Dude'sonfire
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Hey all. I know the plot kinda jumps about from place to place a bit, but it'll all come together in the end (I hope...) Anyway, enjoy....
Amy stood at the entrance to the sewer, her breath heavy and her eyes filled with uncertainty. There were four other women with her.
“I need to help the others fight,” one of them said. “You four know too much, you have to run. If they catch you, they’ll find... Look, just go. We’ll give you as much time as we can.” She gave Amy an honest look, and embraced her. “Good luck”
“You too,” whispered Amy.
Without any further delay, Amy and the other three threw open the sewer door and ran down the stairs which led into the pipes. Their stomachs curdled at the smell, but they continued on regardless.
“It’s four miles until these things leave the city borders,” said one of the women.
“Then we’ve got four miles to jog,” Amy replied. “Let’s go.”
As she ran flashes of the chaos filled her mind: Paris in ruins; skyscrapers lying across blocks like felled trees; flames everywhere; Empirical troops being gunned down in throngs by legions of rebellion controlled androids. It was like a horrible nightmare. Despite the attempts of her and other loyalists to go undercover, the rebellion had hunted them down relentlessly, never leaving a rock unturned, never letting a prisoner go unquestioned. And now they had finally found them. Sandra had been caught days ago; since she was deemed too important, a helicopter had come to evacuate her to a safe location, but the rebels had laid a trap and it was sacked before it could take off. That made Amy’s stomach turn; she couldn’t bare to think of Sandra being tickle tortured until she was driven half mad.
But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had to focus on running, and on keeping the others safe. They had a ways to go before they were out of danger.
A group of androids soldiers were checking whether the questioning of the prisoners had yet yielded any fruit. They stopped outside a room and knocked, then waited for the frenzied female laughter coming from within to stop. Another android opened, and reported.
“She doesn’t know anything about where the others cells are hiding, but apparently the four who do know escaped though the sewers in an attempt to elude our overground sensors.”
“Excellent,” replied the commander. “Unit 0467, send four interrogation droids to search for these escapees and retrieve the intel we’re looking for.” He turned back to the android at the door. “Continue the interrogation.”
“Yes sir.” The door closed, and they heard a series of pleading ‘no’s and other attempts to beg, before the hysterical laughter began anew.
Amy and the others could just see the ladder at the end of the tunnel, lit by hazy lights, reflecting a greenish brown off of the sewer walls. This was their way out; they had made it. Amy felt the beginnings of relief flow through her, and she began jogging again, a smile spreading across her face.
But even as the others joined her, they heard a faint, fast drumming sound, like that of metal on stone. Only a moment went by before Amy recognised it.
“Interrogation droids!” She cried, panic taking her. “Run!”
Without hesitation they all began sprinting for the ladder, which now looked a good deal further away than before. The rapid drumming became louder at a frightening pace, the abrasive sound soon becoming oppressive in volume. They didn’t dare look back.
Amy reached the ladder and began scrambling up it. Two of the others began climbing also, but as the last of them reached it, she had only climbed two rungs when she felt cold, hard steel tightening around her ankles. She kicked in panic, and tried to pull herself up, but rubbery, finger like appendages jammed themselves into her armpits and she screamed and let go of the ladder by reaction. The others looked down, only to see her look back up with despair.
They had to keep climbing. Just keep climbing. The sound of the woman’s emerging begging and cackling laughter was an un-needed reminder of what would happen to them if they didn’t. Her limbs were helplessly bound, her ankles and wrists locked in the steel claws of what looked like a kind of giant-spider shaped robot, its other four arms exploring her body mercilessly, its emotionless mind planning to wear her down a good bit before asking any questions.
Rung by rung Amy dragged her body up the ladder. It seemed to take forever, every heartbeat being full of time slowing fear. Amazingly she managed to reach the hatch, and with shaky fingers she reached up and shoved it open. She launched herself through and into the sun, before reaching down and helping the next of them up. The third stuck her arms out, and they each grabbed one, but as they began to pull, they felt resistance. They gripped tight and pulled as hard as they could, but the droid which had her ankles pulled back just as hard. The woman looked at them with tears in her eyes, before those rubbery fingers emerged and locked themselves against her upper rib cage. She scrunched her face up in the agony of the tickling, and her arms shook as she fought the urge to let go and bring them against her body in protection.
“Fight it!” cried Amy. “Come on! We have to pull her! Come on!”
The fingers ventured into the woman’s armpits, and she screamed, her arms trembling harder with the strain. Then the sweat on her fingers cause the woman next to Amy to disastrously lose her grip.
“No!” the suffering woman cried. “Don’t let g-g-go of me-he! I can’t sta-stand it, please, h-h-help!” But with that last word the droid managed to wrench her from their grip and take her down into darkness of the sewers.
“No!” roared Amy, but she knew there was nothing she could do. With a slight hesitation and bitter expression, she slammed shut the sewer entrance and turned the wheel to seal it.
They waited for a long moment. Finally they let themselves take a deep breath.
Then they heard a loud thud against the seal.
Another huge knock came, and a dent showed in the cover.
The other woman despaired. “There’s no where to go!” She looked around; all there was to see was a road going back into Paris and a ruined sewer facility. Her breath was heavy and her eyes were lost in fear.
Amy shook her arm. “We can hide in there, come on!”
She shook her head. “They can’t find them… I’m supposed to protect them…” she whispered. “I can’t let them get to the others…” She pulled out her gun and put it in her mouth.
“Wait!” cried Amy. “Don’t!” She leapt to stop her.
The trigger sounded.
Amy fell to the ground. Time seemed to slow down for her. It was all too much. “No!” she said out loud. “I won’t give up.” She got back onto her feet and picked a direction, but her legs felt like spaghetti and her head was swimming.
Then the sewer opening burst, and two of the arachnid droids squeezed out, and seeing that the other woman was dead, shot immediately for Amy. Her eyes widened, and she turned and ran, but she only made it three steps before her ankles were snatched from under her, and her body hit the ground hard. Then her wrists were taken and she was presented vertically, spread eagle, her feet off of the ground and the droid positioned behind her. Then the second droid clamped its bonds around her wrists and ankles also, positioning itself in front of her. She could hear the echoing hysterics of her comrades spilling out of the sewer hole, and it made her mouth go instantly dry with terror. The droids ripped off her clothes and positioned their respective tickling implements at tactical points all across her body. They seemed to pause for a moment. Amy bit her lip and swallowed.
Then they started. Eight arms roamed around her ticklish areas with free access, kneading and rubbing, massaging, prodding and probing, taking her flesh apart methodically and with flawless technique. Two worked her lower legs; her knees were soon shaking uncontrollably as the skilful fingers played with her joints and tendons, before occasionally diving further down so as to give some much needed attention to her soft, tiny feet. Another two worked around her lower midsection, giving her inner thighs some probing and work with the fingertips, while always returning to those ultra ticklish hips where they would knead and pinch and generally send her nerves into a wild overload. Two others travelled her ribs like train tracks, sometimes venturing around the back of them, causing her to arch and convulse, sometimes roaming around to her stomach to toy with her muscles or tweak her floating ribs until it drove her crazy with endless sensation. And of course the last two of the horrible hands never left her armpits. That was by far her worse spot; before when she had been tickled there, during high school when she had been a popular bully target, even at the best of times all she could manage to do was jam her arms down, curl up and laugh until she was hoarse. But she couldn’t jam her arms down now, and she couldn’t curl up. The fingers just wiggled and squeezed and poked, with completely unhindered admission, tickling and torturing the cups of her most ticklish area, entirely at their leisure.
Her furrowed brow, tensed facial muscles and tears showed what she endured, but her laughter and broad grin stayed planted on her face, never subsiding. At first she, by reaction, pulled and struggled and bucked, but it yielded such little success, and was actually quite painful in the grip of their claws, that she soon just gave up, instead just trembling and shaking pitifully in her prison, jumping every now and then as the hands changed position slightly. And, of course, she laughed and laughed and laughed.
The eight legs busied themselves for some time, and at one point all focused on her upper body, swarming around her ribs and underarms like locusts looking for something more to devour. The fingers had a little hole in them through which they could eject a kind of lubricant, and as such, they were able to slide up and down the bumps of her ribs, endlessly, teasing ever more and more tickling out of her sensitive skin, just tickling, always tickling, six of them, six hands, while the other two, as always, slid and searched around the hollows of her armpits, sliding round and round, wiggling, pressing here and there, giving her ticklishness no respite, plucking her like a harp, ever driving her mad.
She wanted, no, needed to bring herself together. If she didn’t, she knew she would end up talking. She just couldn’t focus. If they would only give her a chance, and, for just a second, just… stop… tickling her! Part of her was long gone, abandoned to the insanity of what she was feeling, but another part of her held on, something that still clinged to courage. But she couldn’t see it lasting though this much longer. And they wouldn’t stop, not until she talked, she knew that. The fingers seemed as though they were everywhere, or were working her nervous system directly; her brain just couldn’t keep up with the situation anymore. It could only process one thing: the fact that she was being tickled out of her mind like never before, and that it wouldn’t stop, ever, until she broke.
And break she did. “I’ll talk! God! No! NO! L-l…” She gasped and struggled for a moment. “Just L-let me ta-ha-ha-hak! Please! AH! Oh god oh god oh god just sto-ho-hop, I’ll do anything!”
Eventually they stopped. Unable to bare the thought of going through even a quarter of the ordeal again, with a heart heavy with shame and despair she answered all their questions as truthfully as she could in her state.
She heard one of them radioing into its base.
“Sir… number 4 talked… Not all, but the ones she answered were truthful. Sending the data now… We are to bring her back to base? Understood… Yes… … How much longer?”
Amy’s gasped, and her heart sank.
“Understood.” It addressed its counterpart. “She may yet know answers to questions she avoided.”
“Agreed.”
“We are to continue only for thirty minutes unless she lies or gives us other reason to suspect.”
“Understood.”
Amy broke down, weeping in their grip, unable to face any more tickling but having absolutely no choice in the matter. Of course, this didn’t mean one thing to them.
“Please,” she said weakly but desperately, her voice hoarse, her breath still heavy. “I’ve told you everything.” Her tone grew more urgent as their arms moved back into position. “No! Please! I swear! Torture me all you want later if I’m lying! Please! I can’t… I can’t do this! It’s too much! I, I… it’s too much…” She broke down crying again, seeing the uselessness of her achingly genuine protests. The fingers placed themselves on her skin. She gasped, then shook her head, wishing it would all just go away. Then the fingers started again, and from then on, for minute after agonising minute, all her defences having already been broken, they played her nerves as though they had bowstrings, conducting her like a symphony, tickling any remaining sanity out of her mind with mechanistic efficiency so that, before long, she was an over tickled, babbling mess, which even the slightest touch sent into coughing, senseless hysterics.
Of course, she didn’t talk anymore. She wanted to sure, she even told them she would then found she didn’t have anything to say when they stopped, realising it herself in horror as they began tickling her again. And again. And again.
Then it was finally over. One of them strapped her onto its back, and took her back to base.
Amy stood at the entrance to the sewer, her breath heavy and her eyes filled with uncertainty. There were four other women with her.
“I need to help the others fight,” one of them said. “You four know too much, you have to run. If they catch you, they’ll find... Look, just go. We’ll give you as much time as we can.” She gave Amy an honest look, and embraced her. “Good luck”
“You too,” whispered Amy.
Without any further delay, Amy and the other three threw open the sewer door and ran down the stairs which led into the pipes. Their stomachs curdled at the smell, but they continued on regardless.
“It’s four miles until these things leave the city borders,” said one of the women.
“Then we’ve got four miles to jog,” Amy replied. “Let’s go.”
As she ran flashes of the chaos filled her mind: Paris in ruins; skyscrapers lying across blocks like felled trees; flames everywhere; Empirical troops being gunned down in throngs by legions of rebellion controlled androids. It was like a horrible nightmare. Despite the attempts of her and other loyalists to go undercover, the rebellion had hunted them down relentlessly, never leaving a rock unturned, never letting a prisoner go unquestioned. And now they had finally found them. Sandra had been caught days ago; since she was deemed too important, a helicopter had come to evacuate her to a safe location, but the rebels had laid a trap and it was sacked before it could take off. That made Amy’s stomach turn; she couldn’t bare to think of Sandra being tickle tortured until she was driven half mad.
But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had to focus on running, and on keeping the others safe. They had a ways to go before they were out of danger.
A group of androids soldiers were checking whether the questioning of the prisoners had yet yielded any fruit. They stopped outside a room and knocked, then waited for the frenzied female laughter coming from within to stop. Another android opened, and reported.
“She doesn’t know anything about where the others cells are hiding, but apparently the four who do know escaped though the sewers in an attempt to elude our overground sensors.”
“Excellent,” replied the commander. “Unit 0467, send four interrogation droids to search for these escapees and retrieve the intel we’re looking for.” He turned back to the android at the door. “Continue the interrogation.”
“Yes sir.” The door closed, and they heard a series of pleading ‘no’s and other attempts to beg, before the hysterical laughter began anew.
Amy and the others could just see the ladder at the end of the tunnel, lit by hazy lights, reflecting a greenish brown off of the sewer walls. This was their way out; they had made it. Amy felt the beginnings of relief flow through her, and she began jogging again, a smile spreading across her face.
But even as the others joined her, they heard a faint, fast drumming sound, like that of metal on stone. Only a moment went by before Amy recognised it.
“Interrogation droids!” She cried, panic taking her. “Run!”
Without hesitation they all began sprinting for the ladder, which now looked a good deal further away than before. The rapid drumming became louder at a frightening pace, the abrasive sound soon becoming oppressive in volume. They didn’t dare look back.
Amy reached the ladder and began scrambling up it. Two of the others began climbing also, but as the last of them reached it, she had only climbed two rungs when she felt cold, hard steel tightening around her ankles. She kicked in panic, and tried to pull herself up, but rubbery, finger like appendages jammed themselves into her armpits and she screamed and let go of the ladder by reaction. The others looked down, only to see her look back up with despair.
They had to keep climbing. Just keep climbing. The sound of the woman’s emerging begging and cackling laughter was an un-needed reminder of what would happen to them if they didn’t. Her limbs were helplessly bound, her ankles and wrists locked in the steel claws of what looked like a kind of giant-spider shaped robot, its other four arms exploring her body mercilessly, its emotionless mind planning to wear her down a good bit before asking any questions.
Rung by rung Amy dragged her body up the ladder. It seemed to take forever, every heartbeat being full of time slowing fear. Amazingly she managed to reach the hatch, and with shaky fingers she reached up and shoved it open. She launched herself through and into the sun, before reaching down and helping the next of them up. The third stuck her arms out, and they each grabbed one, but as they began to pull, they felt resistance. They gripped tight and pulled as hard as they could, but the droid which had her ankles pulled back just as hard. The woman looked at them with tears in her eyes, before those rubbery fingers emerged and locked themselves against her upper rib cage. She scrunched her face up in the agony of the tickling, and her arms shook as she fought the urge to let go and bring them against her body in protection.
“Fight it!” cried Amy. “Come on! We have to pull her! Come on!”
The fingers ventured into the woman’s armpits, and she screamed, her arms trembling harder with the strain. Then the sweat on her fingers cause the woman next to Amy to disastrously lose her grip.
“No!” the suffering woman cried. “Don’t let g-g-go of me-he! I can’t sta-stand it, please, h-h-help!” But with that last word the droid managed to wrench her from their grip and take her down into darkness of the sewers.
“No!” roared Amy, but she knew there was nothing she could do. With a slight hesitation and bitter expression, she slammed shut the sewer entrance and turned the wheel to seal it.
They waited for a long moment. Finally they let themselves take a deep breath.
Then they heard a loud thud against the seal.
Another huge knock came, and a dent showed in the cover.
The other woman despaired. “There’s no where to go!” She looked around; all there was to see was a road going back into Paris and a ruined sewer facility. Her breath was heavy and her eyes were lost in fear.
Amy shook her arm. “We can hide in there, come on!”
She shook her head. “They can’t find them… I’m supposed to protect them…” she whispered. “I can’t let them get to the others…” She pulled out her gun and put it in her mouth.
“Wait!” cried Amy. “Don’t!” She leapt to stop her.
The trigger sounded.
Amy fell to the ground. Time seemed to slow down for her. It was all too much. “No!” she said out loud. “I won’t give up.” She got back onto her feet and picked a direction, but her legs felt like spaghetti and her head was swimming.
Then the sewer opening burst, and two of the arachnid droids squeezed out, and seeing that the other woman was dead, shot immediately for Amy. Her eyes widened, and she turned and ran, but she only made it three steps before her ankles were snatched from under her, and her body hit the ground hard. Then her wrists were taken and she was presented vertically, spread eagle, her feet off of the ground and the droid positioned behind her. Then the second droid clamped its bonds around her wrists and ankles also, positioning itself in front of her. She could hear the echoing hysterics of her comrades spilling out of the sewer hole, and it made her mouth go instantly dry with terror. The droids ripped off her clothes and positioned their respective tickling implements at tactical points all across her body. They seemed to pause for a moment. Amy bit her lip and swallowed.
Then they started. Eight arms roamed around her ticklish areas with free access, kneading and rubbing, massaging, prodding and probing, taking her flesh apart methodically and with flawless technique. Two worked her lower legs; her knees were soon shaking uncontrollably as the skilful fingers played with her joints and tendons, before occasionally diving further down so as to give some much needed attention to her soft, tiny feet. Another two worked around her lower midsection, giving her inner thighs some probing and work with the fingertips, while always returning to those ultra ticklish hips where they would knead and pinch and generally send her nerves into a wild overload. Two others travelled her ribs like train tracks, sometimes venturing around the back of them, causing her to arch and convulse, sometimes roaming around to her stomach to toy with her muscles or tweak her floating ribs until it drove her crazy with endless sensation. And of course the last two of the horrible hands never left her armpits. That was by far her worse spot; before when she had been tickled there, during high school when she had been a popular bully target, even at the best of times all she could manage to do was jam her arms down, curl up and laugh until she was hoarse. But she couldn’t jam her arms down now, and she couldn’t curl up. The fingers just wiggled and squeezed and poked, with completely unhindered admission, tickling and torturing the cups of her most ticklish area, entirely at their leisure.
Her furrowed brow, tensed facial muscles and tears showed what she endured, but her laughter and broad grin stayed planted on her face, never subsiding. At first she, by reaction, pulled and struggled and bucked, but it yielded such little success, and was actually quite painful in the grip of their claws, that she soon just gave up, instead just trembling and shaking pitifully in her prison, jumping every now and then as the hands changed position slightly. And, of course, she laughed and laughed and laughed.
The eight legs busied themselves for some time, and at one point all focused on her upper body, swarming around her ribs and underarms like locusts looking for something more to devour. The fingers had a little hole in them through which they could eject a kind of lubricant, and as such, they were able to slide up and down the bumps of her ribs, endlessly, teasing ever more and more tickling out of her sensitive skin, just tickling, always tickling, six of them, six hands, while the other two, as always, slid and searched around the hollows of her armpits, sliding round and round, wiggling, pressing here and there, giving her ticklishness no respite, plucking her like a harp, ever driving her mad.
She wanted, no, needed to bring herself together. If she didn’t, she knew she would end up talking. She just couldn’t focus. If they would only give her a chance, and, for just a second, just… stop… tickling her! Part of her was long gone, abandoned to the insanity of what she was feeling, but another part of her held on, something that still clinged to courage. But she couldn’t see it lasting though this much longer. And they wouldn’t stop, not until she talked, she knew that. The fingers seemed as though they were everywhere, or were working her nervous system directly; her brain just couldn’t keep up with the situation anymore. It could only process one thing: the fact that she was being tickled out of her mind like never before, and that it wouldn’t stop, ever, until she broke.
And break she did. “I’ll talk! God! No! NO! L-l…” She gasped and struggled for a moment. “Just L-let me ta-ha-ha-hak! Please! AH! Oh god oh god oh god just sto-ho-hop, I’ll do anything!”
Eventually they stopped. Unable to bare the thought of going through even a quarter of the ordeal again, with a heart heavy with shame and despair she answered all their questions as truthfully as she could in her state.
She heard one of them radioing into its base.
“Sir… number 4 talked… Not all, but the ones she answered were truthful. Sending the data now… We are to bring her back to base? Understood… Yes… … How much longer?”
Amy’s gasped, and her heart sank.
“Understood.” It addressed its counterpart. “She may yet know answers to questions she avoided.”
“Agreed.”
“We are to continue only for thirty minutes unless she lies or gives us other reason to suspect.”
“Understood.”
Amy broke down, weeping in their grip, unable to face any more tickling but having absolutely no choice in the matter. Of course, this didn’t mean one thing to them.
“Please,” she said weakly but desperately, her voice hoarse, her breath still heavy. “I’ve told you everything.” Her tone grew more urgent as their arms moved back into position. “No! Please! I swear! Torture me all you want later if I’m lying! Please! I can’t… I can’t do this! It’s too much! I, I… it’s too much…” She broke down crying again, seeing the uselessness of her achingly genuine protests. The fingers placed themselves on her skin. She gasped, then shook her head, wishing it would all just go away. Then the fingers started again, and from then on, for minute after agonising minute, all her defences having already been broken, they played her nerves as though they had bowstrings, conducting her like a symphony, tickling any remaining sanity out of her mind with mechanistic efficiency so that, before long, she was an over tickled, babbling mess, which even the slightest touch sent into coughing, senseless hysterics.
Of course, she didn’t talk anymore. She wanted to sure, she even told them she would then found she didn’t have anything to say when they stopped, realising it herself in horror as they began tickling her again. And again. And again.
Then it was finally over. One of them strapped her onto its back, and took her back to base.
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