, now going up and down once every second. Their coordination was also noticeable – when the Twin in the right was bringing the finger down, the one in the left was bringing it up, without missing a beat. It was almost by being tickled by one person, except she knew very well they had one extra pair of hands waiting to act if needed.
Still, despite everything, she was still glad. Okay, she was being tickled, and she kinda hated it, but it was okay. Compared to the things she was imagining, it was an excellent deal. Get tickled for a few minutes and hopefully be freed unscathed. Even within sadism, there was much worse stuff they could be doing to her.
If she’s in the hands of tickle sadists, so be it.
The fingers sped up, now working twice as fast. Now her feet started really struggling. It was not tickling too much – she was still just giggling – but it was extremely annoying, like an itch you cannot reach. Her feet being as immobile as they were just made everything worse. She struggled hard, but couldn’t move them at all.
- Come on guys, stop joking around. Make her laugh! – The blond spoke, and, for the first time, the twins smirked.
Suddenly, they started tickling her feet extremely fast, using both hands in each foot, scribbling furiously. She jumped in place, surprised, and screamed. Goddammit this tickled like hell!! She had never felt something this awful! She had obviously been tickled before, but never tied like this, exposed like this.
- NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH PLLHEHEHEEHEHEHAHHAHAHAAHASSHEHEHEEHEH!! – She exclaimed, not even really conscious of what she was doing. She tried pulling her feet, she tried buckling forward, she tried struggling in every and all directions. She found out that she could do only one thing: Look up. And so, she did, howling with laughter.
The burst of ticklishness stopped quickly, however, and she was left to pant and try to catch her breath. The twins got up, and started moving. They went behind her, and she couldn’t see them anymore. And then, for a few seconds, she was left to wonder what was happening, what they were planning. She found herself being afraid, and was not ashamed to be.
Finally, her curiosity was satiated as two hands made contact with her armpits, tickling light and slow. She squealed and contorted cutely – but without moving much – in her bonds, but was relieved to find out she was much less sensitive there. Which doesn’t mean she was not sensitive – of even very sensitive. It just wasn’t on the balls-to-the-wall levels of her poor feet.
But again, she was bothered to hell and back at her immobility. Tickling created an uncontrollable urge to squirm, to struggle, to fight to flee. Being negated that right was the most frustrating thing she had ever felt, and added a layer to the ordeal. She would gladly take two times more tickling for the right to actually struggle and gain some, even if useless, reprieve.
After a few instants, they started tickling deeper, digging into her armpits. Her laughter grew a notch – hard tickling was always the worst for her – and tried to struggle even more.
- STOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHHOPPP!!! – She screamed.
- Nope – Replied the blonde, playfully. He approached her – a development that she didn’t notice thanks to her suffering until he was at kissing distance from her face. – My god, you are so cute. You manage to look fit and chubby at the same time. How do you do this? Either way, it’s doing me wonders – He said, poking her side and, as a surprise for both, she screamed louder than ever. The twins stopped, and the blonde’s grin told everything Becky needed to know.
- Please… Not there… - She begged, not really trying to hold to pride – there was no one here, and she was being tortured with tickling for god’s sake. She would do everything she could to lessen the torture, to ease her suffering.
- Oh sweetie… This is going to be bad for you – He said, sinisterly, before digging into her sides. Becky screamed in a high-pitched tone.
That was horrible! Torture, absolute torture!! She hated having her entire midsection tickled, and she had punched a lot of friends who liked to poke her sides. Having them locked in place hi this – her waist could move a little bit more and thus, struggle a tiny little bit, but not nearly as much as she wished she could – was such a horrifying reality!
- OHOHOHOHOHOHO GOHOHOHOHOHOHODDD PLEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHASSSEEE NONOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!!! – She screamed, almost at his face, close-up as he was. She could feel his fingers digging deep within her sides, almost hurting, but tickling so much that the pain was numbed by the sheer strength of the ticklish sensations.
Now the blonde changed the pace, tickling with quick scratches instead of deep squeezes. Becky was not entirely sure on which one was worse – first reason because she could not really think very well with that much ticklishness, and second because it was more of an equally-bad-but-different situation. The scratches traded intensity for speed, and while each scratch tickled less than each squeeze, the torturer could tease her sides much more quickly like that. Oh, and the scratching didn’t require as much strength and, thus, hurt less, leaving her to fully enjoy the ticklish sensations.
She screamed in ticklish despair, struggling desperately to move. Goddammit, fuck those bonds! Even if her waist could move a bit, she was more “vibrating” in the rack than effectively buckling and twirling around as she wish she could.
The blonde tortured her for an eternity – that is, a couple more minutes – before he once again stopped. Becky could feel her heart racing and she really wished she could lean forward and let the bonds hold her, but she could not, as she remained firmly locked into that chair. She screamed with frustration, a scream mixed with light giggling thanks to the residual sensations, still lightly tickling her sides even after the stimulus was gone.
To her surprise, her captors allowed her time to rest. The twins left their position from behind her, and left the room, quickly returning with a small chair on which the blonde sat down, admiring Becky G, like a connoisseur admiring a piece of art: The hyperventilating, sweaty, panting figure of a tickle-tortured woman. Superb!
Finally, after around a minute, The blonde man got up again, applauding.
- I wish you could appreciate how cute you get in this state, sweetheart.
- Th… Thanks… - She replied, fighting against her urges to tell the man to go fuck himself. She doubted being confrontational would end positively for her. Thus, she decided to play the nice cop. – Well… You had your fun, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world for me either. Can you let me go now? I won’t tell anyone, I promise!
In response, the man cackled loudly.
- Oh, Becky, sweetie… This was just the warmup! We were just checking your worst spots. You really thought you were getting off the hook with five minutes of tickling? No, no, no… You are a beautiful piece of art that I am going to appreciate now. – He said, turning to the twins. – Twins, bring the equipment… and the Artist – He ordered.
- Will do, Boss. – They replied in unison, leaving the room.
Artist? The hell was this Boss planning? And what kind of equipment?
The first question was answered rather quickly – the Twins returned carrying expensive cameras and tripods. In a few minutes, her torture dungeon had turned into a small studio. She felt completely ashamed.
- Y-you can’t do this! Are you going to film me while I’m being tickled?!
- That’s the plan, yes. Memories are great, but fleeting; only by filming I can truly capture this moment – said the blonde Boss. – And I’ll be honest, you’re quickly becoming one of my favorite pieces ever! – He said, getting back to his chair, which was positioned front and center to watch the spectacle.
Becky couldn’t believe this.
- You’re sick! – She finally said, unable to contain her revolt. How could someone take so much pleasure in the suffering of another? Tickling seemed harmless at first, but she was quickly learning how terrifying it could be – though she is still was oblivious to how rough her situation would become.
Finally, someone else entered the room – a stunning woman, redheaded, with strong, dominating lips. She was tall and lean and everything on her, especially her body language, exhalated dominance. Becky quickly understood. She was the Artist.
- Is she the one? – The woman asked to the Boss, and he confirmed. The Artist smirked. – She doesn’t look like someone who can handle this. Good thing she has no choice – She said, signaling the Twins with a head gesture. – So, weak spots?
- Her belly is unbearable. Also very ticklish feet and ticklish armpits. – Replied the Boss.
- Thighs? – The Artist asked. The Boss slightly opened his mouth and eyes, as if he suddenly remembered something, then sighed and emitted a quick “oops”. – Incompetent fuck – She complained, approaching Becky, who instinctively tried to squirm out of her bonds. The woman had an aura of sorts that intimidated, and Becky did not want to be in her claws.
In her arms, Becky noticed, there was a box, full of – as she realized when the woman approached – tools. Feathers, brushes, everything.
Becky gulped – the woman kneeled in front of her, placing her hands in Becky’s thighs. She looked the young actress in the eye for a quick instant, before smirking and starting to squeeze her thighs.
Becky was not sure what to expect – no one ever tickled her legs before! – but was not really surprised to discover it tickled like hell. She screamed, her legs buckling a few centimeters up and down, unable to do more than this thanks to the stocks that kept them overextended. He howled and laughed and screamed and, obviously, was ignored. But the Artist got satisfied quickly, and stopped, quickly scratching her left sole as she went away. Becky saw the woman ponder for a minute, and then turn to the Twins.
- Work her thighs, boys. Use the feathers. I’ll take the feet for now – She said, cruelly. The Twins, without a word, moved towards Becky, and positioned themselves at each side.
- Please… Don’t do this to me… - She begged. The Artist laughed.
- Nothing personal, cutie – She said, and slowly, very slowly, painfully slowly, dragged her fingers from the top of her feet to the heel.
Becky screamed louder than ever before, for one reason: Nails. Horrible, sharp, pointy nails, she hadn’t realized before. It’s almost as if they were cultivated for the sole purpose of being extra-effective for tickling – and that was probably the truth.
- OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH MYHYHYHYHY GHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHODDD!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELLLPPP!!! – Becky screamed, once again her body doing everything it could to move, but the tight bondage forbidding it.
Meanwhile, the Twins also moved – they picked the feathers, as the Artist ordered, and started sliding them over her legs. She squealed in frustration, as the extreme light tickling, over her unmovable legs, created an unbearable mixture of sensations. The conflict was melting her mind – The feet was under harsh assault from those horrible fingernails, but her legs were being lightly teased. The sensations started to mix with each other, with her brain occasionally making her feel the nails on her legs, or the feathers in her feet. It was absolutely maddening, and she screamed in despair, tears rolling down her eyes.
And, contrary to the previous warmup, this was not over quick. The minutes dragged on with the torture. Slowly, the Artist put some twists to keep her always of the edge, like scratching under her stretched toes, or in the sides of her feet. She even licked her sole once. The Twins didn’t have nearly the same technique, but also made sure to feather different spots along her legs in order to prevent any region from being desensitized.
And all Becky could do during this time was slightly buckle in place, scream, laugh and beg. Oh, beg she did, she begged a lot, but no one listened. And, right in front of her, in a perfect seat for the show, the Boss watched, delight stamped in his eyes.
Finally, after countless minutes, when she was starting to feel her energy being drained, the Artist stopped, and a few seconds later, so did the Twins. She never felt so much relief in her life – she was positive that she was about to go insane, especially with the contrast of sensations. However, that infernal chair allowed her no rest, forcing her to stay in place, always. Her muscles ached from the futile struggle.
The Boss applauded in silence, but stayed in silence. He knew better than to meddle in the Artist’s work.
She, slowly and almost seductively, rose. Becky started to understand – the appeal of the Boss’ “art” was not only in the victim. The Artist was, and knew how to be, part of the show. And was probably paid handsomely for such. Anyways, she meddled with her box of tools, and finally picked up one that satisfied her: A pair of electrical toothbrushes. Becky unconsciously struggled when she saw that, especially because she had a hitch on where they were going to be used.
And, confirmed her fears, the Artist, acting as sexy as humanly possible – sat in her hips, straddling Becky even further in the chair. She winked before turning on the brushes, the “bzzzzttt” sound filling the room.
- Please… - Becky begged.
- Twins, spread. Feathers on feet, fingers on armpit – She ordered, not taking her eyes out of Becky for a single instant, savoring the despair.
- NO, PLEASE! I CAN’T HANDLE THIS!! – She screamed in panic, as the Twins took position. She raised her voice, addressing the Boss. – PLEASE, I’LL DO WHAT YOU WANT! I’LL PAY ANY MONEY, I’LL SLEEP WITH YOU, ANYTHING! JUST DON’T DO THIS TO ME, PLEASE!!
And, with every word, with each plead, the Boss’ smirk grew wider, a maniacally delightful expression on his face. He loved that! He loved when they begged, when they humiliated themselves for a pause!
- Artist, you think she deserves a break? – He asked.
- Nah… Little Becky needs to prove herself before she earns that. – She said, also smirking. The Artist was apparently as sick as her master.
And, then, everything made contact at once, and Becky was in hell. The brushes vibrated on her ribs, and that was almost everything she could feel. It was such an overwhelming sensation, such a powerful torture, that it stripped her mind of any thoughts, of any hopes and fears. Only tickling existed, tickling and the Artist of suffering in front of her.
But that’s not to say everything else was not adding to the torture. The hands in her armpits were digging deep, and she would give up her acting career to be allowed to lower her arms. She would also give her singing career to make those cursed feathers stop teasing her feet and especially her toes, as once again the mixture of sensations confused her and made everything worse.
And she would give anything, literally anything, to make those toothbrushes shut off for a single instant. It was too much, too overwhelming, too intense. She wasn’t even laughing anymore, but screaming and howling like a tortured animal. And she let the screams flow, in a faint hope that maybe someone would listen to her and rescue her. She would get no respite – the Boss was obviously not stupid.
The Artist shook things up a bit by tickling her hips with the brushes and, leaning forward, started licking Becky’s neck and, once, over her lips. Becky was freaked out by that and absolutely uncomfortable, but she couldn’t do much to stop. She was also too busy laughing her head off and all.
She squealed as some variation happened in her feet, with one Twin “brushing” between her toes, up and down in a quick manner with the feather. Meanwhile, the Twin at her armpits started digging a bit lower, almost at the side of her breasts.
She needed this to stop.
- IIHIHIH CAHAHAHANN… HEHEHEHEHEHEHE… NOHOHOHOHOHOH KYAHYAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHANANAHEHEHAEHEA.. .THAHAHHAKKE…. HAHAHEAHEAHAEHEAHAEHE!! – She was trying to speak, but her words kept getting trampled by the laughter. She wanted to beg, but she no longer could. There was no exit for her, no hope of escaping. The cursed tickling kept coming and coming and coming. For those people, she was not Becky G., the quirky, fun actress and singer, but instead a toy to play with, a piece of art to admire, an automate to laugh and suffer on command.
And laugh and suffer she did. And above everything, even the tickling itself, she hated her immobility. Fuck that sadistic bastard for strapping her to this, to subjecting her to this. She just wanted to struggle, to flail around, to feel, even for a nanosecond, that she could escape or fight back, that she could do something to lessen her suffering.
Oh my god, how terrible those brushes were! They left the hips, and the Artist was tickling around her navel now. One of the brushes went into her bellybutton, and she howled in ticklish madness. Her ribs, her sides, everything was being assaulted, and everything was unbearable.
She felt her breath becoming erratic, as she could not breath in air quickly enough to compensate her frantic laughter. She started feeling some numbness in her extremities and great dizziness. She wasn’t sure of why that was happening, as she had never been tickled past her limits like that. The last thing she saw was the almost orgasmic expression of the Boss, before passing out.
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After god knows how long, Becky awakened. As soon as she regained consciousness, she yelped, looking around, terrified.
There was no one around her anymore, no one torturing her any longer. But, she did see someone in front of her:
The Boss, looking at her, appreciating the view.
- Ooh, I knew this moment would be worth it. I had to wait quite a lot, but the expression of fear when you woke up…All worth it – He said, in a sickening tone of sadistic satisfaction.
- Please… You have all you want… You tickled me to insanity… You have it all on film… Release me, I beg you… - She said. The Boss looked down, shaking his head.
- Impossible. You are one of the greatest pieces I’ve ever had in my little dungeon. I am not satisfied yet, Becky. And I doubt I will be anytime soon. – He said, getting up. – I will go inform the Artist and the Twins that you are awake. I’m sure they will be delighted as well.
And, as the man left the room, a scream would have echoed through all of Hollywood, if the soundproof walls of that little Facility allowed. A scream of terror, of fear, of resignation.
I've decided to post all my stories here for your enjoyment.
I take commissions! If you want to commission me a story, please contact me THROUGH DA. My profile is: http://the-tickling-master.deviantart.com/gallery/
Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you liked (And especially if you disliked) the story, leave a comment!
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- Hyah! Hah! HAAAGYYAHH! – She exclaimed, roundhouse-kicking a motion-caption actor in the face. The actor flipped over before falling into the ground. She imagined, for a moment, how cool that would look with post-production – She just fucked up a giant rocky monster!
Her name was Rebecca Marie Gomez, but was better known by her stage name, Becky G. She used to be a low-profile actor trying to earn her place in Hollywood, but now her career had skyrocketed. She had finally earned her first big role in the Power Rangers reboot movie – oh my god, she got so excited at the time! She got to be one of her favorite childhood icons in the figure of the Yellow Ranger, Trini, and maybe inspire a ton of new kids like the original Power Rangers did with her. Well, she was cute enough to win the boys, she thought – her body was well toned but not too thin, and her hair was good too, of a deep, voluminous brown. Her face was cute too, if a bit too chubby.
Oh shit, she had to focus! Another motion-captor rushed towards her, and she flipped backwards, nailing the landing – working in the Power Rangers had made her much more athletic. She remembered how much she struggled with it in the beginning. All of them did, actually – none of them were very used with filming action stuff. They were all just starting in their careers, and getting hired to such a big-profile movie was a dream come true, an opportunity from the heavens – and only possible due to Hollywood’s usual stinginess with uncertain movies. Even for such a huge intellectual property, the movie was still a huge risk the first time around.
But not this time! No, the first movie was a success, more than enough to justify the sequel, and now, at least for the foreseeable future, her and everyone else’s careers were safe. She had no doubt the franchise would only grow with the awesome sequel they were putting together – the directions heard the fan’s feedback, and they were doing tons of action scenes this time around! In suit, out of suit, with the mechs…
She dodged another rushing mocap actor and kicked a third in the chin – without connecting, of course. Still, he jumped backwards, falling into the ground. She remembered her first “bumping” lessons – something used in both pro-wrestling and cinema, basically learning how to fall in a visually impressive and yet safe way. “Safe”, however, never meant “painless”. It hurt a whole damn lot. But they got used to it in time. In fact, time to do it, as the fifth actor rushed towards her. Before he hit her, she jumped backwards, tucked her chin inwards, and extended her arms. Her back hit the ground with a loud thud, but her head, the most important thing, was safe. She quickly jumped back up and into the fictional fray.
Things went smooth through the entire shooting, which lasted from morning all the way to 6pm. She heard a lot of tales about Saban Inc. overworking the original Power Rangers and, honestly, the reboot was not that far away – but it was fun, and the pay was good. And she was so thankful for the opportunity… For some time, she was actually afraid she would never make it big in Hollywood. A lot of producers told her that her face was “too chubby” for a female star, and that “it made her look fat entirely”. Bunch of sexist idiots! Now she was the one on top. Well, not really, but getting there! She had to deal with hardships, the usual for a female star – some sexual harassment, one stupid producer trying to take her to bed here, a figurinist trying to fondle her there… And she rarely could complain, since she had absolutely no pull inside the industry. But she was sure things were going to improve from now on.
After the shooting was completed, she waved goodbye to the whole team, hugged her fellow Rangers, and started leaving the studio. Her car was parked not far from there, and she couldn’t wait to get home and get some rest. The next days would be resting days for the crew, as the studio was going to be used to shoot something else. She had a concert in a few days – she was not only an actor but also an accomplished singer – and needed to rest up properly.
She could barely wait to get home, change into her pajamas, put on her slippers and—
Her thoughts were cut short as a figure quickly sneaked behind her and pressed a handkerchief into her face. She felt the peculiar smell of chloroform before losing consciousness.
--------------------------------------
Confused, Becky G. woke up. She blinked twice before realizing she was awakened, and tried to recall what happened. Her hear raced when she remembered the chloroform, and, by reflex, tried to get up, only to find out she could not. She struggled, trying to get free of the bonds she had not yet fully realized she was in, but failed.
Finally, her brain started functioning properly, and she realized the predicament she was in. She was sitting in some sort of “bondage chair” – a chair in the shape of a reclined “X”, where each of her limbs were tied to one of the extremities. Her wrists and ankles were tied to it by tight straps of leather, and another strapped locker her biceps and her thighs, making it impossible to move much. She was also tied to the bizarre chair thanks to an additional strap on her waist and one in her neck. They were so tightly locked that they allowed very minimal movement. Also, apparently, her feet were trapped in some sort of stocks, and something was tying back her toes.
She also noticed, from the strange coldness she was feeling and from looking as downwards as her bonds allowed, that she was exposed. Her captors, whoever they were, took out her clothes, leaving her in her yellow set of bra and panties - she wanted to make sure that if anything peeked out during filming, the kids would see that the Yellow Ranger was colorfully appropriate even in her undergarments. She felt a bit stupid right now for doing it, though.
She looked around, trying to understand where she was. But the room was featureless, concrete painted grey, and no windows, just a single solitary lamp hanging above her.
She still had to wait a few more minutes before getting answers, minutes spent wondering – and fearing – what fate would befall her. What were her caption’s intentions? She could guess, and that made her fear. She wanted to cry, but she also didn’t want to be weak… Though, thinking a bit better, the way she was tied would make that act very impractical.
Okay, what the hell was he planning??
As if to answer her questions, the door in front of her swung open, and three men entered. Two were dressed impeccably, in three-piece black suits, while the third was dressed much more casually, with a black sleeveless shirt and white pants. The two in suits had black hair – in fact, they looked like twins – and the casual one was blond. He also had a huge grin on his face, with the other two being much sterner.
- Rise and Shine, Becky! – The blonde spoke, apparently the leader of the bunch. The girl looked at him, furious.
- Who are you? Why am I here?!
- The first question isn’t important, but I’ll answer the second – Said the man, his hands in his pockets. – Actually, I’m pretty sure you should have heard of us already… But maybe you’re too much of a novice to do so. We are known around here as the Gang.
- The G-Gang? – She asked, trying to sound brave, and failing miserably. Was she captured by the freaking mafia?
- Yes. And you are far from being the first Hollywood babe in this chair. Oh, man, the day we got Scarlett! Those were the times! – He said, excited. – Too bad she’s too high up the food chain now. Untouchable. So is Jennifer Lawrence… But hey, we still have the memories, am I right boys? And the footage. – He said, more to himself than to Becky. – But today, you will have to do. And I’m not complaining. You’re damn fine. Gonna be big someday, maybe.
Becky heard all that, shocked. How the hell did no one tell her that there was a kidnapping gang acting in Hollywood?! And how had she never heard the news? Maybe they kidnapped the girls when they were still at the start of their careers?
The blond man stared at her for a moment, as if waiting for her to do something. She remained there, puzzled, and he sighed.
- Not going to ask what we did with them? – He asked, disappointed.
- I don’t care what you did to them! Let me go!! – She exclaimed, struggling furiously. Still, the bonds were too tight. She could barely move, let alone free herself.
The man, once again, seemed disappointed.
- We like to have a peculiar kind of fun. Some call us The Gang, but we are mostly known as the Tickling Gang.
She was not sure she heard it right.
- Excuse me? – Becky asked, puzzled.
- Having troubles hearing, sweetie? – He asked, in a teasing tone. – I said we are going to tickle your pretty ass. Well, actually, not the ass, it’s not that good of a spot. But still… Everywhere else.
That sounded so stupid, almost like if it was the sick fantasy of some horny teenager. Who the hell captures people just to tickle them??
Though, as weird as that as, she was relieved that it was only tickling. She was afraid of much, much worse stuff.
- You… Are quite sick – She answered. The man chuckled. – Listen, just let me go, and I won’t tell the police, okay?
- It seems you haven’t understood it yet your situation. You are not getting out, Becky. Not until we are satisfied. And if you are thinking people will notice you’re gone… they won’t. We selected the perfect day and, honestly, the entire police force is in our pockets, as well as Hollywood’s higher-ups. Money opens a lot of doors, and having compromising footage of Hollywood’s stars, as well as of the daughters, wives and sisters of the higher-ups do it too – He commented, with a never-faltering grin. – So just sit back and accept your fate, okay? Be a good girl, and you might leave early. Though we do have all the time in the world – I have already arranged for your concert to be cancelled, and there will be no filming of the Power Rangers for a few weeks.
She gulped as the two twins started moving. Each of them sat in front of one of her trapped feet. It was then that it hit her that this was totally 100% happening.
This is crazy. She struggled again instinctively, but only managed to buckle up and down in place, uselessly. The twins grabbed her feet with one hand and, slowly, started sliding one finger down her soles.
- Ohohohohoo nohohohohohoh!! – She exclaimed amongst giggles. She was very ticklish, always have been. Her feet were especially effective, to the point even this very subtle teasing had her giggling like a child. Her feet vibrated in place, trying to flee even an inch away, but the tight bonds didn’t allow her to.
The two twins started to slowly speed things up. The lone finger sped up its travel, now going up and down once every second. Their coordination was also noticeable – when the Twin in the right was bringing the finger down, the one in the left was bringing it up, without missing a beat. It was almost by being tickled by one person, except she knew very well they had one extra pair of hands waiting to act if needed.
Still, despite everything, she was still glad. Okay, she was being tickled, and she kinda hated it, but it was okay. Compared to the things she was imagining, it was an excellent deal. Get tickled for a few minutes and hopefully be freed unscathed. Even within sadism, there was much worse stuff they could be doing to her.
If she’s in the hands of tickle sadists, so be it.
The fingers sped up, now working twice as fast. Now her feet started really struggling. It was not tickling too much – she was still just giggling – but it was extremely annoying, like an itch you cannot reach. Her feet being as immobile as they were just made everything worse. She struggled hard, but couldn’t move them at all.
- Come on guys, stop joking around. Make her laugh! – The blond spoke, and, for the first time, the twins smirked.
Suddenly, they started tickling her feet extremely fast, using both hands in each foot, scribbling furiously. She jumped in place, surprised, and screamed. Goddammit this tickled like hell!! She had never felt something this awful! She had obviously been tickled before, but never tied like this, exposed like this.
- NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH PLLHEHEHEEHEHEHAHHAHAHAAHASSHEHEHEEHEH!! – She exclaimed, not even really conscious of what she was doing. She tried pulling her feet, she tried buckling forward, she tried struggling in every and all directions. She found out that she could do only one thing: Look up. And so, she did, howling with laughter.
The burst of ticklishness stopped quickly, however, and she was left to pant and try to catch her breath. The twins got up, and started moving. They went behind her, and she couldn’t see them anymore. And then, for a few seconds, she was left to wonder what was happening, what they were planning. She found herself being afraid, and was not ashamed to be.
Finally, her curiosity was satiated as two hands made contact with her armpits, tickling light and slow. She squealed and contorted cutely – but without moving much – in her bonds, but was relieved to find out she was much less sensitive there. Which doesn’t mean she was not sensitive – of even very sensitive. It just wasn’t on the balls-to-the-wall levels of her poor feet.
But again, she was bothered to hell and back at her immobility. Tickling created an uncontrollable urge to squirm, to struggle, to fight to flee. Being negated that right was the most frustrating thing she had ever felt, and added a layer to the ordeal. She would gladly take two times more tickling for the right to actually struggle and gain some, even if useless, reprieve.
After a few instants, they started tickling deeper, digging into her armpits. Her laughter grew a notch – hard tickling was always the worst for her – and tried to struggle even more.
- STOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHHOPPP!!! – She screamed.
- Nope – Replied the blonde, playfully. He approached her – a development that she didn’t notice thanks to her suffering until he was at kissing distance from her face. – My god, you are so cute. You manage to look fit and chubby at the same time. How do you do this? Either way, it’s doing me wonders – He said, poking her side and, as a surprise for both, she screamed louder than ever. The twins stopped, and the blonde’s grin told everything Becky needed to know.
- Please… Not there… - She begged, not really trying to hold to pride – there was no one here, and she was being tortured with tickling for god’s sake. She would do everything she could to lessen the torture, to ease her suffering.
- Oh sweetie… This is going to be bad for you – He said, sinisterly, before digging into her sides. Becky screamed in a high-pitched tone.
That was horrible! Torture, absolute torture!! She hated having her entire midsection tickled, and she had punched a lot of friends who liked to poke her sides. Having them locked in place hi this – her waist could move a little bit more and thus, struggle a tiny little bit, but not nearly as much as she wished she could – was such a horrifying reality!
- OHOHOHOHOHOHO GOHOHOHOHOHOHODDD PLEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHASSSEEE NONOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!!! – She screamed, almost at his face, close-up as he was. She could feel his fingers digging deep within her sides, almost hurting, but tickling so much that the pain was numbed by the sheer strength of the ticklish sensations.
Now the blonde changed the pace, tickling with quick scratches instead of deep squeezes. Becky was not entirely sure on which one was worse – first reason because she could not really think very well with that much ticklishness, and second because it was more of an equally-bad-but-different situation. The scratches traded intensity for speed, and while each scratch tickled less than each squeeze, the torturer could tease her sides much more quickly like that. Oh, and the scratching didn’t require as much strength and, thus, hurt less, leaving her to fully enjoy the ticklish sensations.
She screamed in ticklish despair, struggling desperately to move. Goddammit, fuck those bonds! Even if her waist could move a bit, she was more “vibrating” in the rack than effectively buckling and twirling around as she wish she could.
The blonde tortured her for an eternity – that is, a couple more minutes – before he once again stopped. Becky could feel her heart racing and she really wished she could lean forward and let the bonds hold her, but she could not, as she remained firmly locked into that chair. She screamed with frustration, a scream mixed with light giggling thanks to the residual sensations, still lightly tickling her sides even after the stimulus was gone.
To her surprise, her captors allowed her time to rest. The twins left their position from behind her, and left the room, quickly returning with a small chair on which the blonde sat down, admiring Becky G, like a connoisseur admiring a piece of art: The hyperventilating, sweaty, panting figure of a tickle-tortured woman. Superb!
Finally, after around a minute, The blonde man got up again, applauding.
- I wish you could appreciate how cute you get in this state, sweetheart.
- Th… Thanks… - She replied, fighting against her urges to tell the man to go fuck himself. She doubted being confrontational would end positively for her. Thus, she decided to play the nice cop. – Well… You had your fun, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world for me either. Can you let me go now? I won’t tell anyone, I promise!
In response, the man cackled loudly.
- Oh, Becky, sweetie… This was just the warmup! We were just checking your worst spots. You really thought you were getting off the hook with five minutes of tickling? No, no, no… You are a beautiful piece of art that I am going to appreciate now. – He said, turning to the twins. – Twins, bring the equipment… and the Artist – He ordered.
- Will do, Boss. – They replied in unison, leaving the room.
Artist? The hell was this Boss planning? And what kind of equipment?
The first question was answered rather quickly – the Twins returned carrying expensive cameras and tripods. In a few minutes, her torture dungeon had turned into a small studio. She felt completely ashamed.
- Y-you can’t do this! Are you going to film me while I’m being tickled?!
- That’s the plan, yes. Memories are great, but fleeting; only by filming I can truly capture this moment – said the blonde Boss. – And I’ll be honest, you’re quickly becoming one of my favorite pieces ever! – He said, getting back to his chair, which was positioned front and center to watch the spectacle.
Becky couldn’t believe this.
- You’re sick! – She finally said, unable to contain her revolt. How could someone take so much pleasure in the suffering of another? Tickling seemed harmless at first, but she was quickly learning how terrifying it could be – though she is still was oblivious to how rough her situation would become.
Finally, someone else entered the room – a stunning woman, redheaded, with strong, dominating lips. She was tall and lean and everything on her, especially her body language, exhalated dominance. Becky quickly understood. She was the Artist.
- Is she the one? – The woman asked to the Boss, and he confirmed. The Artist smirked. – She doesn’t look like someone who can handle this. Good thing she has no choice – She said, signaling the Twins with a head gesture. – So, weak spots?
- Her belly is unbearable. Also very ticklish feet and ticklish armpits. – Replied the Boss.
- Thighs? – The Artist asked. The Boss slightly opened his mouth and eyes, as if he suddenly remembered something, then sighed and emitted a quick “oops”. – Incompetent fuck – She complained, approaching Becky, who instinctively tried to squirm out of her bonds. The woman had an aura of sorts that intimidated, and Becky did not want to be in her claws.
In her arms, Becky noticed, there was a box, full of – as she realized when the woman approached – tools. Feathers, brushes, everything.
Becky gulped – the woman kneeled in front of her, placing her hands in Becky’s thighs. She looked the young actress in the eye for a quick instant, before smirking and starting to squeeze her thighs.
Becky was not sure what to expect – no one ever tickled her legs before! – but was not really surprised to discover it tickled like hell. She screamed, her legs buckling a few centimeters up and down, unable to do more than this thanks to the stocks that kept them overextended. He howled and laughed and screamed and, obviously, was ignored. But the Artist got satisfied quickly, and stopped, quickly scratching her left sole as she went away. Becky saw the woman ponder for a minute, and then turn to the Twins.
- Work her thighs, boys. Use the feathers. I’ll take the feet for now – She said, cruelly. The Twins, without a word, moved towards Becky, and positioned themselves at each side.
- Please… Don’t do this to me… - She begged. The Artist laughed.
- Nothing personal, cutie – She said, and slowly, very slowly, painfully slowly, dragged her fingers from the top of her feet to the heel.
Becky screamed louder than ever before, for one reason: Nails. Horrible, sharp, pointy nails, she hadn’t realized before. It’s almost as if they were cultivated for the sole purpose of being extra-effective for tickling – and that was probably the truth.
- OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH MYHYHYHYHY GHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHODDD!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELLLPPP!!! – Becky screamed, once again her body doing everything it could to move, but the tight bondage forbidding it.
Meanwhile, the Twins also moved – they picked the feathers, as the Artist ordered, and started sliding them over her legs. She squealed in frustration, as the extreme light tickling, over her unmovable legs, created an unbearable mixture of sensations. The conflict was melting her mind – The feet was under harsh assault from those horrible fingernails, but her legs were being lightly teased. The sensations started to mix with each other, with her brain occasionally making her feel the nails on her legs, or the feathers in her feet. It was absolutely maddening, and she screamed in despair, tears rolling down her eyes.
And, contrary to the previous warmup, this was not over quick. The minutes dragged on with the torture. Slowly, the Artist put some twists to keep her always of the edge, like scratching under her stretched toes, or in the sides of her feet. She even licked her sole once. The Twins didn’t have nearly the same technique, but also made sure to feather different spots along her legs in order to prevent any region from being desensitized.
And all Becky could do during this time was slightly buckle in place, scream, laugh and beg. Oh, beg she did, she begged a lot, but no one listened. And, right in front of her, in a perfect seat for the show, the Boss watched, delight stamped in his eyes.
Finally, after countless minutes, when she was starting to feel her energy being drained, the Artist stopped, and a few seconds later, so did the Twins. She never felt so much relief in her life – she was positive that she was about to go insane, especially with the contrast of sensations. However, that infernal chair allowed her no rest, forcing her to stay in place, always. Her muscles ached from the futile struggle.
The Boss applauded in silence, but stayed in silence. He knew better than to meddle in the Artist’s work.
She, slowly and almost seductively, rose. Becky started to understand – the appeal of the Boss’ “art” was not only in the victim. The Artist was, and knew how to be, part of the show. And was probably paid handsomely for such. Anyways, she meddled with her box of tools, and finally picked up one that satisfied her: A pair of electrical toothbrushes. Becky unconsciously struggled when she saw that, especially because she had a hitch on where they were going to be used.
And, confirmed her fears, the Artist, acting as sexy as humanly possible – sat in her hips, straddling Becky even further in the chair. She winked before turning on the brushes, the “bzzzzttt” sound filling the room.
- Please… - Becky begged.
- Twins, spread. Feathers on feet, fingers on armpit – She ordered, not taking her eyes out of Becky for a single instant, savoring the despair.
- NO, PLEASE! I CAN’T HANDLE THIS!! – She screamed in panic, as the Twins took position. She raised her voice, addressing the Boss. – PLEASE, I’LL DO WHAT YOU WANT! I’LL PAY ANY MONEY, I’LL SLEEP WITH YOU, ANYTHING! JUST DON’T DO THIS TO ME, PLEASE!!
And, with every word, with each plead, the Boss’ smirk grew wider, a maniacally delightful expression on his face. He loved that! He loved when they begged, when they humiliated themselves for a pause!
- Artist, you think she deserves a break? – He asked.
- Nah… Little Becky needs to prove herself before she earns that. – She said, also smirking. The Artist was apparently as sick as her master.
And, then, everything made contact at once, and Becky was in hell. The brushes vibrated on her ribs, and that was almost everything she could feel. It was such an overwhelming sensation, such a powerful torture, that it stripped her mind of any thoughts, of any hopes and fears. Only tickling existed, tickling and the Artist of suffering in front of her.
But that’s not to say everything else was not adding to the torture. The hands in her armpits were digging deep, and she would give up her acting career to be allowed to lower her arms. She would also give her singing career to make those cursed feathers stop teasing her feet and especially her toes, as once again the mixture of sensations confused her and made everything worse.
And she would give anything, literally anything, to make those toothbrushes shut off for a single instant. It was too much, too overwhelming, too intense. She wasn’t even laughing anymore, but screaming and howling like a tortured animal. And she let the screams flow, in a faint hope that maybe someone would listen to her and rescue her. She would get no respite – the Boss was obviously not stupid.
The Artist shook things up a bit by tickling her hips with the brushes and, leaning forward, started licking Becky’s neck and, once, over her lips. Becky was freaked out by that and absolutely uncomfortable, but she couldn’t do much to stop. She was also too busy laughing her head off and all.
She squealed as some variation happened in her feet, with one Twin “brushing” between her toes, up and down in a quick manner with the feather. Meanwhile, the Twin at her armpits started digging a bit lower, almost at the side of her breasts.
She needed this to stop.
- IIHIHIH CAHAHAHANN… HEHEHEHEHEHEHE… NOHOHOHOHOHOH KYAHYAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHANANAHEHEHAEHEA.. .THAHAHHAKKE…. HAHAHEAHEAHAEHEAHAEHE!! – She was trying to speak, but her words kept getting trampled by the laughter. She wanted to beg, but she no longer could. There was no exit for her, no hope of escaping. The cursed tickling kept coming and coming and coming. For those people, she was not Becky G., the quirky, fun actress and singer, but instead a toy to play with, a piece of art to admire, an automate to laugh and suffer on command.
And laugh and suffer she did. And above everything, even the tickling itself, she hated her immobility. Fuck that sadistic bastard for strapping her to this, to subjecting her to this. She just wanted to struggle, to flail around, to feel, even for a nanosecond, that she could escape or fight back, that she could do something to lessen her suffering.
Oh my god, how terrible those brushes were! They left the hips, and the Artist was tickling around her navel now. One of the brushes went into her bellybutton, and she howled in ticklish madness. Her ribs, her sides, everything was being assaulted, and everything was unbearable.
She felt her breath becoming erratic, as she could not breath in air quickly enough to compensate her frantic laughter. She started feeling some numbness in her extremities and great dizziness. She wasn’t sure of why that was happening, as she had never been tickled past her limits like that. The last thing she saw was the almost orgasmic expression of the Boss, before passing out.
------------------------------
After god knows how long, Becky awakened. As soon as she regained consciousness, she yelped, looking around, terrified.
There was no one around her anymore, no one torturing her any longer. But, she did see someone in front of her:
The Boss, looking at her, appreciating the view.
- Ooh, I knew this moment would be worth it. I had to wait quite a lot, but the expression of fear when you woke up…All worth it – He said, in a sickening tone of sadistic satisfaction.
- Please… You have all you want… You tickled me to insanity… You have it all on film… Release me, I beg you… - She said. The Boss looked down, shaking his head.
- Impossible. You are one of the greatest pieces I’ve ever had in my little dungeon. I am not satisfied yet, Becky. And I doubt I will be anytime soon. – He said, getting up. – I will go inform the Artist and the Twins that you are awake. I’m sure they will be delighted as well.
And, as the man left the room, a scream would have echoed through all of Hollywood, if the soundproof walls of that little Facility allowed. A scream of terror, of fear, of resignation.
