I hung up the receiver and slid cautiously out of the telephone booth. If they kidnapped me now, at least they wouldn't have a clue that I had sent for reinforcements.
The busy streets of Lakewood, mid-city of Los Angeles, meant both safety and danger for me. It was safe because a blondish-haired, blue-green eyed young man such as myself didn't stand out as much in Lakewood as I did in Crenshaw or Lynwood. It was dangerous because Brad and Corey, my would-be kidnappers blended into this town as easily as I did. I don't know what possessed me to respond to their ad concerning joining them in a kidnapping scene. I suppose I just wanted to branch out and do something exciting. I'd been involved in these scenes before, but generally my kidnapper was my bud who--though very convincing in his role as kidnapper--was like my big brother. This being the case, no matter how convincing he was, I was still aware, in my heart of hearts, that he wouldn't really hurt me.
So I decided to take Brad and Corey up on their offer. The fear of the unknown gave me an adrenaline rush for about ten minutes, then I began to have second thoughts. But it was too late to back out now, for--no sooner had I hung up the phone--Brad and Corey seized me and jostled me into a van.
I rode it out to their "headquarters". There they put me in a small room with the handcuffs (that they'd slapped on me once I was pushed into the van) still on. After a while the slim kidnapper, Corey, came in to keep me company.
I felt as if I were alone on a canoe on the piranha-infested waters of the Amazon River; I was safe at the moment, but several of those killer fishies were starting to eat through my boat. Corey had true white-blond hair (as opposed to my own sandyish-blond).
He was a boyish-looking ruddy young man with dimples in his cheeks. He still looked like a charming child when he said "You called somebody, Casper. If you don't tell us who it was, I'm gonna send Brad in here to twist you inside out."
"Well, send him in then!" I said boldly. I knew how to take a beating. My dad used to wail on me like you wouldn't believe before I was placed in foster care. Hell, my dear ole dad used to beat me from the 6am morning cartoons all the way up until 8:30 when he'd leave for work. If that fat prick Brad thinks he can do better than my old man, let him give it a try.
"Oh, pretending to be a tough guy, huh?" Corey said snidely. I wanted to hit him but my feet and my left hand were manacled to the chair.
"Have it your way," said Corey, and he walked out. Brad replaced him by the door. He was a fat young man who had most-likely played center on his high school football team. His chubby face was surmounted by a crown of nondescript brown hair.
I held my breath while he glared at me. Brad would have liked to hurt me badly. I could sense the malevolence in his heart radiating from him. my abductors removed my shoes and socks revealing size nine-and-a-half, somewhat high- arched, soft and (if I do say so myself) great-looking bare feet. As Brad takes my ankle in his hand, he seems to notice the wisps of blond hairs deluging down from my leg and winking out from under my pant. Brad pulls up a chair near me and slowly begins to run his fingers over the soles of my bare feet. Being the extremely ticklish person that I am, I immediately tensed and began to laugh and squeal and plead for him to stop. I pleaded and begged between fits of laughter, but this only encouraged my captor, who then produced implements of tickling torture which he used to further torment the tender soles of my feet. Soon I was laughing hysterically and begging, with tears streaming down my cheeks, for the tickling to end. But Brad looked at me and said that he couldn't stop, for I hadn't even begun to really "scream" yet. So he tickled me until I did scream . . . in fact, he tickled me until I passed out. When consciousness returned, it returned slowly. My eyes burned with pain and tears.
The room looked even smaller, and for the first time I saw that it was covered in small tiles set in mortar. I was naked, face up, sprawled where I had landed after they had apparently stripped my unconscious body and thrown me down. The floor felt hard and cold against my flesh. Two fluorescent lights on the ceiling blazed a harsh blue-white glare into my upturned face.
The cold from the tile floor seemed to sap my strength wherever I was touching it, leaving stiffness and soreness in it's place. Both my hands and feet were cuffed, and I was aching. Had I been beaten while I was unconscious? The pain seemed to indicate it.
But the pain was soon replaced by more tickle torture. Corey retrieved a screwdriver and touched the cold metal tip to my sole. Glaring at me, he asks who I called . . . all the while moving the screwdriver up my foot. I tried my best to keep a look of determination on my face--trying my best not to show just how unbelievably torturous this act was to me. The screwdriver begins its journey up the extremely sensitive bottom of my foot, scraping ever so slowly as it goes. My foot spasms and twitches as the tip contacts with a zone of extreme sensitivity. I could feel the blood in my face and knew that I must have been as red as a ripe tomato then. I gritted my teeth and scrunched my eyes closed. By the time the tip of the screwdriver reached my toes, I lost it all--screamed for all I was worth. Now that he'd broken me, I thought Corey would offer me a momentary respite from the torture. But nooooooooooooo! Corey took the screwdriver and, beginning at my heel, drew it vertically across the sole of my foot from top to bottom. He repeated this motion, trekking up my foot a little bit more each time. The more he does this, the more spasmodically my foot seems to twitch . . . until both he and Brad had to strengthen their grips on my already bound ankles in order to keep them still. Corey watches my reddening face as he torments me. I knew my teeth were clenched tight and my blue-green eyes--when they weren't scrunched closed because of the torture--were bugged out like a stomped frog. When he and Brad (also armed with a screwdriver now) began to vigorously attack my soles, I actually fainted again.
Awareness eventually returned. This time, I realized I was back in the chair and manacled to it again. If anything, the rough wood felt even colder than the floor.
"You called someone," It was a statement, not a question. The voice was that of Corey.
Fat, leering Brad walked in and sauntered towards me. "Who'd you call, Casper?"
My buddy, I thought involuntarily. But another part of my brain clenched my mouth shut against saying his name. If they knew I'd called my bud, they'd know he was on his way. And if they knew that, they would be prepared.
Interrogating me about who I called was a pretty lame reason to torture me, but Brad and Corey wanted the scene to be as authentic as possible I suppose . . . so that meant they needed a motive for tickling the crap out of me.
Brad spoke again, "We're in a safe place. Nobody will find you. You'll save yourself a lot of torment if you tell us who you called and why." I kept my mouth shut and steeled myself for what was coming.
Fat Brad lit a cigarette.
"We have time," he remarked. His tone was nonchalant, almost as if he were speaking to himself instead of me. Corey gave a light nod.
I tensed--wondering if they were going to resort to damaging my feet. I couldn't take that. I liked my feet. I have long, well-formed toes, kinda high, smooth arches and incredibly soft, ticklish soles. But instead of damaging my feet, Corey crouched on the floor and explored them with his tongue! He licked my size nine-and-a-halfs all over . . . stroked his face on them. Eventually he and Brad even slid their greased-up penises between my soles. Corey shot his load all over my toes while I desperately struggled, twitched and laughed like a madman.
Brad, meanwhile, had retrieved a hairbrush. I felt the bristles of this torturous instrument run from my heel to the toes on my left foot. I pulled at the cuffs as the sensation drove me absolutely mad. Then, very very slowly, the brush went down my right foot. I tried curling my toes and all that, but the cuffs were tempered steel and locked in a way that didn't leave my feet hardly any movement at all. Brad ran the hair brush all over the incredibly sensitive soles and toes of my bare feet. He continuously teased my feet for what seemed like an eternity even after I started screaming and begging for him to stop!
A wave of tickles surged through me. My body bucked against my bonds as my muscles spasm in response to the tickling. I bit the inside of my mouth and my bladder was close to bursting. "Yeah, we have time," Brad repeated, taking another puff from his cigarette.
I swallowed the warm slippery taste of my own blood where my molars had bit through the side of my mouth. I told both my abductors that I was done--that I didn't want to play anymore. I even shouted the code word that was supposed to effectively end my session. But they ignored me!
"We know all the techniques to make you scream" said Corey, "Everything to drive you mad--" He paused, then gave the same nod. The demonstration must have been well-rehearsed. Perhaps they had done this enough times to work as the perfect team. But I had shouted the code word to end my session three times, and yet they still clearly intended to torture me!
Through their pants I could see that their penises were erect again--excited by the horrifying situation they now had me in . . . knowing that they had scared me shitless by revealing the fact that even the 'safety code word' that was supposed to end my kidnapping session wasn't going to save me. They had broken me in every way already . . . the only thing they didn't have was the name of the person I'd phoned before they abducted me. They repeated their torment on my feet as if to test the fact that my soles were still sensitive. I knew my face had gone from red to blue because I was holding my breath at this time. And I held it until Brad and Corey began to torture the area just below my wildly-wriggling toes. I let my breath out and screamed.
While Corey continued working over my feet, Brad kissed me and tickled my ribs! This REALLY scared me, because if got me to thinking; if they were going to ignore the code words, what was to stop them from flat-out raping me?? Brian took the first step by sucking my cock while Corey licked and tickled my neck, ribs, and armpits again. Despite the terror I was getting close to shooting my load.
Brad stopped sucking me and proceeded to jerk me off.
"Who'd you call, Casper?" Corey asked me.
'Lando!' my mind screamed silently. 'Oh, God, Lando!' My mouth opened to form the words, and I yelled them against the pain "Fuck you!"
Thankfully, I blacked out when the tickling became too intense. When I awoke, my feet and my left wrist were manacled again to the chair. I turned my head and saw Corey standing across the room. He was smoking a cigarette this time.
A minute passed, then two, three . . . . This time the sensation actually caused me to buck like crazy. I would have been catapulted off the chair if I hadn't been manacled to it. Instead both the chair and me fell over. Corey motioned with his head. Out of nowhere, Brad returned to the room. The fat young man was armed with the wire-tipped hairbrush again! Corey crouched down, looked at me and calmly said "Who'd you call?
Tell us, or we double the intensity on everything." Abject terror rose in my throat--the bile of intense fear as I waited for Corey to give Brad the signal to start using the brush on my feet again. The only thing I could hope for is that the tickling became so intense that I would pass out yet again. But before brad could get to work, the door opened and my pal LP strolled in. I was grateful for the respite, but in the back of my mind I had to wonder at how he seemed to fit in that room so well...as if he'd been in there before. All I did was phone my bud and tell him about my deal with Brad and Corey. How did he know that they would bring me here?
But I didn't think too long on all of this. I just moaned--humiliated and tingling as I lay on the floor, gazing across at my bud's new-looking black Nikes.
"Lando", Corey said upon seeing LP. "What the fuck is goin' on here?" LP asked. "Corey . . . what the fuck is your punk-ass doin' to my boy? All this shit couldn't have been part of the scene."
"I said the code words and they wouldn't stop, LP." I said. I was whining like a child, but I didn't care. "Aw, this boy was a tough not to crack, Lando. Hell, I didn't know that the person he called was you." Corey said. The he turned to Brad and said "LP is that guy from the west-side I was telling you about. Casper here is a friend of his, apparently."
"What about the rest of the interrogation?" Brad asked. Lando glared at him. "Unchain him and say you're sorry, fat-boy. Or I swear I'm gon' take that brush you're holding and fuck you with it." Brad didn't like that. He brought his fists up to his chest and pushed his body forward a bit, but when he peered into LP's eyes he backed down. He even unlocked my manacles, but he didn't apologize. And when he glanced at LP he looked defiant . . . almost like a kid pissed off at his dad.
LP just smiled, the expression on his face a mixture cold contempt and amusement.
"I told you to apologize, chubby."
Brad who had taunted me and sucked my cock without my consent said, "Sorry."
And even though I was in a world of hurt, seeing that fat fucker humiliated just a little bit felt so good! I rubbed my wrists, glared at him and said "Fuck you, Porky!" That was lame, I know. But Brad was so debased at that moment that my words still cut him like a knife. I wasn't really pissed so much at all by the torture session . . . or even that they ignored the code word. What really pissed me off was that Brad had sucked my dick against my will. As pleasurable as it was, there was still a principle involved here. It went directly against the agreement we'd made. Brad reacted to my words by calling me and LP names. I can't remember what he called me, but it was pretty harsh. What he called LP was beyond even that.
I can't clearly recall what happened the minute following that. What I do recall was LP hauling off and plowing Brad's face. The blow was hard enough to stun him. And as Brad went limp, nearly unconscious, LP slipped both hands around my ex-captor's fat throat and choked.
The struggle was quiet--for LP was always cold and methodical when took someone out. The blow, followed by the pressure on Brad's throat diminished the blood supply to that fat fuck's brain through the carotid arteries, rendering him incapable of resistance. Brad was out cold pretty quick. Hell, I thought he was dead at the time. Corey seized one of the screwdrivers he had tickled me with and held it like a weapon. Then, vowing vengeance for Brad or some such nonsense, he decided to actually attack. He sticks this screwdriver forward, apparently thinking LP was just going to stand still and let some punk ram a metal instrument into him. Hell, no! LP weaved away from the point of the screwdriver, grabbed hold of Corey's wrist (of the hand that was clutching it) and shoved the deadly instrument away from himself. LP then used his right fist to plow Corey right under the ear. LP hit him hard, but not hard enough to KO Corey. My ex-abductor was no weakling. He collapsed to his knees in a bit of a daze, but regained his feet faster than I would have anticipated. LP backed away to make more room for the rest of the fight. Seeing my bud back away vastly increased my ex-captor's confidence.
And when LP purposely turned his back on him (one of my buddy's oldest and most successful tricks) Corey really poured it on. He growled and charged at LP. . . and he was screaming more names, including the one Brad had gotten choked senseless over. His screaming and name-calling was abruptly shut off because he ran right into LP's elbow. My bud had swung it high and hard in the opposite direction that Corey was charging. This single, well-timed blow busted Corey's nose, stretched him out on his back, and knocked him flat out. I grew dizzy as I watched all of this. I mean, stuff like this was for the movies, you know? There was a moment of silence, followed by the groan of the unconscious Corey.
LP stripped both of my abductor's naked. He bound my two fallen abductors with an enthusiasm that went beyond even the joy he clearly felt knocking them out. He bound Brad with the cuffs that had been used on me. Then he bound Corey using the cuffs that he always carried with him. Finally he looked up at me and said, "Now lets show these punk mutha fuckas what REAL torture is." I nodded and grinned. We were even less merciful towards them than they had been towards me.