So I'm sitting there, tickling the shit out of this cute guy I nabbed on the way to a Halloween party - he's a real live wire, his soles are his weakness and he's furious about it - and after a little while I'm thinking...this guy's costume is pretty damn good.
So I carry on tickling him for a bit, teasing him about his frantic laughter which he does not appreciate at all, swearing through his gag at me so of course i have to whip out the hairbrush to remind him of his manners...and then the thought hits me again. Those boots were pretty darn robust when I pried them off his soles. And his uniform...pretty nifty for a costume.
He can't see the doubt begin to creep over my face - blindfold and all - but he knows something is up as my brush slows, then lifts off his oily feet, panting in relief. Frowning, I lean forward and pat his pockets, party boy grunting in protest. A wallet.
I flip it open, pull out a Uniformed Service ID card. Oh shit. My stomach drops, and I mouth 'holy fuck.'
I've accidentally been tickle torturing a real fucking soldier for the past 45 minutes!
My brain kicks into overdrive, forcing the panic down. Tickling college kids is easy; torture them a while then dump 'em back nearish where you found 'em and theyre too confused to know how to do anything. A goddamn US Army soldier is a little trickier!
"That was the warm-up, Mr Roberts. From now on I shall be asking questions, and I hope you'll have learned that I'm not the kind of person who waits patiently for answers."
Hairbrush on one sole, my nails on the other. I let rip, and my little soldier hollers like a kicked pig.
"The names of your superiors. Let's start there."
If I want a soldier to keep shtum about being locked in stocks and tickled beyond belief, I'm gonna have to torture some really juicy blackmail outta him, his cackling treason forcing him to keep his ticklish night a secret.
"Mphhhahahahahaha!" He howled through his gag. Oh yeah, the gag. That was gonna be an issue if I wanted confessions. Was I coming across as the improviser I was?
Or maybe the young hottie thinks I'm a master torturer playing sadistic mind games. Now that's a hot thought.
"No answer, Mr Roberts?" I tut, leaning in to my new persona, raking the brush back up his slippery arch and scribbling furiously on his heel. "I suppose I'll just have to ask again in 15 minutes.
"Maybe by then you'll be a bit more forthcoming."
"MPSHSHHSH! MAHAHAHAHA! FMMMPHHHHAHAHAHA!"
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