Battlestar Galactica

Postby Jeremy C » Thu Jul 12, 2012 7:48 pm

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA:

BOXEY’S CAPTURE and BALTAR’S TICKLISH TORMENT
(With Special Guest Star: Elliott of E.T.)*

(*Trivia for the curious: a friend of mine who works in the movie/T.V. industry told me that certain child actors were indeed very, very ticklish, including Noah Hathaway who played Boxey and Henry Jackson Thomas who played Elliott. If you use the zoom feature on your DVD, you will notice that there is a background scene in E.T., when Henry Thomas is lying on a gurney on a small TV monitor in the background, while the doctor is questioning Michael, Elliott’s brother. Someone off-screen tickled Henry’s bare feet, and you can see him jump out of his skin and laugh hysterically, his arms flailing.)

Boxey climbed into his father’s Viper, pulled on the helmet, and started flipping switches. As a junior warrior first-class, he was authorized to be here—or thought he did, at any rate. He was nearly ten now, and had studied the controls thoroughly. Boxey had been in the flight simulator so many times he could do this in his sleep. The canopy lowered with a hydraulic hiss, sealed shut, and he could hear the artificial life support system coming to life. All indicators showed green. Quickly, he pulled a small device from the pocket of his purple and black cadet’s uniform, and activated the comm link with the bridge. He spoke into it.

“Bridge, this is Viper 4 ready for recon duty,” the little boy said into the speaker. The vocorder altered his childlike voice into Starbuck’s.

“Acknowledged, Spaceprobe 2. Launch when ready.”

Suppressing a giggle, Boxey snapped off the commlink, activated engines 1, 2, and 3, gripped the control stick, and depressed the battlethruster control button. Instantly, the mighty starfighter’s engines pulsed to life, sending the small craft hurtling forward down the launch tube, and forcing the young boy back into his seat with the force of 4 gees. Boxey felt his vision swim, and in a few moments, he blacked out.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when the boy finally came too. His father had never warned him about this! Apollo had warned him solemnly that only grown up people should fly a viper, but he’d never explained that a child could not withstand the gee-forces of launch. He’d passed out, his ship flying on a straight line through space at full battlethruster, wasting fuel for over twenty minutes now. Quickly, Boxey eased back on the throttle, and checked the fuel gauge. He’d burned though more than half his fuel! Running a small red tongue across his lips, the boy flipped on his scanner, hoping to find his father’s viper, or even the Galactica.

What did appear on his scanner made his heart skip a beat. The boy gasped, disbelieving what he saw. A large circle on his screen, and in a moment, the battle computer had identified it as a heavily armed Cylon Base Ship! His brown eyes grew wide as saucers, and he gripped the control stick tightly. This was no simulation! In a moment, a tractor beam had a firm hold of his small ship, and he was being pulled in.

Boxey bravely armed the lasers and fired thousands of ergs of power at the enemy vessel, to no avail. Their shields were up! The viper struggled like a little boy in the arms of an adult kidnapper. There was no escape, and Boxey resigned himself to his fate—little did he know what that fate was!

The tractor beam brought the viper into the enormous landing bay, and five shiny Cylons roughly pulled the young pilot from his cockpit. He was unceremoniously hefted over the hard shoulder of the robotic soldier, and carried through the bowels of the enemy ship. In a few minutes, the lift had deposited him into a large room. A strange cylon, with two red, moving eyes studied him.

“Hmmm. Now, this is interesting. Either we’ve killed off more of their pilots than our spies reported, or they’re training them younger and younger. Take him to the commander.”

“By your command.” The centrian responded mechanically. His grip was like steel, and he held the boy’s thin wrists in that vise-like grip, as he guided little Boxey through the Cylon base ship’s corridors. Finally, they arrived at a throneroom, and the boy was surprised to see a human being there!

“The pilot of the Colonial Viper, Commander,” the Cylon announced in a mechanical voice.

The chair rotated, to reveal a mean looking man wearing shades of green. “What’s this? Is Adama so desperate that he’s sending children to pilot his starfighters?”

Boxey recognized the green-clad human towering over him instantly, and swallowed.

“Baltar,” he whispered in awe.

“Indeed, I’m glad you recognize me. Now, who exactly are you?”

“I’m not telling,” the boy replied bravely.

“Oh, you’re not, are you? We’ll just see about that! Centurion, take this youngster down to the interrogation room. You know that interrogation device we’ve been working on, in case we managed to capture some more of the humans young ones? I think we’ll fine tune it. With this one.”

The boy definitely didn’t like the greasey smile Baltar gave him. He knew he meant to torture him, but he didn’t know much.

“By your command,” the Cylon replied, and dragged Boxey off to his fate. Soon they arrived in another large room with large video screens, restraint devices, and nasty-looking equipment whose function he could only guess at.

Boxey saw a metal seat, upholstered with comfortable looking, padded leather. The footrest was a metallic stocks, and there were nasty looking devices near that. The Cylons quickly pulled off the nine-year-old’s little space-booties, then his socks, exposing his small, sweaty bare feet. Next, they stripped off Boxey’s purple and black jumpsuit, so now he was wearing nothing but his orange underwear. The I.L. series Cylon reached for a length of rope, made of some synthetic fiber. He handed it to the centurion, who began to tie the boy up.

The boy struggled as they tightly and firmly bound his small, skinny wrists together behind his back, and wrapped the excess around his upper arms, securing his arms together behind his back, so that if he had the chance, he couldn’t step through and put his hands in front of him. This made the human boy feel completely helpless, which was the whole point. Next, they sat him down in the chair and secured his ankles in the two holes of the stocks, locking the top part down and snapping it into place. The child squirmed, testing his restraints, but it was no use! There was no slack to squirm free of his bonds. Baltar had programmed the cylons to tie up human children expertly. Boxey could only wriggle his little fingers and toes. His small fists were held tightly behind his back, nice and helpless.

“Frack,” Boxey said, wriggling. “Can’t squirm loose!”

Evil cackling laughter responded to his statement. “A little boy should not use such foul language. Where did you hear such naughty words? A battlestar’s bunk?”

“Go to Hades, you evil man!” Boxey shouted defiantly.

“Silence,” the Cylon told him. “You will show Baltar respect!”

“Show the youngster what we have in store for him, Centurion,” Baltar said coldly.

“By your command,” the robot responded, and reached over to a table for a long, purple feather. The feather gently stroked the boy’s exposed skin, tickling him. Boxey tried to hold back the giggles, but it was no use. The feathers were from the danyal bird, a purple creature from Caprica; the bird’s flight and tail feathers were coated with a natural substance which made them unbelievably ticklish. The chemical mixed with his soft, sweaty skin, making it super-sensitive to their soft touch. In moments, the boy was reduced to helpless laughter. Boxey could scarcely draw the breath to beg.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ssssstop! HAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU MEAN OL’ CYLONS! HAHAHAHAHAHA! I’M TICKLISH! STOPPPP! HEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Oh, ho! So, you’re ticklish one, are you? Good. The chemicals in those feathers interact with a human child’s growing nervous system, overstimulating it. Makes your nerve endings especially susceptible to tickling sensations. On Caprica, the purple danyal bird is notorious for snatching little boys and girls and tickling them nearly to death in its nest. The squeals of young human laughter are quite musical, and it uses the urine produced from young human bladders to coat its eggshells as a natural nutrient.

“Baltar’s remarkably devious,” the I.L. series said to the mechanical soldier. He held a feather, and was stimulating the exposed flesh of the boy’s tummy. “The tortures he designs for the humans is inspired. We can learn much from him.”

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THAT TICKLES! STOOOP! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”



By now, little Boxey was squealing like a girl. He writhed in his ropes, squirming in delight as two Cylons used four feathers at the same time to probe his young, smooth, hairless skin, finding all his secret ticklish spots. One feather twirled around his belly button, another poked his ribs, another the inside of his calf, and the last titillated his graceful neck. The sensations were unbearably pleasurable, hideously ticklish.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! SSSSSTOOOOP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEEEZ! STOP THE HAHAHAHAH TICKLES! HAHAHAHAHAHA! CAN’T—STAND IT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Baltar watched cruelly, preparing some electronic torture devices while his Cylon friends tortured poor Boxey for centons. The torture went on for 100 centons, until tears were freely flowing from Boxey’s large almond brown eyes, down his cheeks, and his entire, skinny little body was covered with sweat. His dutchboy haircut was a mess, as perspiration plastered his dirty-blond hair to his forehead. He’d endured sweat boxes before; there was a sauna on the Galactica, used to open the pores for health. Boxey and his friends went into the sauna naked except for towels wrapped around themselves, so the girls couldn’t see them, and afterwards took a nice swim in a brisk, cold pool. He loved to go skinny-dipping, and in his mind, he was floating on the surface of the water in that pool, nice and safe.

Finally, the endless, awful tickling stopped. Boxey was gasping for air like a landed fish, his throat was parched from all that laughing. He realized that he’d disassociated during the torture, imagined himself back in the swimming pool, and small wonder. His body was soaked in sweat. It greased his skin, and he hoped to be able to squirm free of his ropes, but it was no use! The cords were as tight as ever! His small wrists were trapped, his hands were staying right where they were, in the small of his back, just above his little butt.

Baltar was standing over him with a cool bottle of water. He spilled a few drops into the boy’s face to wake him fully. “Thirsty, little one?”

The boy tried to swallow through a dry throat, and panting, he nodded. “Y—yes, pl—pl—ease. Water.”

“First, what’s your name, boy?”

“B—Box—ey,” the boy finally got out. His throat felt like old parchment. His brown eyes were locked on that bottle of water, his small tongue hung from his dry lips. “Water, pl—ez.”

“Boxey?” Baltar exclaimed. “Adama’s grandson? Oh, ho! We HAVE landed a prize!”

“W—water,” Boxey begged. His small head was bent upward toward the bottle. “I’m so thirsty!”

“I’ll bet you are! We tickle tortured you for 100 centons straight! You have to promise me something first.”

“Anything!” the child pleaded.

“You have to drink four whole bottles of water. Do you agree?”

The boy’s eyes were wide. “Yes! Please!”

Baltar tilted the boy’s head up, and allowed him to drink. Boxey swallowed on reflect, he was so thirsty! He drained the first bottle, then the second, before he realized it. The third he had to work to finish, and by the fourth, he was drooling water as he drank. Finally, he finished the fourth bottle—four full liters of water, and looked up at his tormentor.

“Now, then. All that water you swallowed will work its way into your small human bladder in about twenty microns. No little boy likes to wet himself! Do you know how difficult it’s going to be to hold all that water while being tickled?”

“Oh, no! Please, don’t! Mr. Baltar, I’ll do anything! Please don’t tickle me again! Don’t make me pee on myself!” Boxey begged, knowing full well even as he said it, that the evil man was planning to do exactly that to him, no matter what he promised! He also knew that his ankles were locked securely in the stocks, the soles of his sweaty, soft, bare feet presented for tickling—yet they hadn’t touched his super-sensitive feet yet!

“Oh, I’m pleasing you? How nice of you to say so! I just love to watch tied up little boys squirm in delight as they are tickled into submission! Your young skin is so tender, the nerves so sensitive to the slightest touch!”

The boy wriggled a little, feeling his bladder begin to fill. He knew this mean man wouldn’t let him use the bathroom, not unless he offered something. “Please! I’ll tell you anything you wanna know!”

“That’s better,” Baltar said. “What is the location of the Battlestar Galactica?”

Boxey gasped, his brown eyes ballooning nearly out of his head. “I don’t know that!”

“You don’t know that? Sure you don’t! Lucifer, hand me one of those feathers,” Baltar said, and took it. He went to Boxey’s small, size 4 feet, and gently touched the soft tip to his arch. A drop of the sensitizing chemical deposited itself onto the boy’s naked foot, then another, and another. Baltar gently massaged it into the skin with the feather.

Once more, poor little Boxey held back the giggle that was ready to erupt from him, his little face puckered up into a smirk, his eyes crinkled shut. His feet were normally very ticklish, but the danyal bird feather made the flesh super-sensitive, and it felt ticklish beyond belief! There was one time, back on Caprica, when his first, live daggit puppy snuck into his bedroom and licked the soles of his feet. That had made Boxey laugh hysterically, and up till now, the daggit licking his bare feet was the most ticklish sensation he’d ever felt in his young life. It was nothing compared to what awaited him now! Baltar’s feather titillated his arch, worked its way up past the ball of his foot, and inbetween his little toes.

Slowly, carefully, Baltar gently sent little thrills into the soles of his right foot, and Boxey finally couldn’t fight it any longer! “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEZ! HAVE MERCY! HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Mercy? Whatever for? You act like I’m torturing you or something! Tsk, tsk. You mean you don’t like the ticklish torment we have in store for you, you naughty little boy?”

Baltar started on Boxey’s left foot, and the poor boy began to squeal like a girl again. His eyes were closed to slits, his brown eyes watery and tearing, his small nose crinkled. “NOHOHOHOHO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEEEEEEZ! I’M BEGGING YOU! HAHAHA! I DUNNO WHERE HAHAHAHA THE SHIP IS!”

“You don’t know where your grandfather’s ship is? After all that time you spent on the bridge? You know what we do to little liars, Boxey boy?”

“You’re in a very ticklish situation, young human!” Lucifer told him. “I’ve seen him reduce human children to blobs of pitiful, sobbing laughter, begging for the torment to end. Why don’t you tell Baltar what he wants to know?”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEZ! I HAFTA PEE! HAHAHAHAHA!” the child begged, and was beginning to squirm in earnest now. His bladder was already full, and getting fuller by the centon! It felt like one of those over-filled water balloons that he and his friends sometimes threw at each other in the ship’s corridors. When one exploded, it soaked his clothing, and Boxey knew he was doomed to that fate now! “I HAFTA USE—HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—BAFROOM! PLEEEEEZ! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“He’s in trouble now, Baltar! The boy is between eight and ten yarens of age. Based on past experience, I estimate another 15 centons before this child loses bladder control and humiliates himself.”

“Indeed, he’ll regret his lies!” Baltar said, a sinister gleam in his eye as he ran the feather across the boy’s naked foot, from heel to wriggling toes, and back again, slowly and surely. Poor Boxey twitched and writhed in his bonds, laughing in great guffaws. His small rosey cheeks were beat red, and tears flowed freely from his large brown eyes. “Start the image recorders! We’ll tape the boy’s peals of helpless laughter as he urinates on himself, and send the images to Adama!”

“How remarkably devious of you, Baltar,” Lucifer said. “The human commander will desperately seek to rescue the boy, and grow careless.”


“HAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEEZ! I’M NOT LYING! HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Yes, you are! You’re lying on your back, tied up nice and helpless, while I count your cute little toes! One little piggy, two little piggies! Three little piggies!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOT MY FFFffFFEET! PLEEEZ! I’M TICKLISH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Boxey was really squirming now, desperately trying to get free of his bonds, but there was no escape. Tears flowed freely down his rosey cheeks, his face all red from lack of air, and his bladder was demanding constant attention. It was a real struggle, fighting for breath, and striving in vain to hold in his pee-pee. He didn’t want to give this mean man the satisfaction of humiliating himself, but he didn’t see any way out of it.

“AH HAFTA PEE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEEEZ! HAHAHAHA! LEMME GO! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Aw, poor widdle baby boy needs to use the toi-wet? Your widdle bladder must be BURSTING! I’ll bet you have to go REAL BAD!”


Poor little Boxey was laughing so hard now, he could barely talk. His chest ached for air! He could only suck in a very small breath, before being forced to expel it again as helpless, uncontrolled laughter. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw with trying to squirm loose from the mercilessly tight ropes and stocks. Giggling, laughing hysterically, and squirming, all the child could do was nod his little sandy blond head.

“Well, then! I know what we have to do! We have to help you lose bladder control faster, mustn’t we! No boy can stand to have his feet tickled by this thing. We captured a village of human children a month ago, and tested it out on them. Boys and girls from nine to twelve yearns old. They lasted for six days, until we finally tickled them to death! Whew! The stench! Human children can’t hold their bladders very long during this ticklish torment! They just kept wetting themselves, no matter how hard they tried to hold it in!”

While he told Boxey this, Baltar was setting up his machine. The nine-year-old was allowed to calm down, catch his breath. His wet brown eyes grew wide as saucers as he saw the whirling wheels of feathers come closer to his bare feet. The boy wiggled his feet, desperately trying to work loose of the stocks, but there was no escaping this ticklish fate!

“PLEASE! Mr. Baltar, sir! Please let me up to use the bathroom! I’ll be real good! I promise!”

“Nope! No can do, you little monster! I’m afraid those knots are too tight, they’d take hours to undo and set you loose!“

Boxey’s eyes were wide, his voice pleading. It was a huge gush of urine inside him, just ACHING to come out! He felt like he couldn’t possibly hold it back any longer, and started to cry real tears. “But I hafta go REAL BAD! PLEEASE!”

“Last chance,” Baltar said, hand hands on the machine’s ON switch. “Tell me the location of the Battlestar Galactica, or you’re gonna lie there, laughing your little head off until you soak your shorts!”

“But I don’t know it! Honest!” Boxey cried. “Please don’t tickle me! My feet are real ticklish! My daddy tickles them all the time, but not like this! He always lets me up when I hafta go!”

“I’m not your father, I’m your captor! I own you now! You are my ticklish little slave, and we’ll keep this up for days, boy! I lied earlier about those kids laughing to death. The victim just lies there, laughing and laughing, hour after hour until he PASSES OUT from lack of air! How long do you think this child will last before his bladder explodes?”

“I detect a few drops of wetness on his underwear now. He cannot last much longer, Baltar,” Lucifer answered. “Human organs are such flimsy things. I estimate his bladder will explode in another ten centons, less if you apply the tickle torture.”

“And how long before this little one passes out?” Baltar asked, pushing the tickle machine into position. The small bristles, each made of blue feathers coated in chemicals, were designed to whirl and stroke the sensitive skin of the boy’s bare feet, feeling much like ten tongues licking his soles at the same time.

“30 centons,” the Cylon answered. “Maybe longer.”

“Good,” Baltar said, and turned on the machine. Instantly, the small bristles began to whir and whirl about, spinning and stroking the child’s bare feet, sending titillating sensations up his feet without mercy. Boxey had no chance to hold it back this time; the whirling bristles, like an automatic toothbrush, was ticklish beyond belief! He laughed and squirmed, desperately trying to curl his little toes in a vain effort to protect the exposed bottoms of his bare feet, but it was no use! There was no escape from the endless tickling!

“Let’s see. Oh, and get that other human child from his cell. The Earthling. What was his name? Elliott Thomas?”

“By your command,” the Cylon replied, and issued an order into his commlink.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! SSSTOP! PLEEEEEEZ! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” the nine-year-old begged. His voice sounded impossibly young in his own ears. The vecillation of his bare feet continued endlessly; he turned his face to the left, to the right, tried to sit up, to kick his feet away from the feathers. Each ankle was held in a viselike grip. He tried to squeeze his toes together, but Baltar defeated that; his strong fingers gently massaged apart the small toes, allowing the feathers to work inbetween. His gloved hands poked and prodded, jabbed and stroked, titillating his small ribs, his tummy! Baltar sang a lullaby to him as he tickled.

“Tinkle, tinkle, little star, your bladder’s full it’s gonna burst! Trussed up in your ropes so tight, though you squirm with all your might! Tinkle, tinkle, little star, your bladder’s FULL it’s gonna BURST!”

“HAFTA PEE! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Boxey begged. He felt the liquid stream begin to leave him in a huge gush of urine. He just couldn’t hold it back any longer! He felt the front of his shorts getting wet, then soaked, as liquid flowed freely down his thigh to his butt. In minutes, poor Boxey had committed the ultimate humiliation in public, and thoroughly soaked himself. He knew this mean man wouldn’t let him change into something dry, wouldn’t even stop the tickle torture for a micron.

This time, the tickling went on and on until Boxey just couldn’t draw enough air into his tortured lungs to stay awake; he mercifully lost consciousness. The dreams didn’t last long. Baltar ended the boy’s bliss abruptly by throwing a glass of water into his face to wake him. When the boy’s eyes fluttered open, he sputtered, and looked around.

“I didn’t give you permission to pass out!” Baltar snarled. “I’m not nearly through torturing you yet! Here, drink this! All of it, or the tickles go on all day and into tomorrow! If you’re a good boy, I’ll only torture you for three or four centaurs.”

Boxey obediently swallowed four more liters of water, knowing it wouldn’t be long before his bladder was full to bursting again. He noticed the tangy odor of ammonia, which emanated from his shorts. They were drenched and smelled badly. Boxey could only imagine how it would feel to endure several days of this torture! The endless tickling, going on and on endlessly!

When he looked up, he saw another human child, about a head taller than he was, roughly ten years old. He was skinny, with pale skin, black hair which had started to grow, and large, brown eyes. The boy’s hands were tied behind his back, the excess wrapped around his upper arms, like Boxey’s were. The poor boy could hardly stand. He bounced his toes, supporting his weight on one bare foot, then the other, his face all scrunched up in pain. Boxey guessed correctly that this poor little boy had to use the bathroom very badly, but Baltar wasn’t letting him.

“Well, well. Little Henry…oh, I’m sorry, your name was Elliott, right?”

“Yessss…please, may I go to the bathroom?” Elliott begged. There was pain reflected in his large, brown eyes, and his teeth were clenched together. He obviously couldn’t last much longer.

“Awwwww, does wittle baby Ewiott hafta go pee-pee weal bad? Look! You’re doing the pee-pee dance! Must be real desperate, right?”

“Yes! Please, may I go?” Elliott begged. He sounded like his little sister in his own ears! This was humiliating! Who knew space was filled with villains who delighted in embarrassing children!

“Sorry! Boys’ bathroom is out of order, and you’re not using my personal john! You’re just gonna have to learn how to hold it, little boy!”

“Oh, no! PLEEEEEEZ! I’ll be good! Please, Mr. Baltar!”

“Tell me the exact coordinates for the planet Earth!” Baltar said to him, malice in his eyes. Baltar held one of the large blue feathers, and his evil intent was obvious.

“But I don’t know it!” Elliott cried. “I told you! E.T. sent that shuttle for me. I got in, and took off. I don’t know where I am, much less where Earth is!”

“I’m tired of you little brats lying constantly! Centurion! Put him into the stocks! Tie these boys up next to each other, and raise their feet up 45 degrees!”

Poor little Elliott was locked into the machine right next to Boxey. This time, their hands were released and tied into a different position, up over their heads. This position opened up their smooth, hairless armpits, so every last ticklish spot on both boys was exposed now. Then, the tables were elevated to a 45 degree position. With a look of horror, Boxey realized his predicament. If he peed, instead of running down his skinny legs, the water would slide down toward his laughing face! They were in a position where the boys could see a mirror image of his own torture. Boxey looked over and saw the pain clearly written on the face of this other child, who clearly had to piss something awful!

“Now, then. We’re going to take bets. Which boy can hold his bursting little bladder the longest, and then, which can hold onto consciousness longer?”

“Please, Baltar! Even you can’t be this cruel! Don’t tickle my feet and armpits at the same time!” Boxey begged. His voice had gone up an octave, sounding like a little girl’s. The other boy, Elliott, was squirming, straining against his bonds, grunting with the effort. It was clearly no use, Elliott’s ropes were tied as tight as his were! Boxey resigned himself to his horrible fate, the ticklish torments of Baltar.

The cruel, heartless adult turned on the machines. This time, the whirling blue feathers attacked everywhere at once! It felt like someone was licking the exposed bottoms of Boxey’s bare feet, up from the heel, along the arch, across the ball of the small foot, and through his wriggling toes—both feet at the same time! The experience was unbearable, drawing uncontrolled peals of laughter from him, and that wasn’t all! It felt like someone was also licking inside his sensitive armpits, and his neck, and making pucker-tickles on his tummy! The delightful sensations also attacked his ribs, and along his calves. There wasn’t a single spot on his body that wasn’t being tickled in the worst way possible!

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEEEEEEEZ! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” was all Boxey could get out. The word “please.” He was laughing too hard to draw a single breath. Tears overflowed from his large brown eyes, and he saw little Elliott in precisely the same predicament. The other boy’s face was beat red from lack of air, and their squealing, high-pitched laughter filled the room. Their heads bobbed back and forth, their limbs strained with spasmodic peals of laughter. Boxey didn’t think he could take much more, and knew it wouldn’t end this time for at least a whole hour!

“Better hold your water, little boys!” Lucifer told them. “Your current position is most dire. Baltar will never let you relieve yourselves, and the torture will never end. Why don’t you just tell us what we want to know? Then we can untie you, and you can enjoy some nice ice cream!”

“PLEEEEEEEEEEEZ! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Boxey heard Elliott beg. “MER---HAHAHAHAHA! MERCY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAFTA PEE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAFTA GO REALBAD! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Aw, poor little baby boys hafta go tinkle, tinkle, tinkle? Ain’t that just too bad?” Baltar teased them, reaching down to tickle them with his fingers, one hand tickling each boy, while their feet, armpits, and sides were automatically tickled. “Go on, little baby boys can’t hold it forever! Your little tootsies are just so ticklish! Naughty little boys, walking on them all the time! Getting them so dirty, we have to clean them!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOT MY FEET!” Elliott begged. “ANYTHING BUT MY BARE FEET! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Just then, Boxey heard the distinct sound of water tinkling, like in a fountain, and a moment later, smelled the pungent odor of urine. He didn’t know if it was himself who went off for long moments, because his own shorts were already soaking wet. Then, he felt the pain in his bladder as he shook with convulsive laughter, and knew it must have been Elliott. The poor boy just couldn’t hold it another second!

“Bursting bladder! Bursting bladder!” Baltar yelled. Naughty little Elliott! I told you to hold it, no matter what! That’s another HOUR of tickling for you!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU MEAN MAN! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I HAFTA PEE! HEHEHEHE! PLEEEEEEEEZ! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP THE TICKLES!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Boxey begged. He laughed and squirmed, but he was now losing the strength to even tug on the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. The tickling sensations on his exposed feet and armpits was unbearable, assaulting him with endless pleasure. Suddenly, he felt himself going off, the urine flowing from his body in a huge, endless gush. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it from flowing, and then he felt something else…his face was growing wet. Baltar had elevated their feet slightly, so that when their bladders finally exploded, the water would flow downward right into their laughing faces!

“Oh, how humiliating! You boys peed all over yourselves! Just couldn’t hold it, could ya? Are we getting all this, Lucifer?”

“Yes, Baltar. The images of the children’s torture is being transmitted to the humans. We’re bouncing the signal off of a satellite, so they cannot possibly triangulate it back to us in time to save them from a most embarrassing fate.”

“OH, what a waste of time! Adama will never rescue them! He’ll just let the poor little tykes suffer, laughing and sitting in their soaked underwear!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Boxey replied. All he could do was laugh in response. He was getting used to the tickle torture now, was thoroughly enjoying it. Oh, he hated being unable to breathe, to draw just one clean lungful of air—and he also hated being forced to hold his water for so long—but the tickling filled his whole being with pleasure. He actually LOVED the tickle torture now, and didn’t want it ever to stop!

If only he didn’t have to breathe….

“HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA! PLEEEEEEEZ! CAN’T BREATHE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! LEMME BREATHE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Sorry, Boxey! You know the rules! You peed on yourself, so the tickles don’t stop until you pass out, now!”

The endless torment went on and on and on for another hour, until blackness claimed Boxey once more.

When he woke, Boxey found himself sitting on Baltar’s lap. Elliott was on the other side. Their hands were tied behind their backs again, but their feet were free. They were still wearing the same smelly, soaked underwear as before. Baltar was hugging them both.

“You boys enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Baltar asked.

Surprisingly, Boxey looked back on the experience, and found that he did. He loved this punishment far better than any other, being tied up all helpless and tickled into submission. What he didn’t like was wetting himself and passing out, but that was part of the punishment. He nodded, and Baltar stroked his dutchboy haircut.

“Yes, Mr. Baltar! I loved it! Please, can you do that to us again?” Boxey found himself asking. Part of him couldn’t believe he was actually begging for it!

“Yeah, I loved it too, but please don’t keep up the torture until we pass out though,” Elliott added.

“No can do,” Baltar told them both. “Now, what is the location of the Battlestar Galactica and Earth?”

Boxey’s mouth was hanging open. So was Elliott’s. Both were afraid to say the truth.

“Are you going to persist in telling me that you don’t know?”

“But we really don’t know!” Boxey insisted.

“Honest! I swear!”

“Swear on your ticklish feet!” Baltar told him.

“I swear on my ticklish feet!” both boys echoed in harmony.

“Hmmmm…Sorry, I don’t believe you!”

Baltar made both of them swallow another four liters of water each, then had them stand there. The cruel man stood there, watching the two children.

“All right, here’s the deal. Both of you are going to stand there—without being tickled this time—until you just can’t hold it any longer. THEN you get tied down to the tables and locked in the stocks again for ANOTHER long tickle session! Only this time it won’t end! It’ll go on ALL NIGHT LONG! Unless, of course, you decide to tell me where that ship and planet are?”

“OH, man!” Elliott begged. “Did my brother and sister tell you I was super-ticklish? Michael and Greg tie me up and tickle me like crazy all the time! Even my little sister Gertie gets her licks in!”

Baltar looked amused at this revelation. “Well, they didn’t, but most human children are ticklish. Especially in their armpits, and the soles of the feet. Even boys who claim their feet aren’t ticklish go into hysterics when their bare feet are licked! I do so love proving you little ones liars, so I can lace into you for hour after hour. How about you, Boxey? Does Apollo tickle you?”

The boy giggled nervously and nodded. His hands were tied helplessly behind his back, and his bladder was starting to fill again, but he tried not to notice. “Yeah. He sometimes tickles me in the bath, and Starbuck tickles me all the time. This isn’t the first time someone tickled me till I peed. Starbuck held me down and tickled me till I wet myself. Said he didn’t believe me, that I was just trying to get out of it when I begged to use the bathroom.”

“Well, we’re going to do that now. Unless you two want to confess.”

They waited. An hour. Two hours. At the end of three hours, both boys were squirming, dancing from bare foot to bare foot, desperately trying to hold it in. Baltar began to pour water from a pitcher to a glass and back again, slowly, so the sound of water flowing made the boys want to go that much worse. Boxey thought he felt a few drops escape, but crossed his legs and went up and down.

Baltar turned the giant viewscreens on. They displayed images of running waterfalls, bubbling brooks, and enormous oceans whose waves crashed against the seashore. On another viewscreen was the image of a little blond boy with a dutchboy haircut, much like Boxey’s; he was standing in front of a toilet, emptying a very full bladder, moaning with relief, saying “thank you! thank you!” profusely.

Both Boxey and Elliot watched the images with expressions of real pain reflected in their innocent brown eyes. They writhed, twisting and contorting, crossed their skinny little legs in a desperate attempt to hold back the flood. Poor Boxey felt a few drops escape, then squeezed it shut again. He groaned, his teeth clamped shut, desperate.

Elliott wasn’t much better off. His whole face was pinched with pain, his eyes squinted shut, bouncing on his bare toes. “OH, MAN! PLEEEZ! I HAFTA PISS REAL BAD! PLEEEZ!”

“Tell me what I want to know,” Baltar said cruelly. He turned on a tap, letting water flow into a sink. The sound of water flowing was almost unbearable! Both boys were bouncing on their toes now, their eyes squinted shut. When Boxey opened them to look at Baltar, he saw the mean man was smiling viciously at them.

“Tinkle, tinkle, little star, your bladder’s full it’s gonna burst. Oh, how you squirm and giggle, as your bare feet are tickled. Tinkle, tinkle, little star, your bladder’s full it’s gonna burst. Trussed up in your ropes so tight, though you squirm with all your might…READY TO GO, LITTLE BOYS?”

“YES!”

“YES!” the two boys said in unison. There was real desperation in their voices.

“Too bad! Betcha can’t last much longer! Did you know that a child’s bladder is only as big as a walnut. Your bladders must be bloated to twice that size by now! You wet my floor, and the punishment really begins! You only THINK you know what tickling is! The two of you will laugh so hard your sides will split! Your bladders will fill and empty over and over and over, for several days! Feel all that water sloshing about inside you? You want to go so BADLY, don’t you my little pretties?”

“PLEASE!” Elliott begged. “I can’t hold it much longer! Please lemme use the toilet! I need to go so badly!”

“Me too!” Boxey begged. He squirmed, desperately trying to free his hands, so at least he could use them to try to hold it in, or maybe make a dash for the bathroom. Both boys were watching the bathroom door intently. If their hands were free, they could open the door and lift the toilet lid! “Come on, Mister! Pleeeeez!”

“Yup, yup, yup! It won’t be long now! Little boys can’t hold it forever!”

At this, Boxey heard the sound of liquid tinkling to the floor. He was shocked to look down and see that it was himself! The yellow liquid ran down his skinny bare legs and pooled at his bare feet. His brown eyes grew wide as saucers.

“Oh, no! No! I didn’t mean to!”

“Course you did!” Baltar said cruelly. “Guards!”

Boxey was hardly aware of it as the strong adult hands lifted him and carried him back to the stocks and the tickle torture device. He writhed in his bonds, but there was no hope of squirming loose! Elliott was locked into the other set of stocks, complaining that it wasn’t fair, he still had to go! This time, Baltar wasn’t going to use the machine. To their surprise, Baltar coated the soles of their small naked feet with a sticky substance, and small animals were brought in that resembled daggits. Absentmindedly, Boxey wondered where Baltar had found them. Then realized, they’d probably come from Earth.

“This is called the death of a thousand licks!” Baltar told them. “One for each of your little feet, one for each of your little armpits! TALK! Where is the Battlestar Galactica! Where is Earth!”

“We don’t know!” Elliot screamed.

“WRONG ANSWER!” Baltar yelled.

He meticulously tied the leashes of the daggits to the stocks, and the tables. Four tongues got to work. The daggits licked and licked, oscillating up from the heels, across the naked arch, into and through his wriggling toes! Lapping in the center of each hairless, open armpit! Both boys collapsed into two masses of hysterical laughter, completely unable to control it.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEEEEZ! STOP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Boxey begged. He knew it would do absolutely no good. He felt his chest growing tight, water flowing from his eyes. Saw through a blur of tears the animals licking his helpless body, licking and tormenting his friend Elliott, both boys writhing and squirming in their bonds.

Then, just when Boxey and Elliott thought their torment had reached a crescendo, it only got worse! Baltar turned the machines on their tummies, necks and ribs! Ticklish sensations assaulted every part of their exposed skin now, and they were completely helpless! There was no escape from the tickles, except to pass out—and Boxey felt that wasn’t long in coming!

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOPLEEEEEZ! I’LL DO ANYTHING! HAHAHAHAHAHHA!” Elliott begged. The poor Earthling urinated again, the endless tickling too much for him to bear. Part of the boy’s mind wondered how long he could keep laughing himself silly, wetting himself, and passing out. Baltar promised to make it go on all night and into the next day!

Boxey laughed so hard, he hardly noticed that his bladder went off again. Then, he distinctly heard the sound of an alarm klaxon blarring.

“Pardon me, Baltar, but we are under attack,” Lucifer told him.

“What?”

“Several Colonial Vipers are attacking.”

“Fool! I told you to divert the signal so they couldn’t find us! They’re here to rescue the children! Keep torturing them! They’re only nine and ten years old! They have to break soon! Let me know the minute they reveal the location of that Battlestar!”

“By your command.”

Boxey heard the command. The tickling went on and on. “HAHAHAHAHAHA! NO! DON’T LEAVE US LIKE THIS! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“PLEEEEZ! STOP THE TICKLES!HAHAHAHAHA!” Elliott begged.

Boxey mercifully passed out again. When he woke, he struggled, found he was untied. “Boxey! It’s okay! You’re free!”

“Oh, Daddy! It was awful! Baltar kept tickling us and tickling us!”

“Yeah,” Elliott told him. “He wanted to know where this ship of yours was, and where Earth is, and we can’t tell him!”

“Frack! Do you kids stink!” Starbuck complained. “Captain, do we have time to give these boys a shower before we take them back in our vipers? They’ll smell up the whole cockpit!”


“Sorry, Starbuck. You’ll just have to put up with it for a little while. This little kid is our first contact with Earth!”

While walking toward the landing bay where their vipers where parked, Elliott turned to Boxey. “Um…is your dad really gonna tickle us?”

“Yeah, but not like that!” Boxey told him.

“Don’t bet on it,” Apollo told them. “I sort of like Baltar’s punishment. It’s a great idea! No hitting, no spanking, and I’ll bet you’ll both be on your best behavior from now on!”

Both boys looked up, their brown eyes ballooning. “You’re kidding me, right Daddy? Isn’t he, Starbuck?”

“Sorry, kid,” Starbuck told him. “We loaded those two tickle machines into the cargo hold of the shuttle we brought along. It’s a perfect punishment for you little monsters! There are over five thousand children in the fleet, and parents are lining up to use the machines! You’ll never steal a viper again, I can promise you that!”

“Oh, no!” Boxey said, his brown eyes wide with fear. “Well, at least you’ll be around to turn the machine off. Right Starbuck?”

“Who said anything about turning it off?” Apollo countered, with a mean expression. “Starbuck and I will go on a patrol together, leave you laughing your little head off, and turn it off when we get back!”

“Come on, Dad! Starbuck! You’re kidding, me, right?”

As the two boys got into the small cockpits, they noticed that Boomer was piloting a large cargo shuttle, and Colonial warriors really were loading the holds with boxes of the disassembled tickle torture machines. His friends were going to kill him! If he hadn’t stolen that viper on a joyride, this never would’ve happened! Now, every child, all his friends, were going to have to endure the indignity of tickling and the ultimate embarrassment of wetting themselves in public! Soon, children would be begging for a return of the old disciplines, spanking and being sent to bed without supper—anything but another session of tickles! Boxey hugged himself and curled his small toes, mentally preparing himself for another round of punishment when they got back to the fleet.

THE END

:tied: :tickle: :big: