by CJ Fox
Captured, Bound and Tickled
Captured, Bound and Tickled
Midpoint
Captured, Bound and Tickled.
by
CJ Fox
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright © 2012 by CJ Fox
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Captured, Bound and Tickled.
An hour after arriving in the dusty village, Veracity sensed something was wrong. She and a group of American army nurses had volunteered to spend one day a week working at the village clinic providing free medical aid for the poor. In the distance, they heard gunfire. Their Afghani minders said that Taliban fighters had entered the area, and suggested they return to their army base.
They hurried through the village but Veracity realized she had left her medical bag behind. Returning to the clinic, she picked it up and rushed to catch up with the other nurses who were now running to their truck, surrounded by an armed escort.
A burst of gunfire streaked down the rubbish-strewn street, separating her from her colleagues. She and her Afghani minder took refuge in a house. A haggard old woman with a crooked nose welcomed her and said she would be safe. She led her to a room at the back of the mud brick house and told her to stay there until the danger had passed. Her minder said he would guard the door.
Veracity sat in the bare dusty room anxiously listening to the gun and rocket fire. Spears of sunlight burst through holes in the wall, forming dappled patterns on the dirt floor. She looked down and saw she was still wearing her stereoscope. Taking it off, she put it in her bag. The sound of gunfire seemed to be abating. She heard her minder and the woman talking in the corridor but she did not understand the local language well enough to know what they were saying.
Her minder opened the door and said that the Taliban had gone and that her friends were waiting for her. Veracity hurried outside to the truck. The driver revved the engine and her smiling minder told her to get in, but she hesitated. She did not recognize the soldiers sitting in the truck and she could not see the other nurses. The soldiers were leering at her and grinning evilly.
She shook her head. “No, I will wait for my friends.”
Two bearded men with ammunition belts around their chests jumped out, seized her and threw her into the arms of two men standing on the back of the truck. They bound, blindfolded and gagged her, pushed her on the floor and threw some rugs over her. She felt a hand groping her breasts and heard wicked laughter. Veracity dreaded what was going to happen to her. She did not know if the Taliban or a criminal gang had kidnapped her. She tried to keep calm as she rolled around the floor of the truck. She gripped the crucifix hanging around her neck and prayed. After an hour of driving around winding mountain roads, the truck stopped.
Two men pulled her to her feet, took off her blindfold and dragged her into a sprawling mountain compound. In the entrance hall, tough bearded men poked and pinched her. A man stepped through the crowd and commanded they leave her alone. They obeyed and retreated to the walls, bowing. He untied her wrists and led her down a dark corridor to a room.
“Sit down,” he said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk. He was in his early thirties and had a boyishly handsome face with deep-set, penetrating blue-grey eyes, untidy long brown hair and a thin beard under a prominent hooked nose. A thin scar ran from his chin to below his eye. He wore traditional Afghani clothes.
Veracity nervously sat in the chair in front of his desk.
“So, you were spying on my army. Who do you work for?” His voice was harsh and cruel.
“I am not a spy,” she replied. “I am a nurse. I volunteered with a group of nurses to help villagers. We came under attack and I was separated from the others.”
He said nothing. She started talking again, adding more detail.
He held up his hand. “I am Fazad, great warlord and leader of my people. You will be my guest until you have told me the truth. I have all the time in the world.”
“I’ve told you the truth.” She was becoming angry. “I’m not a spy!”
He smiled coarsely as if he found her anger amusing. Standing up, he walked behind her chair and bent down to examine her uniform. She could smell him; a slight whiff of body odor mixed with almonds and dried apples. He pressed his face close to hers and she could feel his breath brushing her face like a hot desert breeze.
Returning to his seat, he launched into a tirade against America, saying that Afghani freedom fighters would win the war in Afghanistan. “We are the best soldiers in the world. And you Americans, with your decadent Western ways trying to force democracy on us. You want our women to be educated and free to live as they like.” He slammed his fist on the desk and went red. “Women belong in the home, not in the world of men. For thousands of years we warlords have ruled Afghanistan and we will again, when your armies have gone. Now, who do you work for – the CIA? What are your orders?”
Veracity’s anger rose to boiling point. “Look here you damn warlord, I’m not a spy. And I’m proud to be an American where I am judged by my character and not by my gender or my religion.”
Fazad’s face went red with anger. “I don’t think you realize the position you’re in. You are my prisoner. If I think you are a spy, then that is enough to have you slowly tortured until you tell me the truth.”
“I’ve already told you I’m not a spy.”
“So be it,” he said. “I will get a confession from you. I have many ways to make you talk. I could have you beaten, whipped or starved but I prefer the ancient art of Afghani tickle torture.” He picked up a long white feather on his desk and brushed it against his hand. “Very effective for getting the truth.” His lips curled into a sensuous smile.
Veracity swallowed. She was very ticklish, especially on her soft, delicate feet.
He grinned wickedly. “I prefer the slow method. I will bind you hard to a bed and tickle the soles of your feet and toes slowly until you confess. Are you ready to talk?”
When he said this, he tickled the palm of his hand with his long thin fingers. Veracity noticed he had long nails. She swallowed again, knowing that his nails would be pure ticklish agony on her sensitive soles.
“I have told you I am not a spy.” She leant forward and put her hands together on the desk as if begging him to spare her.
“I will tickle your breasts, legs and ass with a feather. Will you confess now?”
His lecherous eyes, aglow with burning lust, followed the curves of her voluptuous body.
“I will slowly suck each of your toes and lick the soles of your feet without mercy.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “Come, tell me the truth.”
“I have told you the truth. I was helping poor villagers and was not spying on you. Please, you must believe me.”
“I don’t believe you. My feathers will get the truth from you. I am an expert in tickle torture. I practice it on my wives to increase my skills. My tickling sessions last for hours. Are you a CIA agent?”
“No, I’m a nurse.”
“Very well, I will give you till tomorrow to think about it. You will be my guest tonight. Tomorrow you will taste my feather. I will hold you long and hard until you confess. Prepare your soft ticklish body and feet for my fingers and feathers.”
He called out and an attractive young woman wearing lon
g silver earrings and dressed in sneakers, denim shorts, and tee shirt entered the room.
“Follow me,” she said.
Veracity followed her down a dark corridor to a small room. There was a narrow camp bed, a small table and a chair. A tray of food and drink sat on the table next to a jug of water and basin. There was no window or electric light, so the room was dark, hot and gloomy.
“My name is Fatima, I am one of the wives of Fazad,” she said in an English accent. She was in her mid-twenties and had long, black hair, dark olive skin, full lips and luminous green eyes. “I will be looking after you.”
“You’re English,” Veracity said. “Are you a prisoner, too?”
“No, as I said I am his wife. I came to Afghanistan to work for an aid agency but I met Fazad and fell in love.” She lowered her voice. “I would not have married him had I known what he was really like. He is a cruel man.”
“Why have I been kidnapped?” Veracity asked.
“Fazad claims you are a spy for the CIA.”
“But I’m not a spy, I’m a nurse. I demand to be released immediately.”
Fatima bowed her head. “I am sorry, but you are his prisoner. He will not release you.”
“Please, you must believe me. I am not a spy. Fazad said he was going to tickle me until I confess but I have nothing to confess. I volunteered to help poor villagers.”
“Eat and drink. I have brought clothes for you. Please, you must take off your uniform and put these on. I will come back soon and we will talk.”
Veracity sat at the table and ate, looking around the room. Despite her fear, eating and drinking calmed her.
Opening the bag Fatima had given her, she emptied the clothes on the bed - there were a couple of tee shirts, two pairs of silk panties, two pairs of shorts, socks and a pair of sneakers. Veracity took off her uniform as instructed and dressed in shorts and a tee shirt. The room was stuffy so she did not put on her socks and sneakers. Pulling her long blonde hair into a ponytail, she sat on the bed and fanned herself.
Fatima returned and sat at the table. “You look more comfortable,” she said, smiling. “I will keep your uniform safe until you are released.”
“This Fazad, who is he? He is not Taliban. What is he?”
“When I met him, I thought he was a freedom fighter but he is a criminal who makes money from opium and kidnapping. He fights for whichever side pays him the most. He has many men in his private army to defend his compound and opium fields.”
“He said he was going to tickle me.”
“He has the power to do as he pleases. He has kidnapped other Western women and young local women and girls. He tied them up and tickled their naked bodies and feet. He loves to worship the feet and toes of his wives and captives.”
Fatima looked at Veracity’s white, delicate feet. “He will love your feet, they are so beautiful.” She reached out and touched her foot. Veracity pulled her foot away.
“I have very sensitive feet,” Veracity admitted. “The slightest touch makes me jump.”
“He will tickle and kiss them without mercy. That’s the sort of man he is.”
Veracity was dumbfounded. “But…but…I’m an American citizen. He can’t do this to me! I will demand he releases me. Look, I have papers.” She showed Fatima her documents. “See, you must tell Fazad I am a nurse and he will release me.”
“No, he will not release you until he is satisfied, but his desires are unquenchable.”
Veracity put her head in her hands. “You must tell me what Fazad did to those other Western women so I am prepared.”
“As I said, Fazad loves to tickle, kiss and lick the feet of women. He will tie you up and tickle your body and feet. He gets excited doing this. He has a special room in the compound where he takes women. A day after I married him, he took me to the room, stripped me and strapped my wrists and ankles to the bed. He tickled my breasts, stomach and vagina with a feather. I begged him to stop but he ignored me.”
Veracity let out an involuntary squeal and put her hand to her mouth.
“Suddenly, I felt a strange wet sensation on my feet. I looked down and Fazad had removed my sneakers and socks and was licking the soles of my feet and sucking my toes. I tried to jerk my feet away but the straps held my ankles tightly. I am very ticklish on the feet. My feet extended over the edge of the bed so I could not escape. He gorged on my feet from my toes to my heels and back again as if he was feasting on them. All the time he was ravishing my feet, he kept saying, ‘oh you have delicious feet…oh they are so soft and luscious…I want to eat them.’
“He pulled out a feather and tickled the sole of my foot. The feather on my foot was unbearable but sensual at the same time. I begged him to stop tickling me and make love to me like a man but this encouraged him to tickle me harder. He put aside the feather and used his fingers to tickle my feet and toes. I giggled and laughed uncontrollably. He kissed, licked and sucked my toes, one at a time very slowly. His long tongue seemed to wrap around each toe like a clinging vine. He made loud groaning sounds and he put his face on my feet and moaned. That is his idea of making love to his wife. Once a week, I must surrender my body to his hot foot and toe tickling desires.”
“Is this what will happen to me?” Veracity asked incredulously. “I don’t think I will be able to bear being tied up and my feet and toes tickled and licked.”
Fatima shrugged. “You have no choice. You see, he will get more excited if he sees you laughing or enjoying it. He is like the ravenous wolf, which even when it is full, keeps eating. You must be tired. I will leave you now but I will be back in the morning. Please don’t think of escape, his guards are everywhere.
Veracity tried to sleep but despite her exhaustion, she could not drift off. She tossed and turned, her body bathed in sweat.
In the morning, Veracity dressed in tight shorts, socks, sneakers, and a tee shirt that barely contained her voluptuous figure. Walking around the room, she brushed her blonde hair and did some exercises.
Fatima knocked on the door and entered. “Fazad wishes to see you now.”
“Fatima, this is like a bad dream. I can’t believe this is happening to me. There must be something you can do.”
“I have no power to save you. If I disobey him, he will beat me. There is nothing I can do.”
“This is ridiculous, I am not a spy. I am an American nurse who has found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. I demand to be set free.”
“You will be held for as a long as Fazad decides.” Fatima bowed her head. “I am sorry.”
The bell rang.
“You are summoned, follow me.”
She followed Fatima down a corridor into a large room. This was Fazad’s special room. He was sitting in an armchair with a salacious grin on his face. There was a bed with wrist and ankle straps on the other side of the room. Several feathers of different shapes, colors and sizes lay on the table next to the bed.
“Stand there,” he said, pointing to a spot on the floor. She stood still while he walked around her, ogling her shapely body. He stopped in front of her and ran his eyes over her breasts almost bursting out of her tee shirt. “You have lovely breasts, I will enjoy tickling them.” He walked behind her and looked at her ass tightly encased in the small shorts. “Very pretty… very sweet. Are you ticklish?” Veracity did not reply but looked straight ahead. “Fatima is very ticklish, aren’t you?”
Fatima nodded and said, “Yes, my husband.”
He told Fatima to leave and told Veracity to sit down.
“You think you can hide behind a nurse’s uniform to get away with spying. It will not work with me. If you won’t confess, you know what awaits you.”
Veracity glanced at the bed and swallowed. “I am telling you the truth.”
Seeing her look of trepidation, his eyes smoldered with searing lechery.
“Stand up,” he shouted. He grabbed her arm and pulled her across the room to the bed. He pushed her onto the bed and before she coul
d fight him off, he bound her wrists and ankles firmly.
He stood up and walked around the bed, lightly touching her tightly bound spread-eagled body. He ran his long forefinger from her ankle up her leg to her breasts. Lifting up her tee shirt, he tore off her bra. “Such soft white skin and large breasts for one so young.” He touched her breasts gently and squeezed her nipples. “They are becoming stiff, you must be enjoying this.” He covered her breasts with long burning lingering kisses and sucked her nipples hard.
Veracity gritted her teeth.
He pulled her shorts down, and tickled her groin with one hand, while tickling her ribs and under her arms with his other hand. She struggled against the straps but she could not escape his quickly moving fingers.
She fought against wanting to laugh. “I’m not a spy, leave me alone you pervert!”
“So you have nothing further to say?”
“I’ve already told you everything,” she pleaded, trying not to laugh.
His long fast-moving fingertips moved up and down her groin, thighs and breasts. He steadily increased the intensity of his tickling.
She tried to move to evade his feather-like fingers but the straps held her tight.
Taking a long blue feather from the table, he lightly tickled her body, using the soft tip of the feather to tickle her erect nipples.
“Please stop…I know nothing more…have mercy…”she begged.
“Not until you tell me what I need to know.” His voice croaked with excitement and lust. “Are you ready to talk?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“We will see. You will tell me everything.”
He slid down to the end of the bed and slowly removed her right sneaker and sock. This increased her nervous anticipation of the foot tickling that was to come. She tensed her foot, which extended helplessly over the edge of the bed.