The interrogation chamber

"Confess!" ordered Anne-Marie, glaring down at her victim, who was firmly secured to the bench. "You know who the spy is!"

"I told you, I don't!" Vicky wriggled in her bonds, lying flat on her back, facing the locker room ceiling. She was stark naked, arms above her head, wrists and ankles bound to the bench slats, small breasts and the neat triangle of dark hair between her slim thighs on display. "Come on, let me go!"

"She wants more," suggested Monique.

"Then give her more," Anne ordered, and instantly four cheerleaders began to tickle Vicky. Hands glided over her armpits and ribs, prodded her hips, tweaked her nipples, tantalised her inner thighs, teased her belly, electrified her inner thighs and even tormented her feet. She squealed, giggled and writhed in her bonds, quite unable to escape the excruciating tickle ****.

"No no no nooooo! Stop! Stoooop! I don't know anything, I swear, I swear!"

"One of the Pinkwhistle girls is a spy. Greenvalley couldn't rig up the locker room like that unless they had a girl on the inside. Tell us who it is!"

"I don't knooooowww! Hee hee heeahaahaaaha! It tickles! Please please please stop!"

"Maybe she really doesn't know anything," suggested Monique.

"Maybe," said Anne. "But we have to keep tickling her, just in case."

"But if she's not going to talk anyway, it doesn't matter if I sit on her face, right?"

"I suppose not."