Andy was a tall handsome, muscular young man with close-cropped red hair and large hands and feet which come in handy on occasion … such as the times he play-tussled with me. He knew he looked good, and many women had found him completely irresistible with his amazing aquamarine blue eyes that twinkled merrily when he smiled and skin so fair that any prolonged exposure to the sun caused an eruption of freckles. 

I couldn’t help but to notice his comeliness, but I generally ignored it at times … such as this evening when he came by my aunt’s house to once again instruct me in wrestling moves. 

With each session he and I always begin with the basics—like the starting position and a couple of standard holds.  I allowed him to take charge of the session and I did whatever he requested. He couldn’t have known that the whole time I was doing my best to keep my great strength at bay so that I wouldn't hurt him.  I was a strong girl and, despite the fact that I was very shapely and not hypermuscular in the least, I was far from being a delicate flower. In fact I had Andy teach me grappling procedures in order to sharpen my own street fighting skills.  And I learned a lot from my practice sessions with him even if I did have to keep my guard up in the event that he should try something. 

The obvious fact that I’m more than fairly attractive hadn’t lead me to the conclusion that Andy was interested in doing more with me than just teach a few wrestling techniques.  It was more of a feminine instinct.  I knew that I had to keep an eye on everything he was doing when we practiced together—to make certain he didn't try something I didn't want him to. Not that he could even if he did try.  As I said; I’m beautiful, but I’m no delicate flower. 

Eventually he did try something in the course of our session.  He tried kissing me … and he even managed to succeed!  He had backed me up slowly toward the garage’s wood-paneled northernmost wall, forcibly smooching me until I could hardly breathe. I tried to get an inch or two of space for a serious breath.  He laughed and said  “You lead the gang on the street, but I think it’s about time we made it clear who’s the teacher and who’s the student in this area, girl!”  

I wriggled to free myself from him. The young man known as “Ghost” had a good grip on me and he was strong, but I had several approaches I could try.  For instance, I put my left foot behind his and shoved against him just enough to knock him backwards. We both tumbled to the floor—me landing neatly on top of him. I managed to breathe on the way down, then laughed maniacally. 

Meanwhile Ghost moved into serious wrestle mode, wrapping both his sinewy legs and arms around me before hefting me up and over onto his back. I played dirty and tickled his ribs mercilessly. Now it was his turn to laugh, for he couldn’t seem to handle being tickled by a woman like that.  With an almost violent jerk he immediately rolled off me and onto all fours. I joined him in that position and we faced off like two wild animals sizing each other up.  I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers at him in a taunting, tickling fashion.

Andy’s breathing grew noticeably faster at the sight of this and he reluctantly conceded defeat. Golden lights sparkled in the depths of his beautiful aquamarine blue eyes indicating that—along with the humiliation of not being able to ward off mere tickling—there was also a degree of intense pleasure at being tickled evident.  But the pleasure of tickling was all he’d ever get from me.  After all, I was his leader in what some would call our “gang”.

Gangs, as you know, are groups of people who form an allegiance for a common purpose. Generally this purpose is to commit violence or other unlawful criminal activities. Today's street gangs may claim control over a certain territory in their community and create an atmosphere of fear and intimidation there. Gangs are often involved with the distribution, dealing, and even use of narcotics. This is frequently a main source of income for members.

Gang members generally range in age from 13-21 years old, but can be as young as 9 or as old as 28. Those who join gangs often have low self-esteem, feel unloved at home, do poorly in school, and have a hard time making decisions or communicating with others.  Many come from single-parent homes. Most gang members are male but a number of females, like myself, have been involved with gangs.

Young people join for many reasons, and each case had individual nuances. Reasons include: a desire for excitement and fun, a sense of belonging or family, companionship, peer pressure, attention or status, financial gain, intimidation, and protection.  Young people also fail to realize what being in a gang really means a great deal of the time. Living in a gang-infested area or having a family member in a gang increases the possibility of a child joining one. I myself joined a gang, but later broke ranks with them before starting a clique of my own.

And my "gang" was a tough-looking bunch on the outside.

What was inside them however would surprise you. Even with all their bravado they couldn't completely hide it. The need and loneliness and yearning would be so thick in the air on certain days that I sometimes felt as if I were wading through it as I walked. When a passel of them were allowed to sleep over with me at my aunt's house, it was all my seedy, suspicious, tough crew could do to keep from running up to her and snuggling their heads up under her arms and breasts and chin as if she were their mother. And on some days it was all my Aunt Sandra—forty-two years old and childless—could do to keep from calling them to cuddle up to her so that she could suckle a little love from them.

By both providence and design our crew, over the years, had become rather diverse—Latino, black and white. It's members had names like André‚ and Michael and William and Norberto and Rasheed and Domingo ... names they were given at birth. But several also had nicknames that they were better known by: Will Kill and White Mike and Ghost and L’il Diablo and so on. These were throwaways, runaways and the fruits of foster care ... or of no care. Young men with eyes so old they might have seen the foundations of the earth laid down.

Though I was one of the oldest members, I can't say that I was always a positive influence. I mean, in addition to loving the members of my crew—and my rather maternal desire to protect many of them—I liked  to tickle them. I liked the way their masculine and recurrently muscled bodies looked, the feel of them when I touched them …  and I treasured the times when I could tickle them all over and make them laugh and beg for mercy.  But I’d never admit this to most of  them, despite the fact that more than one was aware of how deeply my disposition ran. 

My name is Violet Brown.  I’m not ashamed to say that I have a smoldering beauty that takes most folks’ breath away. The first few things people notice about me is my cocoa brown skin, my big almond shaped eyes—complete with their naturally long lashes—and my absolutely gorgeous face. These features alone are enough to make any man’s lap do the electric slide, but couple that with my large, firm breasts and my long flowing jet-black hair that reaches to the middle of my back … well, many men (and more than a few women) have wondered what it would be like to spend a few exquisite moments with the sensuous vision of beauty that is I.

I was born on  May 12 at 12:14 p.m. in Long Beach, California.  My father Robert Brown was born in South Central Los Angeles, and my mother, Pham Tri Lanh, was born in a Vietnamese village called Tay Ninh.  My father is African-American and my mother is Asian mixed with European Caucasian.  As I grew up, I was always closer to my father’s side of the family, mainly because my mother’s relatives were thousands of miles away on two other continents.

My family wasn’t poverty stricken or what have you, so many wondered why I was so in love with gangs and the gang lifestyle.  Well the truth of the matter is that I liked the idea of tickling the guys involved in gangs.  I liked the idea of reducing brawny, machismo-saturated tough guys into helpless piles of quivering ticklish flesh! 

I couldn’t remain in a conventional gang though.  Females have traditionally been involved in gangs through boyfriends and friends who are gang members.  Many are never allowed to be members, but are used to carry and conceal weapons, drugs, etc. or act as drivers and lookouts. They are often ordered to provide alibis for male gang members or even sexual companionship on demand.  More recently, increasing numbers of females have formed their own gangs that aren’t affiliated with male gangs.  Some are extremely violent.

I did something completely different.  I formed a predominantly male crew with a female—yours truly—as it’s leader.  I totally flipped the sexism prevalent in gangs on it’s ear. And in the course of doing so I actually turned my life around.  I even managed to help other gang members out of the “violent” gang lifestyle.  You see, thanks to my father and grandfather, I had identified with what I considered the "best" of the Civil Rights Movement. I believed in The Movement, and I was determined that all of my friends would atleast know about The Movement even if I was unsuccessful in convincing them of its just causes. This was my mission, and I carried it out while forming my own clique.  As a result my gang became multi-ethnic.   

At first not many people took seriously the rumors of a new female-led gang in the city of Carson California.  Mostly because of my clique’s name, The Rainbow, and our tendency for including members regardless of race.  But the other crews in Carson soon learned to respect us—mainly after our enemies began to fall before us one by one—and eventually we became the moist notorious assemblage in the South Bay. 

Yes we were multi-ethnic, but my gang didn’t have any of the bullshit pretenses.  I mean, only a black person knows what being black really means.  Only a white, or a Latino knows the true daily existence of these different "categories of people." I understood and recognized this. I never felt that I had a duty in life to educate others about the experiences of different people whom I can never fully know or understand myself. But my crew and I—just through the course of being together—was willing to risk taking chances by sharing our own experiences with each other and somehow managed to tear down so many walls in the course of it. By tearing down these walls we eventually came to the almost transparent realization that people had more things in common with one another than they did things that separated them.  It really is true what they say; Race is phony but racism isn’t.  My “gang” transcended race. 

Still, I didn’t trust my boys enough to bestow upon them the knowledge of just how deeply I loved tickling guys.  A fetishist was of no particular race, you see.  How could I tell them that nothing excited me more than running my fingers and feathers over the naked soles or bare ribs or armpits of a guy?  It was such a turn-on to me!  There are two reasons for my proclivity I believe: First of all, gangsters, bikers and thugs have always been sexy to me.  Secondly, as experience has taught me, the strongest, roughest macho men tended to be a lot more sensitive to tickling than the average joe. Often I fantasize about having a sexy Hell’s Angel tied naked to his Harley while I relentlessly tickle his ribs, armpits and feet. 

A recent fantasy of mine involved tickling the feet of Asians.  And I got my first chance at making this daydream a reality when rumors began to float around Carson that a Vietnamese street gang was going to make an attempt at staking their claim on our portion of town.  I myself was twenty five percent Asian by blood, and yet I’d never tickled an Asian in my life.  The very idea of a Vietnamese gang making a move on our territory was like a sign!  

And before I planned out my gang’s counterattack, I studied up on the enemy like I usually did. It pays to do your homework before you battle a rival gang. Bear in mind that the probability of prevailing against your enemies goes up if the number of “surprise moves” your adversaries can direct against you goes down. To lower your risk and improve your odds of succeeding you need to anticipate as many of your rivals’ moves as possible.  So I learned all I could about the crew that was going to make a run on our territory … I also boned up on the gangs they idolized and tried to emulate. 

It seems that Asian gangs are typically divided into two groups—tongs and street gangs. Tongs are organizations of highly skilled adults, including prominent Asian businessmen, financiers and politicians. They operated the same way the Triads of China did during their heyday, focusing on high-level business crime. Asian street gangs are comprised primarily of Asian youth, with a single leader, and usually are affiliated with a tong. The Tongs provide guidance and leadership, using the gangs as their muscle should any disputes arise. Asian gangs also follow the "old" practices of the Mafia: extortion and drug-dealing. This combination of powerful adults and youthful thugs allows the Asian gangs to achieve goals at any level.

Somehow I doubted that this Asian gang we were going to be dealing with was affiliated with a so-called “Tong”.  The reason for this has to do with the fact that this Vietnamese clique actually advertised themselves on the internet!  That’s how so many people learned about them and their planned attack.  My attitude towards them changed from curiosity to respect when I was shown a website which detailed ongoing fights between the Vietnamese “Xa Cockadau” and the Japanese Normandie Avenue “Zero Boys”.   Messages posted between gang members on the site include offensive language and death threats against specific members at upcoming events, such as the Fall Homecoming at the High School.  The one that caught my attention was their dauntless claim that they were going to take over Avalon Boulevard.  That’s Rainbow territory, you see.  On their site they boldly proclaimed that on a specific date they were going to take over the street and crush any crew that stood in their way. 

The young woman who showed me the site gleaned a few details about it from her little brother who was a member of the Zero Boys.   The site's address was normally kept secret among gang members.  The Web site is connected to a celebrity pornography site, which links to an additional 7,537 nude pages. Also on the web site, an allusion to male genitals appears next to a photo of a yellow smiley face. 

Well, when my gang got through with The Xa Cockadau, the smiley face was going to take on an entirely new meaning!

As I’ve stated, my group—The Rainbow—was the most notorious “gang” of all and because we were comprised of different racial groups, gangsters of different ethnicity’s secretly wanted in.  I didn’t blame them for wanting in either.  I mean, our members were led by me, a very intelligent war chieftess who made certain that my assemblage avoided doing the stupid things that got the members of other cliques killed.  I’m very proud to state that our “gang” was the best.  I have known too many bangers from other crews who came to this realization but lacked the courage to leave the familiar—especially if leaving meant breaking ties with lifelong friends and often family—in order to graft themselves into a band of strangers.  Even if these strangers did share goals more in accordance to their own personal beliefs. 

Any California gang-banger who’d ever been sickened by yet another senseless gang murder longed to be a part of The Rainbow at some time in their lives.  And as the desired gang’s leader, I enjoyed the diversity my clique already had … but I was still strongly attracted to the notion of having a few Asian boys around.  There was always the hope in my heart that members of Xa Cockadau would be absorbed into The Rainbow, but so far it was more a dream than anything. 

My homies would assume that I wanted to assimilate some Vietnamese gangsters into the group to show that no one who wanted to be down with us would be excluded ... Asians were the only color not represented in our assemblage, save for my homegirl Akashi Yoshikawa who—along with my other homegirl Sheba Johnson—never really considered herself an official member of my crew.  Well, grafting some XC boys into the assemblage to strengthen it’s variance was partly the reason.  Another reason, as I’ve said,  had to do with the fact that I’d gotten a jones to tickle Asians.

Being uncomfortable with acknowledging my intense love of tickling has been the stupidest obstacle I've faced during relationships. I can remember the first time I attacked the astoundingly ticklish feet of my homeboy Domingo—I grabbed his ankles and held them down while simultaneously tickling his bare soles furiously.  He went absolutely nuts, laughing so hard and with such hysterical force that he had no energy to fight me or pull his feet away.  But it had literally taken months for me to work up the nerve to playfully tickle any member of my crew despite the fact that so many of them were barefoot and shirtless around me at any given hour of any given day.

So mainly I tickled my crew’s enemies.  Tickled rival gangsters on the pretense of teaching them a lesson without really harming them. I look back upon those years of keeping tickling inside of me like some hideous secret. One thing I've learned is that life is too short for secrets, and that—in the end—there are very few things in life that warrant secrecy. Tickling certainly isn't one of those. Now I have the freedom to discuss it honestly with anyone, and to tickle anyone and I really don't care what people think about it.

But back in the day I scouted my prospects carefully.  This battle with the Xa Cockadau seemed to be my greatest chance to tickle those sleek Asian bodies, so I planned out my attack on them very carefully.  And on the day of said attack we were more than ready.  

My compatriots were guarding the alleyway on the east end of the street when the Xa Cockadau arrived on cue.  The Asian gangsters descended upon Avalon Boulevard seconds before sunset.  My crew and I were all wearing ski masks to hide our identities from members of the XC, but I’m pretty sure they would know who they were dealing with.  The fact that my crew was ready for them would make it an easy battle indeed. Although the Xa Cockadau had involved themselves in some serious scrapes, they had no field experience at all against true hard-core gangsters … whereas The Rainbow was comprised mainly of seasoned veterans of street warfare.

Snapping to attention at the sound of advancing feet, I was the first to see them filing through the alley.  From where me and my crew were hidden I could see their faces and was glad to find that none of their almond-shaped eyes were corrupted with fear or uncertainty.  I would feel guilty taking them down if they’d ambled tentatively into battle like a bunch of scared kids. Each XC gangster had a M1918A1 version of the Browning Automatic Rifle.  Experienced or not, I knew that only a surprise assault was going to be able to fell these well-equipped gangsters.

Wasn’t long before I realized that, while many of my crew had been distracted by the stillness in the air, the Xa Cockadau had secretly traversed to the very edge of the alleyway’s entrance. 

And over the discarded crates and filled garbage cans they came.  They were handsome Vietnamese youths with golden tan skin and jet black hair, almost laughing almond-shaped eyes and slim noses.   Some were tall and had their soft brow hair tied up in ponytail stubs. Some had short, neatly-clipped hair and were sporting very thick bottleneck glasses.  Some possessed strong cheekbones and large dark eyes that gave them a beauty that was almost painful to look at. They all wore baggy trousers and yellow football jerseys. On the front of the jerseys was a symbol of some kind … something that resembled the Nike swoosh.  On their feet were white sneakers and white sports socks.  Imagining what was beneath those sneakers and socks made me gasp.  I tried to pretend as if my zeal for battle was the reason for my air of anxiousness, even though the thought of tickling just one of these Asian boys made my private parts moist.

The firearms that this rival gang held looked new and unused—as if  they hadn’t come into play much through they years.  Some had shouldered their automatic rifles so that they could use both hands when they climbed in and around the debris that lay before and around them.  They poured into the alley in a cluster. 

Not keeping their weapons at the ready at all times would prove their undoing.

My  “gang” was armed with blowguns you see.  Yeah you heard me … honest to goodness, stone age tribal blowguns.  I purchased them online a week earlier from a sporting company that carried a large line of .40/.50 and .62 caliber blowguns … along with paintballs, hunting darts, sling shots, and airguns for everyone’s hunting needs.  Believe it or not, the blowgun is still used for hunting in various parts of the world.  These places include Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Columbia, Paraguay and Brazil.  It wasn’t difficult at all to obtain them.  My crew was also loaded down with a number of tranquilizer-coated darts, but I warn them to be very careful while handling them. It would be difficult to explain to a paramedic or hospital staffer if one of my boys accidentally pricked a finger on a chemical-tipped projectile.

The Xa Cockadau swarmed through the main thoroughfare of the alley, ready to take on anything and everything that moved.  But, to their complete surprise, the alley appeared to be deserted!

Me and my crew—trying our best to keep from laughing—spied them from our concealed vantage points within the shadows. 

The Asian gangsters halted, momentarily startled by the sight of the deserted alley.  Wasn’t this the place where the gang who claimed proprietorship of Avalon Boulevard normally hung out?  They had expected to find a cadre of gang-bangers armed to the teeth and ready to do battle.  Lowering their weapons yet again, they began to murmur amongst themselves ...  speculating on whether The Rainbow might have fled.  If that were true, then their excursion into enemy territory was a grave disappointment.

At that moment I glanced at my boys one last time, then shouted, “Step forward!”

My crew all advanced as one, but waited for the sound of gunfire to erupt around us. It remained silent. I realized that our opponents were still trying to ready their weapons and get a clear shot in the dimness of the alley. Too bad we weren’t about to give them a clear shot … or anything else for that matter. 

“Fire!” I shouted. As soon as we completely left the cover of the shadows, I heard the PHUT! of my boys’ blowguns in action. 

And while the members of Xa Cockadau were fumbling around with their firearms, my “gang” discharged their drug-tipped blowgun tranq darts.  Soon completely stupefide XC gangsters were falling right and left, the surprise attack by The Rainbow was working to perfection.  My boys took the Vietnamese cadre—who were struck absolutely dumb by first the seemingly empty passageway, then the totally unexpected offensive—from both sides

The tranq darts we used (Type 'P' 50 caliber disposables) were designed to provide a convenient, accurate, inexpensive long range projectiles for use on small game as well as large animals. They had tiny projections molded on the tail specifically designed for our Blowjection blowguns. Each dart contained a small explosive charge which detonates on impact and quickly injects the drug. The 1cc dart will sometimes bounce off a target but, because of the small quantity of liquid, the injection will be complete. In poor light or shadows, the dart flashes when the explosive detonates.

And did we see some flashes in that alleyway!

But not everything went smoothly.  One of the Asian boys panicked and began to fire indiscriminately.  The spray of gunfire halted the action for a short moment, but that moment was all they needed.  As I shouted the command to move, the bolder Xa Cockadau members sprang to life like a war machine. Jinking left and right, Domingo and André managed to evade the large quantity of bullets being fired at them. With a well-timed leap, Rasheed met one of the Xa Cockadau gangsters in hand to hand combat while I did likewise alongside him. The rest of my crew stood ready, their blowguns now quiet in fear of striking our own.

Once we got the fist-fighters away from us and had repositioned ourselves so that the entire Rainbow was situated on one side of the alley, Will Kill and Norberto took over, firing a succession of tranq darts in the brawlers’ general direction. We did pretty well, three more Xa Cockadaus went down. Barely taking time to aim at their targets, White Mike and André armed their blowguns and took down another two Asian gangsters.

The fact that they were being struck by something as unusual as darts must have freaked them to the point of sloppiness, because the Xa Cockadau were going down much too easily. It was one of the upshots of taking a group by surprise in an enclosed space when all your guys are on one side, all theirs are on another … and you don't care what part of the body you hit. Rasheed took down another two before they could react, White Mike got another one, and André took down another two. One XC boy near the entranceway bolted and Rasheed gave chase, L’il Diablo quickly following to cover him.  

Norberto picked off a hefty guy who had already been tagged by two darts.  As he pitched forward I could hear a squeal from his smaller XC compatriot as his bulky body fell onto him, trapping the more slender boy beneath him even as he too was struck by a dart.  Still this smaller gangster was able to wiggle out from beneath his unconscious homey and attempt to flee.  So I  blew another dart at him.  And this second projectile ended the youth's effort.  It struck the slender boy in the left shin and he immediately fell face-first to the alley floor and lay unmoving.

Again and again the Xa Cockadau charged, and again and again The Rainbow cut them down.  This Vietnamese gang was tenacious though.  Sure we’d had the element of surprise and hidden vantage points on our side, but before the battle finally came to a conclusion, we were glad of these advantages. 

Regardless, our adversaries eventually lay sprawled on the floor of the alleyway, unconscious and with dark silky strands of hair falling over their closed eyes. They looked even more attractive in limp repose—the perfect single folds of their eyelids, the slippery sleekness of their ebony hair, the sandalwood scent of their golden skin, their handsome fine-boned faces. I rolled several of them over onto their backs or stomachs so that I could view the dart wounds that caused only minimal bruising at their points of penetration.

The drug that our blowgun darts were tipped with certainly did their job.  Ketamine was available through veterinarians and was supplied in 10 l. bottles at a concentration of 200 mg. per milligram. Beyond that the solution becomes saturated and crystallizes out.  Ketamine is very good for big cats, fur bearing animals and—as it turns out—slim human beings.  It put most of our enemies out seconds after being shot, and now they lay crumpled on the alley floor like piles of dirty clothes.

Rasheed brought his walkie-talkie into play.  He pressed a button and spoke into it real business-like.

"Now, Tyrone."  he said.

A large van screeched around the corner and came to a quick halt right in front of the alleyway. The rear doors opened. Tyrone King and Rory McCammon and two more members of my crew got out and quickly helped the others to load the unconscious Xa Cockadau gangsters into the back.  Meanwhile I climbed into the passenger seat.

Once we arrived at a place we called “The Palace”—an abandoned warehouse on Wilmington that served as our favorite prisoner storage/torture locale—several members of my crew were still thirsting for revenge on these upstarts we’d captured.  They were more than willing to savagely torture the Xa Cockadau members for their insolent attempt at usurping our rule of the boulevard. But I stopped this talk by reminding them that our penchant for clemency was the factor that set The Rainbow apart from other gangs ... the factor that allowed us to triumph over our enemies.

I eyed my crew intently.  "We shouldn’t  seek vengeance now that we have the upper hand over these boys."  I said. "Unlike the Crips or the Playboys, we’ll prove that we’re worthy of the power we wield by showing our generosity and mercy."

Despite the fact that my words were full of morally superior benevolence, I knew that these enemy XC gangsters still had to be taught a lesson … they would all have to be punished somehow for daring to make a run at taking over Avalon. 

It was Domingo Escalante who made the suggestion to extend justice by having me thoroughly tickle the Asian boys.  And he only made the proposal because I had recommend tickling so often—as an alternative to execution or brutal torture for our enemies—in the past.  I had to smile when he made the suggestion.  I was training my boys well.  

As leader it would be up to me to administer the tickle torture.  And that’s just the way I’d planned it. The very solid-looking set of stocks that dominated the foot of a platform we’d constructed should have been an indication to my crew that tickle torture was going to be a running theme with The Rainbow.  But none of them ever really questioned why I had the contraption assembled.  Most simply assumed that we would be using it for more painful, draconian forms of torture. 

We pulled the unconscious gangsters by their ankles, across the warehouse floor and onto this rostrum we’d constructed. Their slender limp bodies slid along as though they were corpses. Then we began the stripping process. We untied and tugged off maybe fifteen pairs of sneakers.  Then we got their socks off and I stared fixedly at their warm feet.  I got so turned on seeing those boys’ soft vulnerable bare soles … the thought of tickling them tantalized my very depths to the point where my pussy quivered and fluttered.  Eventually I composed myself and continued the undressing process.  I enjoyed manipulating the rag doll-limp XC boys out of their attire.  Unlike the rest of my crew, I took great care in loosening their belts and unzipping their trousers. Then, I removed them by lifting their legs.

Stripping these unconscious gangsters caused my mind to flash back to other contentions my crew fought in the past.   

In one little battle we had with a rival gang called the “Pure Massacres” on West Lomita , The Rainbow—along with my sisters Sheba Johnson and Akashi Yoshikawa—trounced the young fascists and left nine PM’s KO’d in an empty field in Watson Junction. The sight of the helpless gangsters had done something to me back then.  Caused stirrings that I should have been ashamed of considering the fact that this gang was actually a cadre worthy of dignity and respect.   

Battling a tactics-minded crew like the Pure Massacres is a great mind-sharpening game of strategy.  Clashes against them always left The Rainbow stronger than they had been.  They spark the killer instincts necessary to bury an opponent when you have the chance (because the Pure Massacres will surely bury you if they get the chance) and it deepens the camaraderie of my boys because, when battling a crew of this sort, they had to put their total faith in each other. 

After we defeated the PM’s and stripped them down to only their underwear briefs as a final accentuating act of humiliation, Sheba and Akashi settled into their usual routine of molesting our defeated foes.  I can’t blame them.  Our rivals’ helpless naked bodies lay like a childhood toys on that field—the smooth pale skin of their muscled forms looking utterly beautiful.  Shameless Sheba had stripped one unconscious youth completely naked after brazenly ravaging his nipples with her tongue … pulled his cotton underwear down so that it just hung around one sleek ankle.  Akashi was a bit more subtle.  The Japanese girl ran her hands down an unconscious PM boy’s limp arms and across his ribcage on the pretense of feeling for broken bones.  As for me … well, my eyes devoured the remaining youths, concentrating on their unprotected armpits, ribs and bare feet.  I wanted to use everything—my fingertips, feathers, baby oil, vibrating massage appliances, electric toothbrushes—to tickle the daylights out of them.  But I held back because I was still too indecisive about revealing too much of my fetish at the time. 

Thoughts of what I could have done during that missed opportunity caused my pussy to throb. I could feel myself growing wet as I continued to strip the insentient Xa Cockadau gangsters.

Finally, the lot of them lay there upon the platform doll-like, almost totally naked (we’d left their underwear on) and vulnerable. We secured their feet into the wooden stocks—locked their sleek ankles into place. Their wrists were secured to the metal rings which were suspended from the ceiling by chains.  There were enough stocks and rings to keep twenty men captive and primed for torture, but only fifteen would be used this day.  Noticing this, I actually regretted the fact that The Xa Cockadau had not been a larger gang. 

This stylized ritual of selfishness ended with a phone call to my sisters, Sheba Johnson and Akashi Yoshikawa.  Yes, I decided to let my two best friends in on the fun.  Sheba and Akashi weren’t my real sisters, but I’d grown up with these two curvaceous girls as if they were.  I mean, the three of us together was so appropriate—an Asian girl, a black girl and a girl who was the combination of both! 

A lot of people mistook Sheba and Akashi as being younger than they were, although I don’t see how.  African-American Sheba was quite tall for her age, had cornrolled black hair and hazel eyes and was VERY pretty.  Japanese-American Akashi was rather average in height, had long black hair that went halfway down her back and brown eyes.  Akashi considered herself to be the “Plain Jane” in our clique although many many people tried to convince her she was far prettier than she considered herself to be.  I’m still not sure why someone as stunningly beautiful as ‘Kashi refused to acknowledge herself as thus. 

Anyway they were both home when I called them … and both assured me that they would be down to the warehouse in a flash. 

When our prisoners regained consciousness, my “gang” set to work. Only ten feet away from the platform, Rasheed had switched on his boom box so that base-heavy hip-hop filled the air—the rap music was meant to drown out the cries of our torture victims.  I had every intention of tickling these boys so hard that even the blaring of Outkast would be insufficient to fully mask the sound of their laughing shrieks. 

The bound Asian gangsters, of course, assumed that the music had been turned up to conceal their blood-curdling screams as they were summarily murdered.  The XC boys shook with fright even  after I explained that it was my intention to tickle and not kill them. Both options apparently sounded equally displeasing to them. 

Looking at so many handsome, helpless faces made me proud. We’d never had such a large collection of prisoners.  Although I wanted things to be nice when Sheba and Akashi arrived, I knew they would’ve had just as good a time if we’d only captured two or three.  But their visit was the motivation I needed to get off dead center and get a super tickle-fest of this magnitude accomplished.  My “sisters of the heart” hadn't been in on one of my fetish excursion since the Pure Massacre campaign, and I wanted them to see something special.

While we waited for them, André handed me the Emoisten. 

Emoisten Oil is a very highly concentrated (100 %) preparation and is designed to restore and regularize the moisture content of skin. The fact that it is an inflammatory steroid medication—containing the ingredients feldene and naprosyn—meant that the oil produces side-effects.  In this case the predominant side-effect was it’s penchant for making one’s skin very sensitive to the touch … even a light touch.

I smiled sadistically to myself as I coated the prisoner's bare, tender soles with this sensitizing salve. Feet contain a higher number of nerve endings than most other parts of the body, and this special concoction had a way of charging every one of those nerve endings—making even the most seasoned feet ticklish.   And it began to affect their soles almost immediately.  I mean, already the feet of the fifteen XC boys were writhing!

I had to comport myself as I watched their feet—long and slender, with their sweet toes and high arches.  The sight of them wriggling helplessly stirred me so much that I couldn’t resist assaulting a few with a playful “koochie-koochie coo.”  Within the stocks they kicked and jerked and laughed so hard that I felt myself close to creaming my panties from all their reactions.  I even dipped a camel hair paintbrush (Hobbico 1/4”)  in the herbal Emoisten concoction and thoroughly applied a fresh coat of it across each of the boys’ soles. The young gangsters’ bare toes curled and their already sensitized feet attempted to spring back from the touch of the stiff bristles—their golden-tan faces twisted in marked fear and demonstrative torment. 

Eventually the task of coating the soles of the bound young captives was completed. And as if on cue my sisters arrived. 

"Knock, Knock! It’s Avon calling!" Sheba had to yell to make herself heard above the rap music blasting from Rasheed’s boom box.  She banged on the door with her petite little fist and Norberto rushed to open it.  With that my girls strolled into the warehouse, each taking an eagle feather as White Mike proffered one to them.  It was our ritual.  They didn’t know that I had an irrepressible fetish, but they were used to me using tickling as a form of punishing upstarts.  I knew they would be more than happy to help me extend this form of punishment to the XC. 

“Lord have mercy!” Sheba said as she stared at the stocks and the fifteen terrified captives.  “Ain’t there some kinda law against kidnapping an’ shit?”

“They’re prisoners of war.”  White Mike said flatly.

 “So what do you think of my haul?” I asked the newly arrived girls, pointing towards the XC boys.

Sheba turned her head upward, then lit a marijuana joint.  She and Akashi both had their hair in an up-do, and both wore makeup to accentuate their cheekbones and eyes.  Both wore black form-fitting dresses that clung to everything—from their breasts, to their hips, to their nice rounded asses. They didn't have on pantyhose but their brown and tan legs were smooth and shiny.  By the sheer luster alone I could tell that their limbs were baby smooth.  On their feet were strappy high-heeled shoes. Both possessed demure ankles and shapely calves attached to those elegant feet.  My sisters were extremely sexy, however they’d kept their apparel rather conservative this day by wearing a black suit jacket with the dresses.  But even with those jackets on I—and the rest of my drooling gang of boys—saw everything.

“Well?  What do you think?”  I asked again impatiently.  

“I think we gon’ have some fun up in here!”  Sheba said, and passed her joint to Domingo on her way to where the trembling captive Xa Cockadau gangsters were situated.  Akashi followed. 

Now it was time to begin. 

For a while I stared at the Xa Cockadau’s leader, Loi “Lloyd” Dinh.  Loi’s normally black hair was dyed blond but it didn’t seem to contrast with the very Asian features of his handsome young face. He had a button nose and eyebrows so perfect that they seemed to have been expertly shaped.  But it wasn't the face of this boy that I was interested in. Without words I started touching his bellybutton then I pulled down his underwear. He didn't have a huge penis but it was bigger than I expected … and he had some sparse silky pubic hair near the base of his penis and also some scanty underarm hairs, but other than that he was hairless from the neck down.

As leader of The Rainbow, I was obliged to taunt and torment him somewhat.  And even though I wasn’t interested in hurting him, Loi  certainly didn't care for the way I ran my vibrating fingers lightly over his manly balls.  His shrieks grew even louder as I played with his toes, vibrating first his pinky toe then moving my way up to the big toe. Even his deep navel was not safe as I probed it with a vibrating index finger. He lay shuddering while I did whatever I wished to his helpless limp body.

My sisters stepped forward and started in on those fifteen pairs of tender, sensitized gangster feet.  First all the XC boys felt us begin to brush our fingertips across their oiled, extremely stimulated soles, moving them all over the bottoms of their feet. The Asian youths, in excruciating torment, began to shake. And even their gangster’s pride and rage and humiliation couldn't keep them from screaming for mercy.

Me, Sheba and Akashi all grabbed our feathers and camel-hair brushes and began to lightly scrape it up and down the soles of each of the young man’s feet.  Each brush triggered the powerful, outrageously tingling nerve endings which resulted in a torrent of tickles being jolted through the captive boys' bodies.  The confined youths, who couldn't help but to rattle, shake and rock with uncontrollable laughter, were ravished by the sensations.  The sound of fifteen stock-restrained boys laughing so uproariously and with such abandon could be heard above the blaring of the base-pumping boom box. 

The stiff bristles of the brushes traced every little curve of the XC boys’ heels and insteps at an agonizingly slow pace. My girls and I moved the bristles up to the balls of their super-sensitized feet, and to that particularly susceptible area directly beneath their toes. Dragging the bristles back and forth across the area, we ruthless homegirls bore witness as fifteen pairs of sleek male feet vibrate with unimagined wiggling. Wiggling so furiously that we could only guess at how the ticklish sensations were affecting each of our captives on an individual bases. The giggles, wails, writhing, screaming and howling grew so vehement that the male members of my crew—watching the proceedings from a distance—began to mumble amongst themselves. Whispering that maybe executing the Xa Cockadau gangsters might have been the more merciful thing to do to them!  They were still clad in their ski masks and such.  The only people the XC’s got a clear view of was me and my homegirls. 

Akashi Yoshikawa put down her feather and slowly approached the restrained, vulnerable bare feet of Loi Dinh, the handsome young leader of the XC boys. 

‘Kashi held Loi’s bare foot in her hands. "Xa Cockadau translates to ‘far kill’ in Vietnamese, right?" she said with an almost slyness in her voice. Loi Dinh was just about to protest against what we all knew the Japanese girl was about to do, but before he could her tongue slid across arch of his foot and then her mouth wrapped around the arch as she sucked gently on his instep.  The XC leader, even as he struggled against his restraints, seemed turned on by it, and then Akashi began sucking his toes.  Loi arched his foot in pleasure as he threw his head back and moaned aloud. The sensation of the girl sucking on his toes was apparently unlike anything the handsome young gangleader had ever felt.

I watched Akashi work while Sheba and I continued tickling the jerking, twitching soles of the other XC boys.  I could just imagine the electric feeling that surged throughout his slender body. 

"Well, when we’re done with you and your friends, you may want to change the name of your crew to the Lavang Lads." Akashi moaned under her breath as she sucked Loi’s big toe in and out of her hot mouth, heedless of the Emoisten oil that coated his digits. In fact, I think the tang of the oil spurred her on.  She began sucking his toes one by one with her eyes closed and a look of pure rapture on her face.  “You know what ‘lavang’ means, don’t you?  It’s Vietnamese for ‘crying out’!”

And cry out is just what Loi did as Akashi’s tongue snaked around his ticklish, wriggling toes. 

By now my attentive on-looking crew really began to enjoy the effect we were having on our enemy prisoners ... so me and the girls decided to increase the torture.  We each used one hand to take hold of one foot of an XC gangster. Then we took this same hand and harshly pulled the youths’ toes back away from the balls of their ultra-sensitized feet, exposing their soles better and stretching the skin.

Me, Akashi and Sheba then used the eagle feathers to wedge into those small areas and torment each and every nerve ending unmercifully!  We slowly and gently brushed every toe on all three of the Vietnamese gangsters’ feet we were focusing on before repeating the process with the others. We made certain to get underneath them, on the balls of their feet, and between them …with the XC boys laughing, screaming and wriggling all the while. Their sweat-slicked, almost naked bodies smelled of sandalwood, causing a sweet-spicy tang to float through the air and it created a stirring in my pussy.

All the gangsters tried hopelessly to curl their toes to reinforce their feet against the tickles, but even though curling their toes caused their soles to wrinkle it was no use.  The bottoms of their feet were so sensitive that even wrinkling them caused a deluge of tickles to race through their youthful male frames.  Each of us alternated from foot to foot on each youth, relentlessly tickling, brushing and scraping.

Eventually there were fifteen sets of young bare feet and a hundred and fifty bare toes with nerve endings in excruciating, inconceivable distress.  And the fifteen young owners of these feet and toes were wailing and pleading for mercy ... pleading for us torturers to at least halt their tickling torment for a moment.  

But me and the girls wouldn’t pause.  And the XC boys soon found their feet assaulted by the flame of lit cigarette lighters!  Sheba, Akashi, and the I took the cigarette lighters and delicately slid the flame up and down the surface of the captive young Asians’ insteps, then under and between their tender bare toes.  Not long enough to burn the youths ... just skimmed the flame along the superficies of their skin long enough to very lightly vex their already super-sensitized soles.   The fifteen gangsters howled in torment and tried with all their might to pull their feet away from the relentless tickling tribulation of the skimming flame.  But the stocks that held their feet and ankles were sturdy.  So the flame, brush-bristles, feathers and fingers continued to beset them.

Several members of my crew wanted their chance at punching our captives senseless when XC gangleader Loi “Lloyd” Dinh began to make verbal threats of retaliation in between his untrammeled shrieks of laughter. I responded by pressing the barrel of my Remington Magnum 1.08 kg to his forehead. That momentarily quieted him down, but not long after I removed the omen of instant death, the fool began making threats again, causing me and my girls to focus on him and him alone.

First Akashi  took her  fingertips and very lightly began to tickle Loi’s pits, starting by just barely brushing the hairs in there.  And when the gang leader shrieks and jerks violently in his bonds, the Japanese girl responds by digging in deeper and harder—watching the youth squirm and make vain attempts at trying not to show that it was getting to him.  Alas, it very quickly reached the point where he was begging her to stop.   She did not. 

Meanwhile I took my trusty violet feather and glided it over Loi’s nipples … from underarm to underarm … traveling over his male-nips on the way. His skin was visibly crawling with torment.  I almost felt sorry for that fact that the gangleader wasn’t able to pull his arms down.  I then proceeded to work the feather around the Asian youth’s navel, gliding it over his heaving tummy. This was clearly more than he could bear because he blacked out for a couple of seconds.

He awakened to find Sheba using her own feather to continue the attack on his armpits.  This underarm assault was apparently a few levels above unbearable because Loi made a supremely valiant attempt at pulling his arms down to protect his tender pits.  But his restraints simply would not allow this no matter how hard he tried.  When he nearly pulled his arms out their sockets while striving to escape the torturous feathers, Sheba decided to give his underarms a break …and proceeded to lightly tickle the XC gangleader’s abs and sides, right below his ribcage.

Akashi joined her, using feathers to slowly stroke up and down the exposed armpits that Sheba had backed away from in order to give the gangleader a break!  I watched Loi’s flat stomach rising and falling with desperate tickle laughter. No matter how dreadful the torment, he was completely unable to move his arms to protect his pits … nor could he raise the leaden weight of the stocks off his ankles.  Noticing the bulge at his crotch, I moved towards his midsection.

"No!" he pleaded as I lifted up the waistband of his briefs and watched as his penis stood shamelessly at attention. I let the top of his underwear go so that just the tip of his dick was sticking out.  Without a word I began to tickle Loi all over: stomach, ribs sides and armpits, and letting my forearms and elbows rub up and down his penis.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! HAHAHAHAH!!!!”

The handsome young gangleader was now oozing precum. I rubbed my finger in it and began rubbing it over his dickhead.

He said, "Please, no more … "

I pulled down his briefs even further and began stroking him with one hand and massaged his balls with the other. I could actually feel the cum surging inside him, and he tensed up in an attempt to stop it. But I kept stroking faster and faster, and firmer and firmer.  And was my pussy hot as I did this!  I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be able to see a little dampness through the denim of my jeans.  My pussy seemed to be dripping copiously … creaming my panties clear through.  But I was so excited that I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to. 

I could also see that Loi Dinh was really straining to hold it in, but soon he began pumping up and down as much as his bonds would allow him, and he howled as he shot out a huge load of cum up over my head and onto my neck and chest.  Some of it splattered onto the gangleader himself, leaving a trail on his flat stomach.

But if the Asian youth thought that ejaculation afforded him relief from the other torments, he was sadly mistaken.  Sheba continued assaulting his body with both feather and fingers. 

"HAAAA HAAAA HAAAA HA HA HA HAAAA … NO  YOU’RE GONNA KILL ME!!! SOMEBODY HELP MEEEEE!!! HEEEE HE HE HEEE HA HA HA HA!!!" Loi shrieked as my sister stroked his pit-flesh with her feather for several more cruel minutes.  She then began the poking torture—pressing  her index fingers repeatedly into the soft sparsely haired flesh, torturously massaging the delicate muscular which lay beneath.  She prodded her wiggling index fingers deeper and deeper, violating the gangleader’s most ticklish muscle tissue.  Loi “Lloyd” Dinh howled out several new rounds of screaming laughter before passing out cold.  

Me and my girls returned to the other gangsters and didn't stop our torturous onslaught until a sizable number of them began to faint one by one as well.

After it was over, my version of being merciful was to drug them all back into unconsciousness, re-dress them like babes, then dump the lot of them into an empty field back on their own turf.  And the only thing we would have stolen from those boys was their pride and dignity for a little while.  I mean, when we dump them they’d