Laboratory 2A-1
You grin, realizing that this setup has been handed to you on a silver
platter. She can't see you, so there's no way she could identify you
and possibly come back after you if you do anything. The catgirl is
likely absorbed in some book, and she probably wouldn't notice if the
whole castle came crashing down around her ears, you reason. You walk
over to the table and take a quick look around. Set up next to the
restraint table is a cart of some sort, with things hanging from the
side and strewn on top of it. A plastic backscratcher catches your eye
for some reason or another, and you pick it up, looking for the best
place to apply it.
The spikey-haired blonde hears the noises, of course, and her mouth
twists shut, her face the very picture of defiance. So, she knew what
she was down here for, you reason. In fact, if you look at it a certain
way, you're providing her a mercy, you think, as you decide to pull
back the toes on her left foot and stroke the backscratcher up
her sole. Her burst of laughter doesn't seem to register with your
thought process and you merrily chug along, justifying your actions.
This girl was probably left here to wait, with knowledge of what her
ultimate fate was to be. The suspense more than anything was probably
killing her, so by breaking that presumably long wait, you've done her
a favor.
She certainly seems to react acutely to the backscratcher you wield,
even dragging it lightly up her sole causes her to burst into a fit of
giggling despite her obvious attempts to be defiant. Her toes strain in
your grasp, trying to crunch and curl down to minimize the effect of
the backscratcher on her arched sole, but you easily force her toes to
remain back. After a few minutes, so as not to scratch up her sole and
cause irritation rather than tickling, you switch soles, and the change
seems to catch her by surprise. Either that, or her right foot is
considerably more ticklish than her left. Either way, she struggles and
laughs harder than before, her toned body pulling with futile strength
at the restraints that keep her strapped to the table.
You give it another few minutes before stopping and examining your
handiwork. The girl is giggling and twitching a bit, but she seems to
have plenty of life left in her. Nodding thoughtfully as you run your
hand along the edge of the exam table, your fingers slide across some
kind of switch that clicks on. Pulling back your hand as though
scalded, you worry for a moment if you've pushed a button that you
really shouldn't have - but your fears are alleviated a moment later,
when small padded bars, contoured to fit just underneath the girl's
toes, rise from the sides of the tables and snugly settle into place.
An ingenious device, you realize - now you can work on both feet at
once without fear of the girl crunching her toes. She seems to realize
that as well, and wriggles with nervous anticipation as you examine the
cart full of tools for something else that would be useful. There's a
set of something that vaguely reminds you of a plastic guitar pick, but
not until you pick it up do you realize that it's an articficial
fingernail specifically designed for this purpose. Gleefully you put
the set of five onto your one hand, feeling the dull but pointy ends.
You see a convenient stool nearby and you wheel it over to the foot of
the exam table, seating yourself with the girl's wiggling feet before
you. Now, you can run your tools along her soles with relative
impunity, and you proceed to do so eagerly. The girl's laughter seems
to shake her body this time, her chest heaving out great blasts
of forced laughter as your tools scratch and torment her bare soles.
The added element of being unable to see is also getting to her, as her
head rubs against the table and tosses, ostensibly trying to slide the
blindfold off, but it's securely fastened and your identity remains a
secret from her. Her back begins to arch up and then slam back down
onto the padded surface of the table, then she squirms wildly before
once more arching and slamming. Clearly she's going quite crazy from
being tickled, but you're not quite sure if you want to stop yet.
You concentrate both tools on her right foot, and the poor girl simply
can't take it anymore. Her laughter becomes frenzied, uncontrollable,
and it's getting also rather obviously loud. You become self-conscious
of the volume, and just when the thought of giving her a break crosses
your mind, she screams, "THE SUPPLY CLOSET! IT'S IN THE SUPPLY CLOSET!"
The scream startles you badly enough that your nervousness takes over
and you hurriedly set the backscratcher down and remove the
fingernails, doing a poor job of rearranging things but just hoping to
get away before you're seen. Quickly looking around and getting your
bearings, you leave the exam area through the side that faced away from
where you last saw the catgirl. You get somewhat lost in the maze of
machines and experiments, but some time later you manage to reach the
exit without being seen...? Wait... you realize that this isn't the
exit, and you can hear laughter beyond the door. Glancing around
quickly, you CAN see the exit from here, and beating a hasty retreat is
within your power. But then again... what could be beyond this door?
What do you do?
No way - get me outta here!
Curiosity killed the cat... but satisfaction
brought him back...