BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR (CONCLUSION)
Where Vicky becomes the star turn…
As the first man lowered the feather toward her helpless bare right foot, Vicky closed her eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the maddening sensation that was to come. The stiff feather was applied in long steady drags, from heel to toe-tips, across the quivering wrinkled bare sole. Vicky wiggled her toes quickly in the hope of diverting her mind's attention from the tickling to the physical movement of her feet. But her tormentor was skilled, and persisted with his unwavering up and down movements.
Soon, the poor girl's resolve weakened and she began to laugh. It was a terrifying feeling, laughing against your will while somebody put you through something so discomforting. The torturer immediately withdrew his feather, as if to taunt poor Vicky with the stark realization of her predicament and to prolong what was going to be done to her.
Now the second man approached her. Vicky’s eyes grew as large as saucers as he started on her left foot, tickling just under her toes in short staccato strokes with the hair brush. The sensations of this tickling sent Vicky crazy from the start. Her eyes became wild, rolling from side to side. She began laughing very hard and painfully. The laughing quickly turned to screams and pleading. After about 30 seconds, he too, withdrew his implement.
By now, Vicky was frantic. There was no way she wanted that done to her again. She knew she could not stand to be tickled. Tickling was one of her worst fears in life, even though the subject somehow fascinated her. Rather in the same way that a person can be fascinated with the subject of grisly murders, but it’s not how they would wish to end up themselves.
And to be tickled while bound helplessly was just unthinkable. She would do anything to free herself. The crowd peered in wonderment and morbid fascination as Vicky’s tormentors refocused their attention on her feet. This time there would be no respite or mercy as they set to work on her.
Vicky's laughter increased in volume and pitch as the torment progressed. She was desperately trying to move her feet out of the way, screaming hysterically, laughing in a kind of agonised ecstasy, crying and begging all at the same time. Her mind was racing in a furious panic as she prayed for the tickling of her feet to stop. She could not bear it. Tears were also tickling her madly contorted face, and her limbs were growing tired from the involuntary muscle spasms caused by the relentless tickling.
Despite Vicky's agonising ordeal, her tormentors would not let up. Instead Vicky’s suffering seemed to imbue them with even more enthusiasm than before, much to the sadistic delight of some onlookers. Now the two men switched their attention to Vicky’s rather shapely legs.
They discarded their implements and began using their fingers instead, sliding them upwards over her smooth shins, calves, knees, and then her thighs, so alluring, so vulnerable. Her limbs twitched involuntarily, her muscles beginning to cramp with tension. Surely someone out there would realise that this was not an act, that this was real torture and step in to call a halt to it. There was a clear difference between laughing with pleasure and the forced kind of laughing brought about by merciless tickling.
The make-believe inquisitors were making mental notes of poor Vicky's most ticklish parts, returning to each of these sensitive areas time after time after time. To her tormentors and her audience she was simply a delicious and tantalizing spectacle to be enjoyed. The persistent tickling was rapidly turning a pretty girl into one mindless hysterical muscle spasming blob.
The crowd was both noisy and silent, depending on their reaction to the spectacle. Whatever way they reacted, they were most definitely enthralled. They seemed amazed at the acting ability of this young girl. How could anyone possibly stand that much tickling? She would surely be sent mad. Vicky's eyes seemed to scream out at the audience. Her head was full of frantic pleas for mercy, but she could not mouth them. It was like a bad dream that she couldn’t wake up from.
"God, no! Someone – anyone... Please help me. This is unbearable. I can’t take anymore tickling. They’re going to kill me if they don’t stop – can’t you see that? Ooohh, not again…no…please, no…n-not my f-feet. Please, no…no... n…ha-ha-ha…”
These were just inexpressible thoughts in her head.
Vicky's body and mind were on fire. Every nerve ending in her small frame had been set on fire like fuses and firecrackers. Hundreds and thousands of smouldering fuses, all burning at the same time and her entire nervous system felt like it was going to explode. Never before had Vicky felt torment like this. She had been tickled in the past, but only briefly, and never with such animal intent as forced upon her now.
Her sensitive ribs were next to be singled out for attention. Consistently prodded and poked by unseen fingers, Vicky's mid section and abdomen squirmed uncontrollably. Her face was a mask of madness. The gag smothered all attempts to release her pent up screams of laughter, pinning her head solidly to the post, where she could only sit immobile, wiggling the few precious inches her bondage allowed while enduring this terrible torture.
Her red, tear-blurred eyes blinked and squinted rapidly under her tormented duress. Her neck muscles bulged and strained as her tender throat unleashed burst, after burst of muted, tortured laughter. Her stomach muscles tightened with each unrelenting attack on her incredibly ticklish rib cage. As her sadistic tormentors spent minute after eternal minute tickling her helpless upper thighs and ribs, Vicky's toes wiggled hopelessly at the gawking crowd. Her endless toe wiggling made cute wrinkles on her pretty pink soles. More than a few people in Vicky’s audience, and not just the perverts, were finding the evening’s entertainment quite a turn-on.
The fire Vicky felt throughout her trapped body had now spread to her breasts and loins. As the tickling continued without respite, moving back down to behind her soft knees, she could feel her pussy becoming hot with excitement. It was beginning to throb and pulsate like nothing she had ever felt before. It yearned to be touched and satisfied. But her only reward was to be more of the same maddening torture.
Her naked heels were next to become the focal point of both tormentors, using their nails to lightly scratch the delicate skin there. Her situation had become dire at this point, and she was sure she must die under the tickling. But the crowd lapped it up, savouring every second of the incredible show.
As the heel tickling increased in intensity, Vicky's mind began to numb. Her eyes became dreamy, her pussy unbearably swollen with excitement. If only one of these tormentors would just accidentally touch her there, she would surely ‘cum’ immediately. Just the slightest contact would do it, the brush of a finger; even the maddening tickle of that evil feather would do it in the right place. But no, they refused to touch her there. There would be no seedy obscenity in this show, nothing but extreme tickling everywhere except those places which would offer her sexual gratification. How much longer could she endure such intense cruelty?
By this time, Vicky was ready to explode, whether she was touched on her ultra-sensitive pussy or not. Her body was wracked with such nervous tension that her muscles contracted visibly, inciting one or two onlookers to greater arousal.
She could not stand another second. Her nipples were clearly visible through her burlap garment. They felt like they are going to pop from the swelling, sexual tension. Vicky let out one final piercing scream as a violent orgasm wracked her body from head to tortured toes. Her poor body could stand no more and merciful unconsciousness came to her rescue.
When she awoke, she found herself strapped to an iron rack and could not move a single muscle. Her arms had been stretched high above her head and her ankles were locked in another set of stocks at the foot of the rack, once again exposing her feet for whatever treatment her tormentors might see fit to administer. Her body was twitching involuntarily and her erogenous zones were still tingling with sexual sensitivity.
The gag had been replaced with a cylindrical piece of cork, held in place with rope. From the corner of her eye, Vicky could see the observation window, only this time a new set of people were peering in, waiting their turn to be entertained.
One of the robed men picked up the microphone again, and began to speak:
Ladies and gentlemen; of all the things you have seen tonight, few can compare to what you are about to witness…"
It was nothing she hadn’t heard before. Vicky closed her eyes and bit hard on the gag. Could the show’s star turn really do it all again so soon?