Your imagination is a powerful thing. Isn't it incredible how in horror movies, the monster, when revealed, is often not quite as terrifying as the half-formed flashes of teeth and claws, the glows of not quite human, not quite animal eyes, and the lurking, sinister movements of vaguely familiar yet somehow alien forms in the shadows.
The imagination can conjure up worst case scenarios in a flash, without seeing the full picture first.
Which is why being chained in this cell, with its barred windows and door, is flooding your imagination with images of torments from your wildest nightmares.
The peals of desperate laughter, echoing down the corridors and in through the windows, the kind that only comes from someone who really, REALLY can't get away from the tickling.
The begging as a new captive is led down the corridor to their torture chamber, followed by the clanking of chains, or the sound of zippers or buckles being fastened as they are secured into, or onto, who knows what.
The strange melody of laughter and orgasm blending slowly into eachother, before the unbearable overstimulation turns both into screams for mercy.
The yells of "please, NO, not that!" as someone sees the device upon which they will be broken, followed, sometimes merely minutes later, by a laughter wracked "I'll talk! I'll tell you anything!"
Your mind fills with hundreds of ways in which your own ticklish body might be stretched, spread, pinned, bound, strapped, wrapped, even buried.
Your mind, knowing full well all your worst ticklish spots, plots how these as yet unseen bondage devices will expose you, and fills you with the chill of helplessness before you've even left your cell.
They've come for your neighbour. Their cell door slams shut as they are dragged to their fate, quietly begging the guards to show mercy. You listen as the begging increases in volume, as the victim sees inside the room you know you will be the next to see.
Your mind races as you hear the faint struggle, and the clanks and clicks and zips and creaks of the restraints flash infinite helpless possibilities across your eyes. The screaming laughter begins.
An hour later it is time. You feel numb as your cell door opens, and the guards pull you, naked, towards the fate you have had so much time to contemplate. Your heart races, but your mind races faster like the tumblers of a one armed bandit, spinning through all the possibilities waiting for the results to settle and become concrete.
This is it. The Door. It opens.
No. Oh no, NO, anything but that...
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
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gummygunk
