tickletherapy

[tickletherapy]

Angela, The Ticklish Domme

“Angela, we start rolling in fifteen minutes, so get dressed,” David says from behind the door to my dressing room. I tug off my green polo shirt, unbutton my capris and undo the straps on my sandals before slipping into a black lace bikini and becoming “Angel”, Scourge of the Ticklish.

   I giggle to myself as I stand before the mirror. So, this is what my victims see before I tickle them into giggling puddles on-camera? A thin, caramel-skinned brunette in a black bikini? My thin frame and gaping, rounded brown eyes don’t look like they’d inspire much terror, even with the five-headed snake tattoo running down my right forearm. Is this really what Phoebe saw last week when her entire body shuddered before me, or what made Veronica’s eyes widen in fear last Friday, before she tried to break away from the table? I shrug. Scary or not, I suppose I must look very different to someone who is strapped down spread-eagle with all her sensitive parts exposed.

   I look myself in the eye, and flash my reflection a hungry stare. I lick my lips and smile, promising plenty of fun will be had at someone’s expense today. That’s the Angel I know. I nod, turn away from the mirror and prepare to leave my dressing room. The familiar, cool touch of the polished wooden floor on my suntanned bare feet helps me slip into character as I enter the shooting area, my red toenails catching the lamplight as I step in front of the cameras.

   Up ahead, I see David, standing with arms folded, still sporting that affable grin that never seems to leave him. I can even see the laugh lines in the corners of his face. There’s something really charming about a guy in his mid-50s who still knows how to smile like that. If his wife didn’t have a problem with co-workers visiting, I’d check on him at home to see if he’s always smiling like that. “Early as usual,” he says. “I guess you’re eager to get started?”

   I return a smile of my own. “As always, Dave.” I look at the chair in the center of the room. It sits against a wooden pillar with metal cuffs jutting from the sides, for the wrists of the poor lee. I notice a lever for adjusting the height of them. Excellent for keeping the sides and pits nice and exposed. Further ahead is a pair of stocks with fiber straps for holding back the toes. I nod my approval. “Nice setup. Whoever sits there won’t have much breath left when this shoot is over.” I turn back to him with a mischievous grin on my lips. “So, who’s the lucky girl getting it this time?”

   David chuckles, but does not respond. He stares back at me and raises his eyebrows. My jaw drops. “I guess you forgot what I told you over the phone?” he says, reprimanding me with a single raised brow. I slap my forehead, fingers digging into my scalp. How foolish! I mean, how else could I have been convinced to come over for a shoot on a Sunday? He must have noticed the parting looks of envy I’d been sending to each of the other models after I left them blushing and out of breath on the rack. Or, maybe prancing around in a black lace bikini for this long has caused the viewers to request that I have a turn tied down?

   I turn back to the device in the center of the room, and picture myself sitting there, arms locked over my head, bare feet outstretched, toes pulled back. The thought makes me shudder. I’d go ballistic if someone tickled me in that.

   My breaths become heavy and as I look down, I notice that I’ve crossed one foot over the other. I swallow and force myself to keep a straight face as I look back at David. “I see… So, who is going to be doing the tickling?”

   David’s smile returns, but again, he says nothing.

   “A secret for me to find out, I take it? You’re just horrible.” I let out frustrated a sigh. “Ok! So be it. I think I can handle this.” Can I?! I haven’t even approached the device yet and already my legs are shaking. With excitement or fear? I cannot tell. Only one thing is certain: If I walk away from this opportunity, I’ll never forgive myself.

   Pessimism nags at me, imploring me to listen to my fears. These things are always scary at first, but I’ve never regretted it once. Surely this can’t be any worse than the time I was gang tickled back in the high school locker room seven years ago? The memory of being grabbed, forced down onto the locker room bench and tickled on my sides and feet by ten hands with manicured nails, sends an excited shiver through me. The way they teased me with cooing baby talk and used slow, well-placed finger strokes across my sides and feet to drive me wild, brings a wistful grin to my face. Funny how these things always seem so much more fun when they’re not moments away from happening. As I return my gaze to the chair again, my legs become unstable. I’m starting to miss my high school daydream. “Ok. L-let’s get started then,” I say, not sounding as confident as I’d hoped.  

   I attempt to march over to the chair, but my legs won’t move. I feel everyone’s eyes on me. What must they think of me right now? As I stand there, unable to move, I don’t feel like Angel anymore, just Angela. Two warm hands grasp my shoulders. “Easy,” David says. “Breeeeeathe.” There’s a hint of teasing mockery in his tone, but the warmth of his breath and the gentle tickle of his voice in my ear cause my muscles to relax. I don’t resist as he guides me over to the chair.

   David supports me as I bend my knees and seat myself. He then lifts my feet into the stocks in front of me.  His younger cameraman, Dwayne, joins him in “helping” me into my restraints. I feel goosebumps on my arms as Dwayne’s firm hands grasp my wrists and press them into the metal cuffs above me. He looks down at me through his beard and moustache and winks as he locks my arms in place. A warm feeling runs through the pit of my stomach as some memories of Dwayne begin to resurface. He may not have the face or body for modeling, but his hands have proven in the past to be good for much more than just keeping a camera steady.

   “Angela, could you uncurl your toes for a moment?” David asks. “I need to get them secured in the stocks.”

   I comply, blushing as David finishes up with my feet. I suppress a shudder as each long toe is slipped into a restrictive strap and pulled back until I almost feel a stretch. I try to resist the urge to test them. I’m close enough to a panic attack already. Once my feet are done, I sigh, but it’s not over yet. I hear a crank and feel a stretch as my wrists and ankles are pulled outward along the tracks. Once they stop, I cannot move at all. My elbows won’t bend, my knees won’t buckle, my toes won’t curl… I might as well be a statue. I feel tingles throughout my body as the breeze from the air conditioner prickles my bare skin.

   I take deep breaths, trying not to think too hard, but every failed attempt to move my arms or my legs fills my mind with worries. Can I handle this? Can I stay in character under these conditions? Will they notice if I stop breathing? What if I jerk too hard and hurt myself? Will they use brushes on my feet? Oh, God! Please don’t let them use brushes! I’ll die!

   I shake my head. It’s stupid. This always happens before the tickling starts, and I’ve always walked away with a red-faced smile. “Ready?” David asks.

   The question sends a shiver down my spine. I offer a final sigh, before nodding my head.

   “Action!”

   The camera clicks on. I hear a giggle from the distance. The rolling of the camera reel. A light cough from David. Each sound sends a prickle along my skin. A sign that I’m one step closer to the experience I’ve been both dreading and anticipating.

   I hear the soft padding of bare feet behind me. My would-be tickler must be close. My stomach muscles tighten, I suck in my breath, and without thinking, I pull against the cuffs around my wrists in a foolish attempt to cover my exposed sides. The footsteps couldn’t be clearer. She must be right behind me, within arm’s reach of my vulnerabilities. Even though nothing has happened yet, I can already feel the vague sensation of fingernails teasing up and down my sides. I brace myself for the inevitable tickle, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she walks right past me.

   A manilla bikini, a skinny, pasty white body – young too –, no tattoos, and a mop of blonde hair tied into a very short ponytail. I remember her. She turns to face me, meeting my gaze with her oceanic eyes. It only lasts a moment before her cheeks color and she averts her gaze, with a short wave, and an apologetic grin. Phoebe. My muscles relax and I slip into character the moment I see her face. “Well, hello there, Phoebe,” I say, shooting her the same hungry grin that had turned her into a mess of giggles last week.

   “…hi,” she giggles back, clasping her hands in front of her. I nearly giggle, myself. It turns out she doesn’t need to be tied down on an X-frame in order to look like a total lee. I bet I could break her down into a soft dough with verbal teasing alone.

   Still, that’s not what I’m being paid for. “So, you’re the one who’s going to tickle me today?” I ask. I wiggle my feet to beckon her over, or try to. Again, I’d forgotten about the restraints. Instead I motion her over with my fingertips as they hang high above my head.

   She blushes and nods, before stepping up to me and stopping in front of the stocks, hands still clasped. As she approaches, her alabaster hands part and hang in the air. My breath stops as I watch her, my fear and excitement building up as one. She stares down, head shaking and eyes blinking as if my feet are part of an elaborate bomb to be disarmed.

   I groan inside as she struggles to work out how to properly guide her hands to my helpless feet. Her immaculate fingernails look very long and sharp. If she’d just put them to use, I could be in hysterics right now, completely at her mercy as she has her way with me. The thought gives me shivers, but then my gaze returns to Pheobe and the fantasy shatters. That shy grin and that closed posture. This one is too yielding and innocent for this kind of work. Ugh! Reminds me of how I am outside the studio. She needs to find her inner-domme, but how do I help her do that without breaking character?

   “So, do you like what you see over here?” I say, getting her attention as I sneer at her. “I still remember how I made you laugh back on the X-frame last week. You melted under my touch. It was so easy. You’d better be careful if you want revenge. Touching me could make you melt again.” Finishing with a cruel snicker, I tilt my gaze over to the corner of the room. David grins and nods back to me.

   As I turn back to Phoebe, she’s still giggling and hiding her head between her shoulders, blushing as if her favorite male celebrity had just called her by name. I then notice a subtle spark of mischief in her eyes. Her eyelids lower a fraction, and for the briefest of moments, she lifts her gaze from my lower lip and dares to make eye contact. I feel a pulse return to my dying expectations and I fight to mask my growing excitement. Come on! Don’t let me down, Phoebe!

   She reaches forward with those dainty, sharp-nailed fingers. No tentative first stroke, no teasing circle around the edge of my foot, she dives right in, spidering all over both feet at once. As soon as I feel the first strokes send skittering tingles across the soles of my feet, I twitch and flinch, wishing I could do so much more.

   My toes try to curl on reflex, but the fiber straps ensure that they remain pulled back, leaving my quivering flaxen soles completely taut. So, this is what foot tickling with toe straps feel like? Phoebe’s pale bubble toes had been tied the same way just last week. Memories of her cute, high-pitched wailing and cries for mercy haunt me as she returns the favor on my larger, darker size 10s.

   Panic sets in as I howl with laughter. “W-waitwait! WAHAHAHHAHAIT!” I cry, surrendering in seconds, as my restraints remind me of my helplessness. In my head, I’m waving my hands in protest, and kicking my feet like an impatient toddler, but back in the real world, my hands are still secured above my head, and my feet haven’t budged an inch. I more than make up for it in laughter. Shaking my head and pivoting my hips, I bellow towards the ceiling, unable to stop myself.

   My mind searches my imagination for a way out, but my feet belong to Phoebe for now. I’m hers to play with until she decides she’s done making me squirm.

   …and then she stops. My heart thuds against my chest. I relax my breathing as I get over the exciting shock of the recent event. Phoebe’s approach may have lacked grace, but the restraints more than made up for it.

   …so why on Earth did she stop?!

   I gaze up at her and she returns that same apologetic grin from before, standing still like she’s awaiting an evaluation. Does she want a goddamn round of applause? She’d better not think this is done yet. I feel restless. If my tickler was someone with more experience, I’d think she was trying to coax me into begging her for more.  At this point, I don’t care if she ends up tickling me unconscious. If she doesn’t give me something in the next minute or so, I’m sure I’ll crumple up like an empty can.

    “What? Is that all?” I say in a teasing tone. “I must have tickled you harder than I realized, if that’s the worst you can bear to give me.” Lingering doubts insist that I’m tempting a fate that I’m not ready for, but I ignore them and laugh in her face. “I never imagined one could get PTSD from tickling.” I tilt my head back and laugh again. As I finish, I find that she has moved past the stocks and now stands just beyond my knees.

   She does not say anything, but she raises her fair little hands and wiggles those pointy nails of hers. I let out a nervous giggle, and my breath catches in my throat as her fingers move towards the small gap between my thighs. She wouldn’t, would she? Could she?

   No. Her hands stop in place and begin to pull back. All the anticipation I’ve built up begins to evaporate. Shame on me for expecting her to have the audacity. Just as I lift my head to voice my disapproval, her hands dart for my bare belly, digging into my ribs. Laughter explodes from me in an abrupt burst, and then keeps coming as her cool, white fingers dance all over my warm, golden sides and stomach.

   I shake my head, slapping her with my brown hair. My wrists tug against the restraints, once again reminding me that I cannot move. I try to pull away from her fingers, but all I can do is suck in my stomach, buying me a few seconds of relief before her fingers follow and make me laugh even louder than before.

   Her fingers tickle, but I know she can do better. Does she really think these belly laughs of mine are anything like the desperate squeals and satisfying shriek I’d drawn from her back when I’d slid my fingers up her sides and dug deep into the hollows of her armpits? Just thinking about it brings color to my cheeks. Shame that I need to resort to something like that while in the throes of laughter.

   Her fingers pull away again, and I feel ready to snap at her. Last week, I brought her to the limits of her endurance, tickling her feet until they’d turned pink, tickling her sides and belly until her stomach muscles refused to un-tighten, and teasing those two rising buds on her chest until she could not look me in the eye without bursting into embarrassed giggles. Is this how she repays me!? There’s no way she can consider this to be a proper payback!

   “CUT! CUT!” David shouts. The camera clicks off and he strides in, holding his director’s cutting board under his arm. Phoebe turns to him, blue eyes widened and blinking. Pssh! Is she really that oblivious? “Phoebe, I understand this is your first time, so listen. You’re going to put our viewers to sleep if you continue like this. Trust me, Angel can take much more than what you’re giving her.”

   Phoebe gasps. “A…are you sure?”

   David motions her over to him and she follows. The two of them speak in low murmurs, while I sit alone with my thoughts, hoping that he’s giving her some harsh truths. The sight of her sets my head aflame. Who does she think she is? Does she always leave taking the initiative to others? Why does she have to be so damn compliant!?

   I sigh. This all sounds too familiar. Once this shoot is over and I leave the studio, I know I’ll be saying “Goodbye” to strong, dominant Angel and returning back to being meek, submissive Angela. I’ll fall back into the busy schedule my peers have set for me, all because I lack the will to set one for myself. At least I have Angel. What does Phoebe have? It feels good to have someone to look down on when I’m feeling this way.

   The thump of boots and Merrels signals the approach of David, followed by Dwayne. Phoebe is close behind. David rubs his hand across his grayed scalp and looks up at me with an uneasy grin. “Uh, hey! Sorry about this. We just needed to give Phoebe a little pep talk to get her into the mood. She doesn’t seem to realize how much tickling you can handle.”

   I grin back at him. “It’s okay, I’m sure you straightened her out.”

   David sports his usual smile, but his lips tighten and he lowers his eyes to the floor. “Actually, we’re still working on that. We may need your help.”

   I nod. “Of course. I’ll be happy to help.” This should be no problem, now that I’m off-camera and can speak to her as Angela.

   “Thanks Angel. She’s all yours.” David turns away from me and leans back, sitting atop my stocks and letting his, rugged legs hang between by yellowed arches, while I turn my head to speak to our potential domme.

   I look her in the eye and force a giggle. “Phoebe, I appreciate your concern about me, but I am a professional. I’m not afraid of being tickled.” A bold-faced lie on my part, and thank goodness for that. If tickling didn’t scare me, it would be as bland as lettuce without vinegar.

   I flash her a confident smile. “See? Would I be smiling like this if I was nervous? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Phoebe laughs. I’d give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder if my wrists weren’t still locked high above my head. “I understand if you feel worried that you’re going too far. This isn’t something you’re used to doing. I can tell you’re a very kind and caring woman outside the studio. However, in here, you need to become someone else. Actually, forget I said that! You need to discover a new you. One that you’ve been keeping hidden away for all these years.”

   Phoebe reaches down and scratches her pale forearm. “Gee, um… I don’t know if I really…”

   “Of course you do!” I say in an insistent tone. “You just don’t realize it yet. Shame has a way of burying this aspect of you deep in your subconscious, but it’s there. I’m sure of it. If you manage to let it out, I’ll be very proud of you.”

   Phoebe takes a deep breath.  “Ok, I’ll try.” She walks up to the stocks and David prepares to dismount, but she then stops. “Wait! How will I know when to stop?”

    I pause. I’d never thought about that. I bite my lower lip, ignoring her questioning stare as I ponder. “Hold on for a moment. David?”

    David leans back and I lean forward. “What is it?” he asks.

    “What should I tell her?” I whisper.

    “You could always mention safewords, like Orange, Uncle, Popsicle...”

    I scoff at the idea. “Safewords? A lee’s training wheels? I think not! Besides, I’d be breaking character, wouldn’t I?”

    “Come on, Angel, we’re just trying to make her feel better. You don’t have to actually use them.”

   Phoebe leans in. “What are you two talking about?”

   “Oh, we’re just planning.” David leans back. “Care to tell her?”

   I hesitate. He does have a point. If it’s just a convenient lie, then what’s the harm? I almost don’t notice as ten deliberate fingers began to creep down over my toes and across the balls of my feet. I do, once my hesitant stammering breaks into giggles. “Hey! Hehehey! Wahahahahait! David! That’s not fahahahahahair! Hahahahaha!” I sputter as he wiggles his fingers across my bare feet. “Dahahahavid! Whahahahat the Hell?!”

   David chuckles, but his fingers don’t stop or even slow. Their warm, fluttering touches send shivers down my arches. “You looked like you were having some trouble, so I decided to help you out. If she wants to know how much you can handle, then we’ll just show her. You said you’d be happy to help out right?”

   “I dihihihidn’t m-mean – neheheheheh!” Unable to budge as he assaults my sensitive feet, my only consolation is that he doesn’t have Phoebe’s sharp nails. Using that to my advantage, I struggle to use my words to dissuade him, but speaking English is growing more difficult. “Hahahaha c-cohohohome on! Th-thihihihi-is… mahahahahbye we could…wait!” I feel his pointer fingers wander over to the edges of my feet. I swear, if he touches me under my pinkie toes I’ll... “NOHOHOHOHO! NOHOHOHO YOU BASTARD! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He knows I hate it there, but what can I do to stop him as he sits there, back turned and probably grinning like a little boy who just stole my diary? And of course he’ll get away with it. The cunning devil knows be too well.

   “See what I’m doing, Phoebe?” David says. “She absolutely hates it here. Just one toe is bad enough, but tickling both at once…”

   “SHUT UP! SHAHAHAHAHAHAHDAP! HAHAHAHAHAHAOHOHOHOSTAHAHAHPIT! PLEHEHEASE!” I tug against my toe restraints, feeling everyone’s eyes on me the whole time as I degrade myself before them. I throw back my head and howl with laughter, unable to even think of staunching the flow of laughter, now that two of my surrender spots are under attack. Through the narrow slit of my left eye, I see Phoebe. She gawks at me, eyes wide open, hands pressed to her mouth and jaw hanging open.

   David continues to lecture her, describing each of my reactions and making me feel like a sideshow.

   My cheeks grow warm and I avert my gaze, but I can still feel Phoebe’s stare and can visualize the pity in her eyes, as David’s fingers, wiggling under my toes drive me into a wild hysteria. It hardly seems fair. Last week, my fingers had her shrieking, writhing against her restraints, and begging me to stop for a good 15 minutes, but she didn’t complain afterwards. What gives her the right to pity me over something like this?

   David’s fingers slide away from my pinkie toes, trailing down my arches and making me squeak  as they dismount with a flick off the heels of my feet. He then turns and grins at me, while I stare back, resisting the urge to giggle. “Oooh you asked for it. When I get out of this, you are so… so…” My voice trails off, and my eyes widen as a pair of younger hands appear in front of me, wiggling their fingers. I recognize the dexterous things right away and every muscle in my body tightens. “Oooh no! Dwayne, don’t you even think about it,” I say, giggling despite my protests.

   The hands fly off in opposite directions, disappearing from my sight. An instant later, ten fingers press into my forearms and drag downwards, sending tingles along my arms and a third tingle down my spine. My breaths go quick and light, and my fists clench as Dwayne’s hands descend towards my armpits. I know what those hands are about to do to me. I know what they can do to me. I still remember what they’ve done to me, like it happened this morning instead of last month. My entire body reacts from their warm touch, and the goosebumps from before return to my arms.

   As his hands descend, my anticipation of ticklish oblivion dominates all my senses. David’s lecturing and Phoebe’s gawking fade from my awareness, no longer registering in my mind. The tips of Dwayne’s strong fingers slide past the undersides of my elbows, wiggling his fingers into them just long enough to make me scrunch my shoulders and smirk from the tease.

   Then we enter more dangerous territory. Before, I knew the destination. Now, the runway is in sight, the flaps are up, the landing gear is out, and all I can do is hold my breath and wait for the very bumpy landing.

   The feeling running down my arms is just a very light tingle, but anticipating the oncoming torture, and thinking about Dwayne’s amused grin, both reduce me to helpless giggles. “P-leheheehease! D-Dwayne… Tchehehe! D-don’t do this…” I say, sporting a blushing grin.

   DO IT! my subconscious screams. I brace myself for it, sucking in my breath, biting my, lip and feeling determined to fight my ticklish impulses for as long as I can. A fight I’m bound to lose eventually. I can’t wait.

   Of course, he would never make it that simple. Both hands continue their course. They’re inches from my pits, inches from pushing me over the edge and into wild helpless hysteria. As they come within an centimeter of the soft valleys, they slow their descent. By the time Dwayne’s finger tips reach the very edges of my pits, I’m certain that they couldn’t possibly move any slower.

   He seems to agree, for his hands have come to rest, one finger flick away from their smooth, hairless targets. I know his game, but it doesn’t make this any easier. I squeal with impatience as I sit there, unmolested, while my mind goes wild with fantasies of being bent to his whim. Why must he torment me like this?

   A hand ventures downward, dipping into the hollow of my armpit and scratching along the surface. My face scrunches and giggles tumble out despite my best efforts. I tilt my upper body toward his hand, hoping to somehow cover myself, but then his other hand comes down to tickle the other spot that I’ve so generously offered him. “Nohohoho! Stahahahahahap!” I wiggle from side to side, each time maneuvering one of my pits right into his waiting fingers and driving up the volume of my laughter until I’m shaking my head and howling.

   “Right now, you belong to me,” he whispers right into my ear in a husky voice, making the small hairs on my back prick up. “Stop struggling and surrender.” His words are too soft for the camera to pick up. They were meant for me alone. “You’re only keeping this up because I let you. After all…” One of his hands lifts from my armpit and darts for my neck, fingers teasing the side of it with spidery strokes.

   “Stahahahahpit! Dohohohon’t you dare! Hahahahaha!” I say, trying and failing to assert my authority over him. Each finger stroke draws a small gasp from me. I try to keep calm, but I know what’s coming next. He waits until I’m blubbering pleas for him to stop, then lifts his other hand and begins toying with the other side of my neck. A switch is flicked somewhere in my mind and I go completely nuts. “NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” I lift my shoulders, and whip my head from side to side, but his fingers are in too deep for me to shield myself from this torture.

   I’ve reached the limits of my resistance. I throw my head back and surrender to the tickling. Letting his fingers guide my every action. I hear him snicker as I lose myself to my impulses.

   By the time his hands lift, droplets of sweat have begun to roll down my forehead. I fall back into the chair, gasping for breath. Dwayne gives me a comforting pat on the head before circling around to the front. I grin, still giddy from the experience. Then my gaze returns to David and Phoebe. David covers his mouth, suppressing a laugh at my expense, while Phoebe’s face hasn’t changed at all. Her arms hang to either side of her, but her mouth is still ajar.

   Blushing, I shoot David a bitter look, as I recall how this all started. “Care to explain why you didn’t think to warn me?” I ask with an edge in my tone. “You owe me for that.”

   David shrugs and walks up to the stocks, hands ready. My eyes bug out as they lower to my helpless feet. “H-hey! What are you…” I gasp as I feel the touch of his fingers on my feet, and I brace myself for more punishment. However, instead, he rewards me with a foot rub using the flats of his warm fingers. This couldn’t come at a better time. I sigh and roll my head back as he lets me catch my breath. I want to scold him some more, but the fear of losing this blissful foot rub keeps me quiet. “Never… do that to me again,” I say, moaning as he presses deep into the balls of my feet.

   I see no signs of remorse on his face, just the same old grin. “Would you let me do it again if I throw in another foot rub?” He punctuates the question by giving each of my toes a nice tug.

   “Mmmm!…maybe?” I giggle, swooning with each stretch that I feel.

   “Um… I’m still not sure if I feel okay…” Phoebe says.

   David blinks in surprise. “Oh, right! Phoebe!”

   “Yes, David,” I say, waggling my finger from its position high above my head. “She was why you tickled me, remember?”

   He chuckles and slaps his forehead. “Ah, Phoebe. Sorry, but after putting Angel through all that, I doubt she’s ready for any more right now.” He turns to me. “You wouldn’t actually be willing to…?”

   I shake my head. “No, I would not. I need a break.”

   “R-right.” He turns back to Phoebe. “So, you see… Oh God this is embarrassing. And you’re not looking any more motivated than before.” He sighs. “Fun as that was, it looks like it was just a waste of time.”

   “Well, we could use the footage from your ‘Lesson’,” Dwayne says. “I’m sure people would be happy to see that.”

   “What?” David shakes his head, blinking. “But I thought the camera wasn’t rolling?”

   Dwayne grins. “Once I saw what you were up to, I decided to turn it back on. It looked too good not to capture. You have to admit, it’s pretty funny how this turned out. I’m sure the audience will love it.”

   David folds his arms and stares at the floor. “Hmmm…. Maybe. With some changes to the video description, we could make this work after all.” He looked up and pats Dwayne on the back. “So, how’s that, Dwayne? Looks like all this craziness got you into your first shoot. There’s just one thing.”

   He spins around, facing me directly with his hands on his hips. “Angel, this wasn’t what you signed up for.” My mouth falls open. If he tries to worm his way out of paying me, I’ll throttle him in his sleep, blissful foot massage be damned!

   He appears to notice the look in my eyes. “Easy, Angel. We fully intend to pay you for everything. I just need your consent before I release this off-contract video.”

   I sigh, then press my lips together, stifling a laugh. It seems poor David’s forgotten that he never told me who my tickler was supposed to be in the first place. “Well,” I begin, shooting him a coy grin, “I think I can be convinced…”

   David leans in, eyes wide. “Yes? If?”

   I giggle. “If you let me have a free copy for myself, you can sell as many as you want. I’m sure it’ll make for some very pleasant memories.” I yawn. “Now, could you please help me out of this device? My throat is parched and I need to pee.”

[tickletherapy]

Be Taught or Tickled

The one thing I've always been is a fair man. I'm a good guy, but I'm the type who needs to bring order to chaos. I was raised that way, that's why my employer loves me, and that's all I know how to be. It was much easier before I married the woman of my dreams. Despite how happy I am now, before I met her, I was happy in another way: everything was ordered the way I wanted, and I flourished.    My wife's name is Melanie. She's 36, but the hottest 36 I've ever seen! She's on the shorter side, with blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and a trim figure. The way her jeans hug her ass drives me wild. Her cute yoga pants clinging to her curves is a thing of beauty. But it wasn't just her looks that smote me; she was smart, funny, and everything a man could want in a woman. I knew I had to marry her.    So, how was this angel available for a middle-aged man? She had a kid: Jessica. Now, don't get me wrong, she's not a horrible kid. But there were always tendencies toward behavior that neither I nor her mother liked. Now she was 18 and had been away at college for her first semester. College that I, her wonderful stepfather, was footing the bill for.    Melanie and I had been happily married for four years, but this last week had been straining me like no other. First, Melanie took my gorgeous Mustang out to run errands, ending up in a fender-bender at the grocery store. My pristine car was now damaged goods, and she was the one at fault. There went my insurance costs! Plus, that car was slated to go to Jessica as a gift in a year or two; she had always loved the Mustang.    Then, two days later, I received word from Jessica's college: terrible grades, bad behavior, partying, boys, booze, disrespect, tardiness, absences, and every other offense was read off to me. These women were costing me a fortune, and I knew order would have to be restored. It was time to do what I did best.    "What are we going to do?" Melanie asked, after she got off the phone herself with the college. "She's out of control! It's amazing they haven't kicked her out yet."    "Well, I had to grease some skids," I admitted. "They didn't want her back next semester."    "She'll be home tomorrow," she said, worriedly. " We have to talk some sense into her!"    Little did my wife know, but I was way ahead of her. I knew talking yet again to her daughter wasn't going to help matters. Jessica thought she was an adult now. She had tasted freedom for the first time and wanted to live it up on my dime. The four years of talks we had only led to this irresponsible behavior; the time for talk was over.    So, what could I do to bring her to her senses? We couldn't ground an 18-year-old. I wasn't going stop paying for her education; my stepdaughter would have the best. It was useless to take away her car during her break, as she had any number of friends who would simply pick her up. I wished I could have just spanked some sense into her.    Spanking... That made me ponder: what did Jessica hate or fear along the lines of spanking? Something came to mind: being tickled. If one of her friends had even attempted to tickle her as a kid, she'd scream bloody murder. Perhaps physical punishment was frowned upon these days, but tickling wasn't so severe, was it? It wasn't damaging, and it didn't leave any marks. I would spin it as if she had an ultimatum: her funds would be cutoff, her newfound lifestyle would be over, she'd have to live under our roof forever, or she could take a tickling from her mother and I. I knew the choice she'd reluctantly make.    I did some research online, finding site after site about tickle torture. Methods, tools, techniques, and ways to restrain the victim flooded the internet. I was glad I looked before I made a little shopping trip; now I knew exactly what to look for.    "No, honey. Talking to her isn't going to help," I said, taking a plastic shopping bag from the counter and emptying its contents onto the kitchen table.    Out fell a bag of feathers, an electric toothbrush, a bottle of baby oil, and a hairbrush. The second bag I took, my wife watching in confusion, was turned over; a coil of green rope and a Wartenberg wheel tumbled onto the table.    "What the heck is all this?" my wife asked, her eyes darting over everything. "Is that bag from the adult store?"    "This," I said, wadding up the bag and sticking it in my back pocket, "is how we're going to teach your daughter a lesson."    "Henry," she sighed (she does that when she doesn't get me), "what are you talking about?"    "Jessica doesn't care what we have to say," I explained bluntly. "Our lectures work for a few days, and then she's in trouble again. She isn't afraid to do what she wants, when she wants. And now she's doing it with my money! So, this is how we are going to punish her."    "With a brush?" Melanie asked, picking it up. "And a toothbrush? How are feathers a punishment, dear?"    "We're going to tickle her," I stated. "She hates, hates, hates being tickled. We're going to tickle her straight."    "You've finally lost it," she laughed, tossing the brush down. "You want to tickle Jessica... And what, tie her up, too?"    "Of course," I said. "That's what makes it such a punishment, if you go by what they say online."    "You are not tying up and tickling my daughter!" my wife chuckled. "Gosh, you're so weird sometimes."    "Melanie," I said, coming close and putting my arms around her waist, "WE will tie up and tickle your daughter. It's about the one thing we haven't tried yet. I thought about spanking her, but that seemed wrong."    "Spanking is out of the question, mister," she quipped lovingly. "And she isn't going to let us tickle her, you dork. As you said, she hates it.    "My dear," I whispered, kissing her softly, "I'm going to give her an ultimatum." Part 2    The order that had been my house while Jessica had been away was destroyed the moment she got home. She had bags everywhere, cluttering the living room. The quiet I had become accustomed to was now filled with loud phone conversations, blaring music, and ridiculous television shows playing in the background. I had a headache in the first fifteen minutes!    "Sit," said Melanie, after her daughter had been home and settled for a bit.    "What's up?" Jessica asked, plopping into her seat at the kitchen table, texting on her phone.    "How about, you're failing!" I threw out there.    "Well," she said, not bothering to look up, "college is a lot harder than you think. I'll do better next semester."    I glared at her, beyond irritated. How could such a sweet-looking girl irk me so? She sat curled in her chair, her straight blond hair cascading down to her shoulders. Her big brown eyes were pretty as she stared at her phone, held by perfectly manicured hands. Her hair was nicely cut and highlighted, and I'm sure the most expensive makeup covered her pretty round face. No doubt her jeans and sweater were of some name brand; her little brown boots definitely were. Such a pretty girl, making herself even more pretty with my money. Irksome!    "Don't count on next semester," I said, bluffing. "I think you should be done; my money has been squandered. I say find a job around town."    "What?" she asked, her attention finally grabbed. "What are you talking about?"    "You drank, you partied," I began listing off, "you didn't show up to class, you didn't study. Need I say more?"    "But, that's what everyone does!" she fussed, tossing her phone on the table. "It's college!"    "Wanna go to college? Maybe you should get a job," I retorted. "Put yourself through like we did in the old days. I don't see why I should waste any more of my money on some party animal."    "Mom!" she whined, looking at her mother.    "Henry's right," she played along. "You're wasting money. You should consider moving back home. You could get a retail job or something."    The concern on her cute face was priceless. I knew what was going through her head: what about her new friends? What about the parties and socializing? What about her freedom?    "Retail," she spit the word out. "Put myself through college working retail?"    "Yeah, it's what people who live in the real world do," I quipped.    "Sorry, honey," my wife said, "but maybe college isn't for you. Perhaps in a few years when you're more mature..."    "Your mother and I discussed this," I said, "and we decided to give you a choice: a way to prove to us that if you continue on at school, you'll reign in your behavior, buckle down, and get to work."    "What choice?" she asked, her face hopeful.    This was it, I thought to myself. How bad did she want to keep her freedom? A retail job had always been out of the question in her mind; she considered any menial job an insult to her intelligence. What would she do?    "Drop out and work in town," I offered, "or, go back next semester with the promise of earning A's or B's."    "I'll go ba—" she started.    "Shh!" I cut her off. "If you get any C's or lower, you have to accept the punishment your mother and I agreed upon."    "What's the punishment?" she asked, more amused than worried.    "You'll see before you head back to school," I answered. "We're going to demonstrate. So, what'll it be?"    "Obviously, going back to school," she smiled, looked relieved. "I'll get good grades, I promise."    "I hope so," I said, walking away from the conversation.    I knew she thought she had won this little argument. She didn't even really care what this "punishment" was; she never thought it would be enforced. I admit, I had been wrapped around her little finger since we met, but that was just my kind heart. I wanted the best for the child of the woman I loved. I still did, and I was going to do whatever it took to make sure she did well next semester. Part 3    Jessica had probably forgotten about our conversation by the next day. Her winter break shot by, and before we knew it, she was preparing to head back. Now was the time I had waited for; I wanted this lesson to be fresh in her mind when she got back to school. It was a Friday night, and after the weekend, she'd be off again.    While she had been in her bathroom for the previous hour preparing for a night out, I had been doing some preparing of my own. In our spare bedroom was the massage table I'd use to pamper my lovely wife. I elevated the back of it to a sitting position, slightly reclined. On a TV tray table, I arranged my various implements I had purchased. I sent Melanie to venture into her daughter's dresser to retrieve her little blue bikini. Tossing the swimsuit and rope onto the massage table, all was set. I closed the door and headed downstairs.    Eventually, Jessica made her way down from her bathroom, ready for a night on the town. She must have been trying to impress someone, as she was fully made up and looking quite pretty. She came to a stop at the bottom of the steps, seeing her mother and I both standing there, waiting for her.    "What?" she asked, a quizzical look on her face. "I told you I had plans tonight."    "Yes, but they're gonna have to wait a bit," Melanie told her.    "Remember that punishment we discussed a while back?" I asked. "Tonight's the demonstration."    "Punishment?" she questioned. "You weren't serious, were you? I'm an adult now. You can't just ground me or—"    "We had a deal," I interrupted. "If you want to continue at school, it's all A's or B's. Tonight, you see what the punishment is if you fail make those grades."    "C'mon!" she whined, checking the time on her phone. "I have to be somewhere."    "Upstairs in the spare room," her mother said. "That's where you need to be."    "Okay, what are you guys talking about?" Jessica inquired. "What punishment?"    "Let's go," I said, gesturing the way back upstairs. "You'll see."    With an exasperated sigh and roll of her eyes, the three of us went upstairs. The look on Jessica's face was utter confusion when she entered the room. She raised an eyebrow a bit, cocking her head, unable to workout what was before her.   "Umm..." she said, glancing at the display of tools, along with the rope and bikini on the massage table. "What the heck is this?"    "Change into your swimsuit, dear," her mother told her. "That's part of it."    "What? Why?" demanded Jessica. "You guys are being weird. I have to go meet Ricky soon."    "Then hurry up and get changed," countered my wife. "The sooner we do this, the sooner you can go meet whoever this Ricky is."    "My swimsuit. In January..." Jessica questioned, crossing her arms. "And what's with the rope and all that crap on the table?"    "Time's a-wastin' if you're in a hurry," I said, stepping out of the room with Melanie. "Let us know when you're ready."    I closed the door, my wife and I waiting on the other side. I wondered if she'd really do as we asked, or if she'd be as obstinate as usual. The fact that she wanted to be somewhere soon gave me hope that she would cooperate, despite our request being so odd.    "Alright, I'm changed," she pouted a minute later.    Entering the room, there Jessica stood in her little blue bikini. Her grey woolen socks were still on, but the rest of her clothes lay in a pile on the floor. To say she looked uncomfortable would be an understatement. Rarely did this girl appear self-conscious, but right now I could tell she was embarrassed to be the only one so underdressed.    The girl had filled out perfectly. She was neither too scrawny nor too plump, but both tight and curvy in the right places. Her bosom was held comfortably in her top: ample, yet not spilling out. Her ribs were just visible under her skin, and her little tummy was flat, with a deep, round navel. Her hips lent perfect form, leading down to her shapely, beautiful legs. She was short like her mother, yet in perfect proportion.    "Alright, hop up," I told her, snatching the rope.    With an exaggerated sigh, she lifted herself up. I took her dangling legs, swinging her feet to the end of the table. She reclined against the angled back, watching my every move nervously.    "Really?" she asked, as I took her ankle, slipping off her thick sock. The other quickly followed, leaving her cute feet bared.    With her knees bent, feet flat on the table, I took the green nylon rope. I began to wrap it around her ankles, doing my best to remember how to properly bind someone. I had watched a few videos online, and chose a basic tie I could easily memorize. After a few wraps and knots, her ankles were securely bound together.    With another rope, I took her wrists, crossing them. In moments, they too were secured, though this tie had a length of rope trailing off.    "Hands above your head," I ordered, pulling back her arms. Tying off the length of extra rope to the back of the table, I had her in position.    "Okay, this is really weird," she complained, looking to her mother. Melanie simply watched with a little smirk on her face. Maybe she was opening up to my crazy idea.    "Legs straight," I said, coming to sit on the edge of the table near Jessica's bottom. She straightened her knees, as I took in the predicament my stepdaughter found herself.    "So," I began, "just remember: this is a taste of what's going to happen if you do poorly next semester."    I reached up to her elbows and gently let my fingers graze down the underside of each arm. She flinched a bit, especially when I got to her armpits. I dug my fingers a little deeper into her underarms, giving gentle squeezes in different areas.    "This is the punishment?" she asked, wiggling her shoulders a bit as I explored her underarms. "What, tickling me? I'm not even that ticklish anymore."    To be honest, I was hoping for a bit more of a reaction. But the further down I went, the more uncomfortable she began to look. Continuing down from her pits, I used my thumbs, rolling them over her ribs. I attacked both sides of her simultaneously, jumping from rib to rib as she squirmed a bit more. Her mouth was tightly sealed, as if she didn't want to give me any satisfaction by yelling out. I was pretty confident that the further down her body I went, the more ticklish she's become.    "Ugh!" quietly escaped her when I reached her sides. Finally, I was getting somewhere. Moving to her tummy, I found her muscles flexed as I dug my fingers in, tensed in a vain effort to protect herself. She wiggled like a belly dancer when I poked my finger into her navel, giving it a few quick swirls.    Down her body I moved. When I reached her hips, that's when she started pulling on her ropes, probably wishing like hell that she could use her hands to stop me. Soon she was lifting her bottom off the table, squirming like mad to get her hips away from me. Rolling from side to side, kicking with her bound legs, she finally broke her silence.    "Okay, okay! You can stop now! " she yelled, as I let up, watching her breathe hard and try to compose herself.    "Not ticklish, hm?" I asked, taking each of her thighs with a hand. I used my fingers, quickly digging in, kneading her legs in one spot, then moving randomly to the next.    "Ha ha! Stop... Henry!" she giggled, trying to escape my touch. "That just... It feels weird. I'm not that tick— Oh! Ugh!"    She was slightly panicking when I got to her knees. With little squeezes and pinches, I got her legs kicking and quivering. So, I was forced to hold them down with one hand and tickle her knees, one at a time, with the other.    Hahaha! Wait!" she cried, as I squeezed her kneecaps with my fingertips. "That— Ahahaha! I don't like that!"    My wife observed, a look of amusement on her face. I suppose seeing her stuck up, obstinate, beautiful daughter reduced to a flailing, laughing, desperate damsel was a nice change of pace. Suddenly Jessica wasn't as tough as she thought, and she hated showing weakness.    I eased off again, not wanting to wear her out too soon. Jessica glared at me as she recovered, a bit of malice in her brown eyes. Yes, I thought, seeing that expression, this was going to do the trick!    Snatching the bottle of baby oil, I walked to the foot of the table. Uncapping it, I angled the opening right under her toes, and gave a squeeze; the oil dripped down her soles, leaving shining trails. Setting down the bottle, I began spreading the oil around her feet: the bottoms, tops, and in between each toe.    "Okay, baby oil now?" she gripped, as I coated her. "God, this is so weird..."    Jessica had little feet; she wore a size six. Her toes were short and full, with perfectly pedicured, emerald green nails; they were made all the more beautiful as they gleamed with baby oil. Her soles were flawless: not a rough spot to be seen, nor a callous to be found (I wondered if she'd soon be regretting all those pampering pedicures). She had a nice arch and a perfect, round heel. Indeed, her feet nearly rivaled her mom's, I thought to myself.    "Could you come here, dear?" I asked my wife.    "Of course," she answered, coming to take my place.    Sitting on the edge of the table, I gripped Jessica's shins to hold her legs still. I knew there would be many attempts to kick away, as my wife had pretty, red, vicious little nails that could drive a person crazy.    "Go ahead and give her feet a little tickle," I said. My wife crouched down to eye level with Jessica's soles.    "Mmm..." Jessica groaned, when Melanie began to slide her nails along her skin. She tried to bend her knees to pull her feet away, but I held her strongly to the table. All she could do was wiggle her feet back and forth as her mother's nails began tormenting her.    "Haha! Wait! Hahaha!" she laughed, squirming as her feet were explored. Melanie wiggled her fingers, bringing her nails from Jessica's toes to her heels. They glided, frictionless, across her smooth flesh.    It got interesting when Melanie decided to use her thumbs. Now the poor girl couldn't even wiggle her feet, as Melanie held them stationary, her hands cupped around them. Her thumbs traced agonizingly slow circles on the balls of her daughter's feet. " HAHA! Oh my god! Stop it! Mom!" cried out Jessica. Melanie kept this up for a good minute while her daughter fought against me, screaming and laughing.    "Aww, does that tickle?" taunted her mother. "Why did you lie? These little piggies have always been ticklish."    Okay! Alright! UGH! They're ticklish," admitted Jessica. I think she would have said about anything for a break.    Melanie stopped, probably starting to feel bad for her daughter. Looking to me for confirmation of a job well done, I gave her a thumbs up. Jessica sat there catching her breath, as I chose the first tool to put to use; the toothbrush seemed like a good warm-up device. Trading places with my wife, I knelt before the soles of my stepdaughter, while Melanie took a seat on the table at Jessica's knees.    "What is that?" asked the girl when the toothbrush began to hum. "A freaking toothbrush?"    She flinched as soon I touched the spinning bristles to her skin. "Ha ha! C'mon! Henry! What the hell..." she complained as I ran it up and down one foot, then the other. Her little toes would curl up, trying in vain to protect her soles. I'd simply set the brush upon her pretty green nails, and that would send her into a fit, flexing her toes so I could again reach her bottoms.    "Honey, could you separate her toes for me?" I asked my wife.    Melanie took her daughter's big toe and its neighbor, pulling them apart. I placed the toothbrush right in between, the spinning bristles titillating the revealed skin. Jessica's face was scrunched, her teeth gritting. My wife moved on to the next pair of toes after a minute, again spreading them for my tickle tool. "Ha ha! Th— That tickles so bad!" moaned Jessica.  And so on down the line we went, the brush exploring in between and underneath each of Jessica's sensitive digits until we reached the end.    "Oh my god!" Jessica complained when I turned off the brush. "Okay, we're done now. I understand the punishment, alright?"    "Oh, but we haven't tried everything yet," my wife said, taking a few feathers. "I want to see how these work."    "C'mon. No more!" protested Jessica, as her mother started running the feathers up and down her neck. Her daughter was instantly giggling, shaking her head from side to side as the soft feathers caressed her. I gave myself a moment to take in the sight, as my wife drew the feathers down to her daughter's armpits, back up the undersides of her arms, then in circles around her throat and chest. The whole while, Jessica squirmed, let out little whimpers and chuckles, and did her best to ward off the feathers. Melanie had a huge smile on her face, apparently very much enjoying herself. The whole scene was adorable, I thought.    Taking up the hairbrush and pinwheel, I stood over Jessica's feet. I pocketed the pinwheel, deciding to start off nice. She was so distracted by her mother, that she didn't notice what I was up to. I started the brush in little circles on the ball of her foot.    "AHH! What the hell?" she screamed, jolted out of giggling as her feet were suddenly being brushed. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! AHAHAHA!"    I held her ankles with one hand while I sent the brush across her little soles. She squirmed, bucked, and fought while Melanie continued to annoy her with the feathers. I'd switch from back and forth directions across both feet, to up and down strokes, to circular motions. It was right under her toes where she hated it the most.    "HAHAHA! Okay, okay!" she was pleading, the bristles beginning to turn her soles nice and pink. The simultaneous tickling from head to toe drove her wild, the poor girl writhing like crazy. It was a true testament to my ropework that she couldn't escape.    My wife set down her feathers, and I put down the brush after a few torturous minutes. Jessica panted, looking worn out. I wanted her to get a bit of a breather before I used the pinwheel.    "Are we done?" she asked, hopeful that her little punishment was over.    "Last instrument," I said, pulling the device from my pocket. She looked at it worriedly, seeing the intimidating, silvery spikes.    "That— That looks scary!" she said fearfully, as I touched it to her foot. "Hold on. What is that thing?"    "A Wartenberg wheel," I explained, slowly rolling it up her sole. "Doctors use it to test nerve reactions."    Jessica's eyes shut tight as she breathed in and out through her nose, trying to resist the sensation of the pins. I rolled it slowly up her foot, then back down. Her little toes flinched involuntarily as the wheel did its work. I repeated the movement on her other foot while she strained to remain calm.    "Hmm! OH!"she finally broke, when I rolled the device faster along her sole. Little white lines were momentarily left on her pink skin as the wheel made its way around.    "How does that feel?" asked her mother, observing her daughter's expressions.    "HAHA! Oh my god! It— It's horrible!" she squealed, as I began driving it horizontally across her feet. "Okay! Please! Stop it!"    The pinwheel was quite evil, as Jessica learned; if she moved too suddenly, the pins dug painfully into her. Her best option was to try and stay still, which she wasn't doing a very good job at. I had Melanie hold her ankles when she'd try to pull away, and soon the poor girl was truly suffering. She'd curl up her toes as her last defense, but then I'd simply run the pinwheel along the crevices of each little wrinkle that formed on her sole; it drove her nuts. I also focused on her smooth heels, zigzagging around them; scrunching up her toes could do nothing to protect here there.    "Could you come here, honey?" I asked, giving Jessica a few seconds to recover. "Just take her big toes and pull them back a bit."    "Like this?" she asked, gripping her daughter's toes in one hand and holding them tight.    "Perfect," I smiled.    "No, no, no! Wait!" Jessica begged, sensing how vulnerable her feet now were. She tried in vain to move her toes as I placed the wheel at their base, but Melanie held her tight; she was defenseless.    I rolled the pinwheel rapidly, from left to right, across both feet. I had obviously found her weak spot, as she began pulling with her arms against her bonds and screeching to high heaven. "AAAHHHHH! No! No! Please, stop it! Henry!"    I then slipped the wheel in between her two first toes, drawing it rapidly down the length of her foot. Moving on to the next two toes, I repeated the process. "HUH! Fuck! No more!" she begged, feeling every pin stimulate her nerves.    "So, do you think you learned your lesson?" I questioned, running the wheel down from the third set of toes.    "Yes! UGH! I learned!" she whimpered, her face beginning to glisten with sweat from the exhaustion.    "What did you learn?" I asked, moving on to her other foot: in between the toes, and down the sole ran the pinwheel.    "I— HAHAHA! I learned to— UGH! —to do better in school," she struggled to say.    "And if you don't?" I asked, finishing the runs from between her toes. I pushed the pins harder, moving willy-nilly across both feet. "What's going to happen?"    "AAAHHHH!  AHAHAHAAA! Please! PLEASE!" she howled, as her tender flesh was tortured.    "What's going to happen?" Melanie asked again, watching her suffering daughter.    "AHHAAAAAHH! I'm— OH MY GOD! HUHH! I'm... I'm going to... UGH! ...GET TICKLED!" she shrieked.    When I stopped, her little feet were pink and quivering. She was panting as if she had just run a mile, her makeup marred from the sweat she had broken out in. She looked quite spent for someone who claimed to not be ticklish.    "That... That fucking sucked," she breathed, as I set down my tool. "I don't ever want to do this again."    What fun, I thought, as I reluctantly began untying her ankles. I wondered if I should have filmed this for my new friends online.    "Well, you had to be taught a lesson, honey," Melanie told her. "Keep it in mind this semester. A's and B's, or else you're back on this table!"    "Speaking of teaching lessons," I said, untying the last of Jessica's ropes and setting her free, "about my car..."    "Um, your car?" asked my wife, as I smiled wickedly at her.    "You mean, MY car?" taunted Jessica, looking menacingly at her mother.    "Why don't you change into your bathing suit and get comfortable," I said, patting the massage table. "Do you think you're as ticklish as your daughter?"    My wife's eyes grew a bit larger as she contemplated what was in store for her. Jessica had a big grin on her face. What a fun night this was turning out to be. The End.

[tickletherapy]

DBZ Tournament

In the universe of Dragon Ball there exists a hierarchy of supernatural beings. Each level oversees their own section of the system, and are granted a level of power befitting their status. The highest of these beings are the Gods of destruction and their counterparts the Supreme Kai's. The Gods of Destruction are tasked with eliminating planets, so as to help balance out the different species in the universe. To do this, they must possess a vast well of power, and a high level of dignity...or at least that's how it's supposed to work. “W-What did you just say?” “What's the matter brother, got wax stuck up in those long floppy ears of yours again?” Bright yellow eyes narrowed in annoyance at the barb, and said ears bristled from atop their owner's head. From over outside the argument a small group of people stood watching, two of them with eyes wide in disbelief. “Uh, Vegeta, did Champa just say what I think he said?” asked Goku, resident savior of the Earth. To his right, the orange-clad warriors rival grumbled indignantly, “If he is, then that purple fluff ball is out of his mind. A tickling tournament? How utterly absurd.” The 'fluff ball' in question's ears twitched at that remark, and their owner turned sharply in Vegeta's direction. “And why is that saiyan, hmm? Afraid you'll lose?” Champa was the God of Destruction for the sixth universe, and brother to Beerus, who happened to be the God of Destruction for the seventh universe. While both held the form of upright-walking purple cats, Champa was a heavy set and stout warrior, and Beerus was a tall and lanky individual. At the moment the two brothers are attempting to decide which one of them would be given rights to the Super Dragon Balls; the original set of seven, with the power to truly grant any wish. And also, who would be given dominion over the Earth, as Champa's universe had no such planet. So, to settle the dispute, Champa has proposed a tickle tournament. Something Vegeta obviously isn't very excited about. “Of course not,” the prince of saiyan's rebuked, “and neither s any other self-respecting warrior for that matter.” Beside him Goku fidgeted and mumbled, “Well, actually Vegeta--” “Quiet Kakarot! Besides, you're a clown, not a true warrior.” Vegeta set his onyx-black eyes back on the God of Destruction. “So as you can see, you won't be able to find enough participants for this foolish game of yours, now pick something else.” Champa fumed at being so disrespected, and pointed a stubby finger at his attendant. “But Vados is ticklish, and she'd mop the floor with you two fools in a second!” The flame-haired fighter scoffed. “She's a woman you fool, of course she'd be ticklish.” Beerus, who up until now had been simply enjoying the show, raised a curious brow and asked, “So you're saying that the female species are all susceptible to being tickled?” “Well,” Goku cut in, “I don't know about all of them, but I know Chi-Chi sure is. Sometimes, I'll sneak up behind her when she's making dinner, and squeeze her sides; it always makes her laugh.” The lanky God eyed Vegeta, “And Bulma?” “I've never done something as ridiculous as what Kakarot is talking about, but whenever that blasted Launch is over Bulma always winds up giggling like a loon while they do each other’s nails.” “Are there anymore woman you two are close to,” questioned Whis; Beerus attendant, and Vados brother. Goku brought his hand up to cup his chin and thought of any more girls he knew of that may be a fit for this 'tournament'. Snapping his fingers, the God-in-training answered, “There's 18 and Videl...other than them the only girl left is Pan; but she's just a baby.” “That won't be an issue,” replied Vados. This caught both saiyan's attention, and Goku asked why not. “Because,” Whis interjected, “my sister and I have the power to open the time-space. We'll use that to bring your grand-daughter, from the future, here.” “So that gives us five girls counting Launch, “Goku counted out happily, “more than enough for our side of the tournament right?” Unfortunately Champa began to rapidly shake his head, “No, no, no, it's not that kind of tournament you dummy. They won't be facing opponents.” Now the saiyan from Earth was confused again, “But then, what kind of tournament did you mean Champa?” “The rules are simple: Each competitor will be tickled for a set amount of time, and for every person that manages to last without saying 'uncle' wins a Dragon Ball. If you do not possess more than four by the competition's end, then I win.” And now the planet Earth had a problem...where were they going to find a sixth girl? Then, Vegeta came to rescue. “If they can pull people from the future, why not just have them bring that weakling Krillin's daughter here as well?” Goku's face lit up in a grand expression as he slapped his friend/rival on the back. “That's a great idea, nice thinking Vegeta.” Champa nodded his head in agreement with the plan, and when Beerus conceded, the group lifted off from Beerus planet and began to make their way back to Earth. oo0oo “I still say this whole idea is a complete waste of time; why don't we just have a real tournament?” Champa looked over at Vegeta and stuck out his tongue. “Because, that's been done before fool. It's boring. And besides, this way I get to participate too.” “What do you mean?” asked Goku. They had arrived back on Earth and were now making their way over to West City to pick up Bulma. The tubby God sniffed and replied, “Well who else is going to do the tickling you dummy? Surely not you; seeing as you already know at least one of the women's weak points. You could very well hold back during the competition just to get a Dragon Ball.” “But that still doesn't explain why you're doing it Champa--” “He won't be,” Vados cut in, “my brother and I will.” The martial arts master's stout pupil glared over menacingly at his handler, but Vados simply gave the short cat a look and said, “You and I both know that you have no interest in fare play Champa. Whis and I will be impartial, as well as careful, so as to not scar these women for life. You are simply too wild.” Champa crossed his blubbery arms over his chest and turned his head down in an angry huff. To his right, his brother Beerus chuckled mockingly at the shorter cat's misfortune. They flew for a little while longer, deciding not to use Whis' travel bubble, and eventually came upon the city they sought. And from there, it didn't take them long to find the large compound that was Capsule Corp. “Vegeta why don't you go down first and bring Bulma out so we can explain what's going on,” said Goku. The prince of saiyans said nothing, and just allowed himself to descend until his booted feet touched the ground. From there, he walked inside. Goku and the others followed the flame-haired warrior's lead and let themselves be brought down by gravity. Once they were all settled, Champa turned to Goku and asked, “Hey wait, what if all these women say no?” The saiyan from Earth looked over at the God that had questioned him before smiling and saying, “I don't think we'll have to worry about that Champa. If I know Bulma like I think I do, she'll be more than happy to do this if it means we get those Dragon Balls; it'll be just like old times.” “Old times?” “Sure,” Goku beamed, “I first met Bulma while she was searching for the Earth's set of Dragon Balls. I had the four-star ball, which meant that she had to get it from me. After we met she and I went all over the place looking for the rest; we got into the some pretty wacky adventures along the way.” “We sure did,” the bluenette replied as she followed her alien husband out the front door. She sent a curious glance at her oldest friend and asked, “Now what's this all about Goku? The prince of the jerks didn't tell me anything, he just said you needed my help.” Goku sent his rival an annoyed look before turning his attention back to Bulma and motioning to Champa. “Bulma, this is Champa, he's Beerus twin brother. He's the reason I asked Vegeta to go get you--” “Hold on a minute Goku,” the female genius gave the saiyan an angry stare, “this better not be like that time you promised the old Kai I'd kiss him. Because if it is, well, then I guess the Earth's doomed.” The orange-clad warrior began furiously shaking his head 'no', before quickly replying, “No, no, no it's nothing like that Bulma; I promise. The Earth isn't really in danger, but I do need your help in getting the Dragon Balls from Champa.” This confused Bulma. “Goku what--” “Oh for crying out loud, enough with this,” the God of Destruction interjected. Champa looked ad Bulma and said, “Look, I have six of the original Dragon Balls in my possession, and in order for the doofus here to get a hold of them you and five others of the female species must take part in a tickle tournament.” Bulma stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the feline martial artist that had just spoken to her, before arching her brow and saying, “Um, okay. I guess that doesn't sound too bad; it'll be just like the old days...except not as scary.” She finished with a smile. “Finally,” Champa huffed out, “now, can we go and get the rest of these contestants please?” With the addition of Bulma, the group decided it'd be best to use Whis' transport bubble, and soon they were on their way. It didn't take them long to collect Chi-Chi, who thought the whole thing bizarre. “He wants to have a what?” the wife of Goku asked in skeptical disbelief. “A tickle tournament,” replied Goku. Chi-Chi stared at her husband, before turning her gaze to Champa with an open mouthed gape. “B-But you're a martial artist. Wouldn't you want to have a tournament that shows off how strong you are?” The God in question just scoffed before saying, “Because, there's no fun in doing something so cliché, and it's not like it'd be a very fair competition otherwise. The fighters in the universe would be no match for any in mine.” Hearing this, Chi-Chi immediately stepped up into Champa's face. She may not like that Goku spent all his time fighting, but no one was going to insult her husband and get away with it! “Now wait just a minute buster! Just who do you think you're calling weak; certainly not my Goku. He may not be the smartest man on the universe, but he is definitely the strongest; if you need any proof just ask mister skin-and-bones over there.” She ended her tirade by pointing a finger at Beerus, who was busy cleaning out his ear. The God in question just looked around, seeing who this 'skin-and-bones' was, and when he realized it was him Beerus barked out a laugh. “Oh, yes, I can see why you would choose such a woman Goku. She certainly is full of fire.” “Yeah, she's great,” the saiyan from Earth replied before turning his attention to his wife. “So, Chi-Chi, will you do it?” Chi-Chi looked at her husband and could see the childish plea in his onyx-black orbs. The mighty warrior was darn near giving her the 'puppy dog' face. Turning to Bulma she asked, “You're okay with being a part of this?” “Of course,” she answered with a smile, “it's not like we're doing anything dangerous. And besides, it's kind of nice to be part of the loop again; I miss it.” That got Goku's wife to let out a mental sigh. Chi-Chi had never really been a part of her husband’s adventures. No, the closest she'd come was when they traveled into the underworld to retrieve the Bansho fan, other than that she'd played only the role of housewife and mother. Maybe it was time she stepped outside her comfort zone. 'It would give us something to talk about,' Chi-Chi thought before making her decision. “Alright, since there's no fighting, I guess I'm in.” As she spoke, Goku whooped with joy and Bulma came over and gave her a pat on the back in congratulations; she had seen the conflict in the younger woman's eyes. “Alright, that's two down, now just three more to go.” Whis explained while he prepared to transport them all. This got Chi-Chi's attention as she was lifted into the air. “Wait, three?” We'll explain once we get to Gohan's,” replied Goku. oo0oo With Whis' bubble it took them only moments to arrive at the half-saiyan's home. Being that it was built with Mr. Satan's money, the home was significantly larger than what Gohan had been used to, but he quickly got accustomed to all the extra space and was more than happy with it when Pan was born; it gave the little bundle of energy lots of room to toddle around. As they pulled up the group was greeted with what looked like the second branch of the Son family taking a nice walk around their compound. Gohan walked lightly beside his wife, entertaining her with some sort of story, while Videl carried Pan in her arms. The half-saiyan must have finally sensed them, because whatever he had been about to say next was cut off as he looked up into the sky with a large smile. Though it turned to a confused glance when he noticed just how large the crowd was with his father. “Hey dad, mom, what...what's going on?” he asked as they touched down on the ground. “Hey son, I was hoping to ask Videl for a favor,” Goku replied. The woman in question turned from making funny faces at her daughter to looking at her father-in-law. Smiling gently, the raven-haired woman wondered what it was she could do for him. “Well, Videl, the Earth needs you to participate in a tickle tournament.” Videl raised a brow in confusion as she asked, “Um...what? Goku could you give me a little more than that, because I'm not really following you.” Bulma stepped in before Goku could confuse the girl and further and explained, “We're trying to win the original Dragon Balls Videl, but, instead of a fighting tournament Beerus brother Champa wants to decide the owner with a tickling competition. You, me, Chi-Chi, 18, Marron, and Pan are supposed to be the 'fighters'.” Videl looked at the bluenette oddly, “Um, Bulma, I don't really think my daughter is in any way able to take part in something like that.” “Well, actually, these two hear have the power to bring people through time. They plan to bring both Pan and Marron from the future to take part.” Blue eyes immediately shone with excitement at the sound of that. After spending so much time around Gohan and his family, and seeing all the out of this world things that they'd encountered, the daughter of Mr. Satan was no longer the skeptical high-school teen of old. And the thought of seeing her daughter was an exciting prospect. “Wow, really? That'd be a real treat for me.” Videl looked over at her husband and asked, “Can you contact Piccolo and ask him to babysit for a few hours?” Back during the debacle with Majin Buu, Videl had felt useless, but now she had a chance to be part of the action...no matter how strange it was. Gohan nodded and called out to his old mentor via telepathy. Yes, everything was going smoothly...at least, until they reached Kame house that is. “Aw come on 18.” The blonde in question just gave the Earth's savior an irritated look, “I said no Goku. I'm not gonna be strapped down and turned into some super being's plaything just so you can get some special kind of Dragon Balls. Especially when we already have a set of our own.” “But not like this 18, these really do grant you any wish you want; there's no limit. They'll really give you anything.” Blue eyes narrowed. Why didn't the saiyan take a hint? She didn't care! Then, out the door toddled her young daughter, Marron. “Mommy, why'd you leave? Weren't you having fun?” 18 turned from Goku and got down on her knee to address the younger blonde. “Of course I was; mommy was winning against daddy remember,” she replied with a smug smirk. “But I had to greet our guests.” Champa noticed the young girl and asked Vegeta, “Is this the 'Marron' you were talking about? The other one Vados and Whis were going to bring from the future?” “Yes, that's her. Although with how this is going I don't think we'll be having any luck with that.” The word 'future' caught 18's attention immediately, and the petite blonde whirled around and asked, “What are you two talking about; bringing my daughter from the future?” “I know,” Goku beamed, “isn't it cool? Whis and his sister have the ability to open the time-space and bring people into our time. We decided to bring my grand-daughter and your daughter's future selves here for Champa's tournament.” 18 looked over at her fellow mother with a curious look on her face. “You're really okay with this Videl?” “Well, I was a little unsure at first,” the raven-haired woman replied, “but then I thought about how I'd actually get to meet Pan and get to know what she'll be like. I think that's more than worth a little tickling 18.” The female cyborg looked over the faces of the group that had come to get her, seeing that she was the only one left who had yet to agree. 'Even Chi-Chi is going along with this, and she never lets Goku do anything.' Turning to look at her little girl, 18 brushed her fingers through the toddler’s straw-blonde hair before muttering, “Fine, I'll do it. But only because I'll get to meet Marron.” Marron looked up curiously at her mother while all the grown-ups celebrated and said, “But mommy, I'm right here.” This prompted a round of laughter from all those present...minus Vegeta. So 18 went inside, told Master Roshi to watch Marron for a while, and came back out with Krillin ready to go. “Let's get this over with.” oo0oo Now that everyone was picked up and ready to participate, the group returned to Beerus planet so as to bring forth the final two girls and begin the contest. “Why are we going to your planet for this brother? I'm the one who came up with the idea,” Champa grumbled as they traveled through space. Beerus sighed and answered, “Um, because I am the challenger Champa, and per the rules the challenger is issued the right to select the battleground. So I choose my home.” Seeing that he couldn't argue with that logic Champa just settled for rolling his eyes. It was another ten minutes before they reached their destination, but when they did, all those who had never been there before were surprised at how beautiful it actually was. Beerus saw this and asked, “What, did you think I lived in a black hole or something?” “Well,” Krillin mumbled, “yeah. I mean, you are the God of Destruction right?” “That may be, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate nature too.” And with that, they were brought to a lush, grassy plain where a nice breeze was just finishing its pass. “Alright,” 18 called out, “let's get this over with.” She looked over at Whis and his sister, “The sooner you two make with the time travel, and the sooner this starts and is over.” Champa stepped forward and wagged his finger, “Not yet. First, you ladies have to get settled in. It'd be a hassle if you or miss blue-eyes over there tried to back out after seeing your future children; so you'll all be strapped in first.” 18 rolled her eyes in annoyance. That actually had been her plan. But then she registered the rest of the God's instructions and, looking around, asked, “What do you mean strapped in, there's nothing here.” “Again, that's where my brother and I come in,” answered Vados. She turned to an open patch of grass, raised her hand, and slowly stroked it through the air. As she did this, six stocked chairs were materialized into existence. “Huh,” Gohan voiced in wonder, “I've only ever seen Piccolo or Kabito use that kind of ability. I'm surprised there's more out there that know it.” Champa heard this and scoffed. “Che, they can use time as their own personal plaything and this is what you find fascinating? Psh, so easily amused.” “Now Champa, there's no need for that kind of rudeness,” scolded Vados. Beside her, the supernatural being's twin was busy materializing outfits for the participants to wear; they were comprised of thigh-length bike shorts and sleeve-less jerseys. Turning to the women, Whis kindly instructed them, “Now, if you ladies would be so kind as to change into these and then get settled into your seats, we'll strap you in, and then get to work bringing Pan and Marron from the future.” Videl, the youngest of the mothers, looked around curiously before asking where they were supposed to do that, as there was nowhere in  immediate sight to change. Whis simply smirked and, with his index finger, pointed behind him to the gnarling branches that made up Beerus home. “There's a spot right over there, although, I would suggest going one at a time.” The women just nodded, accepting that at least it would be secure, and one by one made the small walk over and back, their own clothes bundled under their arms. “Good, now, into your seats ladies.” On those instructions they all walked over and awkwardly got into the stocked seats. They were shaped like a dentist chair, with leather straps on four of them and metal on two others to keep their arms above their heads, and small sets of stocks at the foot of for their ankles. 18 noticed the two seats that used metal and asked, “I'm guessing one of these is for me, but, what about this one?” the blonde pointed to the one on her right. “That's for Miss Videl's daughter Pan. While she may only be ¼ saiyan, it's always better to be safe than sorry, right? And don't worry about breaking them, they're made from the very same mettle that broke the Z-sword.” The blonde rolled her blue eyes and muttered, “Yeah, cause I'm supposed to know what that means.” She turned to Vados and asked, “Well, when are you and boy blue gonna get to it?” Vados smiled, “Right after this.” Then, with a snap, the restraints closed and locked the four women into place. After this the teal-skinned fighter turned to her brother and said, “Alright, let's do it.” Whis nodded in affirmation before they turned to an empty patch of space and brought their arms up. With a slow, deep breath, the twins tensed their bodies and began to channel their immense supernatural energy. It took a few seconds, but, out of thin air a giant vortex seemed to wind its way into existence. It was a mix of neon and navy blue, and electrical plasma seemed to volt around it. Gohan saw this and cautiously called out, “They won't get hurt coming through there will they? It looks dangerous.” “They'll be fine,” the twins replied in unison. “Hey wait,” Krillin wondered, “how do you guys know who you're pulling out, or even from what time-frame?” Beerus stepped over and explained, knowing that this particular maneuver required concentration. “They've felt both Pan, as well as your daughter Marron's energy signatures from the brief meetings they've had with them. This allows them to search the time-space for that particular signature and pull it back. How they know what time...I truly am not sure.” He finished lamely. The former monk just face-palmed at the walking cat of destruction's response, but then his attention was brought back to the portal, as a pair of voices was coming out of it. “What in the world!?” “Ah! Pan, what's going on!?” Videl's head perked up at that; so the other one was her daughter? She sounded...rough. “I dunno; but I didn't touch anything!” That remark got a giggle from some of the women. Then, just like that, two figure shot out of the swirling mass of cosmic energy and landed face-first into the grassy plain. They both immediately sat up on their knees, giving all the grown-ups a clear look at them. One had a head of raven-black hair that was being kept back with an orange bandanna and onyx-black eyes. She was dressed in a short-sleeved, red shirt that cut off just before reaching her belly-button and gray Capri pants that stopped at the bottom of her calves. Her feet were adorned with thick fighter boots and her hands encased in finger-less gloves. It was easy to see that this was Pan. The other girl, who had to have been Marron, was a little taller than her raven-haired friend. And where Pan looked like a tomboy, Marron looked every bit like the daughter of the ever fashion-conscious 18. Her head of straw-blonde hair was pulled back into pigtails that reached past her shoulders, and she was dressed in a stylish pink dress that reached just to her knees and a long-sleeved white blouse underneath. On her feet were a pair of flats. The two girls looked as different as night and day from each other, and to their mother's, both looked beyond what they'd hoped for. Pan finally got her bearings, and she jumped to her feet into a fighting stance, making sure to put herself between any possible danger and Marron. She scanned her surroundings, and when her eyes caught sight of a few familiar faces, Pan relaxed and asked, “Dad, grandpa, what are you guys doing here? And why's mom sitting in that weird chair?” “I think I can answer that for you,” Champa answered as he stepped forward. Pan cocked her head in curiosity before glancing over at her father, who she noticed look a younger than he had yesterday. Gohan nodded, signaling that it was okay and that she should listen to the tubby mammal, so the tomboy turned her eyes back to the cat and gave it the nod to explain. After Champa, the name he'd introduced himself as, finished Marron immediately huddled behind her tougher friend, while Pan just made an amazing replication of her grandmother's look of disbelief. Looking over to her father Pan asked, “Daddy...is he serious?” “Yes Pan, we need you and Marron to take part in this competition so that we can get a hold of the original Dragon Balls.” “Wha,” the nervous blonde wailed, “why does it have to be tickling? Why couldn't it be a fashion show, or a beauty contest? I hate being tickled.” Champa smirked deviously as he looked over at his brother. “Looks like there's one ball you won't be getting brother, this girl's a wimp. I bet she won't last more than ten seconds hahahaha.” Marron heard this and in an instant her frightened face morphed into an annoyed scowl. “Hey, who are you calling a wimp you tubby ball of fur? I so can last more than ten seconds. In fact, I'll bet I can last longer than everybody besides mom!” “Well now,” Vados interjected with a set of clothes for both girls, “why don't you put your money where your mouth is little one? You and your friend can go and change over there,” she pointed towards the same area where the older women had changed. And just like their mothers, Pan and Marron took turns changing into the jersey and shorts, before walking over to the modified dental seats and settling in. Although Pan had to be directed towards the one with metal cuffs when she tried to opt for the leather ones. With that, all the competitors were settled into place and ready to begin. “Alright,” Whis began to explain the rules, “this is how the contest is going to work. We're going to go down the line, from both ends, and Vados and I will tickle two of you at a time. We'll be starting with Chi-Chi and 18, and will tickle three women a piece. Each of you will be required to last fifteen minutes in order to win a Dragon Ball; if you cry 'uncle' before that, then you forfeit a ball. In order to win the competition as a whole, you girls will have to win four of the six balls Champa has already collected.” “That sounds easy enough,” Pan voiced from her place beside 18. She would be a part of the second round. “I'm glad you feel that way,” Vados said from her place beside the blonde cyborg, “because you'll all be blindfolded too. To keep you in suspense about where my brother and I will strike from.” “...oh,” the young teen whispered to herself. That would make it a little less easy. With that, the six girls' vision were turned to complete blackness as their eyes were covered by blindfolds. “Eeek!” squealed Pan as she felt a quick spidering under her right arm. “Easy huh,” Vados taunted in the girls ear. From there, the teal-skinned twins got into position next to their first victims. First up: Chi-Chi and 18. On the Ox king daughter's end, Whis was quick to start, going for a steady goosing of the raven-haired woman's sides. The same place Goku had mentioned earlier. The white-haired martial arts master was immediately rewarded with a sharp gasp, followed by a light tittering laugh as Chi-Chi began to rock side to side. “Ah! Ehehehehehe,” Goku's wife giggled quietly as her ticklers fingers squeezed down gently on her ticklish sides. Chi-Chi managed to gently trap her bottom lip between her teeth and stop herself from letting out anything more than huffs of air, but no matter how she twisted and turned, the mother of two was unable to escape Whis' nimble digits. Over with 18 the blonde was fairing far better than her fellow housewife. Vados had started out at her armpits, but this was easily proving to be a spot that the former android was more than capable of withstanding, much to her ticklers displeasure. It seemed that no matter what technique she used, Vados was unable to crack the blonde woman's resolve. She tried drilling her index fingers into the very center of each pit, but this only got 18 to jerk mildly for a few seconds. Next, Vados attempted the same spidering maneuver that she'd used on Pan, but this proved even less effective since the blonde didn't react at all. Although it did show that the woman seemed to respond more to a more firm approach as opposed to light touches. For her part 18 was about ready to sigh in boredom. This was why she hadn't wanted to participate; she wasn't really ticklish, so all they'd be doing was touching all over her with their hands. That was something she did not find fun. 'Well it's only fifteen minutes I guess, maybe it won't take too long,' she thought disinterestedly to herself. And then a loud noise from the other end of the set up caught her attention, “NO! N-No, not there.” It seems like Whis had discovered one of Chi-Chi's weak spots. And indeed he had. Whis had gone from the woman's sides, to her belly, and had begun to work it like dough. Once he'd started to pinch and squeeze her abdomen Chi-Chi became more hard-pressed to contain her laughter. 'But it's okay,' she thought hurriedly to herself as Whis slid his fingers up the hem of her shirt and began to stroke her skin. 'As long as he doesn't go there I'll be alright.'  His tapered digits wriggled around under the hem of the jersey and spread to cover the expanse of the former martial artist’s belly. Chi-Chi thought everything was going well...and then a single finger burrowed its way into her belly-button. “NO! N-No, not there.” But it was too late. Whis had found the first crack in the woman's defense, and he intended to exploit it to the fullest degree possible. The teal-skinned warrior swirled his thin digit within the shallow depths of Chi-Chi's navel, making sure to gently scratch along the fleshy inside and the tiny knot at the base. “Eehehehehehehehe...ahahahahahahaha...o-oh my ahahahahahahahaha it, it t-tihihihihihhihihickles ehehehehehehehe it tickles so bahahahahahahahad.” “Well, if it's too much, you can always say 'uncle',” Whis offered. As she laughed Chi-Chi managed to find the sense to shake her head wildly in defiance. Her pale cheeks were already growing pink. “N-No, I wohohohohohon't quite ahahahahahahaha.” Whis brought his other hand up now, seeing as the woman's defenses were down, and once again began to play along the right side of her body. This time, he even went so far as to tickle along her ribs. “Yeee!” Chi-Chi yelped. The spaces between her ribs were especially sensitive, and now that they were being targeted along with her belly-button, the woman questioned how long she'd be able to keep this up. “H-Hoahahahahahahahah How.....ehehehehehehehehe How m-much lohohohohohohohonger!?” Whis turned to the giant clock that rested on Beerus large home, “It's only been about five minutes; would you like to stop?” 'Th-There's no way,' the ticklish housewife fretted inside her mind. It felt like much more than that! “Ahahahahaha...I-Iihihihihihihihi I can ahahahahahaha m-mahahahahahahake it—EEK! AHAHAHAHAHA NO...AHAHAHAHAHA N-NOT THERE!” Chi-Chi's tickler had gone for her armpits; her biggest weakness. Over with the spectators, Krillin was gloating to his long-time friend and former rival. “Well Goku, it looks I finally managed to get one over on you,” the short man said. “It seems my wife's just not as ticklish as Chi-Chi. Don't worry though, it's nothing to be embarrassed about.” Goku saw that his wife was losing control of the situation quickly. Her usual neat bun was frayed, and her normally milky-white complexion was quickly turning a fiery red. The saiyan from Earth had no idea his wife was so ticklish under her arms. Looking over at 18, the alien warrior groaned a little. Krillin was right, his wife was definitely less ticklish. Vados was ready to scream. She'd been working this woman over for half the allotted time and still had yet to crack even the barest hint of a smile. 'Maybe blondie's just not ticklish,' the teal-skinned woman thought morosely to herself. If she wasn't though, Vados knew who'd be taking her place if Champa lost the competition. 'Of all the candidates in the universe, I just had to get him.' As if he could read her mind, Champa yelled out to Vados from his pace on the sidelines. “Oh come on, are you serious!? Can't you do any better than that? Enough with the belly already, can't you see it's not working; try somewhere else!” And it was true. Vados had spent the last few minutes poking, pinching, and goosing 18's stomach and sides before trying her belly-button. No reaction! So that just left the lower body. Looking over at the clock, Vados noticed that she only had five minutes left. She decided to go for the spot that was the worst for her. 18 for her part was more than happy to be given some rest. She may not be ticklish, but that didn't mean the blonde didn't feel something when her tormentor tried. It wasn't really a ticklish feeling though, more like...shocks. Like Vados was touching her nerves directly with a stick. Then 18 felt something that surprised her; her flip-flops were being taken off. 'I've never actually had anyone try there before. Heck, I even made Krillin stop giving me foot massages cause of how bad a job he does, so I'm probably not sensitive there ei—oh no.' Oh no was right; the former androids feet were indeed ticklish. Vados, remembering the blonde being more susceptible to harder tickles, opted to skip the light teasing and go straight for scratching up and down both soles. She used all ten of her slender digits to claw from 18's heel up to the balls of her feet. 18 let out a snort, attempting to keep in her laughter, but the unexpected sensations coming from her soles shattered her usual iron will. “Pfft...Kikikikikiki...grr...ehehe...ehehehehehehehehehe w-what in the wohohohohohohohohorld!? Ahahahahaha h-how ahahahahahahaha!” The super-powered being at the struggling woman's feet smirked in victory, “Oh, what's wrong, does that tickle?” Just hearing the word 'tickle' seemed to liven the blonde's nerves up into an even stronger frenzy; and the fact that Vados had started wriggling around between 18's toes didn't help either. “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA N-NOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH THIS C-CAN'T AHAHAHAHAHAHA CAN'T BEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!” 18 began to buck and twist in her seat, attempting to free herself from the torture going on at her feet. But it was no use. The metal used to hold the former android was more than enough to keep her restrained. 18 was going to have to deal with the horrid toe tickles. But at least she was doing better than Chi-Chi. The wife of Goku was a mess. Her usual neat bun had come loose and now her hair was splattered against her neck and face with sweat. Chi-Chi's once pale face looked like a cherry with all the laughing she'd been doing, and her pits had become slick from sweating, which made it easier for Whis to skitter his fingers across their pale canvas. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA O-OH KAMI AHAHAHAAHAHAHA PLEASE HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE P-PLEASE STOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOP AHAHAHAAHAHAHA I-I DON'T WAHAHAHAHAHAHA WANNA LAUGH ANYMORE—EEK!” Whis had stopped spidering and went back to drilling his index fingers into the dimples under Chi-Chi's underarms. This caused her to jerk wildly in her seat, but that only served to move her ticklish flesh closer to at least one set of fingers. She couldn't take anymore. “O-OKAY EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE I GIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIVE GIVE UP! P-PLEHEHEHEHEHEHE PLEASE, JUST STOHOHOHOHOHOP!” “Sorry,” Whis taunted, “that's not the right word.” Chi-Chi was ready to blow; who cared about some dumb words! “UNCLE AHAHAHAHAHA UNCLE, I-I QUIHIHIHIHHIHI QUIT!” And just like that, the tickle torment stopped, and her blindfold was removed. Once he had nothing left to do Whis turned to look at the clock; his face morphed into a sheepish smile. Turning to the gasping woman he said, “Um, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you only had sixty seconds left.” Both husband and wife slumped at hearing this. Over with 18 the blonde was just about ready to give in as well. She had never guessed her petite feet could be so sensitive; especially her toes. But then she heard Whis over the sound of her own laughter and it strengthened her resolve. 'Only sixty seconds, I can do this—waah!' Vados had also heard her brother and was furiously working to make 18 give up too. One set of fingers worked diligently teasing the soft skin between the woman's toes while the other hand was busy on another soft spot; her arch. The teal-skinned woman was using a two-finger assault here, she worked one finger up while the other came down, and making sure that 18's ticklish nerves never got a break. “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I-I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS GOKUHUHUHUHUHUHUHU AHAHAHAHAHA Y-YOU'RE GONNA PAHAHAHAHAHAHAY! AHAHAHAAHAHAHA...EHEHEhehehehehe...ehe...whoo.” 18 quickly realized by the severe lack of tickling that she must have lasted the final minute. Soon, her own eyes were uncovered, and the blonde was able to look at her tickler. Vados wasn't happy. Neither was Champa. “Round one's result: Earth one Dragon Ball, Champa one Dragon Ball. Now, for round two,” Whis called out politely. He and his grumbling sister moved on to their next victims. Round two was Pan and Bulma. Vados' frown turned upside-down when she noticed who her next tickle toy would be. The tough girl that she'd surprised with a little tickle under the arm. 'This time I'll break my target for sure,' she thought determinedly. While she set herself up to start at the girl's armpits, Whis had decided to start at Bulma's feet. The long-haired gentlemen easily slipped off the bluenette's flats and introduced a nervous pair of feet to the open air. “Round two...begin.” Bulma knew she was in trouble the second she felt her shoes being taken, but the genius woman tried not to make it obvious that such a spot was a weakness. It didn't work. Almost immediately the woman broke down. “Yeek! Nahahahahahahahaha...ahahahahahahahahaha.” Whis was glad for his nimble fingers, as they allowed him to keep up with Bulma's spastic moving soles. They twitched and wrinkled constantly as he lightly feathered his finger across them. 'Hm, feathered …' The super-powered fighter pulled one hand away and flicked that wrist. Out of thin air a fluffy feather appeared between his fingers, and Whis set it to work dusting up and down Bulma's right foot. The woman bucked and twisted wildly in her seat. “Eehehehehehehe—HEEK! Yahahahahahahah ahahahahahahahahahaha! H-Hey no fahahahahahahahair ahahahaahahaha that's cheeheheheheheheheheheheating!” “Really,” Whis taunted, “because I don't remember ever saying that tools weren't allowed. If you don't like it, you can always just quit.” Bulma growled through her laughter, “Grrr...Ehehehehehehehehe y-yeah rihihihihihight ahahahahaha I've been throuhuhuhuhuhuhgh w-way wohohohohohohorse than this ahahahaahahaha.” “Suit yourself,” was Whis' only response before circling the downy plume around the bluenette's heel. On Pan's end the younger girl was actually fairing pretty well, much to her tickler's annoyance. The raven-haired girl was surprised at first, and jumped at the intrusion under her arms, but then she settled down and settled for just squirming uncomfortably in her seat. “Oh come on,” Champa cried out again from the side-lines, “You tried that before and it didn't work! Don't waste all our time again Vados!” The woman in question rolled her eyes before deciding he was right. So, the svelte fighter opted to try Pan's feet; seeing as it had almost cracked the blonde. Vados made no game out of this one, and simply pulled the boots from the younger girl's feet before attacking her socked soles. “Yipe! Kikikikikiki...gehehehehehe...ehehehehehehehe.” Like 18, Pan wasn't used to people touching her feet, so the young demi-saiyan was unaware that they were even ticklish. But as she sat there giggling, Pan was relieved to find that they weren't nearly as sensitive. “H-Hey gehehehehehe cut it out ehehehehehehehe that tickles.” Pan shuffled her socked feet around, twisting and turning her ankles in attempt to dislodge Vados' fingers. She may not be very ticklish on them, but that didn't mean the tomboy liked being shown so girly. Unfortunately, Vados quickly realized that tickling the young teen’s feet wasn't going to get her to crack. 'But then again,' she thought, 'the other one didn't have these covers on.' With that thought, the teal-skinned woman whisked off the red socks and bared Pan's small feet. The moment Vados' lithe fingers made contact with her naked soles Pan's feet flinched from the contact before renewing their squirming; this time at a faster frequency. They wobbled quickly, and their ten toes curled and shook from the ticklish assault. “Yaahahahahahahha oh come ohohohohohohon! W-Why the feehehehehehehehehet!? Go bahahahahahahahack back to my ahahahaahahaha.” While Pan was busy giggling her head off, over by Bulma Whis was having a fun time weaving his feathers between both sets of toes. He'd created a second one after seeing how well the first one was working. Bulma twisted wildly in her seat as she let her laughter flow like water. She'd learned from experience that trying to hold it in only tired you out, so the bluenette simply let the laughter come. “Hehehehehehehehehe is that gehehehehehehehe all you got? Hehehehehehehe,” she egged on through her giggle fits, “I-I barely ehehehehehehehe even feel ihihihihihihi it.” And Whis could tell that she was telling the truth. Despite what Vegeta had said, his wife didn't seem to be overly ticklish on her feet. Looking up, he decided to try a spot he hadn't thought of with Chi-Chi. The thighs. Putting away his feathers, the martial arts master leaned forward and used his long reach to bring his slender fingers around the bluenette's thighs. From there, he proceeded to use the same tactics he'd employed against his previous victims tummy. The moment she felt those flexible digits knead her flesh like dough Bulma exploded. “WAAH! WAHAHAHAHAHA D-DARN IT AHAHAHAAHAHAHA ME AND MY IHIHIHIHIIHIHIHI BIG MOUTH AHAHAHAHAHA!” Whereas before the genius of West City was simply rocking in her seat, now she was straining against the leather straps that held her down. Unfortunately, no matter how she twisted, Bulma was always in range of Whis tapered ticklers. From her place in the line Pan heard Bulma's hysterics easily overtaking her schoolgirl giggles. And it was this fact that made Vados stop her assault on her soles and try for a different spot. 'Hm, I wonder about that spot she's leaving out in the open like that.' The teal-skinned female pulled her fingers away from the pair of feet in front of her and shuffled over to the bare belly that was on display. It was trim and pale, with a deep naval. “Let's see how you handle this child.” Pan was more than happy to be given any amount of breathing time. Her soles tingled from Vados' tickling fingers, and their once pale complexion had turned a rosy shade of pink from the light abuse. Now, the demi-saiyan was busy rubbing her feet together to rid them of the ghostly after-tickles that haunted them. She barely heard Vados' whisper before the ticklish nerves of her belly were exploited. “YAAA! YAHAHAHAHAHAHA O-OH NO AHAHAHAHAHA NOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE! P-PLEHEHEHEHE PLEASE AHAHAHAAHAHAHA GO BACK AHAHAHAHAHAHA BACK TO MY FEEHEHEHEHEHHEE!” The young girl was unable to even finish her plea, her tummy was the most sensitive spot on her body, but she always thought that advertising it would make people think it wasn't and leave it alone. 'Looks like that didn't work', she thought in despair. As she pinched and goosed her tickle toy's ticklish abdomen Vados looked over her shoulder at the clock; ten minutes left. More than enough time, and, from the looks of it Pan's stomach would win her a victory. “But just in case...” Pan didn't hear the older woman's whisper. But if she had, then it may have given her time to be prepared, as a single digit was plunged into the deep contours of her belly-button. “GEEEEEE! HEHEHHEEHEHEHEHE O-OH PLEASE AHAHAHAHAHA NOT THAT AHAHAHAHAHA A-ANYTHIHIHIHHIHIHIHING BUT AHAHAHAAHAHAHA!” “Oh,” Vados taunted over the girl's shrieking guffaws, “does somebody have a ticklish little belly-button? Do you want me to stop? All you have to say is uncle child, and it'll make the big bad tickling stop.” The poor girl wanted to say no, wanted to fight on, but her naval was just too big a tickle spot. Pan could feel the very tip of Vados' finger nudge and stroke the very top of her belly-button knot, and no matter how she turned or which way she twisted, the demi-saiyan couldn't manage to dislodge the slender feeler that agitated her poor belly-button. “O-OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAY OKAY UNCLE AHAHAHAHAHA U-UNCLEEEHEHEHHE I-I GIVE UP AHAHAHAHAHA SO STOHOHOHOHOHOP!” As Vados was pulling her index finger from the depths of Pan's naval, Bulma was too busy howling to hear the younger girl surrender. How long had it been? Surely it had been fifteen minutes already! These were the thoughts that replayed through the bluenette's mind as she suffered under Whis' own ticklish assault on her thighs. Bulma could feel the tears leak from her eyes and stain her bandanna as her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. Whis had reached underneath and was tickling the backs of her thighs. The normally untouched skin was soon a large bed of charged and ticklish nerves, and as teal-skinned fingers kneaded the alabaster skin, Bulma continued to wail. “WAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA O-OH MAN! AHAHAHAHAHA COME OHOHOHOHOHOHON E-ENOUGH WIHIHIIHIHIHIHIHIHITH THE THIGHS ALREHEHEHEHEHEADY AHAHAHAHA!” Whis turned to look at the clock; five minutes. And unfortunately, it didn't look like the saiyan prince's wife was going to crack with just the teasing of her tender thighs. The martial arts master saw how his sister had broken Pan with a deep cleaning of her naval, so, Whis decided to try it as well. So, while keeping his left set of fingers occupied with squeezing Bulma's thighs, Whis reached up and dipped his finger into Bulma's belly-button. His victims response was an increased tempo of laughter; he'd found another good spot. “W-WAIT AHAHAHAAHAHAHA I TAKE IT BACK AHAHAHAAHAHAHA G-GO BAHAHAHAHAHACK TO MY THIHIHIHIHIHIIHIGHS AHAHAHAAHAHAHA!” The way the finger ran gentle little circles around her shallow naval was driving Bulma bonkers. With hers being smaller than Pan's, Whis had much less distance to travel before he reached the knot at its base. Once he found it, the teal-skinned man poked and prodded the poor thing without mercy, doing all he could to make Bulma surrender. “Alright brother, that's enough, the round is over.” Hearing his twin’s words brought Whis back to the fact that he did, in fact, have a time limit. One that Bulma seemed to have reached. With this knowledge, the lanky fighter stopped his ticklish touches and allowed the blue-haired woman the chance to relax while he took off her blindfold. “Looks like you made it Miss Bulma, congratulations.” Looking over to the gathered crowd Whis announced the results of round three. “At the end of this round we have Earth with two Dragon Balls and Champa with two. Unfortunately my friends, if both your next contestants fail, you lose the competition.” Over with the spectators, Vegeta looked over at his life-long rival and taunted smugly, “Well Kakarot, it looks like this time your family will be the reason Earth loses its fight; ironic don't you think?” “H-Hey! That's not fare Vegeta, they're trying okay? It's not our fault we're all ticklish,” Goku replied sheepishly. Looking over at his son, the saiyan warrior pleaded, “Gohan, please tell me Videl isn't ticklish.” Gohan could see the pleading look in his father's eyes, but all the half-saiyan could do was sigh and say, “I don't really know dad, I've never actually thought to tickle her. With all the work I do away from home, it's just never crossed my mind.” Goku face-palmed and muttered, “Oh boy.” Back with the ticklish women Pan was bust apologizing to her mother. The ones who had already gone were released, seeing as there was only one round left. The young teen was standing by her blindfolded mother and mumbled, “Sorry mom, I gave up.” Although she couldn't see her, Videl was more than capable of hearing the dejection in her future-daughter's voice. Turning her head so that she at least faced the right direction, the older woman consoled the troubled teen. “It's alright sweetie, you did your best, and that's all that really matters okay? Besides, mommy will make sure she wins this round for us okay?” Pan smiled, although her mother couldn't see it, and leaned down to give the older woman a gentle hug. “Thanks mom.” With that, she turned to her blonde friend and said, “Good luck Marron, we're counting on you too ya know.” And then she ambled over to her father, who she was eager to speak with. 18 gently ran her fingers through her own daughter's hair, trying to relax her for the round to come, and said, “Don't you worry about a thing Marron, you'll do just fine. You're just like your mother; strong willed and tough. I know you can do this.” The blindfolded teen reveled in the feel of her mother massaging her scalp, and let her words fill her with strength for the tickling that awaited her. “Thanks mom, I'll definitely win this for you and dad.” “Alright, that's enough of a break ladies,” Whis interrupted, “you can have some more talk time after the contest is over.” 18 wished her daughter good luck one more time before going over to stand by her husband. From her place next to the former monk, the blonde woman looked on and silently prayed that her daughter would make it through this. Both super-powered fighters stood circling their final targets, waiting for the right moment to begin the final round, and letting the anticipation build in both women's hearts. Vados had slipped off both their shoes, removing Videl's as a courtesy, and so each females feet twitched nervously in their stocks. Finally, after another round of skulking, Whis announced the start of the final round, “And...Begin.” “Yipe!” “Mph!” Marron had been the one to shriek as her tickler jumped into the last bout of competition. Vados was pumped from her recent victory, and was using that to fuel her on in this final stretch of the tournament. The teal-skinned woman had rushed around from behind the dental-like chair and attacked the girl's soles immediately. 'Like mother, like daughter right?' And she was mostly correct. Although the blonde didn't break out into hysterics like her mother, Vados could easily tell that Marron's own small set of feet were a great starting place. “Nahahahahahahahaha...ahahahahahahaha...pfft tehehe ehehehehehehehe...” Marron giggled wildly as she shimmied in her seat. Being a pampered child had made her skin soft and smooth, something she always used to love, but was now finding could mean disaster if used for tickling. 'But mom managed to hold out for the full fifteen minutes,' she thought while squealing at having her toes tickled, 'So that means I can do it too!' That feeling became a little harder to believe when a pair of slick feathers were introduced to her pale soles. “Yee! O-Oh noooo tahahahahahaha...n-not feheheheheheheheheathers too ahahahahahahaha!” Vados had a predatory grin on her face as she taunted, “That's right, feathers. Your mommy got lucky, I didn't have time to break these out on her, but I won't be making that same mistake here with you. Coochie coochie coo, who's a ticklish little baby huh? Is it you?” The teasing and baby talk seemed to only make the tickling worse for Marron. Her body twisted left and right sharply, while her feet tried to do everything in their power to avoid the soft kiss of those feathers. It was this decision that lead to Marron's first mistake; bringing attention to her toes. She made several attempts to grab the slim plumes between her toes, but all this did was make Vados focus on those spots. “Oh, what's the matter,” she teased, “are the little piggies feeling left out?” With that, the teal-skinned woman brought the tips of her feathers to dance along the undersides of her blonde victims bubble-like toes. Back and forth the plumes danced, sending Marron's pudgy toes dancing as they attempted to shoo away their tormentors. When Videl's turn started, the raven-haired mother of one managed to nibble down on her bottom lip and keep her laughter at bay while Whis tickled under her arms. Not being able to actually see the tickling coming was the worst though; it meant she had no real time to prepare the next tickle target. “Mph...kikikikiki...ehehe...” Gohan's wife only let small spurts of giggle pass through her lips, along with the occasional whimper, while her tickler stroked and teased the sensitive skin of her armpits. She had gotten relaxed into her new life as a mother, and had quit fighting the moment she learned of her pregnancy. Since then, the former martial artist had cleaned away any and all rough or dry patches of skin that came from fighting crime, so as to become every bit the perfect model of a mother. Now Videl was wishing she had kept at least a little of her old 'war wounds'. Feeling those slim fingers gently running along her hairless hollows made the daughter of Mr. Satan squirm like a worm on a hook. It was unlike any other feeling she'd ever experienced. And it was about to get worse. When he realized that solely tickling under Videl's arms wasn't going to be enough to break her, Whis decided to try a different spot. Her ribs. Keeping one hand up so as to keep up the pit tickling, Whis brought his second hand down and started to knead along the woman's flanks. “Aaiii! Tehehehehehehehehehe...Ehehehehehehehe...H-Heeeey cut it outtehehehehehehe.” To Videl it was as if someone were brushing her nerves directly with a fluffy feather. She'd never expected tickling to feel like this. And yet, it was fun, in a playful kind of way. The young woman could see herself in this situation again; as long as she were allowed to pull away if it became too much. As Whis teased two areas at once, Videl rocked from side to side, trying to equal out the attention given from both sides. If she felt her armpits were being taken advantage of, she leaned away and into the set of fingers that worked on her ribs, and vice-versa. Videl turned her tickling into a game. While Videl was making sport of her predicament, Marron was ready to burst. Vados had moved on from her feet, and was now opting to tickle her armpits. However, unlike Whis, Vados wasn't using her hands. No instead, the teal-skinned woman continued to apply her feathery duo to the blonde teen’s soft skin. “GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA C-CUT IT OUT TAHAHAHAHAHAHA, T-THIS IHIHIHIHIHI ISN'T F-FUHUHUHUHUHUHUUHNNY!” Every ticklish lick of those slim plumes drove 18's poor daughter further and further into madness it seems. They glided up and down in a torturous rhythm that played itself over and over in the young girl's mind. 'Up and down, up and down' Marron had never been tickled like this before. It was always just light, teasing touches from boys. Never did the blonde fashion lover imagine that something so silly could turn into her worst nightmare. But she had to stay strong; her mother was watching her. But with the way those feathers moved along her smooth skin, Marron wondered not for the first time, if she could really hold out. “You now,” Vados whispered teasingly in the laughing girl's ear, “all you have to do is say 'uncle' and I'll-- whoa!” It seems Marron didn't feel like listening, as the blonde had whipped her head around and slapped Vados with one of her pigtails. “S-SHUT UP AHAHAHAHAHA I EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE I CAN TAKE IT AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The super-powered tickler looked down annoyed at her victim. Why'd she get all the mouthy ones? Looking up at the clock, and seeing that she still had about seven minutes left, Vados decided to throw caution to the wind and try to break the blonde girl's will. Flicking away her feathers, the teal-skinned fighter plunged all ten of her thin fingers directly into Marron's easily accessible armpits. “YEEE!” Poor Marron had no idea this was going to happen, so when she felt the tapered digits wriggling around in under her arms, she jolted in her seat. The blonde youth's back arched as far as it could go in an attempt to move her ticklish flesh away from Vados' fingers. Unfortunately for the ticklish girl, her restraints didn't allow for her to go very far, and so her smooth underarms were unable to escape their ticklish fate. Marron's mouth hung open for a moment in silent laughter before loud guffaws poured from her mouth. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA D-DARN IT AHAHAHAHAHAHA T-THAT TIHIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLES YOU JERK!” It was easy for the other two to hear Marron's screeching teenage laughter over Videl's tittering giggles. In truth, Whis had enjoyed the little game that the woman had started at the beginning of the round, and was more than happy to play along. Besides, if Vados couldn't get that blonde girl to crack, then the Earth deserved the Dragon Balls. And the Earth did win the balls. Vados was unable to crack Marron's strong resolve, just like with her mother, and so the girls from the blue planet succeeded in surviving Champa's tickle tournament. While Goku and his group spoke about how they would find the seventh ball, Champa was busy mulling over his loss. “No fair,” the chubby cat of destruction pouted, “I was gonna win.” Vados made an attempt to calm her student down, but this only lead to him turning his ire onto her. “If it wasn't for you,” he pointed accusingly, “and you’re playing around then we would have won Vados! I knew I should have been the one to do the tickling, I just knew it.” Beerus slid over to his brother with a vivacious grin and taunted, “What was that about an easy victory Champa? It seems to me that you'll just never learn; I always come out on top. It doesn't matter what the competition is, the end will always come with me as the victor.” With that, and a condescending pat on the head, Beerus and his attendant walked over to their friends from Earth, leaving Champa to fume at his brother’s insults. Once again, Vados tried to help. Although later she'd wished she hadn't when Champa's response was: “Oh yeah, well let's see how you handle fifteen minutes in one of those chairs!”

[tickletherapy]

A Ticklish Sleepover

Robyn sat in the pristine living room of her college friend. The walls were clean and pale, surfaces freshly dusted. The carpet hosted a series of tracks from a vacuum cleaner. The air smelt of ammonia. Knick knacks sat in immaculate alignment with one another. A painting of a wolf, lurking in snowy woods, hung above a mantelpiece with perfect level. Moist clouds rose from the amber ripples of a teacup fit tightly in Robyn’s fingers. She sipped the jasmin nectar while sitting back in a plush couch. The house was silent, save for a distant aria singing out, muffled by the basement door. “Mmm, still a little too hot,” said Robyn, setting her cup on a saucer atop a small end table next to her chair. She looked over to Stephanie, sitting upright with poise on the other end of the couch. A neatly ironed, professional white blouse hung over Stephanie’s shoulders while Robyn causally had thrown on a shirt and red cardigan. “Fresh pot,” Stephanie commented, setting down her own cup for the same reason. Stephanie dodged eye contact with her friend, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “Robyn, I don’t know what to say, honestly. I guess I just wanted to say sorry. This was something terrible, something that I simply cannot forgive or allow. Trust me when I say that Taylor has never been this. She’s never done anything like this before.” “She’s been through a lot recently,” said Robyn. “You both have. Sure, it came as quite the shock, I don’t think Sara even filled me in on all the details, but I’m sure we can move past this.” Stephanie chuckled. “I don’t know how you can always be so calm, so sure about everything,” said Stephanie. “I’d be fuming still. I think I may be. I just don’t know how something like this could happen and I wish I could offer you a better explanation. I feel you deserve that in the very least.” “Like I said, I’m sure we can move past it,” said Robyn. “Not that it was your fault, Steph, I still accept your apology. Our girls just need to be responsible for their own actions.” “Right,” said Stephanie. “Sorry, it’s just going to take some time getting over. How’s Sara doing?” Robyn picked up her cup and blew away a billowing pillar of steam. “She’s dealing,” said Robyn, taking a sip. “I think she just needs some time to be alone. Or… I don’t know.” “What do you mean?” “Usually Demi comes by to help lift Sara’s moods whenever she has a bad day,” said Robyn. “Granted, nothing like this has ever happened before, but I think that the incident caused them both to fight with each other. I think, anyway. It’s hard to get all the information with Sara crying so much.” “That must be really hard for you,” said Stephanie. “It’s not easy knowing that it was mine that did it. You know, I love Sara. I would do anything for the two of you.” “I know, Steph,” said Robyn. “We don’t blame you, I promise.” “I’d blame me,” said Stephanie, lifting her cup. “I do blame me.” “It will all get worked out and we can move on, sooner than you think,” said Robyn. “Taylor’s not getting off that easily,” said Stephanie, sipping away at the scalding tea. “That’s why you invited me over, isn’t it?” Robyn asked. “I know it’s an odd request,” said Stephanie, looking down to her lap. Her face stoney with purpose. “It would make me feel better.” “You think so?” asked Robyn. Stephanie nodded without looking at her. “Well, I won’t argue with you. Whatever I can do to put this all behind us. “How’s Demi?” Stephanie asked. “Have you seen her?” Robyn shook her head. “Not today,” said Robyn. “I gave Sara the day off of school. She really didn’t want to go, not that I could blame her. I don’t know what Noel decided to do with Demi or if she even knows. Usually, the girls stay up way too late talking on the phone, but I haven’t heard any talking coming from Sara’s room.” “That’s a shame,” said Stephanie. “They’re so cute together.” “Everything will work out the way it’s supposed to,” said Robyn, as if reciting the slip from a fortune cookie. Stephanie looked over to her, resting her head up against her fist, elbow cocked against the top of the couch. “You’ve always been so chill,” said Stephanie. “All this has been eating me up since the minute I found out. Ask Taylor, I was livid.” Robyn laughed. “You’ve always had an adorable anger, though,” said Robyn. Stephanie smirked. “You’ve never seen my ‘mommy’ anger,” said Stephanie. Robyn laughed once again. “I just don’t know how you can remain so posed during all of this. Glad to see you haven’t changed much.” “I don’t think you’ve changed as much as you think you have,” said Robyn. “Certainly don’t look like you have. Stephanie batted at her arm as she peered away, looking down and smiling. “You’re too sweet.” She looked back up to see Robyn cheekily smiling back at her. “The times definitely have.” “I’m sure Kyle didn’t make it easy on either of you,” said Robyn. “I’m just glad you got out of it before things got worse.” “Yeah, it’s for the best,” said Stephanie. Two adult cats entered into the room from the master bedroom hallway. The tabby jumped up on Stephanie’s lap, demanding to be rubbed, while the calico brushed up against her leg. “He still insisted on moving even though his daughter’s been needing him most. I just don’t know how I can do this by myself.” “Hey, listen, you need any help at all, you call me,” said Robyn. “I hope you know that I harbor nothing from what happened. I’m here to help us all get past it and on with our lives.” “That’s why I called you,” said Stephanie. “You’ve always been the biggest help. Even when Kyle was around, I don’t know how I would have made it this far without you.” “That’s what friends do,” said Robyn. The pair sipped from their cups, letting the bright day from out the bay window house their scene. “You ever think about the old days?” “‘Old days’,” said Stephanie. “You make it sound like we’re old ladies.” “Okay, then, college,” said Robyn. “The music we were into, the weirdos on the quad, your anthropology major keeping you up most nights.” “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what kept me up most nights,” said Stephanie. The women giggled. “Among other things,” said Robyn. “The Sisterhood,” said Stephanie in a hush. Robyn nodded and smirked as the warm tea brushed down her throat. “That was where we met and where we spent most of our time.” “Those were good times.” “Life changing, really,” said Stephanie. “I had no idea that ‘tickle sororities’ could even be a thing, let alone know how much it would affect who I became.” “You talk to any of the others?” Robyn asked. Stephanie looked down to the swirling ripples in her cup. “Sometimes,” said Stephanie. “Cat had a party not that long ago. A ‘party’ party.” “I remember the invite,” said Robyn. “I couldn’t make it out. Did you go?” Stephanie nodded. “I did,” said Stephanie. “You missed quite a show. She had some new entertainment.” “Cat wouldn’t have thrown a party without something fresh,” Robyn interrupted. “Cute little thing,” said Stephanie. “Surprised she lasted as long as she did. Hours, when she looked done within minutes.” “Maybe I’ll catch the next one,” said Robyn. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen either.” “Don’t here much of Lyn,” said Stephanie. “Didn’t see her there. We’ll throw emails back and forth every now and then, but she’s pretty illusive.” “Yeah, can’t say I hear from her much either,” said Robyn. “That’s a shame too,” said Stephanie. “I know you two were close.” Robyn shrugged. “That’s life,” said Robyn. “They went off to be big successes and we had two beautiful, amazing young girls.” “And I wouldn’t trade that for anything, even if mine can be a pain sometimes,” said Stephanie. “I’d like to not have her turn out too much like her father.” “I'm sure she's just going through a phase.” Robyn sat her cup, newly emptied, back into the saucer. “We'll get her back on track.” Stephanie finished her cup of tea and brushed the cat off of her lap. “You're so sweet and supportive,” said Stephanie. Her face darkened with a smile. “I don't know if you remember the night of the tea party?” Robyn nodded. “Of course,” said Robyn. “That was brutal, for all of us. I thought that you would have passed out long before you actually did.” “Trust me, it felt like it,” said Stephanie. “You remember what you and I did after? Back at your dorm? You probably don't; we both had a lot to drink.” “How could I forget?” Robyn asked smirking and looking away. “I didn't have as much to drink as you might remember though.” “Neither did I,” said Stephanie. The following moment lingered in the favor or their company. Robyn reached over and light stroked Stephanie’s arm before pulling away again. “I don't want to keep her waiting too long. You ready?” “Sure thing,” said Robyn. The two women stood. Stephanie led Robyn over to a door adjacent from the kitchen. Beyond the door was a set of stairs leading downward. The opera music rang out from the basement below. “She hates my classical pieces,” said Stephanie, leading Robyn down the stairs. “I figured that could keep her company while we caught up.” “You're so bad,” Robyn said playfully. The bottom of the stairs opened up to a large, stuffy basement. Grey, stone walls hung barren, save for clusters of storage bins and random frivolities pressed up against them. The stone floor clicked beneath Robyn's sharp heel. A stereo played a well known aria, a piece that Robyn recognized as an early Scarlatti. Against the farthest wall was an old fashioned wardrobe, chained off with a padlock. In the center struggled Taylor, sitting upright in a chair. Her wrists were locked to the armrests, ankles to a padded plate below by the same style of buckled cuffs. She wore a blindfold and cringed through the music, unable to hear the women enter the room. “As you can see, I’ve made some adjustments to the ‘time out’ chair from when she was little.” Stephanie walked up to the stereo and turned it off. “Ugh, thank you,” said Taylor, exhausted. “Can I get up now? This is so stupid.” “Not yet,” said Stephanie. The woman walked up to her daughter and removed her blindfold. Taylor squinted into the fluorescent lightscape around her before narrowing her eyes on Robyn. “Mrs. Brown?” Taylor asked. “Hey, sweetie,” said Robyn, waving back at the girl. A decent amount of sweat had formed across her forehead and shoulders from the humidity of the musty basement. “Sara got me kicked off the volleyball team! She had it coming,” Taylor blurted angrily. “Shh, don't worry about any of that right now, dear,” said Robyn. “If you'd like to play around a bit,” said Stephanie to her friend, handing Robyn a small key on a long, metal chain. “I know how you like to change things up.” “Thanks, dear,” said Robyn. The women shared a cheek kiss before Stephanie started for the stairs. “If you need anything at all, just come get me,” said Stephanie. “I'll just be cleaning up in the kitchen.” “Thank you, but I'm sure we'll be fine,” said Robyn. The woman turned back to Taylor, trapped in the chair. “Won't we?” “What's going on?” Taylor demanded as she struggled to free herself. “Let me go!” Stephanie paid her daughter no mind as she left the basement and Taylor alone with Robyn. “Don't tire yourself out too early, dear,” said Robyn, walking around the bound girl. “Knowing your mother's collection of binds, you aren't going anywhere.” Taylor continued to struggle as she grunted obscenities. Robyn paced around slowly, admiring Stephanie’s bondage chair and basement set up. “How come I'm the only one without a ‘room’? I really have to step up my game.” “Look, what do you want me to say?” Taylor asked. “I don't know what you're getting out of this, but it's weird.” Robyn walked up to a small table sitting in front of Taylor. On it sat Taylor's cellphone. Robyn picked up the device and examined it. “Hey, that's mine. Put it down.” Robyn ignored the girl as she noticed the locker room video already pulled up to her homescreen. Robyn played the video. Taylor scrambled to justify her actions. “They were so overreacting; it wasn’t that bad. It was funny and I know they both secretly liked it, them being into the weird stuff that they are.” Robyn hushed Taylor with a raised index finger, without taking her eyes off the video. Taylor listened to the events unfold and paired each with Robyn’s stoney facial expressions. Robyn leaned against the table, her eyes plastered to the scene before her. Taylor sank into the taunting laughs of her friends and desperate screams of Demi and Sara circulating the room. Robyn watched the video all the way through before setting the phone back down. Taylor looked up, expecting to see her fuming, burning with the desire to cause her physical pain. Robyn instead shook her head, inhaling deeply. “Your technique is sloppy,” said Robyn. Taylor's eyes narrowed. “What?” “Your scribbling wildly technique, it's extremely novice,” said Robyn. “You got the taunting down; points certainly go toward setting up a real brutal picture, but there's something important that you deliberately ignored.” Robyn walked up to Taylor. “Tell me, do you think either of these girls found it as funny as you did?” “Well, no, but they liked it,” said Taylor. “I read the diary. I know you know that they're both into that weird stuff.” “Uh huh, but wanting it with each other and wanting it with you, like this, are two different things, wouldn't you agree? Because it appears to me that they didn't want this and that you invaded in on their personal lives. Liking it or not is irrelevant; they didn't want this or like this and you know it. You caused them both more harm than you know.” “Ugh, I’m sorry or whatever. There. Now let me go.” “Oh, in time, sweetie,” said Robyn. The woman patted Taylor on the cheek. “I’m still going to need you to mean that. Then, I'm sure we can all move past this soon and get on with our lives, right?” Taylor's eyes squinted, one brow slightly cocked above the other. “This is so stupid.” “Maybe,” said Robyn. “There's still some things I'd like to go over with you.” Robyn walked up to the wardrobe against the wall behind Taylor. She unlocked the lock and thrust open the doors.  “Beautiful, just like I remember it,” said Robyn. The collection before her shimmered with glorious variety. Taylor twisted her head to try and see behind her. “What?” Taylor asked. “Your mother was always a marvelous collector,” said Robyn. Her eyes scanned over an extensive array of tickle tools. On the inside of one door hung a neatly organized display of feathers in clear sleeves, all ranging in size, color, and species. On the other door, rolls of thick twine dangled above metal toe locks and strings of tiny, fuzzy bobs. Inside the cabinet, toothbrushes of varying functionalities were set in their own supports. Below them, a bottle of baby oil and a water flosser sat fully filled in a small chiller. Underneath, Robyn inspected a series of drawers. Each relinquished an impressive collection of brushes. The top yielded paint brushes next to pens, paints, inks wells, and a single feather tipped quill. The middle drawer contained a carefully placed arrangement of stiffer, wider hairbrushes, all with plastic tipped prongs and sturdy handles. The final drawer at the bottom was mostly empty, save for a small jar of a yellow substance and a single, finely tipped paintbrush. “No she isn't,” said Taylor. “A collector of what?” Robyn breathed in all of the wonderful options before turning back to the girl. “You'll see,” said Robyn. The woman came up next to the chair and pulled a lever against the side. The footrest pulled upward, straightening Taylor's legs out in front of her. “What the hell is going on?” Taylor asked in a sweat. Robyn knelt beside the chair and stroked Taylor's hair. Taylor jerked her head out of the way, shooting the woman a disgusted scowl. “Nothing that you don't think is all that bad, apparently,” said Robyn. The woman stood up and came down to the foot of the device. “I'd say that you may even find it funny.” Robyn began unlacing Taylor's right sneaker. “Just a punishment that fits the crime." Robyn removed the shoe entirely. Taylor succumbed to a laugh as her head fell once again. “Really? That's what you're going to do? You're going to tickle me? And you really thought that that would scare me? Oh my god, this is so dumb.” “Is that so?” Robyn asked, grinning widely as she removed the other shoe. “You think you can last what you did to that girl?” “I know I can,” said Taylor, releasing a slight twitch in her voice. “It's just tickling. There's nothing scary or hurtful or traumatizing about it, like they’re pretending it is. If this is what I have to do to prove to you that those two were overreacting, then fine. Let's get this over with.” Robyn tossed aside Taylor's other shoe, along with the rest of her reserve. Robyn breathed deeply and smiled. She pinched the ends of both of Taylor's socks and pulled. “Taylor, I am so glad to hear you say that,” said Robyn. The bands of the socks slowly rose like stage curtains revealing Taylor’s silky smooth soles. Robyn let the socks fall where they may as she inspected the trapped girl’s feet. Taylor’s feet, larger than that of Demi’s or her own daughter’s, but only slightly, waved in their stocks. Her soles were soft pink with pale arches. Much sweat had built up within her shoes and socks, glistening the soft surfaces and releasing a tart, dense odor. “What, do you have that same weird thing your daughter has?” Taylor asked. Her head tilted backwards. She watched Robyn with narrow eyes. Taylor grasped the edges of the arm rests, her feet twitching away from Robyn’s lingering gaze. “Stop it, it’s creeping me out.” Robyn chuckled behind closed lips. She reached up and softly caressed the side of Taylor’s foot, causing it to twitch away from the woman’s touch. “A bit sensitive, are we?” Robyn asked. “You don’t scare me,” said Taylor. “Whatever you do to me, I can take it.” Taylor’s face held a stern scowl, yet her throat quivered. “I know you can, sweetie,” said Robyn. “I believe in you, because not only do I know that you can take it, I know that you will take it.” Robyn reached into her pocket and retrieved her cell phone. She fidgeted with the device before setting it upright on the table, pointed at Taylor. “What’s that for?” Taylor asked. “Are you recording this?” “Just a little insurance policy,” said Robyn. “I’m sure you’re aware of the ramifications. You did initiate them yourself, didn’t you?” “You’re insane,” said Taylor. “The waiting getting to you?” asked Robyn. “I’m sorry, I just thought that you were a fan of the theatrics from that show you put on.” “Listen, lady, I’m not scared of you or your stupid threats,” said Taylor. “The sooner this is over, the sooner you can leave and I can go about my day.” Robyn walked back up to Taylor’s chair, stroking Taylor’s trapped forearm with one finger. Taylor twitched away at the sensation of the nail dragging against her skin on impulse. She gasped and looked down to her arm in disbelief. “That tickle?” Robyn asked. Taylor looked back up at Robyn, her face twisted in confusion. “It did, didn’t it? Your forearm, right there. Never imagined that you’d be ticklish there, did you? Well, you’re not, you’re just nervous. And if I can tickle you in a place you’re not ticklish…” Robyn reached down and swiped several nails up Taylor’s sole. Taylor jumped and gasped once again, much louder than before. “Just imagine what I can do down here.” “Phfft, you don’t scare me,” said Taylor. “Good,” said Robyn. “In order for this to be as much fun for me as I was hoping, I need you to put up a fight.” Robyn started slow, lightly dancing one hand if nails against Taylor's left sole. Taylor clenched, her jaw and eyelids tightened. She squealed through her teeth, fighting the urge to laugh. “That… won't… work…” “Oh, please sweetie, you're not fooling me,” said Robyn. “Just go ahead and laugh. You won't tire yourself out as quickly that way.” Robyn maintained technique. Her nails scratched against the plush, warm surface of Taylor's soles. Her navy painted nails wiggled with her toes, scrunching to avoid the tickles, but only creating wrinkles for Robyn's fingers to explore. The girl shivered and swung her head back and forth. “You're already breaking and I haven't even begun trying yet. Coochi coochi coo…” “Phhhhttttt….hehehehahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Noooohahahahahahahahahaha!” Taylor cracked. She threw her head and let the gates of laughter burst open. “That-a girl,” said Robyn, her soothing tone condescending and patronizing. “See, that's not so bad. Maybe you were right all along.” Robyn added her other hand to Taylor's vacant foot, following the same tenderly scribbling pattern. Taylor's reacted instantly with a jump and shriek. “Eeekkk!!! Hahahahahahahah! I caaahahahnn taahahahakkkee ittthahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!” “Oh, I’m sure you can take this,” said Robyn. The woman made free-form dragging spirals with her nails against Taylor’s arches and heels. “I had absolutely no expectation to break you so soon, but we’ll get there. Just be patient.” Taylor continued to fight the laughter, breathing heavily in and out of her flared nostrils. Her lips spread wide, showing off two rows of pearly white teeth clashed together. Taylor pulled and pulled on her legs, wiggling her feet side to side to escape the endless supply of tickles, but Robyn kept up with Taylor’s motions with near perfect anticipation. “Oh my goddddheheheeheehahahahahahahahahahahahahah! You caahahahahan’t do thissshehehehahahahahahahahahahahahahah!!” “Funny, your mother said this was okay,” said Robyn. “And it’s not bad, right? You can take a little tickling, can’t you? Surely you must be overreacting.” Taylor’s face began to darken. The fortress of full laughter quaked behind quivering limbs and clenched eyelids. “Eeeeeeekkkkkhehehehahahahahahahah!!! Okay okaahahahahahayyyyyy!!! Hahahahahahahahahahahahah!!!” Taylor’s jaw unhinged to let out a uninterrupted fleet of ticklish laughter. Her toes wiggled and crunched. Her fingers twitched. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. Robyn remained insistent on her leasure introduction for several minutes before pulling away. Taylor’s head fell limp. She coughed and struggled to catch her breath. “You good? Still with me?” Robyn asked. “O-ok-okay… okay…” Robyn stood and retrieved a chair from the far wall. She scooted the seat over in front of Taylor’s trapped soles. “Well, I hope you don’t mean that you expect me to be done,” said Robyn. “We have a lot of work to do.” Taylor groaned. “F-fine,” said Taylor, released on a loud exhale. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.” Robyn walked over to the wardrobe. “You’re not ready to give in, are you?” asked Robyn, scanning over Stephanie’s elaborate collection. “It’s not too much for you, is it?” “No,” Taylor growled. “You’re not going to get the best of me. I can take anything. You won’t beat me.” “Taylor, I am simply trying to teach you. You should be able to understand the kind of torments you give to others first hand, and know that they might not be as funny as you think. Whether you admit that sooner or later is irrelevant; we’re still going to have a lot of fun down here. Now, let’s see…” Robyn searched over the contents of the wardrobe before reaching for a spool of twine. Robyn also grabbed a white feather and a black feather, both with stiff edges. Around the quill of the white unravelled a small scrap of paper reading ‘To my wolfy’. Robyn smiled and muttered to herself. “She really kept it.” “Please, just hurry up,” said Taylor. The frustration snarled her voice. “You already have a video of me doing this, what more do you want?” “For you to understand, Taylor,” said Robyn. “Fine, I get it,” said Taylor. “Demi couldn’t handle this and I shouldn’t have been so mean to Sara. There. Happy?” “You’ll have to be more convincing than that,” said Robyn, making her way back over to Taylor. “That’s okay, you will. I promise.” Robyn worked quickly with fastening the itchy strand of twine around Taylor's big toes. The insertion caused Taylor to twitch and giggled, clamping her mouth shut as the string slid across the tender crevasse between her toes. Robyn tied both toes together and fastened their knot to the stockade, stretching back her soles as taut and far as they would go. With no room left to wiggle, Taylor could only squirm her toes a distinctly limited amount. Taylor shuddered, her confused state led to a horrible realization as the beads of sweat racing down her arches was only then enough to send tickling chills through her body, with sensitive nerves pressed so vulnerable against the soft, stretched surfaces. “Don't be scared,” said Robyn, twirling the white feather in her fingers, tantalizing Taylor's line of sight. Taylor sucked in frivolously through her nose. The room started to fill with the odor of her sweat, particularly from her feet. “I'm not scared,” said Taylor. Her eyes narrowed, staring down the woman with the feather in between her nails. Taylor’s fingers fidgeted. Her chest heaved with each gulping breath. “Good,” said Robyn. “Because with us having such a long history, you being Sara's best friend for years, me watching you grow up, I may have even changed your diaper once or twice, I hope you know that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“You don’t know me,” roared Taylor. “You saw what happened; I run that school, or at least I did until your daughter ratted me out. She’s the little snitch who needs to be put in her place.”

Robyn interrupted by gliding the white feather up Taylor’s right sole. Taylor gasped. “Oooohhmyyygodddhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! Ohhhmyygoddd ohhhmyygoddd oh my godddhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!” “Aww, does that tickle?” Robyn asked as she lazily continued to stroke up and down Taylor's soles, alternating between each one, with the stiff plume. “And I’m still not putting in any effort yet. It really makes it worse, not being able to move your toes, doesn’t it?” Taylor dove in and out of laughing fits, only meeting her breaks for air with frustrated growls. Her toes clenched around the twine. The string sank into their stems when the bulbs wrapped around them in feeble attempts for protection. “What about this?” Robyn raised the other and added its feathery effects to Taylor’s torment. Taylor threw her head back and squealed as both feathers caressed her soft, pink soles. “Eeeeeeekkkhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah!!! AAAAHHHHHHHahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! Sttttahahahahahahahahahahahahahah!!!” “I'm sorry, what was that?” Robyn asked. The slithery grazes of the feather tops against Taylor's soles made delicate, raspy sounds to accompany her laughter. “Are you asking me to stop?” Taylor groaned as she shook her head. “Good, because I am having a lot of fun. Aren't you?” Taylor threw her head side to side, her neck falling limp over one side of the chair as sweat raced down her face in streams. “Fascinating, isn't it? How just the simplest of movements from the most harmless of objects, when applied to the right area, can completely break a person, reducing them down to a husk lost within a singular drive of flight or fight. In your case, however, the case that you bestowed on poor Demi, the options of flight or fight are taken from you, and you are only left with waiting out the torment. Coochi coochi coo…” Robyn slipped the feathers upwards. She gently began teasing the undersides of her toes with the two plumes before sawing them through the spaces in between. “AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! OOOHHMYYYGODDDHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! PPPLEEEHEHEHEHAAHAHAHAHASSSSSEEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!” A violent surged raced through Taylor's body. She pulled at her binds. She thrashed her head back and forth. Her eyes dripped with tears, creating salty pools beneath her. Her face darkened with red. Her feet twitched as much as they could, still leaving Robyn plenty of safe immobility to explore her more transparently sensitive areas. “Oh my, found the spot, did we?” Robyn teased. “Aww, I’m going to be here for a while, getting all of these cute little toes nice and dusted. I know you think you may pass out any second by this point, but from my experience, you still have a lot of laughter left to give.” The space between each toe deserved full attention to the feathers. Robyn dedicated many excruciating minutes to just torturing those spots alone. Teasing phrases like ‘coochi coochi coo’ and ‘tickle tickle tickle’ repeated on regular intervals in between monologues. Taylor's chest heaved, inflamed by its own need to capture more and more air. When her laughs had turned into desperate gasps, Robyn retreated, leaving Taylor to stew in her of delirium. “O-o...kay… Ok...ay...You’re d-done, ri-right?” Taylor asked, her sweaty hair hung down with her limp neck. Robyn smiled and rose. “You still haven't learned, so no,” said Robyn. Taylor groaned, letting the tears drip from her eyes. “It's been a long time since I've felt this alive, and I'm going to take full advantage.” Robyn walked back over to the wardrobe. “Y-you’re crazy!” Taylor growled. “W-what more do you want?” “Let's see,” said Robyn, scanning over the collection. She placed back both feathers and reached for the electric toothbrush. Robyn also picked up the water flosser, dumping out the water and replacing it with the baby oil. “Yes, this should do nicely.” Robyn walked both items back over to her chair and took a seat. “You know, it's not hard to see why you and Sara made such good friends back then. You two have always been extremely hard headed.” Robyn held up both tools for Taylor to see. Taylor's eyes went wide in reddened, horrified confusion. “Technique is just as much skill as it is picking the right weapon. Tickling is not a brutish act of exploitation, but rather a heated exchange of information in the most primitive, yet so complex, way. For example, you may look at these and think you know the full extent of their purpose in the field of dental hygiene, and yet to me, they mean so much more. You'll know all about that soon enough, but right now, you don't, and it's the lack of communication that frightens you. You feel it, don't you? The tickles already are just in your mind. Much like they are out here, you are helpless to stop it. You feel them scratching their way down to your toes. I haven't even begun and you don't even have a clue as to how devastating these will be for you.” “Just get on with it!” Taylor pleaded. “Still think you can take it?” Robyn asked. “I can take anything,” Taylor argued. “You’ll see. I’m not afraid of you or whatever weird crap you or Sara are into.” “Not quite there yet,” said Robyn. Robyn held the water flosser up to Taylor's toes and turned it on. A thin, but highly pressurized jet of oil streamed out and began soaking Taylor's toes. The very second, Taylor lurched in her chair as far as her bonds would allow and let out a wail of laughter. “OOOHHHMMMYYGODDDHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! WWWHHHAHAHAHAHAHTTTTIISSTHAHAHTTT?!?!” Taylor screamed and howled as the frail jet wedged its stream into the sensitive crevasses of Taylor's toes. “Not only was your mother quite the collector, she was also the smartest out of all of us,” said Robyn. “She was the innovator that got more creative with different common tools than anyone we knew. And while she always played apprehensive with it, would deny it on the spot, she was always the one most eager to be first in the chair.” The oil slid down Taylor's soles from the base of her toes. Slowly, the flosser needled the sensitive nerves of her toes. Her toes struggled to fight back against the device. One by one, the jet covered every spot in torturously tiny diameters around, underneath, and in between each of her toes. The oil dripping down Taylor’s stretched sole only added to her ticklish torment. “And now, time to scrub it in.” Robyn switched on the electric toothbrush and inserted the spinning bristles directly onto Taylor’s oil soaked big toe. “WWWWWHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! OOOHHHMYYYGODDDDHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” A new wave of ticklish hysteria raced through Taylor. The bristles made quick work of viciously scrubbing the slippery skin. Taylor’s cheeks flared bright red. Sweat cascaded down her face like oil down her sole. Tears covered her cheeks. Her arms and legs no longer fought, but twitched in primitive reactivity. Robyn moved the flosser down her sole, allowing the jet to begin working on her arch down to her heel. The spinning toothbrush continued to rub in the oil one toe at a time. Robyn giggled and kept taunting the girl, making her defencelessness painfully transparent. “You know, it’s often speculated that tickling was used as actual torture, be it for punishment or interrogation,” said Robyn. “For only brief periods throughout history, but those times yielded some fascinating research into how much the average person can last under such conditions. It’s a shame it’s still not a regular practice, if you ask me. No lasting pain or bodily harm, and yet could be just as effective, if not more, than what we use today, especially with our advances in technology. Wouldn’t you agree?” Taylor’s ticklish nerves burned, screamed, with the dual assault across her single foot. A strand of drool escaped out of one side of her mouth. With careful attention to assessing the frail jet of oil against every spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, while the electric toothbrush scrubbed her immobile, spread toes, remorseless to her suffering, over half an hour passed by through Robyn’s thorough assessment. She pulled back, watching Taylor gasp as she slumped in her seat. The girl twitched in seemingly random areas and intervals. “O...oh g-god….” Taylor prayed. “And that was just the one,” said Robyn. “We have a whole other foot to cover.” “I… di-didn’t do… anything l-like th-this to… Demi,” Taylor said. “No, but you had several girls working on her,” said Robyn, “so you’ve forced me to compensate.” Robyn started up the flosser again on Taylor's other set of toes. The oil gushed from the jet, lathering up Taylor's sweaty toes in glistening lubricant. Taylor's groan turned into a crying wail before succumbing to laughter once again. “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! PPPLLEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHASSSEEEE!!!! SSSTTTTHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPPPPP!!!” Taylor’s body jerked against the tormenting stimulus before falling back into defeated exhaustion. She recognized that her feet and toes were wholly Robyn's playground until she earned her mercy. “You said it yourself that it's not so bad,” said Robyn. “‘Demi was just overreacting’, right? ‘She loves this’, isn't that what you suggested?” The oil pressed into each of her tender toes until they shined in the light by the overhanging bulb. It dripped down in strands, tickling Taylor's sole as before. “Just like then, we got to get these toes all nice and slippery for the brush.” “NNNNOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! I CAAAHAHAHAHNNNTTTTTHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Slowly, Taylor felt herself more and more unable to concentrate on anything else but her torment. Her body stopped responding. Her mind faded from wondering how much longer she could last to screaming pleas of anguish. Her vision started to swirl. The sweat began to sting her tear soaked eyes, forcing them closed in a pain minimal to the ticklish torture in which she dwelled. With each toe sufficiently coated in baby oil, the toothbrush switched back on. Taylor had little time to react to the sound of the buzzing before the insidious bristles found their way into her slick toes. “AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! NNNNAHAHAHAHAHAHAHTTTTHHHHAHAHAHTTTTTTHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” “‘Got to get them clean’” said Robyn, misquoting Taylor's video of Demi. “I'm just copying your philosophy, allowing you to see what hell you inflicted on that poor girl. But it isn't hell, is it Taylor? I'm sure you like this and you're just overreacting.” Robyn wasted little time in maneuvering the flosser down to Taylor's sole, spraying her milky white, pulled back arch. The electric toothbrush covered across each pad of Taylor's toes, turning them all into succulent little cherries. With carefully attention devoted to letting each and every spot suffer complete ticklish insanity, Taylor was quickly finding her own composure reduced to a quivering, laughing mess of jelly. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! MMMMMMHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAahhahahah……...hahahahaHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKKKKKEEEIIITTTTHAHAHAHAHAHAHAahahahahaha…….ahahahahahSSSSSTTTTTHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” With her laughter fading to struggled, inhumanly gargled gulps of air, Robyn retreated. She admired her work. Bright pink around the heels and ball, Santa red plums for toes, and pastel up and and down the arches. Taylor's soles trembled, drenched in oil. Taylor herself slumped back in her chair, far too weak to stand, let alone to attempt to free herself any longer. Robyn stood and brushed her sweaty hair out of her face. Taylor's cheeks burned as bright as her toes. Her chest heaved painfully, yet slowed as her breath began to return. “Anything you have to say?” Robyn asked. Taylor paused, unable to exert the air needed for coherent words. “T...th-that….that's… it…,” Taylor panted, spraying sweat and saliva with each word. “‘That's it’?” Robyn asked. “You ready to confess?” “Th...th-that’s… the wo-worst… it c-can… g...get,” Taylor continued. “I… p-proved… I c-can… take i-it…” A warm smile came to Robyn's lips as she patted Taylor's head. “There, there,” said Robyn. “You are so precious, you know that? I never questioned whether or not you could take it; I knew you could.” Robyn stood and walked back over to the wardrobe. “But you are so cute, not because you think it's over.” Robyn replaced her tools and opened one of the drawers. “But because you think that that's the worst it can get.” She looked at the collection once more. Robyn wrapped her hands around two handles, letting her fingers sink into the rubbery grips. A confidence of mystic conquest rushed through her as she held her weapons like war-ending swords. She swaggered back over to Taylor, the girl's eyes barely open. “I… I d-don’t… kn-know what… you w-want me… to say…” Taylor pleaded. “Simple,” said Robyn. “I want you to say that you can't take it. I want you to understand, first hand, the torture you inflicted on those innocent girls and confess the severity of your mistake. Until I feel you can offer a genuine apology, you will stay right here.” Without warning, behind Taylor's fluttering eyelids, Robyn began her ticklish torture once again, with two thick bristled hair brushes scrubbing violently against Taylor's hypersensitive soles. “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! OOOOHHHMYYGODDDDHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! PPPLLLEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Taylor screamed a scream that cracked her voice. She lunged forward in her chair before slinking over one side. Tears dropped from her eyes in steady streams. Her chest and jaw ached from the ceaseless laughter forced out of her. “And yes, Taylor, it can get worse,” said Robyn. Taylor's soles glowed. With no build up to the rapidity of her scrubbing, each new pass bought with it a new shimmering coat of red and higher sensitivity. Loudly, the bristles scraped against the soft, slippery flesh, sounding of fighting stains out of a shallow carpet. Taylor’s laughter reverted to raspy screams and desperate cries. Each wail came with it a plea for mercy. “PPPLLLEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSSSEEE!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! PPPLLEEASSSEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! OOOHHHGODDHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!” With little friction against the still, stretched, nearing purple surfaces of Taylor’s soles, Robyn’s brushes effortlessly caressed against every inch of ticklish flesh. Each prong dragged, every swipe measured, Taylor found herself being pushed farther into complete hysteria than she had ever been before. Each scream of laughter belted its own cry for sympathy. Robyn counted every one. ‘Thirty five, thirty six, thirty seven…’ Robyn continued noting each pitiful shriek for forgiveness in her mind, her hands never wavering from delivering the most vigorous of punishments against the girl’s tender soles. When she had counted to fifty, the woman spoke up. “You finally ready?” “AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahahahahaha…….ahahahahahahHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! YYYYEEEESSSSSSHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhahahahahaha…...ahahahahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPLLLEEEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Robyn continued for a few more seconds. She soaked in Taylor’s liberated laughter just as she drank in the power she had behind it. When she pulled back her brushes, Taylor coughed as she gasped for air. Robyn noted how thirsty she must have been from losing so much water through her pores and tears. “Whenever you’re ready,” said Robyn. “I….I…. I sh…. shou…” Taylor managed through a rushed airway. “Breathe first, honey,” said Robyn. “No sense passing out now.” Robyn allowed Taylor all the time she needed to regain her ability to speak. When she had better recuperated, Taylor began through a dry throat. “I… I’m s-so sorry,” Taylor said, her head hung over from near complete exhaustion. “W...wh-what I did w-was wrong. I shouldn’t h-have done what I d-did to Sara or D-Demi. S-she shouldn’t have h-had to go through this. Th-that was terrible. I’m so sorry. P-please…” Robyn sat back and let Taylor pour out her heart. “And you’ll apologize to them both?” Robyn asked. Taylor nodded slowly, lifelessly. “Y...yes…” Robyn gauged Taylor’s claim in relation to her exhaustion.

“Anything else you’d like to add?”

“I… I ca-can’t take it” Taylor continued. “Y-you were r-right. I kn-know now and I am s-so sorry…” “Now, I know you’re being genuine,” said Robyn. The woman walked back over to the wardrobe to replace the brushes back into their drawer. “Stephie!” Several seconds passed with Taylor still breathing heavily before Stephanie entered back into the room. “How’s everyone?” Stephanie asked. She descended the stairs with a tall glass of ice water. “Good,” said Robyn. “We came to an understanding and an agreement.” Taylor nodded. A slight smile came to her face as she glanced at the water and knew her torment was over. Stephanie brought the water to her helped her drink. “That’s good,” said Stephanie. “You sure were making a lot of noise down here.” “That’s what you invited me for, was it not?” The women laughed. “I’m sure she’ll have a lot of questions for you to answer.”

“Yeah, well, that was bound to happen eventually,” said Stephanie. Stephanie removed the empty glass from her daughter’s lips and stroked her hair.

“Mom...,” Taylor sighed. Robyn retrieved her phone and ended her recording. Stephanie walked over to the wardrobe and took a look.

“I hope everything is still in place,” said Stephanie. Robyn rolled her eyes.

“Yes, of course I know how you like to keep things neat,” said Robyn.

“And in their place,” said Stephanie. “Everything looks good.” Stephanie reached into the bottom drawer of the wardrobe and removed the tiny jar of yellow gel. She brought it back over to Taylor. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Everything is fine. We’re going to get you all cleaned up now, okay?” Taylor shot her a puzzled look in her drenched fatigue. Stephanie opened the jar and proceeded to pour its contents across the bases of Taylor’s toes. Taylor shot up once again, having regained a bit of strength.

“Ahhhhh! Wwhhahat’s thhahat?” Taylor cried. The cool chill of the gel seeped in between her toes and down her soles in thick droplets. Stephanie shushed her daughter, lingering a comforting smile over her.

“It’s nothing dear,” said Stephanie. She capped the jar and set it on the table. Stephanie started up the stairs with Robyn right behind her.

“What’s g-going on?” Taylor panicked. “Let me out, please!”

“You going to let her out?” Robyn asked upon reaching the top of the stairs.

“Of course, after she’s out,” said Stephanie.

“‘After she’s out’?” Robyn asked. Stephanie opened the door. In rushed both cats, eager to feast away at the succulent nectar dripping down Taylor’s soles and toes. Robyn shot Stephanie a daring grin.

“What? You got her back for Demi, but she did want Sara to lick her toes, did she not?”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Robyn. “After what she just went through, I can’t imagine she won’t last much longer anyway.” Stephanie walked out of the basement stairwell with Robyn following. Taylor flooded the room with frantic objections to the cats sniffing out the honey butter flavors nearing her bare, trapped toes. Robyn lingered in the doorway. She pulled up the video on her phone.

“You won’t do anything with that, will you?” Stephanie asked.

“Of course not,” said Robyn, deleting the video. “But she doesn’t have to know that.” The woman waited to leave and shut the door behind her when the room suddenly exploded with Taylor’s newly energized laughter, an aria most beautiful.

[tickletherapy]

Losing Hope (Star Wars)

Her heart rushed. Sweat running down her forehead. Behind, she left the corpse of a friend. Ahead, the only thing that matters – the mission. They all knew death could be waiting – though, deep inside, there was the hope of getting away even after all this mess. Hope is all they ever had, after all. Rebellions are built on hope. She needed to redirect the antenna in order to send the plans of the Death Star to the rebellion. If she could do that, they had won – nothing after that would matter. Capture, torture or execution, nothing would matter – she would have assured her father’s revenge. The seeds of rebellion he planted on the Death Star would bear fruits, grow into a mighty tree that would destroy the Empire! She had that hope. Hope was all she had. She arrived at the panel, the tension apparent on her face. She typed quickly the necessary commands, and with a loud noise, the antenna begun to spin into place. All she needed now was to go back to the center of the tower, a few feet away. A single rush through the precarious footing she currently was and she would be there. Then she would win, they would all win, and all the lives lost today would have been worthy. She had that hope. Hope was all she had Her hope was crushed with a single sound – a “pew” among a sea of “pew”s, the most important of all “pew”s shot on that day. Krennic managed to catch up before she could return to the main computer to upload the files. Krennic had lost much time that day with theatrics – not now. A single shot, straight to the head, with precision honed by decades on the Empire’s military. On stun, of course, not on kill – that girl could be a very valuable prisoner. And with that, hope was lost, and Jyn Erso didn’t even realize, knocked out cold as she was. This fortunately spared her of seeing all the death and destruction caused by the Empire on the rebel forces as they pointlessly awaited the plans. They stayed in the fight way past what common sense would dictate. They bet more than they could afford to lose, and then they lost it all. Because they had hope. And now, they couldn’t have even that. What little remained of the fleet retreated when it was painfully obvious that Jyn and her teammates had failed. They would surely be all dead by now. And, except for the girl herself, they were. Jyn, still unconscious – this time through sedatives - was taken from the planet to somewhere else: Coruscant, the Imperial Center, hearth of the Empire and home of Palpatine. There, she was taken to the deepest levels of the Emperor’s castle, where the most vital prisoners of war suffered indescribable torment through interrogation or just torture for the sake of torture. When Jyn awoke, it was in an entirely different environment. She looked around, still dazed, her instincts urging her to rush forward and upload the files. When she tried, however, she realized she was not able to do so – she was restrained to a vertical frame, lightly inclined upwards. She couldn’t see behind her, but she could feel that she was on top of a big machine, instead of a simple vertical table. Each of her limbs was locked into one of the extremities of the device, making her completely exposed, tied in an X. The coldness she was feeling drew attention to the fact she was now undressed, with only her undergarments spared. She then noticed she was no longer atop of the tower at Scarif, within the imperial data bank. Instead, she was in some sort of dungeon – metal ceiling, metal floor, metal walls. Everything was grey. A depressing look. So, that was it. Captured by the Empire. That meant she was now going to die screaming. It didn’t matter though. Nothing mattered. They bet everything, and they lost. Her torture – and she had no doubt she was about to be tortured – was irrelevant. She was trained for this, from her times with Saw Guerrera. Her paranoid stepfather trained her in all forms of resistance to pain. She was familiar with the mind-games of torture, and knew how to circumvent them. They would get nothing out of her. And then… She waited. Waited and waited, then waited a little more. Waiting was terrible – the boredom made her mind drift, and it drifted straight to her upcoming ordeal. But she was also familiar with this tactic. Let the tortured do half the job themselves, in their mind. Pain is not the key to a session – fear is. Pain is merely an instrument to induct fear, to create a game of reward and punishment. Those were what broke the interrogated’s mind and made them spill the beans. Not the punch that just hit, but the fear of the next one. She would not allow herself to fall for that trap. Thus, she redirected her mind to somewhere else, when she was a child, and she, her father and her mother still lived a happy life. She would never forgive the Empire for taking that away from her. Finally the door slid to the side, as two men entered the room. One was Krennic, still dressed in his impeccable white Grand Admiral suit. The other man was unknown – he wore standard Imperial Army outfit, but also a black mask made of fabric. - And here we are, dear Rebel. You lost – Taunted Krannic, who now once again had the time for his pompous speeches – The Rebellion was crushed after their foolish attack. All your friends are dead. Right now, the remaining Rebels are certainly cowering in their base, awaiting to be brought to justice like the rats they are! - I’ll never tell you anything! – Retorted Jyn – I’ll die by your hands, but you will have nothing. - Oh, we are well aware that you have been trained to resist most forms of torture. Which is why we are employing the services of Mr. Kraus – He said, signaling the masked man. She doubted Kraus was his true name – His craft is quite unique. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. You might even find it funny. Now goodbye – He said, turning his back – I await a report in the morning. - Sure – Replied the torturer. When Krennic left, Jyn stared the mysterious man. - I will not… - She started, but was interrupted. - Shut up. I have to think. I’m not here to interrogate you, I’m here to use you as a test subject. She stood there – she didn’t have other options -, puzzled. She was not being interrogated? Krennic certainly seemed to believe so. A test subject? For what, she wondered. As if he could read her mind, the man continued his ramblings. - You are going to help me test my most recent invention… I based it on the engravings of an extremely ancient race, forgotten by time… No one knows where they’re from or where they are, just some artifacts scattered throughout the galaxy… Nonetheless, based on their design, I created this. I call it “The Embrace of Mirth”. Embrace of… Mirth? What was that madman rambling about?! He paid no attention to her, typing on a computer on the corner of the room. Suddenly, the machine started moving. It started reclining forward, until she was facing the floor at an inclination of 45º. From below, she saw a part of the machine slide forward, until it was right below her. It looked like a close metallic box, that finally opened to reveal a bunch of syringes facing her, and other instruments whose purpose she was not aware – rods with round tips, claw-like structures, etc. Behind her back, she also noticed something strange, as the solid surface behind her back also slid open. She guesses similar instruments also faced her back, or maybe others. It was an embrace alright. Was she about to experience chemical torture? But what about the Mirth part? The man once again typed things, and she felt the machine trembling. Something was about to start. She gulped. It was time to face her fate. She would endure it with everything she had. She would die screaming, but loyal. She had that hope. Hope was all she had. And yet, she was taken by surprise when, instead of burns and cuts, of pain and suffering, she was met with a different sensation: A gentle squeeze on her hips. Shocked, she buckled forward – or rather, downwards, trying to escape the touch, her brain still not fully processing what she was experiencing, acting completely by instinct. However, she was bound extremely tight, and her buckling was fruitless, merely squirming in place, providing no respite. Another squeeze came, and then a third and fourth and many others in quick succession, and finally Jyn Erson realized what was happening. She was being tickled. - WHAHAHAHAHAHAHATT THEHEHEHEHEHEHE FFFUHUHUHUHUHUHUCCKCKCCK!!! – She exclaimed in surprised laughter. Jyn has been a very ticklish girl since childhood. In fact, Saw Guerrera tickled her sometimes as torture training, but never for too long – only stuff like not laughing for two minutes or keeping her arms raised while having her armpits attacked. Now, she was at the hands of an actual tickling maniac, and she doubted he would stop tickling her in two minutes. Laughing and squirming, Jyn forced herself to establish enough self-control to look down. She saw cartoonish white hands pinching and squeezing her hips. The hands were on the extremity of a metallic “arm” so to speak, a malleable, retractable metallic appendage, which came from behind her, into the body of the machine that she could not see. It was exactly the kind of tickling hand a tickling machine from a cartoon would have. Jyn felt extremely silly – and the ticklish feelings didn’t help. There were two of them, tickling her hips on each side. – STohohOHOHOHpP ThahAHAHAHAhtHTTH!! – She ordered, now able to calm down a bit since the surprise had passed. The man didn’t even acknowledge her furious remark, continuing to type commands and analyzing the screen with joyful intensity, like a father watching his child. It tickled madly, but not nearly enough to break her. She could take this forever – it wouldn’t be a pleasurable endeavor, but she was feeling confident. Then the hands changed again, and she yelped. Now they started pinching and scribbling her ribs, and her laughter increased considerably. She had forgotten how ticklish her ribs could be, even to a light stimulus like this. Once again she instinctively buckled forward, but was kept rigorously in place. Her head ached back as she laughed, the innocent manifestation of her struggle to escape the sensation. And quickly she was realizing she couldn’t. She got thankful for a second when the hands stopped tickling her ribs, digging into her armpits next. Once again, the cycle repeated – laughter, squirming, struggling. And just as quickly, the hands stopped, this time giving a more definitive reprieve. She panted in place, hanging uselessly from her bonds. She closed her eyes, reminding herself she had survived it. She had endured the first strike. She couldn’t let her fear conquer her. Jyn reminded what Saw told her: It’s not the blow you endured that breaks you, it’s the fear of the next. She would not allow it to get the best of her.   The torturer remained uncaring, watching the screen with attention. She couldn’t know this, due to her angle of vision, but he was analyzing the feedback from the machine, which was mapping her most ticklish spots. He was neglecting her feet, true – the machine was optimized for upperbody tickling – but he still believed in it’s creation ability to break the captive’s will. And, from initial feedback, it seemed promising – she had a very high ticklishness score, wih her midsection region seeming to be particularly promising. He took notes of that, before inputting many command lines. - Okay Ms. Erso, it’s time to start the test for real. The machine is programmed to do so. Have a good evening, I’ll be back in a few hours – He said, moving towards the exit. Jyn’s eyes widened with fear. Hours? Was she going to be left there for hours, alone with the torture device? – Wait, where are you going?! – She asked, but the man simply ignored her. He left the room, closing and locking the door – and exactly when she heard the lock, she felt the hands make contact again. This time, however, they were four pairs coming from behind her – two on her armpits, and two on her sides. She buckled forward again, perhaps subconsciously hoping to escape. This hope, like all her other ones, were fruitless. And now Jyn was starting to grasp the fact that what she had endured previously was nothing, literally nothing, compared to this. What she went through was merely a test, a quick run to check if everything was working. Now she was being tortured. She also noticed the machine kept testing ways to make the tickling worse – the hands on her armpits did a spidery motion for a minute, then dug deep for another, then tried drilling the index finger in them. Meanwhile, the hands at her sides never stopped squeezing and scribbling and scratching. Jyn wish she knew what conclusion the machine came too – she was too busy laughing to notice what tickled more. Then, the machine started experimenting with her midsection, trying her navel, her sides, her hips, her ribs, and everything between. On this she was able to notice that her ribs were definitely the most ticklish area – scratching them deep send her completely over the edge. She hoped the machine would not do that too frequently, and was saddened by the realization that she was falling for the very tricks she knew she couldn’t. She was getting afraid, and that fear could be used against her. Those thoughts, however, were dispelled when the hands scratched her ribs again. Another very sensitive region, she quickly realized, has right below her armpits, near the uppermost rib, where her breasts connected with the armpit. It was much more sensitive than the center of the hollows, and deeper stimulus made her laugh loudly. And it kept going! She was quickly understanding how terrible tickling could be as a torture instrument thanks to one factor: How unusually long the stimulus could be applied. Sure, getting tickled was a lot less worse than being electrocuted, but you can’t electrocute your target for 15 minutes and hope to still have him alive to interrogate. The torture never stops, and this have a terrible effect on the subject’s mental state, as Jyn was quickly finding out. Once again, she was distracted out of those thoughts as the machine tickled her armpits more aggressively for a second, making her buckle forward once more. – HAHAHAAHAHAHAHEHEHAHAHAHEHAHAHEEHEHE!! – She laughed at the empty room, struggling violently in her bonds. Right now she was being tickled on both her ribs and her sides, which she realized now was a terrible combination (For her – it was great for the machine). At least her midsection was the area with the most freedom of movement she had – but that was still not much, and the hands followed incessantly, never allowing any respites from the suffering. In amidst the torture, wandering was everything her mind could do to try to get some respite, some peace. Thus, she caught herself thinking about the box below her – with the syringes and god knows what else. That box has not moved so far, all the hands coming from the empty area behind her. And in fact, what else could that machine bring? Was 4 hands it’s limit? Could it bring more? Jyn shuddered at the thought.   But once more, her mind was abruptly brought back to her ticklish reality when the hands started tickling her inner thighs, squeezing strongly. The other two, meanwhile, tickled her sides furiously. Jyn howled, quickly losing the strength to fight, her body starting to resign to the fact there was no escape. Her body lost hope. She couldn’t allow the same to happen with her mind. But it was hard. Once again the hands came back to work on her extremely sensitive midsection – which she was quickly realizing was her true weakspot. Her ribs were almost unbearable, but everything in the region was hard. Near her bellybutton was also terribly ticklish. She didn’t want to find out how bad her bellybutton was, and hoped to not find out. Finally, after what felt like hours, the robot stopped. Once again, Jyn felt her body hanging, supported by the machine. She felt pathetic, but she was too weak to fight it – and she needed to save her energy nonetheless. - Feeling good, subject? – She heard a robotic voice speak, coming from the room as a whole. Was that the machine? Jyn looked around, confused. After a few instants, she felt the hands dig into her armpits again, tickling mercilessly. – I asked you a question. - SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHRRRRYHYHYHYHYHY!!!! – She screamed, and the tickling ceased. Pleading to a machine. How low had she fallen? – I… Of course… not! – She replied, panting, but desperate to speak before the machine got angry again. - Good. – Said the voice. – Rebels deserve no comfort, no respite, and no mercy. You have been subjected to 10 minutes with four hands. I will now tickle you for 20 minutes, and I’ll add two new appendages. – Jyn’s eyes widened, and her breath accelerated. She had just endured ten minutes?! And now she was going to be tickled for double that time?!?! - Please, no! – She pleaded again. Deep inside, the proud Jyn Erso, member of the Rebellion, screamed in anger. But the rest of her being – Jyn Erso, the ticklish imperial prisoner – needed all mercy she could get, and humiliation was a small price to pay if it meant not getting tickled any worse. - I’ll let you choose my tools – Said the machine. Finally, the box below/in front of her reacted, with doors opening on the sides. From them, four pairs of arms emerged. They were all hands, but holding different things. One pair actually didn’t hold anything. Another held a feather on each hand, stiff and small. The third pair held holopens, with very sharp tips. And finally she noticed, with a blush, that the last pair were holding sonic vibrators. The voice went silent, but Jyn was confused. She had to make a decision, she guessed, and started thinking. After a few seconds, however, the machine spoke once again. – Failure to comply results in punishment – It said, in a harsh tone. Suddenly, all the arms rushed forward, and went to work. Jyn screamed – first of fear, then of agony. The two feathers started tickling her navel – one lightly brushing on her entire stomach, softly, while the other went inside her bellybutton and started spinning furiously. Jyn’s fears were confirmed – the button was maddening. Meanwhile, the two vibrators where applied to her ribs, and were by far the worst torture. She started shaking for real in the rack, struggling violently, to the point she was afraid of popping her arm out of its socket. And she laughed, a mighty, never-ending laugh that filled the room. Could the other prisoners hear her? Oh my god this tickles so much. The two new hands went to work on her hips, making her dance – the one of the left squeezed, making her jump to the right – into the hand in the right, which made her jump to the left, in a never-ending cycle of laughter. And finally, the pens were scratching her lower sides, drawing all kinds of patterns. Holopens had deletable ink, making sure the canvas was always blank for another round. - SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHRRHYHHYHYHYHYY!!!! – She screamed again, barely able to form the syllabuses amidst the laughter, praying that asking for forgiveness would be enough. It fell on deaf ears. Jyn was starting to lose it. Her mind didn’t drift anymore – it was not impossible to focus on something else. And when she thought it couldn’t get any better, she felt the previous pairs of hands getting back to work – two hands on each armpit, tickling lightly and slowly in the left, and fiercely in the right. She couldn’t really decide what was worst, each bringing its own form of torment – one is teasing, while the other is devastating. One keeps at edge, while the other breaks the will. One is the preparation for a blow that never comes, while the other is being hit repeatedly. Though she was only half-aware of her own thoughts, the finer details of her suffering lost due to the fact she was struggling like a madwoman and laughing, screaming and cursing like…. Like someone who’s being tickled tortured for almost half an hour, I guess. As her torture continued, she started losing her strength. Her arms failed to propel her to struggle. Her legs couldn’t pull and push anymore. Her midsection could no longer dance. Her body had given up, accepting the ticklish feelings as inevitable. And Jyn was ashamed of her own weakness. Because, deep down, she was starting to lose her willpower. The thoughts of betraying her friends crossed her mind – and were quickly dispelled. Still, they were there, buzzing like an annoying mosquito – or, alternatively, like those double-damned vibrators on her ribs. And, heavy with guilt, she found herself wishing the machine was asking some questions. Any questions. Anything that at least assured her that she could end the torment if she wanted to. There was a tragedy in having to fight against the temptation of giving in, but at least, maybe, it could give her some fuel to bolster her will. Right now, she had absolutely nothing – her only option was to suffer and laugh. And that was by design. Giving her a way out would be giving her hope. The Embrace was there to teach her there was no hope left on the world. And it was succeeding. And thus, Jyn was forced to take it. Take it, and keep taking it. Ten hands working all over her body was positively driving Jyn Erso nuts. She needed a break, and she wondered how long it would take, as she stood there, almost motionless. Unbeknownst to her, the 20 minutes were up already, but just like her, the machine also knew that what breaks the subject was the fear of the next blow – and a way of enhancing the fear was by lying about how badly the previous experience was. Under tickling and with no visible clocks, the subject completely loses the sense of time. Thus, when the tickling was hitting the 35 minutes mark since the last break, the machine decided to taunt. - Only one minute to go, Rebel! Let’s play a game. I’ll let you end the torture anytime, just shout “Mercy”. If you do, however, the next cycle will be worse. If you manage to not ask for mercy for a minute… I might give you some. Ready? – The machine asked, ans Jyn nodded – she had learned her lesson. Failure to comply leads to punishment. And then, Jyn’s eyes popped from her eyes and she left out a guttural howl, the cries of a tortured beast. Everything started tickling at absolute full force – the hands started scribbling at inhuman speeds, or squeezing deeper than ever. It sent a clear message: Whatever you are going through, we have ways of making it worse. Jyn tried to hold it, but it was unbearable. And finally, she was allowed some control over her fate. Almost by instinct, a few seconds in, she screamed. - MEHEHEHEHEHEHERRRRRRCYCYCYCYYHYYHYHYHYH!!! – She finally begged. Making true on its promise, the machine indeed stopped. Jyn felt relieved. It had been a long time since she had gotten a break, but finally, it was over. And then, the machine spoke. - Okay, you got your mercy. Break is over. The next cycle is one hour – the machine said. Jyn couldn’t believe her ears. Her breath got quick, and she felt the despair growing inside her. She started repeating to herself: It’s the fear of the next blow that breaks you, it’s the fear of the next blow that breaks you, it’s the fear of the next blow… She knew that. And yet, she was afraid. And she wanted to break. But she couldn’t. She closed her eyes and braced herself. And after a few seconds, it hit her, and her mind was completely melted, because the machine started tickling her at full force, just like before, with that maddening intensity she didn’t manage to last even a minute a few instants ago. And she would have to endure a whole hour. Her laughter could barely be recognized as such, most of the sounds replaced with bone-chilling screams of pure agony. She struggled with renewed strength, strength born from the despair of her hopeless situation. And the machine added another twist to the torture: Every few instants, the arms would cycle around her, changing the spots each tool was being used. So now she had vibrators on her armpits, feathers on her ribs, brushes on her hips… And on the next moment, another combination. The quick change broke any attempts of defense she mustered. Above all, she cursed her midsection, specially her ribs. Her entire belly, sides and ribs were absurdly ticklish, and seemed to only grow more sensitive each minute. Finally, she understood how effective that machine was – not only could it keep tickling for a long time, but it could tickle at a much quicker pace than any number of humans could. She couldn’t take it anymore. 10 minutes into this new torture, she broke. She told what she thought the machine wanted to hear, hoping that it would bring an end to the torture. Hope was all she had. - IHIHIHIHIHIH’LL THAHAHAHAHALKK!!! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHLLL TAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHALLLKK!! – She pleaded. She would normally feel terrible, but the ticklish sensations didn’t allow for any other feelings right now. Tickling was everything on her mind – tickling, and the desire to make it stop. But the pleads fell in deaf ears. She tried again, but didn’t get any results. She then resorted to one last hope. She breathed. She was ready to die from the start – and at least that little control she was still able to enforce. She was tired of suffering pointlessly – and it was clear for her now that the machine would never stop, no matter what she did. She was tired of being robbed of her freedom, of being merely a toy for that sadistic thing. She got ready to bite her tongue off, and end it all. But before she could do it, she felt one of the hands entering her mouth, keeping it open with strong metallic fingers. No, that couldn’t be. That thing couldn’t take her freedom away! She had a right over her life! She tried to shake the hand off, but it was too strong. - Bad girl… You are not allowed to do this! The cycle has been increased to an hour and a half – The machine said. Jyn cried. There was no hope left. She wasn’t even allowed to cry properly, since the laughs kept getting in the way. Like a bumbling fool, she spent her time sobbing and squealing, in a horrific paradox. As she hit the tirthy minute mark, she felt herself completely drained. She felt she was about to faint and welcomed the embrace of darkness. But naturally, the machine would not allow that either. Finally the syringes below her moved, hitting her along her legs and arms. And as the fluid  entered her bloodstream, she felt her strength coming back. She struggled harder than ever, trying to shake the needles off, but they followed her movements, always staying in place. She was awoken again. She cried. She pleaded and begged for the following fifteen minutes, always hoping to finally touch that metallic heart, to finally make it understand she could no longer bear this, and she needed it to end, and that she would do anything for it. But every plead fell on deaf ears. Machines have no feelings, only the programming. And then, she accepted. She understood at last. She was no longer human. Jyn Erso, the human being with rights, freedom and hope, died with the headshot from Krennic. What they extracted from that place was a shell of a person, a carcass whose only purpose was to obey and to suffer on command. She wished the Emperor would order her execution soon. But she didn’t hope. She knew better. And the minutes stretched forever, as all she could do was squirm and laugh, as her ticklish armpits, sensitive thighs and unbearable midsection were probed, raked and pinched. She couldn’t take it anymore, and yet she had no other option, because only human beings deserved mercy. The machine finally understood that Jyn had reached the state it wished. It stopped for a moment, taking Jyn by surprise. She cried again, this time of relief, but didn’t have much time to enjoy it. One of the hands grabbed her chin and forced it upright, forcing it to face the computer. It was merely a symbolic act – the machine had no face, and could see everything through multiple cameras. And then, it spoke. - Who are you? - I’m Jyn Erso… - Jyn replied, hesitantly. - Wrong. You are the Empire’s bitch. – The machine replied, and two hands started lightly tickling her ribs. She screamed. - YEHEHEHESS!! I’M THE EHEHEHEMPIHIHIRREHEHEHEH’S BIHIHIHITTCCHH!! – Anything to make that stop. And it stopped indeed. - What is your purpose in life? – The machine asked. - T-to be a test subject? – She replied, unsure. - Close. Your purpose in life is to please me, to please the Inquisitor, and to please the emperor. In that order. - My purpose is to please you, to please the Inquisitor, and to please the Emperor… - She replied, obediently, feeling disgusted with herself, but also relieved that the tickling finally stopped. - Good – The machine replied, and the door once again slid open. The inquisitor entered again, and without even looking at Jyn, went straight for the computer. Jyn saw her chance. She could finally end this. Saw Guerrera be damned, the Rebels be damned, she needed to stop the tickling. She was terrified of the next cycle. - I’ll talk I swear. Wathever you want. The Rebel Base is in Yavin 4! Their leader is Senator Mon Mothma! They have 3 squadrons, the Blue Squadron was wiped out in the Battle of Scarif. But the Red and Gold one remains, the Gold one is comprised of Y-wing bombers and… - She said, her voice slowly dying as she realized the man was not listening. He just typed in the computer, and smiled, satisfied with the data. - The Emperor will be most satisfied with your job, Embrace. – He complimented the machine. - I am built to serve, Master- It replied. - I… I want to talk! You did it, you broke me! Please, let me tell you everything, I can’t take it anymore! – She pleaded. Once again, she realized, she was falling victim to Hope. The Inquisitor slowly approached her, observing the terrible state she was into, how much pain and suffering and distress she was into. He smirked, and said: - Of course you will talk. This was never in question, Rebel. I told you in the start. This isn’t an interrogation. You cannot end this – He declared, turning his back and moving towards the door again. – Embrace, proceed with the testing. Try a longer stretch now, we need to see if you can maintain a prisoner in optimal suffering for long times. Try four hours for the next cycle, okay? - NO! PLEASE, I WILL DO ANYTHING! – Jyn screamed. She couldn’t take 4 hours. She couldn’t. They couldn’t be this cruel. Without addressing her, the man left the room again. The hands in the machine started approaching. - NOOOOOO!!!! – She cried, as the hands made contact again. She begged for death. For anything that could give her a break. She cursed the day she joined the rebellion. It was not worth it. She should have obeyed the Empire. Kept her head low. Ignored her father. Everything was lost, and she was in hell. And, amidst her screaming delirium, she thought she heard something: The motors of an X-Wing fleet. She wondered if her friends had come, or would come, rescue her. It was impossible – the fleet was destroyed, most of the Rebels died, and she just gave them the location of the secret base. Logically speaking, it could end only one way: The rebellion crushed, the empire victorious. But her mind couldn’t handle the prospect of being locked here, tickled forever. She needed something. And thus, she hoped – she hoped she was indeed hearing a fleet, that the Rebels would come rescue her, that they would find a way. Hope was all she had. Part 2 - 

Exhaustion didn’t begin to describe it. Jyn Erso believed the machine. She absolutely believed the threat of the 4-hour torture session. She believed from the first minute, and the machine gave her no reason to have any hopes of a bluff. Jyn Erso had no idea how long it has been so far, but from past experiences, she supposed she was nearing the one-hour mark. It had been hell. All the hands and their tools resumed tickling with full intensity as soon as the Inquisitor left the room, and they hadn’t stopped since. Jyn wanted to struggle, to curse, to die, but she didn’t have the energy for the first two or the permission for the third. Slowly, she learned a new definition of what is “bearable” or not. Like, that torture, she thought it was unbearable. And yet, what has she done, if nor bear it for two hours now? Well, she was broken, and has been for a long time. The once proud rebel would do anything to make that stop. To make the robot stop squeezing her thighs, scratching her armpits, and above all, prodding her ribs. Oh, her ribs, cursed be them all. Still, broken as she was, she was still alive, wasn’t she? She was still laughing. She was still wishing this all would end, in wathever manner. She could still think. Cogito, ergo sum, I think, therefore I am, said some philosopher or something. For Jyn, right now, it was more on the land of “I laugh, therefore I am”. “I suffer, therefore I am”. Still, the machine had stripped her human rights from her, but it couldn’t strip away her being – not that Jyn would voice those feelings. She had learned to not challenge the machine, to obey the machine, and she would. She was an obedient toy. Still, even if Jyn herself was denied to end her existence, she took comfort in the fact that the machine could not torture her existence out of her. She needed to cling to something, now that she no longer had hope. For the millionth time, her mental rambling was dispersed by a particularly effective squeeze to her thighs. - OHOHOHHOHOHO GOGOHOHOHOHOHDDD!!! - There is no god here, Jyn. I am your god. – The machine replied. At this point, Jyn was just hanging, just occasionally squirming lightly when a stronger stimulus shook her up. She had no energy for anything else. More and more, she closed within her own mind, her brain lightly realizing cutting stimulus from the outside was the best way to proceed. Within her own mind, Jyn begun to fear about one thing she didn’t realize she could still lose: Her sanity. After a few more minutes, however, the machine slowed down. Jyn almost cried of relief. - I’m getting bored. Let’s play a game, Jyn? - Whahahahttehehehehevvveheehehrrr yohohohohuhuhu wahahahahahannntt! – She replied, obediently. She learned to not defy the machine. - Wathever you want, Master – The machine corrected, punctuating the error by increasing the pace again. Jyn howled like an animal before quickly screaming - MAHAHAHAHASSTHEHEHEHRRR! MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSSSTTHEHEHEHEHERRR! - Good. – The machine said, slowing the torture down – but not stopping it, never stopping it. Jyn’s life would be composed solely of torture from now on; mercy would only come in the form of less torture. – You still have three hours to go. I’ll start tickling you at full force again in one minute, on spots at my leisure. If you manage to not laugh for five minutes, you’ll receive fifteen minutes of light tickling. If you fail, you’ll be punished What do you say? - YEhehehehEHEhess MahahHAHassteheheherr!! – She replied, desperate for anything that could ease her suffering. The machine then started counting from 30, and Jyn knew it was her signal to prepare. And she did, biting her lip hard as it reached 5. 4. 3. 2. Before hitting 1, the hands made contact with her ribs, catching Jyn by surprise. She squealed and buckled forward, failing immediately. - Why, that was disappointing – Said the machine, resuming the full-body, full-force onslaught. Once again, Jyn had been stripped of hope, that sadistic machine giving her a taste of it just to take it away. She screamed. – Time for your punishment. The hands and tools kept tickling her throughout her whole body, as she had been for the past hours, until the five minutes were up. Then, the machine slowed down again, and Jyn fell forward, hanging by the millionth time. Finally, one of the syringes moved and hit her again. She thought it was the revitalizing serum – god knows she needed it, though she would rather just faint – but it wasn’t. She was not sure what it did.   Then the counting started again, and Jyn knew her only choice was to play. And she would. Anything was worth a reduction in the torture – she had grown accustomed with the full-force tickling in the past hours, but now that she got a few minutes of a lighter treatment, she was afraid again. She remembered what having a simpler time felt like, and she wanted that. Thus she bit her lip at 5 and was ready for the tickling to start at any second, but this time the machine was honest, starting at one, with two hands holding feathers stroking up and down her arms. And once again she was taken by surprise, but she managed to keep her mouth shut, emitting a muffled scream. She was MUCH more ticklish for some reason. Her armpits were sensitive, but not that much, and not against the feathers. And yet, each stroke was absolutely agonizing. She kept her mouth shut because she needed to do it, but each stroke took out a sound – if the machine wanted perfect silence, she would have lost already. But she was not laughing – muffled yelping, screaming and crying, sure, but not laughing. Then two hands, no tools, started scribbling her sides. Her eyes popped open – that was unbearable! – but somehow, not even she was sure how, she kept her mouth shut. She started laughing though, continuously, and that put her in a bad spot – with the mouth shut, the air from her laughter needed to go out through the nose, and while it was getting out, it couldn’t get in. She tried to couple the two, trying to gasp short amounts between each laugh, and she sounded like a pig having an orgasm. But she couldn’t open her mouth… She couldn’t… And then the rotating brushes hit her ribs, and she screamed from the top of her lungs. In the next millisecond, she was being tickled by all the implements again. She screamed, tears rolling down her face. An already unbearable torture had just gotten considerably more intense. And once again, 5 minutes later, it all ended, she was injected, and the count restarted from 30. She noticed, with horror, that the “light” tickling was starting to feel torturous. - Plehehehahahahahssehehehhe NOHOHOHHO MHOHOhoHOHOHoohhrrrheheheheeEHEHEE! – She begged to the machine. Thanks to her desperate pleas, she didn’t prepare herself for the tickling – and she couldn’t really stop laughing, thanks to the “light” treatment. All the machine had to do was squeeze her thighs once, and then the harshest torture would restart, getting more and more maddening each second. Her chance had eluded her. After three more cycles of that, the “light” treatment was as horrible as the harsh one was before it all started. And when she lost the game, time and time again, she was treated with a torture that transcended the word “unbearable”, that was so horrible that words could not do it any justice. She struggled so hard – despite almost five hours of continuous torture – that she started to feel her tendons and ligaments rupture – but the pain was quickly soothed, and the injuries mended, by the serums of the cursed machine. She cried, as she was injected with the sensitivity enhancer again. - PLHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHSSSEHEHEHEHEH STTOHOHOHOHOHOPPP!! KIHIHIHIHIHIHLLLL MHMMMEHHEHEEHHEHEHEHE!!! – She begged, crying. - No – The machine replied, and all arms descended upon her. Her scream matched those of the damned in the fires of hell. She cried, tears rolling down her eyes, making her taste their salt. She couldn’t take it. Her body couldn’t bear it. Her mind couldn’t bear it. For the love of god, someone make this top. Daddy… - DDDAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAADDDHHYHYHYHYHYHY!!! – She cried for Galen Erso, for Saw Guerrera, for anyone that could help her. - Jyn…. Why did you do that? – She heard her father say, and saw him in the corner. She cried more, a hint of joy, hoping her father would rescue her. - You know you deserve this. Why did you join the Rebels? Why did you let me die? – The machine taunted, with Galen’s voice, adding to the hallucinogens that Jyn had been administered. The young rebel didn’t even consider the hypothesis – she was in no state to do it. - SAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAVVVHEHEHEHEHEHE MMEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!! – She cried again. – KIIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHLLL MMEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!! – She begged. - No, Jyn, I will not. Because you dezzerv…. Dzzztt… Bzzzttt… - The machine failed, and stopped. The energy of the whole building had been cut. Jyn cried of happiness. - Thahannks… Daddy… Thahanks… - She cried, still giggling from the ordeal, even the lightest breeze managing to tickle her a bit. The door was blown open and she screamed in terror, certain it was the Empire ready to torture her further. She kept screaming, her altered state unable to recognize the ragtag survivors of the Rebellion. They broke the machine, freeing her. Admiral Ackbar himself led the charge – he was not a field warrior, but the Rebellion needed every able body. - Take her quick and let’s go. She’ll recover at the ship! – He said, as one of the soldiers grabbed Jyn Erso on his arms. Slowly, she stopped screaming and, finally, was allowed the comfortable rest of unconsciousness. She didn’t realize it immediately – and, in her dreams, the machine was still there, poking her sides, scratching her ribs – but she was finally free. Her torture was over. Slowly, she would learn to hope again. She would be restored. And she would help bring peace to the galaxy as one of the greatest icons of the rebellion! Or maybe she would end up captured again, finally tortured to insanity. Only time would tell. But for now, Jyn Erso rests with a smile, and the Rebellion manages to score a small victory over the Empire.

[tickletherapy]

Acceptance

“Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like to do, honey?” the woman asked. “No mum! There’s nothing here! Nothing at all! Well… nothing I want to do anyway…” her daughter exclaimed, glancing around. The older woman sighed and glanced around. The shopping centre was teeming with people, as it usually did during the January stocktake sales. It was fairly warm outside today, too. Thus, it made sense for people to escape the heat and seek refuge in a shopping centre. The slender, average sized woman wore a pair of sandal flats, a pair of white three quarter trousers with a loose turquoise blouse. At least she was better dressed than the other people here: they were ambling about in tank tops and flip-flops, showing off thickset beer guts and broad arms, or hairy chests. It made her shudder. Still, the woman ambled along, her eight-year-old daughter’s hand folded inside her own. “I’m still quite amazed that you’ve behaved so well today! I know you hate shopping, but wow, the way you’ve responded to everything today has been impressive. You’ve just rolled with it, honey,” the woman said. Her daughter tittered and glanced up, grinning gleefully. The young girl was small and skinny, with tanned skin and average sized hands and feet. She sported long light brown-blonde hair and forest green eyes. She currently wore a pair of white shorts, a green and white striped polo shirt and a pair of blue and black sandals. To most people, she would have appeared to be a surfer boy with longer than average hair! “Thanks, ma!” the girl said, grinning. “But I still can’t find anything I want!” the woman’s daughter replied. Her mother sighed and stopped in the middle of an intersection. In the direction they were currently facing in the large, airy, three-storey building, they could see the huge central food court. To their left there was a short passageway leading to every child’s favourite store: Toys ‘R’ Us. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything from the food court?” “No thankyou. We’ve already eaten, and you said there’s ice-cream at home,” the girl replied. “How about a toy? Or a video game you’d like? Perhaps some new kneepads for your skateboard?” her mother suggested. The girl shrugged. She seriously had no idea! Sweeping her long brown hair away from her face, the older woman continued glancing around. She hoped – no, she prayed – her daughter would find something. And in that moment, it was as if her prayers had been answered, for the woman suddenly felt her arm jolting. She glanced up to find her young daughter padding off in the direction of Toys ‘R’ Us. The woman smiled, realizing her daughter had found something. But as they hurtled towards the toy store, the woman’s daughter suddenly wheeled around to face the opposite direction. “I KNEW I could her laughter from somewhere!” the youngster cried, grinning at her mother with a mischievous smile. At last, the sweet, playful eight-year-old had found what she wanted. “What’s that?” the woman asked, glancing around, expecting to find some sort of punk shop or a skateboard shop. Her daughter, for some strange reason, had developed a love of punk music, but it was increasingly hard to find good songs without a bucket load of swear words in them… “There!” the youngling cried, pointing to a shop front. It looked like it wasn’t going to be sticking around for long; such was the case with most, if not all, popup stores. Some ended up becoming permanent locations, but this was rare. This shop was narrow, with a brightly coloured sign above it and on both sides of the entrance, at forty-five degree angles and facing the direction of on comers. These signs were brightly coloured, with a green and gold backdrop, with red letters. But these letters seemed to be made of feathers! ‘GIGGLES GALORE: A HOTFUB POPUP STORE!’ When the two females peered in, they could see a long red couch along one side, with fold down benches. At the back, there was an office desk with a small refreshments station. The desk had a computer on it, with several stacks of paper on it. The shop was brightly lit, with lighting in the white walls. There were red, blue, green and yellow glow sticks in the sides, giving the room a bright, fun appearance. On the walls, there were a few photos, containing children being tickled on their feet and upper bodies by feathers or fingers… But by far, the most interesting part of the shop was in the front. It looked like a dentist’s chair, but it also looked ten times scarier, yet ten times more enthralling at the same time. The little girl couldn’t help but amble closer, to steal a better look. The purple and white chair had a black beam directly behind the headrest, where a series of cuffs were located. At the other end, there was a huge wooden platform with two holes cut into it. They seemed to be padded, too. Beside the chair, there was a small, round white table with a chair, and also several items on it. The girl could recognise the hairbrush and paintbrushes there, but there were also feathers and electric toothbrushes! Right now, there was a boy currently sitting on the chair. His bare feet were secured in the restraints, and his arms were locked in position above his head. He currently wore a pair of shorts, but there was a tee shirt and a pair of shoes and socks on the floor. A woman was watching the action and smiling, snapping photos of the boy and encouraging a second lad. The restrained boy was frantically laughing his head off whilst his tickler’s fingers spidered about all over the balls of his tender, soft looking feet. The toes, currently tied back to stop scrunching and disrupting the tickles, squirmed and wiggled as much as they could. “NAHAHAHA MAHAHAHAHAMEEHEEHEE DAHAHAHAHAN’T TEHEHEHEHEHELL HIHIHIM!” the blond kid cried, screaming with wide eyes. The woman snapping photos, obviously his mother chuckled. She stood up, unable to control her impulse, and stepped up behind the restraints and began spidering her nails over the child’s soft, hairless hollows, resulting in another frantic bout of hysterical laughter. The woman’s scarlet nails spidered rapidly up and down all over her son’s ribs, pits and sides. She also occasionally grabbed at his tummy with the dreaded claw attack. Then, to make matters worse, she reached forward and squeezed his thighs too, resulting in even higher-pitched giggles, before returning to the upper body with a few belly button pokes. The foot-tickler was busily threading feathers back and forth between the boy’s tender, dainty toes, whilst scrubbing a hairbrush over the other foot with his other hand. He wasn’t doing a great job of it, since holding three feathers in one hand; a hairbrush in the other and performing two different methods was quite taxing on a young mind. Actually, it was rather taxing on anyone’s mental capabilities, no matter how talented they were! It could be done though, as this kid was proving. A sudden jolt to the sides alerted the little girl to the fact that she was currently in a trance like state. She had also been squirming as she watched, and when her mother zapped her flanks, she squeaked and giggled endearingly. “Come on Dixie, shall we go and have a closer look, my little tickle bug?” the girl’s mother asked. When her daughter nodded, she steered her towards the store’s entrance. Dixie, for as long as she could remember, had always been known as a tickle bug. She loved everything about it, from the sensations it made, to the laughter and the accompanying workout. She also loved how it made her feel relaxed, or wound her up, or pulled her out of a bad mood. It was the great all-rounder. Often was the case that if Dixie was bored, she’d ask for a supermassive tickle session, which her mother would happily dish out, teasing the girl’s body from top to toe for as long as the little one could handle it. In fact, if she hadn’t found anything, she was going to ask for exactly that when they returned home. The mother-daughter duo entered the shop. The woman currently tickling her son to pieces smiled at them. They smiled back. In fact, they couldn’t stop smiling, because a short, skinny young lady was ambling towards them. She wore a white sleeveless crop top, with blue jean shorts and flat dress sandals. She had long, yellow blond hair, which came down to just under her bosom. Her bright blue eyes twinkled in the light, and she smiled warmly. As she approached, Dixie saw a clipboard and a pen in her hand. “Hello, how are you today?” the young woman asked, smiling. “Very well thanks. How are you?” Dixie asked. She was never scared to say hello to someone. “I’m very well, too! I’m Libby by the way. Welcome to Giggles Galore, the HOTFUB popup store!” the girl exclaimed. As she spoke, it was evident that she had something of a lisp going on, and her voice was quite airy, yet deep at the same time. “Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you! I’m Jane by the way,” said Dixie’s mother, smiling politely. “And I’m Dixie!” the youngling chirped back, grinning ever so sweetly. “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you both! I saw you watching from outside earlier. I guess you liked what you saw?” Libby asked, grinning. She gestured to the couch and they all collapsed onto it, so they could chat and watch the blond boy being tormented out of his little mind. “Yeah, we were!” Jane remarked. “So this is a HOTFUB thing?” “Yes, that’s right. So HOTFUB decided that the Christmas shopping time would be a time where many kids go to shopping centres against their will, so we organized this so kids can drop heir kids off and run around for up to half an hour. However unfortunately this is one of the smaller clinics. I believe the popup store they have over at Forest Hill shopping Centre is much bigger, with up to five chairs like that,” the woman explained, gesturing to the seat. “I see. Well this is nice and cosy. I like it,” said Jane. “Is there just you and that boy here?” Dixie asked curiously. “Actually we have rotating shifts with the kids turning over every three to four hours. And I’m here for the whole day,” the woman explained. “Oh okay, that sounds cool. So why are the stores here?” “Well, you can come here and be tickled or tickle one of the boys here. And we have sign up sheets and the like,” the HOTFUB employee explained further. “Oh cool! That sounds awesome! But what’s so different about it here? Like… I could go home and ask to be tickled at home, couldn’t I?” asked Dixie, grinning mischievously. “You could, I’m sure. But tell me something… do you have this fun chair and these awesome tickling tools at home?” the lady asked, smiling kindly. The brunette thought for a moment. “Um… no, we don’t… but we have toothbrushes and stuff at home,” Dixie replied. “Oh of course you do! Otherwise your breath would be all stinky!” “Ewwww hehe!” the girl giggled. “No, I meant as in you wouldn’t usually think to use them for tickling, would you?” Libby asked. “Oh… well now that you mention it…” Dixie replied, grinning at her mother, who smiled back. “So, will you have a session here today? It’s quite economical actually. It’s fifteen dollars to tickle our HOTFUB lad, or five dollars to be tickled,” said Libby. “Twenty dollars all up!” Jane exclaimed, feigning shock. Dixie glanced at her mother with wide eyes. “Oh well of course you don’t have to pay for both sessions,” said Libby, smiling. “Ah, well that’s alright then!” Jane replied, chuckling. “But I want to do both! Can I please do both, mummy?” Dixie asked, clasping her hands together as if she were praying. “Well I’m not sure. It’s very expensive. It’s twenty dollars you know!” the girl’s mother teased. “Yeah, and if I decided I wanted to buy skateboard pads, it would cost fifty dollars, hehe!” Dixie remarked cheekily. She knew which stores were not having clearance sales right now, and if push came to shove, she’d drag her mum to one of those ones if she said no here. “Of course… so I’m not spending as much here, am I?” she asked. “Not as much as you would if you were to purchase skate pads, no,” Libby giggled. But it was evident that Dixie was becoming antsy, as she was now standing up and bouncing up and down on the balls of her little feet. Meanwhile, the room had become much quieter now, since the tickling had ceased and the now ex-ticklee was climbing gingerly out of the stocks. His face was bright tomato red and he was sweating profusely. He looked like he’d just been destroyed! “Please mummy! Please! We don’t have this cool stuff at home!” she cried, pulling a puppy-eye face. “Oooh I don’t know,” Jane said, smirking slightly. “I mean…. I could just tickle you at home for free. But what the heck? Here we go then!” she said, smiling and reaching into her purse, drawing out the red twenty dollar note and handing it over. Whilst they’d been talking, the young boy’s mother slipped her son’s socks and shoes back on, since the poor, panting lad was too worn out to do so himself. He downed the entire cup of water the tickler handed to him. “That’s the spirit then! Nothing like a good tickle session! And we’re very thorough. So if you’re worried about her being full of beans when you return home, have no fear, because she’ll be out like a light!” Libby explained, her lisp becoming more and more prominent as her speech speeds up. “Oh that’s very good then! Much like that one, you mean!” Dixie’s mum replied. “Haha, my son just endured twenty-five minutes in this thing. If I could buy one for him, I would. He’s an absolute tickle holic!” the lad’s mother exclaimed, helping the exhausted kid to his worn out feet. “You ought to send him to HOTFUB!” Libby suggested. “Oh don’t worry, I intend on doing that!” the woman replied, taking her son’s hand and heading out the door. The two women chuckled and waved her off. The boy gave a tired wave to everyone too. Dixie stood up, leaving the adults to their chatting and inspected the tickle chair closely. It was quite an intriguing device, capable of exposing a kid’s body and thus allowing it to be tickled nonstop without any hindrance from flailing limbs. She liked the foot restraints. They seemed interesting… “Hello,” said a voice behind the girl, making her jump. She wheeled around on the spot. “Hi,” she said shyly, smiling. She was currently staring into the deep brown eyes of an Indian born lad. He must have been about her age, because he was about the same height, if not a tad shorter, but not by much. He was small and skinny. His liquorice black hair was short, and his bright white smile was broad and energetic. His skin was fairly pale brown. He currently wore dark blue sports shorts, with a grey tee shirt with the white Nike tick on it, and a pair of sandals. “I’m Kiran, by the way. I’m going to be your tickler today,” the boy said, with an Australian accent. “Oh okay. I’m Dixie, by the way,” the girl said. “How old are you?” she asked. “I’m eight, and you?” “Same!” the endearing lass replied, grinning. “Cool. So you like to be tickled, huh?” “Yeah, I do! It’s really fun. Do you?” “Yes, I do. But I prefer to be the tickler,” Kiran replied, tittering a bit. “Cool. Where is your most ticklish spot?” Dixie asked, grinning. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours!” the boy replied, giggling. “Well for me it’s my toes, hehe!” the girl squeaked, wiggling her little tootsies as she spoke. “I see. For me it is my armpits!” the boy replied, his arms clamping beside them. “Cool. So do you normally get tickled here?” Dixie asked curiously. “Actually not really. I very rarely get tickled in these places. I usually do the tickling,” the boy replied. “Oh okay. Well I asked for both types of sessions today, so I can tickle you as well!” the girl exclaimed, grinning mischievously. Kiran giggled, grinning broadly as he did so. “That would be nice. I don’t usually like being tickled too much, but sometimes it is fun,” he added. “I see. So do you work for HOTFUB?” Dixie asked. She couldn’t help the questions. Meanwhile, Libby and Jane sat together, watching with interest. “Yes, I do! It is very fun there. Now can I ask you to please to jump up onto the chair and place your feet into the holes?” Kiran asked. Dixie giggled and leapt up and sat down. She placed her feet through the open holes and allowed Kiran to close the top part over them. She waved her feet in circular motions, and grinned nervously. Jane supressed a chuckle, before leaning over to Libby. “You know, I always say to her to not take her shoes and socks off when I tickle her feet, because it’s like unwrapping a present for me as a tickler. It’s funny how she’s done the same here. I guess she’s just used to doing it like that, now,” the lass’s mother whispered. “Haha yeah, seems that way. I have to agree with you about the shoes and socks, by the way…” Whilst the two women whispered to each other, Dixie cast them suspicious glances, but her mind’s attention as redirected when Kiran locked her hands into the wrist restraints by her sides. “Not above my head?” the girl asked curiously. “No, not today I’m afraid,” the boy replied. “We have lots to get through, teehee,” he replied. He returned to the front of the stocks and unstrapped the left sandal. As he did so however, he also playfully tickled the youngster’s delightfully soft foot over the top. Dixie jumped back in her seat and tittered sweetly, prompting a smile from her tickler. “This is going to tickle so much!” the endearing child cried, tittering as the sandal slid over the foot, exposing it. The heel strap glided over the lass’s arch, sending her into a fit of cute, uncontrollable giggles. After placing the left shoe on the floor, Kiran turned his attention to the right foot. This time, he tickled the top of the foot between the two straps, then the tops of the little toes, and even the back of the heel, before unstrapping the shoe! Dixie giggled sweetly. “Just get to the good stuff!” she cried impatiently, and giggling rambunctiously in the process. The Indian born tickler tittered as well. He shrugged his shoulders and rapidly unstrapped the shoes. When the Velcro straps tore apart, they made that familiar uncomfortable scratchy sound, sending shivers up Dixie’s spine in the process. When the shoe was pulled free from her foot and slid over her arch, the girl tittered again. Placing the shoe on the ground, Kiran admired the tender soles for a moment. Since Dixie’s skin was quite tanned, the soles were a milky pink colour for the most part. They were small and delightful to look at. The heels were narrow, and at the balls of the feet, the super soft, silky smooth feet tapered out ever so slightly to accommodate the five little tootsies. There was a partial amount of toe stem visible on the second, third and fourth digits. The digits also complimented the small and slender soles, for they were just right in terms of their length and width. The big toe was naturally the biggest, and then from there they fanned down in a near perfect arch. “You have really nice ticklish looking feet,” said Kiran, teasingly. He grinned gleefully, wiggling his fingers ever closer towards the girl’s squirming soles. “Oh why thankyou! But if you think they look ticklish, just wait until you actually try it!” the girl teased, tittering uncontrollably and wiggling her toes frantically. “Okay, then I’ll do just that!” Kiran cried sweetly, flashing her a smile before tracing one curious finger from the base of the girl’s left heel up towards her big toe, zigzagging it up as he went. Immediately, the girl’s arms and legs twitched and she lurched forward, tittering desperately. The boy giggled and started on the right foot as well, raking all ten of his fingers up and down the soft, tender soles. “How is that, Dixie?” Kiran teased giggling as his fingers brushed lightly across the balls of the girl’s soft, sensitive feet. The girl by was cackling even harder, jiggling about in the restraints and shaking her head. Her eyes were practically bulging out on stalks, and she was squeaking as the tickles rushed through her delightfully sensitive and highly cute soles. “THAHAHAHAHAHAT REHEHEHEHEHEALLY TIHIHIHIHICKAHAHAHAHAHALS!” the youngster screeched back, thrashing hard as the boy fingers now progressed to a spidering method, working all over her little toes as well as the soles, tops and sides. He couldn’t help grinning as he teased her little tootsies. He teased across the pads of them, and in between them too. At first he used his fingers, but then reached to the table and picked up a special HOTFUB creation: the Tween Toes Tickler! This device had a special handle, and then five little fingers, each lined with fluffy and fuzzy pipe cleaner material. To make matters worse, the tips were plastic, and they vibrated, so they could easily tickle little toe pads and soles too. The tiny fingers had different colours on them. These were pink, purple, blue, green and yellow. The one on Kiran’s other hand had red, yellow, orange, white and black. The boy slipped both of these onto Dixie’s heels and slid them up her soles, so she could experience the tormenting vibrations. “GYAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA WHAHAHHAHAHAAHAT’S THAHAHAHAHAT?” she screeched desperately, her eyes widening in the process. The two women chuckled when they saw that response. They were both chatting about HOTFUB and TOYAAG and their differences. Kiran was half listening too, but he was also concentrating on making young Dixie scream her lungs out. He slipped the two Tween Toes Ticklers’ into the undersides of the girl’s little digits, before flicking each one up so they tormented the little digits. Since they were her weakest spot, the poor girl understandably screeched for all she was worth, thrashing about desperately and fanning her animated toes out. The tickler capitalized on her mistake, slipping the devices in between her little digits, and holding them there. “AHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA TIHIHIHIHICKAHAHAHAHALS TOO MUHUHUHUCH!” the girl cried desperately, thrashing as hard as her restraints would allow. They squeaked and croaked in protest to her frantic tugging and kicking. “You want me to stop?” Kiran asked. He rested the handle of each device on little holders extending up from the stocks, which had been fitted for this very purpose. With Dixie writhing about so much and kicking her feet, she was actually tickling her own toes! “NAHAHAHAHAHAHA IT’S FUUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUN!” the little girl screeched desperately, her cheeks blushing and a fresh wave of tears cascading down her cheeks. She shook her head to flick them off her face, before taring back down at the stocks where her feet were being tormented. The tickles only increased from there, for Kiran returned to the soles, his fingers skittering and scribbling relentlessly all over the heels, arches and the balls of the feet. The double ticklish assault made the poor girl scream even louder, and her laughter scaled an octave now. It also passed the threshold between proper laughter and nonstop squealing. “Well then I’ll have to keep going!” the young boy teased, lifting the Tween Toe Ticklers’ off his ticklee’s toes and picking up a few feathers instead. He started sliding them all over the girl’s soft soles, working the soles, sides and tops, as well the cute, squirmy digits. The feathers were delightfully ticklish for Dixie’s tender soles, and her heavy laughter subsided a fair bit. Her body wasn’t convulsing as much now, suggesting that this was quite pleasant. The tickler started with two feathers – one in each hand. They were stiff but big, and tickled greatly. Eventually, the boy switched to softer feathers, which tickled more. He added more of these soft, fluffier feathers, eventually holding three in each hand and sliding them all over the little girl’s soles and tickly toes. “AHAHAHA WE NEEHEEHEED THESE AT HOHOHOHOHOME!” the girl shrieked, as the feathers slid all over the arches and balls of her tender feet. Kiran turned to face Jane. “Would you like to have a turn with them?” he asked. The woman thought for a moment. “Yeah sure, I’d love to!” she said, racing over. But she didn’t take the feathers. Instead, her nails spidered and skittered relentlessly all over the little girl’s left sole, leaving Kiran to tease the right one. “WHAHAHAHAHAT? THAHAHAHAHAT’S CHEAHEAHEAHEATING! AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” young Dixie screeched, as the two ticklers made short work of her tender soles. Her mother’s nails slipped effortlessly between her daughter’s hyper ticklish tootsies, teasing the tips and pads of them with ease, as well as between them too. She seemed to know exactly how to make it work and drive her young child completely insane. Kiran felt like this was almost unfair, but he decided against this idea, and after using the feathers thoroughly, he cycled through the feather dusters, paintbrushes and q-tips. Dixie’s soft soles seemed to be thoroughly reactive to the paintbrushes, since they were so dense and tickled well. In fact, for the first time in the entire session, and mainly since her soles were completely awash with tickles, the girl’s toes scrunched down! “Oh well, fortunately I have a way to fix that!” Kiran cried gleefully, picking up and pair of electric toothbrush and turning them on. When they whirred to life, Jane stepped back to watch the youngster work his magic. The brushes touched the tips of the eight-year-old brunette’s delightful big toes and she screeched! The poor girl actually screamed so loudly that she accidentally slipped into silent laughter! All that could be heard now was the banging of her arms against the restraints, the squeaking the chains and padded manacles and the scratching of tickling tools on soft bare feet. Occasionally, the poor girl squeaked. But as the brushes slid down over her tender tootsies, she had no choice but to unscrunch them, thus paving the way for the hairbrush tickles. “Will you hold the toes back for me?” the tickler asked as he slid the two electric brushes over Dixie’s tender soles, focussing namely on the arches and heels. “Oh, I think I can do that!” Jane replied. But she was quite devious on her approach. The woman eased back on her daughter’s tender, ticklish tootsies and slipped a piece of cord around the two big toes and the two littlest toes. “There, that should do it,” she said, winking. Kiran didn’t need further encouragement. He put the two electric brushes down, and brandished the hairbrush. When young Dixie saw it, she squealed. If electric toothbrushes had almost killed her, then a hairbrush would be pure hell. And she wasn’t wrong. Since her soles had started sweating up ever so slightly, thus blanketing them in a thin film of moisture, the plastic balls on the ends of the bristles ended up sliding up and down the girl’s tender feet with ease, thus heightening the sensations and making Dixie more jumpy than she already was. Her screechy laughter had returned, and she screeched as loudly as she could, making a few passers-by stop and edge closer for a better look. “It’s okay, she’s my daughter and she loves it!” Jane cried to a shocked onlooker and her own son and daughter, who looked to be about nine and eleven respectively. She shook her head however and padded off, despite the boy glancing back hungrily at the pop up store. The girl continued screaming her cute head off, thrashing wildly. But it was only going to get worse for the poor child. As the hairbrush continued sliding up and down each foot moving from he left sole to the right and back, Jane crouched beside her daughter’s midriff and began spidering her fingers all over the girl’s tender stomach and ribs, attempting to also dig into whatever she could reach of the sides. She wasn’t tickling under her daughter’s shirt, though normally at home she’d be topless for such a ticklish workout, which was how the little one preferred it. But the double attack suddenly caught the endearing lass off guard, and her eyes one again just about ejected from their sockets. And if there hadn’t been anything holding her down, there would have most likely been a Dixie-shaped hole in the ceiling by now. The girl kept screeching and screaming for all she was worth. “Are you having fun, honey? I’ve never tickled you THIS hard before,” Jane asked. She was slightly nervous at the moment, too. But Dixie nodded her head and squealed. “SO FUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUN!” she managed, before slipping into silent giggles again. The hairbrush was now sliding in circular motions over the girl’s soles. It did that method mainly over the balls of the feet and toes, where it was most effective. The girl also had to put up with heavy scrubbing across her heels, arches and the balls of her feet too, but the light circular motions were where it tickled most. A few moments followed, and Jane eased up on her daughter’s upper body, now returning to the feet. “If I hold the brush here, you tickle there,” said Kiran, whispering so Dixie wouldn’t hear. He picked up a second hairbrush and rested them lightly against the girl’s toes. Then, Jane placed her nails against her child’s arches and began scribbling her nails hard. The girl screamed with laughter and began waving her ticklish feet from side to side. But as she did so, she tickled her own toes against the brush! It all too much to bear now, and the youngster screamed desperately. “ORANGE OCTOPUS! ORAHAHAHAHANGE OCTAHAHAHAHAPUHUHUHUSS!” the lass cried. Kiran cast a sideways glance at Jane, who chuckled. “That’s her safe word. She calls it when she’s had enough,” the woman explained. The Indian born kid gasped and pulled the brushes away. “Hehe, I like that one! Orange Octopus! That’s a funny one, teehee!” the boy giggled. Dixie was a mess. She was sweating quite hard, and her cheeks were deep crimson. Her feet were red too, from the stimulation they’d just been put through. The girl was panting heavily, sighing and moaning every now and then as she did so. It was hard to get air in right now. As she panted away, Jane cuddled her daughter and kissed her, before releasing her wrists from the restraints. A few tired titters and an unlocking sound later, Kiran swung the device open, freeing the girl’s feet. She wiggled her toes gratefully, and sighed. Libby padded across the room with a cup of water for the girl. “Here, drink this, you’ll feel better!” she said. The little lass took the water and downed it all in one gulp, sighing. She was glad she’d relieved herself before they came here… “Man, that was awesome!” she sighed, her voice coming out croakily. “I think you enjoyed!” Jane exclaimed, as the girl leapt down from the seat and slipped her feet back into her sandals. The girl nodded as she stumbled back to the red couch. Her legs, arms and whole body in general felt like a huge pile of jello right now. “Yeah! Hehe! That was the best tickle ever!” Dixie cried, giggling. “I’m glad you enjoyed it! What was your favourite part?” Kiran asked, clasping his hands together and sitting on the tickle chair, facing her. “Oh, I’m not sure. I liked it when you tickled me with those funny vibrating thingies!” And the feathers were nice. They were really nice actually. If someone wanted to tickle me all day, I’d let him or her use feathers. They tickle, but they feel really nice, hehe!” the girl cried, grinning. “I bet they’d do the same at TOYAAG, so maybe you can join there,” Kiran suggested. At hearing those words, Dixie looked like she was about to be sick. “EW! I HATE TOYAAG!” the girl cried, her loving, peaceful and kind eyes flashing angrily for a second. “Oh? How come?” Libby asked, surprised. “They’re the girls’ tickling capital of the world, as they say!” “No, they’re really not. They don’t like all girls. They think some girls should not be allowed in. They didn’t let one of my best friends in because they said she was too fat. She’s STOCKY! And she wanted to be a tickler, anyway. But I’ve watched their videos and they don’t tickle very well… and I find the situations too boring and stuff. The best stuff they do is with HOTFUB, anyway,” Dixie explained. “Thank you,” said Libby, grinning. “Which situations do you find boring?” “Well, I’ve seen many of the on-site ones in their tickle studio. It’s just tickling for the sake of tickling. I really hate that. It just doesn’t seem as fun. Like the scene opens up and they’re tied into a device like that one and then it goes from there. There’s not really a story line,” said Dixie. “I like how HOTFUB do their sessions at the studios. You set them up well with a story,” she said. I mean I watched a video of a kid named George who signed up. His first sessions were about his feet, upper body and being tickled in different ways. But rather than just doing tickles for the sake of tickles, they set it up as a story, with him walking into a doctor’s clinic where they test for healthy nerves. Or they’ll do the ‘Camp Tickles’ one, which is a holiday program type thing. Those video clips are really good!” the girl explained. “I see. Yeah we had the same feedback so we changed it,” said Kiran. “And Syd, our director, usually asks us for our suggestions and stuff,” he added proudly. “See that’s what I’d like to be a part of! A place like that!” Dixie exclaimed. “I know, you always speak of how much better HOTFUB is!” Jane said, smiling a bit. “Because it is! The girls aren’t treated well at TOYAAG. They have to be a certain height and weight, and maintain their weight and all that. It’s not a fun lifestyle. You might as well be a dumb model. As you can tell I’m not big on girly things, hehe!” the tomboy exclaimed, giggling a little. “Oh okay. That’s alright though. Everyone is different,” said Kiran. “I think people would like you as a tickler and ticklee. You’re fun. If you could join up to HOTFUB, that would be awesome. I’d let you in now if we could!” he said. “So I can tickle you again properly, hehe!” the Indian boy replied mischievously. He was wiggling his own little toes in his sandals. “Come on you! Swing those feet around! I think my daughter wants her revenge and you’re holding her up!” Jane said. Libby chuckled and nodded in agreeance when the youngster glanced at her. He gulped and tittered, swinging his feet around. As he did so, he wriggled out of his tee shirt, throwing it across to the chair, which it draped over. “Nice throw, hehe!” Dixie giggled. “But yeah, I never want to be a part of TOYAAG. I wish I could be part of HOTFUB!” she cried. “Awww, we wish you could as well!” Kiran said. “Oh well, that will never happen,” the little one said. As she was speaking, Jane locked the stocks shut, and Libby took the scrawny lad’s little arms and secured his wrists to the padded cuffs above his head. The girl’s mother wiggled her fingernails tantalizingly close to the lad’s underarms and playfully spidered them inches from the soft, tender skin. It didn’t stop Kiran from barking out a sudden cry of tickly giggles. He squirmed in his chair, tittering. “Nawww, I wish you tickled my upper body longer,” the girl cried, standing up now that she felt recovered and padding over to the stocks. Jane smirked. “Well, if you’re up to it, we can have a mother-daughter tickywicky time before beddy tonight!” the woman said, grinning. The little girl giggled and nodded, brushing a few locks of brown hair away from her face. “You said you weren’t into girly things… what do you like to do?” Kiran asked, as Dixie stepped up to his feet. She thought for a moment. She knew he was stalling, but she played along. This was fun… “Well, I like skateboarding, bike riding, board games, listening to punk and rock music, playing my guitar and playing pranks on people. I have a whole box of tricks and stuff at home, hehe!” the girl explained. Jane grimaced and nodded her head chuckling, along with Libby. “I was a prankster too, in my childhood,” said Libby playfully. “Oh it usually ends up with her on he floor being tickled,” said Jane, grinning. “Why do you think I do it, hehe!” the youngster replied. “Fair call, haha!” her mother replied. “What do you like to do?” Dixie asked, now loosening Kiran’s left sandal straps and lightly spidering her fingers over the tender skin between each strap. She also teased his toes and the back of his heel, too. The black haired boy tittered endearingly, showing off his pearly whites as he did so. “I like airports and tickling,” the lad said simply. “He sure does! And he’s very knowledgeable in those areas, too!” Libby cried, grinning. “I also like other stuff. I just obsess over airports. I also like cricket and soccer,” he added. “Oh cool, those are good sports,” Dixie replied, grinning. “You know what else should be a sport?” “Tiggling!” The boy exclaimed excitedly, tittering as his sandal was pulled off. It brushed against his tender sole, eliciting a cute squeal. The eight-year-old lass nodded her head, tittering. “Yup! Don’t you think! The person who lasts longest wins,” Dixie cried. “In which case, you would be the winner for sure in the kids’ division!” cried Jane, back over at the red couch. Libby was at her computer, eagerly tapping on her keyboard. It must have been important. But right now, with one foot bare, Kiran’s tickly torture was about to commence. “Now I seem to recall that you liked to take my sandals off earlier, so I hope you don’t mind me having some fun with your feet as well,” Dixie teased, giggling. Kiran shrugged. “The less time you spend tickling my feet, the better, ehe!” the black haired kiddo squeaked, tittering sweetly. He wiggled his toes and his titters broke out again as Dixie’s short, rounded nails spidered and drummed lightly over the top of his foot between the two sandals straps. She also teased the tops of his delicate toes and behind his heel. After a few seconds longer, the girl unstrapped this shoe as well, peeling the Velcro straps apart and loosening them. Even that tickled a tad! “Normally girls don’t like feet,” Kiran observed. Dixie giggled and shrugged her shoulders. The lad wasn’t wrong either. Most of Dixie’s friends were pretty indifferent about feet, and even disliked their feet. But being the tickle bug she was, and considering they were her most ticklish spot, and her favourite spot to be tickled, it made sense that she, at least, appreciated and liked her feet. “Yeah, most girls I know are like that. But I like mine. I like how I can run and walk with them, and I’m lucky. I mean… some people don’t have feet. But I like mine. They’re fun, ehe!” the girl replied, removing the sandal from Kiran’s squirmy foot. She admired his tender, wiggly-toed soles for a brief moment, and smiled. The lad had very nice feet. “How come you have brown skin, but the bottoms of your feet are white?” the girl asked curiously. As she asked, she watched the feet closely. They were, like hers, narrow at the heels, but tapered out at the balls of the feet for the toes. Kiran had shorter toes, with a visible toe stem on only the second and third digits. The skin on his soles and toes for the most part was terracotta pale pink, whilst his arches were a slightly lighter shade. But above everything else, they looked hyper tickly, and they felt it too. Just from the initial touches on the lad’s tender, warm feet, the tickler could tell his feet were soft, smooth and well cared for. “Actually they are like that because the bottoms of the feet and palms of the hands don’t se the sun much in India, where I am from. So therefore the skin on the palms and bottoms of the feet are much lighter,” the lad explained. Occasionally when he spoke, a faint Hindi accent emerged. “Be careful with your questions, sweetie,” Jane admonished, though she herself had been curious about it too… “Some people might be uncomfortable with a question like that…” “Oh you’re telling me! People so titchy these days!” Libby exclaimed. “Actually it is quite alright. I am used to people asking me. I think they ask because they’re curious, not because they want to be mean,” the lad replied, grinning. Dixie smiled. “Ready to giggle?” the girl asked. The sweet eight-year-old shook his head and squealed sweetly. “I was born ready!” Kiran replied, giggling. “Oh really… good!” she cried. And with that, the girl placed her nails on the boy’s curved arches and began scribbling with all her might. Immediately, the brown skinned kid jerked his legs back and began twisting and struggling mightily. A bellow of hysterical, high-pitched screechy laughter accompanied the struggling, as did a pair of now wide eyes. The lad’s arches were his weakest spot for his feet, and he screamed furiously as they were scribble tickled. Dixie’s fingers spidered down to the heels and then back up towards the balls of the feet via the arches again. She even spider tickled the sides and tops of the tender feet, and then began working the child’s stubbornly clenched toes. Her nails scrubbed across them, resulting in endless peals of laughter emanating from the youngster’s wide-open mouth. He thrashed about, arching his back into the air and tugging hard at his legs. His toes by now had unscrunched, so Dixie grabbed the two big ones, scratching them with her index fingers. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOHOHOHOOHHOHO NOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOAAAHAHAHAHA!” the poor ticklee screamed furiously, still convulsing as cavalcades of laughter streamed out. “These little piggies went to market!” Dixie sang, scratching at the two big toes further. She switched to the next digits. “These little piggies stayed home!” she added. As she moved sequentially down the nursery rhyme, she switched down the toes, before arriving at the last two. She scratch tickled them extra slowly, grinning at her tickle target as she did so. “And these little piggies… they went… WEEWEEWEEWEEWEE ALL THE WAY HOME!” the tickler cried, scribbling her nails down over the balls of the boy’s feet towards his tender arches. “THEY WENT HEEHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OHOHOHOHOHOHOHO NOHOHOHOHOHO MERHERHERHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Kiran screeched. Dixie giggled at him, and his frantic laughter only encouraged her to keep tickling. She focussed on the boy’s bare arches, exploring them thoroughly, though she did also tickle away at his tender toes again, and the heels, sides, top and balls of the feet. It was all too much for the poor kid to take, and he could only sit there, screaming for all he was worth as the sensations engulfed him. They flew through his nerves to his already overstimulated mind, confusing him even further. All he could do was sit there, cackling away. The girl slowed her sensations down, and her fingers tickled lightly around the arches in small circular motions. As she did so, a second nursery rhyme came into her head. “Round and around the garden, like a teddy bear! One step!” she cried, spidering across the heels. “THAHAHAHAAAAAT’S NAHAHAHAHAT A STEHEHEHEP!” the lad frantically screeched. “Two step!” the girl cried, scrubbing her nails horizontally back and forth across the balls of the lad’s feet. “Quiet, or you’ll make me forget my place and you don’t want that, do you?” the girl asked, grinning as she listened to his intense, high-pitchy and almost banshee-like screamy laughter.   “And tickle you under there!” she cried. Her nails now scrubbed hard over the undersides of the little toes. The boy’s digits pulled back and fanned out at this point, and the devious, revenge-seeking tickler giggled, glancing at her mother and Libby. She gestured to the tickle table and the little girl nodded excitedly, her pretty forest green eyes lighting up with exhilaration. “Well, I’ve wanted to do this ever since you did it to me!” Dixie cried, reaching across and picking the two Tween Toe Ticklers up. When Kiran saw them, his eyes just about bulged from their sockets and he shook his head. Tears for fears were written all across his face, and though he knew everyone wants to rule the world, the only one ruling his world right now was Dixie. She had him wrapped right around her little finger, and there was nothing the poor, about to be overwhelmed Indian cutie pie could do about it. “NOOOO! NONONONONONONO! NO! NO! NO! NO! AH! AHAHA! AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA MAHAHAHAHKE IT STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” the poor kid screeched for all he was worth, thrashing about desperately. Dixie giggled and shook her head. “You really can’t handle it, can you?” she teased, holding both devices to the kid’s arches. She held them there for a few moments, before sliding them up over the balls of the feet, threading them between the toes after titillating under them for fifteen seconds. By now, Kiran was sweating, and tears cascaded down his searing hot cheeks. He felt like he was going to explode. “Tell me Libby… what does he react well to? Should I do the feathers or the electric toothbrush and hairbrush?” Dixie asked. “Oh, I’m afraid I can’t you that!” the twenty-three year old replied. But Jane snuck her hand around the young HOTFUB worker and tweaked her side, resulting in a surprised squeal and giggle from the employee. “I have a sudden urge to tell you,” she said, pushing Jane’s hands away. “Good move, because my daughter and I would make you suffer in those things next,” the second woman replied, grinning wickedly. Libby gulped. She remembered her job interview, when her soon to be boss had her in the stocks for fifteen minutes. After that, she really had no idea as to how the boys could last longer than that. She as wiped afterwards… “Well, skip the soft stuff. Electric toothbrushes on his armpits and big toes will destroy him, as will hairbrushes on his feet, focussed naturally on his arches. If you want him to suffer more, the tickle lube he mercifully didn’t use on our delightful tootsies is there too, so if you apply some of that then he’ll be a real screamer,” the girl explained. “Thanks!” Dixie replied sweetly, continuing to torment her ticklee’s tender soles. She placed the little tickle tools on their holders, and returned to the soles, lightly spidering and skittering her nails all over them for a minute longer, before easing off. “I think I’ll leave that there, thanks!” said Dixie, grinning. The young girl was now standing behind the tickle chair. She held her hands out on either side, and then flicked them up into the child’s deep, slightly moist hairless hollows. He shrieked as hard as he possibly could, thrashing about and bouncing from side to side. “SERVES YOU RIGHT! YOU MADE ME PEE MY PANTS!” came a cry from a ten-year-old boy as he ambled past with his mother (and about three thousand bags of shopping). Dixie poked her head out from behind the chair and groaned. All those shopping bags made her feel nauseas, and she felt sorry for the poor kid. At least all their bags were in the car right now. They hadn’t purchased food, so they could get away with doing that, and covering it all up. “Oh dear,” said Jane, smirking. She was quite antsy herself right now. “Am I allowed to go and tickle him?” she asked, peering at Libby. “Oh yeah, go for it. You’d be surprised how many parents join in,” the young lady replied, grinning. At that moment, her computer made a ding, and she raced back over to it. Jane stood up and padded over to Kiran’s tender looking feet and inspected her nails. “OH DEAR PLEASE NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOA AHHHHH! AHHHH! AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!” the kid screeched as the older woman edged closer and closer. Dixie’s nails were still skittering relentlessly all over the lad’s soft hollows, teasing them heavily. She teased the lad’s neck and shoulders briefly as well, before teasing down his ribs with light grazing sensation, to ease his giggles. “So, you decided to tickle my daughter, eh?” Jane teased, crouching beside the boy’s cute bare feet. “NO! NO! SHE ASKED! SHE AHAHAHAHAHAHASKED!” the poor eight-year-old squealed. This wasn’t just physical torture, but psychological as well, and this mother-daughter combo was good at it, too! “Well, then I think the punishment should fir the crime. Time to give you something to really laugh about!” Jane exclaimed, lowering her nails to the lad’s pink, soft, rounded heel and spidering slowly over them. She flicked her nails up over the soft, delightfully tickly soles towards the toes. She bounced her nails off the balls of the feet, like the skin was a trampoline and the skin was pushing her nails back each time she pressed into it. This only succeeded in having Kiran’s laughter reach new heights, and he screamed desperately, pleading for mercy as tears stung his eyes. By now, Dixie’s fingers were digging into the poor lad’s sides, alternating between that and the armpits. Each time she squeezed, the lad’s back arched out, and she spidered her nails all over the ribs as she returned to the delectable hollows. She also claw attacked his stomach with one, poking his tiny innie tummy button with the other. The poor kid’s laughter disappeared, becoming completely silent as the tickles continued to torment his body. Jane was still tormenting the HOTFUB ticklee’s soles right now, raking up and down his soles rapidly and occasionally spidering her nails over the balls of the feet or the undersides of the toes. She’s also tied them back, chuckling as she di so, because the youngster had somehow managed to dislodge the Tween Toe Ticklers’ and scrunch his little digits in protest. But now they were tied back, it was harder for the poor kid to defend his cute soles. Now, Jane’s nails wiggled all over the lad’s arches, starting of with gentle caressing, but building up gradually until she was scribbling rapidly there. That, combined with Dixie’s brutal torture inside the boy’s tender, sweaty hairless hollows, was just about all the kid could take! He screeched desperately and pleaded for mercy, but his cries fell on deaf ears. “We’ll give you mercy!” Dixie cried as she recited a trick her mother usually did to her. “I’ll give you mercy for the next ten second whilst mum and me swap places!” the girl added, giggling rambunctiously. She loved it when her mother would say something like ‘I’ll give you mercy whilst I let you run off for ten seconds’, but only to trick her and chase after her anyway. Those tickles were always very fun. But as predicted, the two swapped places, with Jane standing behind Kiran’s tender pits. She reached into them and began spidering slowly. The boy, with his nerves already on high alert and now feeling ticklier, yelped and jerked about desperately. He thrashed mightily, struggling as hard as he could to pull free, but all he wasn’t going anywhere! “NAW! NAW! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAWWWW!” the ticklee cried as his pits, ribs, sides and stomach were now teased all over. Dixie giggled, picking the two electric toothbrushes up and sliding them over Kiran’s big toes. At first, she treated them like manual toothbrushes, and then built up to turning them on, allowing the boy to experience the vibrations. He screamed again, and then fell into the pit of ticklish despair with silent laughter. But Dixie wasn’t quitting. She kept on teasing, listening to her mother’s taunts of ‘tickle-tickle-tickle’ and ‘cootchie-cootchie-coo!’ Her brushes slid down over the soles to finish off, but that’s when the girl found the tickle lube. “Destroy his pits, mum!” the young girl giggled, as she picked a paintbrush up and applied some of the oil to the bristles. Libby gasped when she saw that, but no one heard her because of Kiran’s frantic screaming. By now, several more onlookers had stopped to come and see what all the commotion was about. Some left, with disgust written all over their face, whilst others styed and watched. The HOTFUB office employee found it surprising that there were more elderly people watching and laughing at the affair. “NAW! NAW! NAW! NAHAHAHAT THE PITS! NAHAHAHAT THE PITS! NAT THE PIHIHIHIHIHEEHEEHEETS AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAAAA AAAAAAGH!” the kid screamed, his voice faltering more and more as the seconds wore on. Time was tireless, but he was tiring – rapidly, too. Jane’s nails scribbled as hard as they could there, but when she saw the oil covered brush, she eased off and returned to sit down with Libby, deciding she’d had enough – and so too had Kiran. Dixie slid the brush all over the boy’s soft soles and toes, applying several more drops of oil and lathering it up. The paintbrush made it tickle even more, which Kiran seemed to really struggle with. He shook his head and giggled excitedly. Throughout the entire tickle, despite his frantic screeching and struggling, the youngster’s eyes had remained full of energy, and he was still smiling broadly. That was about to change, because now his feet were oiled up and super slippery. “You may want to look away now. You may cry, you may laugh… and you may scream. Oh yeah… you’re really gonna scream!” cried Dixie playfully, holding the hairbrush to the lad’s feet. His eyes bugged out of their sockets and a look of pure terror spread across his face. He screamed, just as Dixie had predicted. The brush slid slowly from the left heel up to the toes on the left foot and back down. She scrubbed up and down slowly and lightly at first, but then applied further pressure and speed too, making it tickle even more. Next, she scrubbed the brush across the ball of the foot, and then the arch. Kiran screamed. But this time, his scream had something else attached. “AAAAH!” Dixie screamed, giggling a little in surprise. She glanced back at Libby and Jane. “I made him pee,” she said, blushing a bit and looking suddenly bashful. Libby chuckled and stood up. She grabbed a canvas blind and pulled it across the front of the store. It read ‘WHOOPS! CLEAN UP ON AISLE 9! BEAR WITH US WHILST WE CLEAN THIS SPILLAGE’. The poor kid’s shorts were soaked through now. “Don’t worry about it, Dixie. It happens quite a bit. And you heard that boy ambling passed earlier… so don’t worry about it. You get used to it after a while,” she said, releasing the restraints and fussing over Kiran for a bit. The boy was panting hard, and he was sweating profusely. With the sweating, tears and the accident down south, the young woman was surprised he had any fluid left in him! “Girls are evil!” he moaned through his panting. Dixie and Jane both laughed. “Haha, hey I’m going to get this one into the back room so he can clean up, and then I’ll be back to clean it up. Oh whilst I’m gone, can you please write your names and a contact number, postal address and email address down for me? There’s paper and pen over there by the computer,” Libby said, pointing. “I’ll explain when I return,” she said. Jane wrote her details down on the piece of paper provided. “Were you a bit surprised by that?” she asked kindly. Her voice was warm and full of love. She wasn’t upset with her daughter for pushing Kiran to that accident. It was an accident, after all. “A little. Well… not really. You’ve tickled me to that point before. It happens,” the girl said. “I guess… I hope he doesn’t hate me or anything.” “I see. That’s alright, sweetie. I don’t think he will. Like you said, these things happen.” “Yeah… and I liked how he tickled me hard too. He didn’t back of anything because I’m a girl. I liked that,” the brunette said, smiling. From the backroom, they could hear a shower running. By the sounds of it, thanks to the water main running close by, they were able to hook up to get a portable shower operating for kids having accidents as side effects from the tickles. “That’s clever!” said Dixie, jerking her thumb in the direction of the shower. “See I like how much thought HOTFUB outs into stuff,” she said. At that moment, Libby emerged again, wearing rubber gloves and armed with a bucket of hot, soapy water, hospital grade disinfectant and a cloth, along with some towels. “You’re armed and clean!” Dixie chirped sweetly. “That I am, sweetie,” the young woman replied, grinning as she set to work. She wiped it down, poured boiling water over the device, wiped it down again, and sprayed it with disinfectant before wiping it and washing it again, just to be thorough. Dixie and Jane watched the whole time. “So anyway, I just thought I’d let you know… I was messaging Syd earlier. He said that if he can get your contact details, he’ll try to get you into HOTFUB, Dixie,” said Libby. Upon hearing those words, the young girl cupped her hands over her mouth and grinned broadly, before squealing and jumping up and down in excitement. Libby smiled. “How about that, eh?” Jane exclaimed, smiling warmly. “Now you CAN make your dream come true!” “Yeah! Syd said he’s been hoping to get girls into his company for a while now. He has a few as ticklers, but they leave after a while. So he wants someone as a tickler and lee combo, and I think I’ve found him one. He has to pass it by the board of directors, but if they approve it, then you’ll be auditioning for a special position at HOTFUB,” Libby added. “Yup. It’s all about acceptance, you see. The girls at TOYAAG can’t accept boys or girls who don’t fit in with their beliefs. And we can accept girls and boys of all walks of life,” said Kiran, grinning. He was wearing his tee shirt with a different pair of shorts, and his sandals again. “Besides… it’s the right thing to do,” the lad added. “Yippee!” Dixie squealed, wrapping her arms around the boy and squeezing him tightly. “That means I’ll get to tickle you again!” she exclaimed sweetly. Dread filled the lad’s eyes. “Not before I get you back for making me pee my pants!” the lad cried. They both giggled *** In the following two months, Dixie ended up being granted a position at HOTFUB. Though she didn’t have to, she opted to take the audition. She failed, however this was overlooked since because Kiran was her tickler for the day. Though it started off rocky, the boys eventually soon came to respect Dixie, and spoke highly of her tickling abilities and her ticklee abilities, too. In fact, she was often requested for one-on-one tickle sessions by many of the HOTFUB lads. The audience soon came to appreciate her too, and they too spoke highly of her. By showing Acceptance and displaying diversity, Syd had proven once again that HOTFUB was a strong and revolutionary organization, leaving its only competitor back in the dark ages. It was a masterstroke that would play well into Syd’s hands in a matter of months…

[tickletherapy]

The Dare

"Bet I'm not!" she said defiantly. "Bet you are!" he said confidently. They were watching television and he had fallen asleep (or so she thought) when he caught her trying to change the channel.  He decided to get even by jabbing her in both ribs with his fingers to which she had no reaction.  He then tried the thigh-grip...but still no reaction. "I told you I'm not ticklish!" she grinned devilishly. She didn't even bat an eye when he suggested she lie down on her back and he'll see about that.  She quickly stretched out on the couch and looked at him.  "You won't find a ticklish spot on my body." she daringly declared as she raised her arms over her head. She was a tanned, petite, 23 year old athletic-built brunette with the kind of smile that would launch a thousand ships and he had been trying for this evening together for quite some time. She wore tight jeans and a yellow halter-top with frilly yellow socks to match.  On her feet were plain loafers.  With arms raised, her slender ribs and stomach were fully exposed. He took the opportunity to stroke her tummy with his fingers. She just cooed as if enjoying it.  As he changed direction and wandered his wiggling fingers up her ribs, she gave a little sigh.  "That's nice, I could use a massage" she said. He tried many techniques.  Both ribs simultaneously, wiggling extra fast, stroking extra lightly.  At one point, she jumped and quickly relaxed.  He took note of this area...just above the waist and slightly around the back. "I have an idea, If you're not ticklish, you wouldn't mind being tied up while I try.  I've heard that if you're helpless, it can make a difference." She really didn't have any way to argue this one, after daring him and all.  "Go ahead, but no funny stuff."  She giggled at her own pun. He left for a second and returned with thick clothesline.  It didn't take him long to place each arm over her head and lash them together with about a dozen turns.  "Too tight?"  "Fine." she replied.  "I've never done this before." she remarked in a no-so-sure way.  Her smirking attitude had taken a bit of a change.  He then routed the rope over the end of the couch. He then went to the other end and crossed her legs at the ankles. This caused her left foot to stick up above the right one and looked like the best position for the legs.  He then wrapped several turns up the calves, carefully leaving her shoes and socks outside of the bonds.  She watched this action with interest which caused him to wander if she was worried about her feet, which he hadn't tried yet.  He carefully pulled the rope over the end of the couch which stretched her taught.  "OK?"  "No problem..." she answered. Her voice was a little shaky as she asked: "How long you gonna take?  I have a test in the morning...." "Getting worried?" to which she quickly snapped: "No...just that it's getting late!" "We'll see if we can hurry a little!" as he started swirling his wiggling fingers around her ribs and tummy.  She no longer seemed to enjoy it as much.  In fact, she was fighting the urge to respond. "Now, the good part." as he went for the low-rib area towards the back on both sides he had discovered earlier.  She arched as she threw her head back and let out the 'giggle' he had hoped for. He continued to wiggle his fingers on her sides, up into her halter-top, around the back then to the front.  "OK, OK, <giggle> you found <giggle> it!" as she had a little trouble speaking. He continued the pace and noticed her responses now came from all over.  It was as if once ignited, she was ticklish everywhere! After a few minutes, he changed to the thighs - just above the knees.  He squeezed here and there and to his delight - she was now responding with giggles and belly-laughs to each attempt. "OK, <giggle> you can <IEEE!> stop now!"  She was writhing pretty good and couldn't stop the attacks.  "You've haAAd <giggle> your f-f-un!"  Laughter rolled constantly now as he just kept going for several minutes. "Now for the dessert."  and he moved toward her shoes.  "No, please, I have to...Oh! No!"  as he removed the left loafer and glared at the sole of her yellow sock - now made vulnerable thanks to his clever rope-work.  He then removed the other shoe and stood back to admire them. "The socks have to go!" as he slowly, carefully removed the right sock.  She was kind of hysterical as she declared: "That's it, It's too late to continue with this..." but he just smiled and dropped the sock and proceeded to the other.  "Don't, please.." as he quickly jerked off the right sock. Before him was a very hysterical gal, indeed.  And looking right at him was her two beautiful bare feet, just waiting to be attempted.  She tried every trick she could think of: "I might pee on your couch...the neighbors will think you're beating me..." but he just smiled at her. He wasn't going to touch her feet until he was ready...he seemed to delight in her attempts to head off this inevitable event. She jumped as he reached in the direction of her toes, but did not touch them.  "You're REALLY worried now, aren't you?...and you said you weren't ticklish!"  "I'm not ticklish...just surprised by your...AAAAAAHAHAHA" as he stroked a finger from her heel to toes of the one foot. "Still won't admit it, huh." as he swirled one finger around her wiggling left foot.  "AHHAHA--HA-HA-HA-AH-AH" as she tried to answer.  He then joined in with the right foot...swirling the fingers in each hand as he now had both feet at the same time. She couldn't say a thing as she threw her head back and just gasped in a long continuous fit of laughter. He kept it up, not letting her relax for about 30 seconds. During this time, he stimulated every area of both her feet...under and around each toe.  The toes flexed and grabbed like they were trying to catch his fingers...anything to delay the tickling.  Her continuous laughter had blossomed into almost no sound at all...just a whimper with no chance to talk. He let up and let her catch her breath.  She took a while to recover.  She was just about able to talk...AHHHEHEHE-HE-HE-HE- he started again.  "Not ticklish, huh.  Tell me again that you're not ticklish...what's the problem..."  but she couldn't answer as he stroked long and hard, up and down, back and forth across both foot-bottoms at the same time. Her toes were now clenched tightly.  "Can't protect those toes..." he then grabbed the top foot by the big and little digits and spread her foot open for his most dastardly deed. With her toes separated using both hands, he used his tongue as the torture implement.  Her ribs now thrust into deep laughter as she experienced the feeling of the smooth but wet tongue darting between the toes on her left foot. She tried to pull her foot away but couldn't overcome his grasp on the toes.  Her right foot was trying to push over to the area to help out but was too tightly tied and far away to be effective.  Her whole body now trembled into a spasm of laughter, not before heard...kind of a settled, stable reaction as she must have realized that she couldn't do anything about the excruciating tickle sensations centered between the toes of her left foot. Suddenly, he let up.  "I'm a benevolent tickler, just want you to know...catch your breath."  As she did, she seemed locked into that smile that could launch a thousand ships. "AHHHHH AHHHH AHHH AH ahh ah <sigh>"....it seemed like a long time for her to recover but she eventually did. "That was...stimulating!" she said as he untied her bonds.  "I have never..." "Are you...stimulated?" he asked. "Oh YES!" she replied.  "I've never wanted to...on a first date, but..." "Say no more...." as he held her tightly. He was pleased, VERY pleased indeed!                             The End

[tickletherapy]

[tickletherapy]

Tickle Therapy

Tickled By My Friend For Therapy Hi, my name is Kevin Jonathan Carter. Some of my friends call me Kevin, or "Kev" and some call me "Jon" or "Jonboy" I am 42 now but this experience happened to me 6 years ago. First let me explain that I have been horribly ticklish on most of my body since a child, but my most deathly ticklish spot is my barefeet bottoms. Once in awhile as a boy I would get held down and tickled by my Aunt Ginny until I wet myself, so it wasn't my fave thing to have done. But 6 years ago I had been suffering from a depression that just wouldn't go away. One of my female friends is a nurse in a local hospital. She is into Reflexology which is basically rubbing certain areas of the soles of the feet to induce the body to heal. One day my nurse friend, (she is only a friend, not a girlfriend and her name is Jenny), asked me if I would like to try "laughter therapy" to see if it would help with my depression. It sounded like it could work so I went over to her house one Friday evening and asked how she planned to help me. She said she had helped several of her female friends with depression by making them laugh uproariously, and she did this by tickling them. Jenny thought it might work on me 'cause she knew I am extremely ticklish. She said she never tried it on a guy yet but felt it would be OK with me because we were always just buddies. If any 2 people could keep it platonic we could. We agreed although she would be touching me in ways that would make me laugh we would still keep it from getting sexual. First Jenny ordered me to take off my shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops to get comfy, (it was summer and she said I'd get too hot otherwise from "extreme  exertion"- little did I know!), leaving me wearing only purple bikini briefs and my dark tan. Then she had me lay down on her rattan couch while she wrapped my wrists and ankles with silk napkins. Jenny then used her hospital restraints to strap my wrists over my head to the arm of the couch on one end. Next she pulled both my legs down tight and fastened my ankles on top of the rattan arm on the other end, making my size 10 soles easy for her to see and reach. Jenny inspected her work, then asked if I was OK. I said I was but she had me tied so stretched out that I could only move my head, my hands a little and wiggle my toes. Otherwise I couldn't move at all. Then Jenny said she would try tickling my feet for an hour, only letting me catch my breath if she saw my laughing was getting too severe. I was scared to be so completely immobilized but I trusted her, and I really needed Jenny's help to get rid of my depression. She began by rubbing peppermint lotion into the soles of my bare feet. I didn't realize how bad it was going to tickle until then. It actually tickled A LOT just her rubbing in the lotion. I was giggling already and testing the straps. They were strong! There was no possible way I could break them. I was totally helpless. I gulped and said: "Jenny it tickles already! I don't know if I'm gonna be able to stand this." She replied "Well baby boy, if we're lucky that's just what will happen, that you won't be able to stand it, because its only gonna work if I can make you laugh hysterically long enough til your brain snaps out of your depression." Jenny was still rubbing the lotion in and I felt my soles getting more and more sensitive. I felt her strong fingers on my arches and suddenly I couldn't stop myself from laughing. "JENNY!" I said, getting very nervous. "Jen...HAHAHAHA I HAHA think hee hee its gonna work but PLEASE Jenny! PLEASE GO EASY hahahahahaha...it tickles already!" "Thats good honey. Now you're gonna really go nuts when I actually start tickling so keep in mind those restraints are unbreakable. We've had 300 pound bodybuilders come in with the DTs and couldn't break 'em." "You're like 115 pounds soaking wet and only skin & bones so the straps will hold you tight until I am done tickling, no matter what." "If you struggle real hard you'll just hurt your wrists and ankles but you won't get loose." "Try to remember that, OK?" She stopped rubbing lotion and wiped her hands. "And JonBoy you're way more ticklish even than the girls were so don't hate me for what I'm about to do, 'cause you are in for a heckuva wild ride. Are you ready?" Suddenly I felt panic start to rise. The straps WERE strong. I was stretched tight. I could do absolutely nothing to escape or stop the tickling. I started having second thoughts. "Jenny...wait please, I - I'm sorry Jen I don't think..." "No use to wait JonBoy. The sooner we start the sooner you will feel better, and remember I'm a nurse so I'm not gonna let you lose your breath. I'm just gonna make you laugh really really hard for an hour and don't try to beg me to stop 'cause I'm not gonna, no matter what you say." By then my heart was pounding wildly. Jenny was like my older sister and I KNEW she meant what she said. I tried to stall. "Jenny, wait just a second, please, I think I got to go pee." Jenny sighed and smiled. "Honey that's why you're laying on 3 towels baby. It's gonna happen. Just try to think how good you will feel when its done. OK READY?" I gulped as I watched Jenny sit down on her little exam stool by my feet, giving her easy reach of my helpless bare soles strapped firmly to the heavy arm of the couch. I could feel my spine tense in fear. I saw her fingers reach up and I clenched my darkly tanned toes savagely, knowing there was nothing I could do. I shut my eyes tightly as she said "OK baby doll, LAUGH FOR ME HONEY!" At the first touch of her long nails on my silky white arches I lost it. I knew in an instant it was going to be the worst tickle torture I'd had done to me in years. I had just enough time before the laugh reflex took over to scream "JENNY NOOOO!!! I CAN'T!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" In 3 seconds I was completely hysterical. My mind went blank except for blind panic and my desperate struggle to somehow escape the unbreakable straps. I arched my back and pulled with all the strength that raving fear gave me. But I was too little to even stretch the straps a bit so, weakened by tickling, I had to totally surrender my soft, sensitive soles to Jenny's ten torturing fingers. I collapsed helpless while my laughter shrieked out in long bursts until all my air was gone, then a gasp, then more laughing forced out against my will...again and again...out of my control...COMPLETELY! I heard my own howling madness and knew there was no way I was ever gonna stand it. I was gonna die right there on that couch from sheer insanity. It had been so long since I'd been tied down and had my feet tickled I could no longer take it. Jenny had to know! I couldn't talk for laughing. I couldn't scream out she was killing me! But her nails just tickled on and on. I was thrashing my head back and forth in wild shakes until snot and spit were flying out my nose and mouth. The worst thing was I COULDN'T LAUGH HARD ENOUGH! My lungs were being forced to laugh more than I could put out, so I kept losing my breath. I laughed all the way til my lungs were empty of air but I still laughed, though silent. At the last second I'd GASP for air but Jenny kept tickling so I couldn't keep it up. My reflexes were out of control- my pelvis jerked from side to side but the straps held. THOSE DAMNED STRAPS! The laughter poured out of me so hard I felt like I was having a stroke. I saw "stars" in my eyes- I was literally being tickled to death! Just as everything began to go grey I felt the fingernails stop. I lay there panting like I had run a 100 yard dash. PUFF- PUFF- PUFF- GASP! I finally got enough air to form a word "JENNY!!!" "ST..." Jenny started back up with her nails and the wild laughter cackled out of me again. By then I had lost all strength to struggle so my skinny, tormented body just twitched and jerked to the tickling reflexes. One long gasp, then more torrents of loud, maniacal laughter and suddenly I felt my bladder let go. For an instant as the pee flowed out through my bikinis and on the towels the laughter slowed, but then it was done and I laughed harder and harder. At that moment I didn't care if I pooped my pants in front of Brittney Speers. I was totally beside myself in the throes of ticklish hysteria and couldn't think of anything else but LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH. I howled, shrieked and cried like a little boy tied up and tickle tortured by a sadistic witch. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEEHEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! NOOOOO!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!PLEEEASE!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Then I felt something building up in me that neither of us thought would happen. Jenny's unrelenting tickles were forcing me to ******! I tried to scream "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! JEN!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! OHHH PLEEEASE!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! YOUR MAKIN ME!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!! But Jenny kept tickling and I knew it was totally out of my control. I could do nothing but LAUGH, but a minute more and "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! OHHH NOOO!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! ST-STOP!!!! YAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!! OHHHHH FUUUUCK!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I was ******* hard in my urine-soaked undies but I just twisted and screamed in agony because Jenny didn't even notice. The torture continued, but worse because I was post-****** hyper-sensitive. "NOOOOO!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! OHHH FFFFFUUUCK!!!HAHAHAHAHA!!!" On and on it went. I was out of myself. I knew my feet were being savagely tickle tortured 'cause I could feel it. But I endured my body's hysterical reactions to it like I was only a bystander. I drifted in and out of sanity. In my hysterical mind it was like I had been strapped to that couch for days, then tickled and tickled for ages. Through my tears I imagined I was 5 again and Jenny was my Aunt Ginny going "Goochie Goochie"! and tickling my helpless little bare feet until I was squealing, laughing, crying, peeing then going into seizures. I didn't even know when Jenny finally stopped. I could have heard her calling my name while she wiped me down with wet towels, but I was completely broken & exhausted. Jenny told me later I didn't move when she took off the straps. Just layed there and moaned, so she covered me and let me sleep there all night. I fell into a deep dark sleep like I never knew. I slept without dreams from 11PM that night to after 1PM next day. Finally I awoke and felt dizzy like I had been on drugs. My wrists and ankles were sore and chafed from my terrible struggling but were unhurt. My soles felt extremely alive and tender. Even the touch of the sheet Jenny put over me felt ticklish. I slowly got up and went to her shower. I noticed she had gone to work but left a note: "Sure hope you feel better JonBoy. I almost killed you last night. Relax. Pancakes in the microwave if you can eat. Love You, Jen". After that experience my depression was totally gone for weeks, and for days after I felt a rush as if I had snorted some new kind of cocaine. They say prolonged forced laughter causes the brain to release endorphins same as if you had run a marathon, and I believe it! It was the most intense physical event in my life since being tickle tortured by cousins as a child, far surpassing even a few incredible climaxes I had during normal sexual intercourse. Being tickle tortured to forced ****** was WAY better than that. Another thing I noticed is that though I am horribly ticklish and while its being done I'm panicked and feel its terrible torture the endorphins cause me to "forget" the torturous part of the ordeal and only remember how good I felt after. So I have needed to be strapped down and tickled silly again and again ever since. I am sold on tickling as therapy for depression and stress.

[tickletherapy]

Yoko Littner Tickled

Yoko muttered and rolled on the bed, her muscles sore. Slowly she managed to open her eyes, but shut them just as quickly as she opened them as light oozed in from everywhere. The red headed woman swore and shook her head. What had happened? She'd been on the hunt of a gunman, when something struck her from behind.

She cursed. Her head hurt. But the air around her was remarkably cold. What was she laying on, a slab of some kind? Marble? Yoko did not like wearing very feminine clothes such as dresses or the like as they restricted her movements when she needed the speed to fight in close quarters. Hench, the young woman wore a bikini top and short shorts. She opened her eyes again and noticed that she had indeed been tied onto a slab of marble, with only a pillow over her head. 

What is going on here?" she demanded.

"Ah, it seems my entertainment has awoken!" a scratchy, dry voice said. There was a scuffling of movement off to her left, and from the shadows a woman in her eighties, her hair gray and greasy glared at the younger woman.</P>

"Who are you, and what are you doing with me?" Yoko snarled. She wondered where her compatriots were, especially Kamina. She yanked at her bonds. "What is going on here?"

The woman was insanely thin, and looked as if she had lost a few teeth. "I do believe I told you," she said in that horrid voice. Her face was so bitter and ugly it looked as if a gargoyle would freak should it see her. "you are my entertainment."

"Wait… I'm not like that, I'm not into other…," Yoko said, her heart beginning to pound.

The old woman cackled. She

cackled!

"I'm not looking for anything like that, my dear," she said, finally managing to stand above Yoko. Her small gray eyes scanned the younger woman like a tiger over a meal. "No, no not at all," she cooed. "I'm more interested in a different kind of entertainment. And I have a very special place in my heart for it as well."

"Look, I don't know who you are, but you better let me go," Yoko snarled. She wiggled, her large breasts bouncing as she did. "Let me out of here."</P>

"Silence, you do not tell me what to do, I tell you!" she said in a hideous hiss. 

There was an awkward moment, and then the old woman placed her dry, thin hand on Yoko's belly. "So tender," the woman said. "So tender and young. Youth have no idea how lucky they are to have such soft skin. How I remember such skin." Her fingers began to gently tapping on Yoko's belly. </P>

"Hey! What are you…?"

Yoko asked, inching from the woman's rough feeling fingers.

   "Hush," the old woman snapped. Her fingers slid easily across Yoko's belly, the tips of her bone thin fingers slowly scrapping the edges of the skin. "You aren't supposed to ask me questions as I enjoy my entertainment."

    Yoko wiggled a bit, moving beyond the woman's touch, and sighed in relief as the itching sensation ceased for a few seconds. The old woman frowned, and pulled her back to her back. She pressed her fingers against Yoko's stomach, and shook her hand, making the sensation seem to vibrate all over the young warrior woman's stomach.

   "Stop that," Yoko growled.

   "No, I have no intention of doing that, not for a while anyway."

    The younger woman whimpered and inched her body upwards, but was yanked down quick. "You stop touching me, you perverted old witch, and you let me go!"

    The woman glared at Yoko eyed her, and narrowed her eyes. "Such a tongue for someone so you," she grumbled. "I think someone ought to teach you a lesson. You don't want to keep your tongue silenced, then I'll help you with that!" The old woman tickled Yoko's stomach harder, really making the tips press against the girl's flesh. "Now you will sing for me!"

    Yoko's eyes went wide and she growled, struggling against her bonds. "You stop," she demanded. "If I was out of these chains…,"

   "But you're not, and thus, you waste your breath…, now laugh, little girl!" the old woman cackled.

    Yoko shut her eyes, and took a big breath, holding it in tight. The tingling sensation was spreading across all of her body. She followed her training, she had to block it somehow. She thought back to her childhood, to the fight against her enemies, to those who she held dear.

    But one particular memory stirred in her, when she remembered Simon and Kamina had double teamed her and tickled her stomach, teasing her that it was her own fault. She remember how bad it had tickled when the two of them surprised her … and how hard she laughed.

    Yoko tried to block that out of her mind, but the more she tried, the more it struck a note. She gritted her teeth, and shut her eyes hard… so hard her eyes began to water.

   "Cat got your tongue, young lady?" the old woman teased. She was using all ten fingers now, kneading them from one spot of Yoko's stomach to the next. Each time she touched the young woman's skin her mouth switched into a turn leathery grin. "Its only a matter of time. But I can wait… just the feel of soft skin against my fingers is enough… for now."

    Her body was heating up. It was as if it was a dam with the water just ready to burst from it, and someone was trying their best to keep it in against all odds. Yoko really wanted to curse, to snarl and swear at the woman, but she knew she dare not open her mouth. A few 'eeping' sounds exploded from her from time to time, and that brought a dark smile to the woman tickling her, but up to this point, that was it.

   "You are very tough, I like that … a challenge," the greasy haired woman said with a smile. "But I've worked up my patience long enough and I so wish to hear you sing now. Perhaps this shall work?" An elongated pinkie poked down into Yoko's navel and scrapped against the bottom of her skin.

    Yoko's eyes went wild and she took a breath to gasp, her throat on fire begging her to let the laughter out now. "Stoooooop," she whimpered.

    The old woman narrowed her eyes, age lines spreading across her skin like the cracks of the walls all over this room. "No." She swirled her finger like it was going down a toilet, the fingers running across the sides of Yoko's navel.

    The red head gasped, but could not hold it in much longer. "OH MY GAWD AHAHAHAHAHAHA, STAHAHAHAHAHAHOP! I MEAN IT AHAHAHAHAHAH STOP TICKLING MY BELLY BUTTON!"

   The crone grinned, her yellow rotten teeth glaring in the light. "There we go, I knew I'd get you to sing. However, I'm not done yet." She spider walked her free fingers across Yoko's belly as she tortured the girl's navel, and sighed as the girl's quivering skin shuddered under her touch.

   "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH STAHAHAHAHAOP IT, I'M GOING TO KIHIHIHIHIHILL YOU FOR THIHIHIHIHIS! STAHAHAHAHAHAHOP IT!" Yoko thrashed more, her large breasts bouncing like basketballs being dribbled. For a long time she feared her strap would give out, giving her a wardrobe malfunction. However she didn't seem the old woman would care much. "WHYHYHY ARE YOHOHOHOHOU DOING THIS? WHAT DID I DOHOHOHOHOHOHO TO YOU?!"

   "I'm doing this, because I enjoy it," the old woman growled. "Because it feeds my need for musical laughter like your's. Because I enjoy breaking those who believe these are too strong to be broken." She pulled her pinkie out of the younger woman's navel, lowered her head and blew against Yoko's stomach and navel.

    The sound of the raspberries along with the feeling of the dry, cracking lips of the old woman drove the young warrior mad! "GAHAHAHAHAWD CUT IT OUT! MAKE IT STAHAHAHAHOP!"

   "Like that do you?" she laughed.

   "NOHOHOHOHOHO I DON'T! AHAHAHAHAHAH, TEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE, STAHAHAHAHAHOP IT NOW!" Yoko was laughing hard, her face bright red, her body hot. Sweat trickled down her bare belly. Yoko wasn't sure if she was truly that hot from body heat, or if the room had somehow turned up. "NOW, I MEAN IT, STOP TIHIHIHIHICKLING MY STOMACH!"

    The old woman ignored her demands. Her fingers slid and danced across the girl's stomach, stroking the skin as if it was some kind of instrument. She seemed to be lost in the moment, her eyes shut, her head bobbing as if rocking out to the strange music.

   "I HAVE FRIEEHEHEHEHEHENDS! THEY'LL COME TO GET MEHEHEHEHEHEHE AND THEN YOHOHOHOHOU'LL BE SORRY! AHAHAHAHAHA," Yoko laughed so hard that her throat was dry, and she started to cough violently. The old woman glared at her and ceased for a few moments, letting the girl gather herself.

   "This is your own fault," the old woman snarled. Her eyes seemed to turn darker. "If you had cooperated you wouldn't be suffering."

   "Cohohohooperate with what?!" Yoko cried out. She lay on the slab, thankful for its cool touch, but also disgusted that she was gluing to it as well. "I didn't do anything to you. Are you working with my enemies? How much did they pay you?" She could feel her hair getting loose, her ponytail nearly being undone.

    The old woman looked at her and blinked, then threw her head back and howled with laughter. "Pay me? Child I do this on my own accord, for my own interest, to feed my hunger for laughter." Her eyes turned dark black and she giggled. "And you have such a beautiful laugh."

    Yoko could feel the tension building, and lurched away, "NO!" she pleaded, but the fingers found their marks and began pressing against her skin, like ten bone sharp missiles. The old woman was agile for her age, and her hands darted everywhere on Yoko's stomach, so fast the girl had a hard time keeping up with them. "AHAHAHA GAWD, WILL YOU STAHAHAHAHAHAHOP, I CAN'T TAHAHAHAHAHAKE IT! IF I DID NOTHING TOHOHOHHOHOU YOU, THEN WHY MEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE?"

   "I told you, it was your own fault!" the woman growled. "Now allow me to enjoy my feast!" The old woman took a breath, shot down and raspberried again… and again… and again, her hot breath stinging as well as making the skin around Yoko's navel tingle. "Yes, that is right, laugh, my pretty, laugh for me."

     Yoko's throat closed in on itself, and she could only laugh silently, her body reacting to the touch, but as if someone had put her on mute. The old witch cackled saying that silent laughter worked just as good as normal laughter too.

    Her mean eyes glowed as tears streamed down Yoko's eyes face, the younger woman's lips quivering as the torturous endurance continued. The skin of her belly was now a hot pink with all the touches. She no longer had what she needed to try and struggle and lay limp as the crone gently ran the tips of her fingers across her skin.

   "Whahahahahahat do you mehehehehean its my fault?! Hehehehehehehehe, hahhahahahaha!" Yoko cried, her voice silent and sounding raspy.

   "You haven't figured it out?" the crone cackled again. "Its your wardrobe my dear. Girls who wear clothing that exposes their skin are just asking to be tickled to death. Especially those who bare their bellies." Her slim finger wiggled in Yoko's navel again. The girl lost count how many times she had done that. "Ah, youth, your skin is so new, so close to those precious nerves. Its just wonderful hearing your laughter!"

    Anger flared in Yoko. The boys' had said the same thing when they tickled her belly. She thrashed more, and began cursing at the woman through her laughter. "Get off of me!" she shouted.

    The old woman ignored her, still tickling her, disregarding that the girl wasn't laughing as much. The touch of her soft skin was just as good as the laughter. And she planned on doing this for a good long time. She wouldn't kill Yoko. Not yet. A few weeks of play would finally bring her to be bored enough for that… but of course that meant she had so many weeks to explore and tickle this adorable belly.

  "PLEHEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHOP," Yoko cried. Her fingers were thrashing around as if they were the legs of a crab that had been turned upside down. "PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, PLEHEHEHASE, I CAHAHAHAHAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE I PROMISE I'LL NOT HURT YOU OR HAVE MY FRIENDS GET REVEHEHEHENGE, JUST LEHEHEHEHET ME GOHOHOOHOHHO AND YOU'LL NEVER SEHEHEHEHEE ME AGAIN!"

    The crone's smile widened. "Ah, the next to last chain of resistance," she muttered. "I hoped to have heard it later than now, but I'm sure you're resistance will be just as strong once you know you're never going to leave this place. You see, your belly is my toy now. It belongs to me, and I intend to tickle you until I get bored." She looked up at the girl, her eyes dead as she looked at the younger female. "Then once that happens, you can go. Just like the other girls did." The eyes had a more threatening tone to them. She turned her head and looked outside a window. "Then I'll have to make a decent plot."

     The realization of what the woman said made Yoko shudder. This old witch was determined to not just torture her, but actually execute her with tickling. She was mad. "LET ME GOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!" she shouted. "HELP! HELP MEHEHEHEHEHE!" She thrashed and kicked more, her head shaking wildly as she laughed out of control.

   "How many times do I have to say, no?" the woman screamed back.

    Just as she feared that she truly would have been murdered by this witch, there was an explosion somewhere in the backyard. The old woman frowned, turning away from the girl, and straining her head like an owl. "What was….," she began.

    Another explosion happened, throwing the old woman off of her feet, and fifteen feet away from Yoko. There were more explosions, and soon one of the walls came down, as Simon and Kamina burst forward, staring at their friend.

    The boys freed the young woman, as their compatriots secured the house of the old woman. Documents and items were seized. Yoko groaned as she finally was lifted from the slab. Her muscles were like putty. The boys helped her stand.

   "Where is that old witch," she gasped, glaring to see in the direction where the woman had landed. "I have a few things I want to tell her… if not do to her." She started to crack her knuckles.

   "I doubt you'll get the chance," one of the other soldiers said. "She's dead."

    The group examined the old woman, and saw that her neck had indeed been bent at an odd angle when she had landed from the explosion. Furthermore, her chest had been torn open from the shrapnel. Yoko looked down at this monster, who had gotten what she had deserved, and then glared at the two boys who she was using as human crutches. She remembered what the woman had told her about her clothes, and how it mirrored the boys' claims.

    Yoko used her renewing strength to slap the back of the two boys' heads, smirking as they grunted in pain.

   "What the heck was that for?" Simon asked with a whine.

   "Seriously, Yoko what do you think you are doing?" Kamina growled.

   "Oh nothing. I was going to kick her ass, but since she thought a bare bellied girl deserved to be tickled to death, and you both seemed to think it meant something similar, I figured someone out to pay for that… so I choose you two."

    They looked at her and then at each other. "Well…," Simon said.

    Yoko's eyes narrowed. "You try it, and I'll pin you down and I'll bit each and every finger off your hand, and stuff them up your rear. Got it?"

    Simon gulped and looked down. "Got it."

   "Good, now get me out of here, I need a drink."

[tickletherapy]

Babysitter Tickling

There was a curt tap on the front door. Barely seconds after the knocker had fallen silent Laura's voice rang out, "I'll get it!" The skirt of her dress flew up slightly and her long red hair streamed behind her as she ran for the door. She tip-toed her way across the cool tiles to stop their chill spreading to her small bare feet and opened the door. Laura – who had expected her friend Kat, as she said she might turn up today since Laura's parents were leaving – simply said "Oh," and left the visitor at the door. She gave a cursory shout of "Mum, it's for you, " as she disappeared upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her. Laura was the brat of the house. The girl standing on the doorstep was momentarily confused, but then remembered the description Laura's mother had given her on the phone a few hours ago. She looked around the door frame in to the house to see if anyone else was actually in, she was relieved to hear light footsteps coming from inside. The girl was about 5 feet 5 and had straight brown hair. It was an unusually warm  day so she had cycled to the house and was wearing a blue dress with white polka dots and an A-line skirt, with sheer flesh-coloured tights and small brown brogues in her feet. Laura's mother walked quickly to the door and smiled gratefully at the girl standing politely bemused in the doorway. "Cecily, please come," she said. "Thank you Mrs Davies but," the girl pointed at the bicycle she had leant against the wall of the house. "Oh, of course," Mrs Davies fumbled, " take it around the side and I'll meet you at the back door. She pointed around to the path at the side of the house and closed the door as the girl wheeled her bicycle out of sight. Mrs Davies also had no shoes on and was wearing a dress, like her daughter Laura, but hers was red and strapless. She was also wearing sheer black tights; she and her husband were going for a work's dinner and staying out for the night. She padded delicately through the comfortable house to the kitchen and the back door. Her other daughter Lucy was sitting at the large, wooden kitchen table with several books open in front of her and papers spread haphazardly around. Lucy was engrossed in her reading and was dressed differently to both her mother and sister. She wore a pair of blue jeans, a simple t-shirt and white socks on her small feet. Her red hair was tied back in a pony tail and she had a pencil poked through just above her hair tie. Laura and Lucy were twins, but they had drifted apart in the last year or two as they both began to change and grow up. In comparison to her bullying sister Lucy was an Angel. Lucy looked up as her mother opened the back door. "Who is it?" "Cecily," replied her mother as she leaned out of the back door to she if she could see the girl and her bicycle. Lucy looked around at her mother, who had her hands on the door frame and one foot up in the air, toes pointed delicately, with her head out of the door. "Hm?" "The girl that I said would be babysi - looking after you two tonight." Despite her daughters both having just turned 16  Mrs Davies was still not confident in leaving them alone overnight, especially given their recent animosity.  "I know her mother and Cecily used to go the the school you and your sister will be starting at," her mother finished. Lucy tutted, "my darling sister want be happy about that." "And you dear?" Her mother waved as she saw Cecily come around the corner of the house, put both feet back on the kitchen floor and turned to look at her daughter. "To be honest mum I'll be happy to not be left alone with her again." She got up and walked to the sink to fill the kettle with fresh water. "Why? What happened last time honey?" Her mother sounded suddenly concerned. She had noticed the relationship between her beloved daughters grow frosty and tried her best to thaw it where possible. "She...she..she,"   Lucy flicked the now full kettle's switch to on, "tickled me." "Really?" Her mother stifled a small giggle and her daughter's face flushed red. "I'm..I'm really ticklish." "Runs in the family honey," replied her mother with a smile. She turned to the girl waiting at the door, "come in dear, please." Lucy crossed the room, passing the newcomer, and headed for the door. "Kettle's just boiled if you want tea,"she slid her feet in to a pair of gum boots by the back door and picked up a small set of keys, "I'll put your bike in the shed - just in case it rains overnight." "Thank you Lucy," her mother called as her daughter walked out of the back door. "Well she certainly seems helpful," Cecily commented. Mrs Davies wiggled a tea mug at her questioningly. Cecily nodded then asked, "Is Laura..upstairs?" "Yes, she might be in her room all night. I hope she won't cause you too much trouble." "I'm sure we'll end up getting along fine." "Well thank you for turning up at such short notice, I'm so glad you could make it." "No problem Mrs Davies, my mother told me say 'Hello' from her." "Oh I will have to go see her soon." Mrs Davies put a mug of tea on the table in front of the girl and sat down opposite her at the table. "Sorry about the mess," she said motioning to the books and papers covering the table. "Don't worry about it. It's good that she's so interested in working. It can be difficult to motivate oneself sometimes." Cecily smiled and sipped her tea. "Well I can't sit and chat for long, I've got to finish getting ready. we'll be out all night and we'll be back about..midday tomorrow, maybe one-ish," Mrs Davies giggled mischievously. Lucy walked back through the door, closing it behind her, hung up the outside keys and slipped her slender feet from the boots. She sat back in her seat and stretched her legs out in from of her under the table, wriggling her small toes inside her socks. "What are you giggling about Mum?" "Never you mind." Her mother smiled at Cecily, finished her tea and stood up. "Right, I've got to finish getting ready and hurry your father up it we'll be late. Lucy, " she said, turning to her daughter, "Cecily is in charge until we get back. I know you wont cause her any trouble and..try and help her out if your sister is..difficult." "Of course I will. If Cecily will help me out if Laura becomes...difficult." ******** Later that evening Cecily and Lucy were both sitting in the living room. Laura had not shown her face since Cecily's arrival, nor had the friend she was expecting arrived; both these things had made Lucy very happy. Lucy was lying face down on the floor, her head still buried in work, while Cecily was sitting in a reclining armchair with the footrest up hand-sewing a dress that she had brought with her. Lucy waved her socked feet in the air, sucked the top of her pen, and finally closed her book; she had been working up the courage to talk to Cecily about something for ten minutes. "Cecily, can I ask you something?" "Certainly," Cecily replied without looking up from her sewing. Lucy looked up from the floor, naturally Cecily had taken her shoes off and there was only her sheer flesh-coloured tights between Lucy's eyes and Cecily's soles. This meant that from where Lucy was lying her view was almost filled with Cecily's feet. Coincidently Lucy's mind was also filled with Cecily's feet, or the tights she was wearing anyway. "Well," Lucy fumbled, "a few weeks ago, when Laura was being...difficult," she paused, "she was...tickling me." Lucy was sure she must be visibly blushing by now. Cecily stopped  sewing and looked up. "That's not a question," she said with a smile. "Well I had just put some tights on and it seemed, I mean I'm not sure really, but it seemed like my feet were more ticklish. Just for that time. It seemed like it was the tights that...that made my feet more ticklish," Lucy finished lamely. "That's still not a question." Cecily had not resumed her work and was listening carefully to every word. "Well, have you ever found wearing those," here she pointed to Cecily's tights-clad feet, "make your feet more ticklish. If you are ticklish at all. I bet you're not ticklish at all, lucky thing." Cecily chuckled and smiled disarmingly at Lucy. "Yes, Lucy, I have found that wearing tights makes my feet more ticklish," Cecily replied matter-of-factly. "So you are  ticklish!" "Yes, yes I am," Cecily chuckled again. "Well that makes me a little happier, I thought it might just be my feet which were affected by tights. Or that it was just something horrible I was imagining!" There was a pause in the conversation, neither girl seemed to want to go back to their work. Cecily was the first to break the silence. "So why was she tickling you, Lucy?" "Urm, well we were trying on the uniforms we'll have to wear once we start at our new school, and we got into an argument," Lucy stood up, stretching her legs ",She always tickles me." "And you don't like being tickled?" Cecily enquired. "Of course not! No one does!" Cecily made a little noise like she didn't entirely agree, but said nothing. "It's so embarrassing too," Lucy continued, "I hope she doesn't' embarrass me at school by tickling me!" Cecily smiled knowingly to herself but straitened her face when she saw the questioning glance Lucy was giving her and said, "well just learn to take it, learn to not react If you need to." "What? That's impossible!" "I can do it." Cecily said slowly. "Prove it," Lucy scoffed. "Go ahead," said Cecily, gesturing to her defenceless feet, "try it." She seemed confident but there was a hint of shyness in her voice too. Lucy hesitated for a moment, then took the few steps between them hurriedly. She knelt in front of the other girl so that she was at the right height and reached out her hands. Cecily took a deep breath and set her face. Lucy's fingers reached out and all four fingers on each hand made contact with the smooth material covering Cecily from her toes to her waist. Lucy looked up at the other girl's face as she eagerly slid her fingernails down the feet in front of her. She slowly slid her fingers to the heels and back again, all the time watching Cecily's face like a hawk. Lucy shuddered as the sensation of the tights on her fingertips brought back the memory of the sensation on her own feet. Her toes wriggled, safe inside their white socks. Lucy was squirming at the thought of the mess she would be in already if the roles were reversed. Seeing no reaction Lucy began darting her nimble fingers over Cecily's soles, trying to tickle as much of her – supposedly – sensitive skin as possible. She scratched at the girls heels and her fingers flew over her soles. Remembering a bad spot on her own feet, Lucy decided to try tickling around the girl's toes. Nothing. "I think you lied, I don't think you're ticklish at all. Or that tights make you less ticklish," Lucy whined. "No Lucy, I didn't lie I've just had...practice." Lucy could hear the strain in the girls voice from concentrating; so she was making a dent in her armour! Lucy continued tickling slowly as Cecily said, "You just have to remember toooo...to not give up and to – AH!" Lucy stopped and drew back in shock at Cecily's shriek. "What?" "No no, you just...hit a bad spot," replied Cecily with visible embarrassment, "go on." Lucy returned her delicate fingers to the upper slopes of the balls of Cecily's waiting feet. She was amazed at how much this girl could take – Lucy would be begging by now – she was asking her to keep going! Lucy's scrabbling fingernails resumed their work and Cecily gave a smaller shriek. As Lucy began to tickle a little faster her toes started to wiggle a little. Lucy smiled at how cute this looked. "Oh..ooooo-k," began Cecily with a  start, "OK, move your fingers up a little." Lucy obliged but Cecily said, "no...ooo..no, no. Up a little more, under my toes is really bad." Lucy could not understand why the girl was telling her where to tickle, but she was having too much fun with this to question it. She moved her probing fingertips further up Cecily's feet, nudged her fingers under the girl's toes and began to scratch underneath her toes themselves. She looked up expectantly and was met by a face that was about to crack with barely contained laughter. Lucy smiled as she sped up her tickling a bit and danced her fingertips around. Cecily yelled and laughed loudly, her upper body thrashed but somehow her legs and feet remained nearly motionless. "Th-heheh-ere is the worst! Hahhah!" Cecily lay giggling uncontrollably now that she had lost her calm. Lucy started to probe her fingers in-between Cecily's toes – as far as the tights would let her – to see how effective that was. It turned out to be very effective and Cecily reacted by beginning to talk and then silently laughing, unable to even summon the breath to giggle. Cecily let out a huge laugh and then dissolved into a string of strained giggles. This lasted for another five seconds before she quickly pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged her knees, breathing deeply. After several deep breaths she said, "see!" "See what?" "I am ticklish, I can take it, and tights...defiantly make my feet more ticklish. I don't know how but they do." Cecily giggled again, as if there were residual tickles on her feet. She wriggled her toes against the arm chair cushion. "Well, you really did surprise me. I know I couldn't take that much. How did you do it? And how did you manage to hold your legs still?" Lucy was amazed and more than a little embarrassed herself at what she had just done. "Practice," replied Cecily. She took a deep breath and seemed to regain almost all her previous composure, "you should try it sometime...it can be quite stress relieving actually." Lucy drew her own knees up to her chest, planting her feet firmly on the floor. "Nooooo way! I am too ticklish for that." Cecily stood up from the arm chair and pointed at it, "fair is fair. Your turn. Sit." She pointed firmly at the still raised foot-rest of the recliner. "All right," Lucy got up slowly and sat down in the chair. Very slowly she extended her legs until her feet here out in front of her, and in front of Cecily – who had now taken up station at the foot of the recliner, kneeling, like Lucy had been. "Believe me, this will help you some-day soon," Cecily said, "ready?" Lucy looked down at the thin white socks on her small feet, wishing that they were thicker. she gripped the arm rests tightly and took a deep breath and quietly said, "yes". Cecily reached out and placed her now wriggling fingertips in contact with Lucy's feet. Lucy squealed and began to wriggle in the chair, trying her hardest to keep her legs and feet still like Cecily had just done but it was so difficult for her. skittering her short fingernails over the smooth soles inside Lucy's thin white socks, Cecily smiled and watched Lucy, the tickler turned victim, as she squirmed. Lucy couldn't stand the tickling, already, so she gave another yelp and called out, "stop, please stop!" Cecily relented and let the girl rest for a few seconds, she really was sensitive. After a breather Lucy looked at Cecily shyly, "well, I can't do it. Times up. Game over," she said rather quickly and made to get up. "No, no, no," Cecily replied and held her ankles down. She looked at Lucy, making eye contact and holding it while saying, "sit down, we're not done." Lucy grumbled but sat back down in the arm chair. After a few more seconds, to let her fully rest, Cecily reached out again and this time, using only one wriggling finger each, touched Lucy's small feet. The girl immediately started wriggling and let out a yelp and began to giggle. "Yeeep, I caaaan't do it- hehehehe," she squealed. "Calm yourself and concentrate Lucy," Cecily stopped moving her fingers and left them still on the soles of Lucy's feet, just lightly resting there. The girl's giggles slowed to a trickle and she regained the ability to sit still. "It still realllly tickles," she complained through her remaining giggles. "I'm not doing anything Lucy, just touching, I'm not tickling. Just calm down and it'll be ok." Lucy took a deep breath, looked at her feet – as if to confirm to herself the Cecily was indeed not tickling them – and did calm herself. She began to breath more normally as her giggling subsided and she got used to the sensation of having one finger on each of her soles. "That's..that's..ok actually. Wow, I'm really surprised. Thank you," Lucy gushed, genuinely shocked that she wasn't wetting herself right now. "I told you, it's just a case of calming yourself," Cecily told her. Continuing, now with an evil glint in her eye and a cheeky smile, she said "but don't thank me just yet. So saying Cecily attacked Lucy's soles with all of her finger, scribbling her fingernails over the poor girl's soles. Lucy simply could not handle the rush of sensation, her calm was forgotten as she exploded with a scream and burst into peels of giggles. "Stop, stop stooop!" Lucy still wasn't sure how she had managed to remain giggle-free with Cecily's fingers on her feet, but now that she was actually tickling them again she was sure she was done for. No matter how hard she tried she could not regain her composure and stop wriggling, giggling, and generally loosing control of her body. "It's all about being calm Lucy, you just have to concentrate." "I can't concentrate when you're -hehhee – tickling my feeeet," Lucy squealed. "Try," Cecily replied simply. Lucy tried, oh she tried; she had been trying to prevent tickling from affecting her for years but could not get the hang of it. Her sister seemed to be able to do it, at least long enough for people to give up trying. She took a little comfort in the fact that if a tickler was really persistent with Laura they could get her to break down in to girlish giggles, but she was still dismayed that she could not hold her reaction in for longer than a few seconds whereas her sister could do it and fend off a tickler at the same time. Seeing that Lucy was getting a little out of breath – and more than a little embarrassed – Cecily slowed down and let a few of her fingers rest, now on tickling with two on each foot. Lucy's giggles and writhing slowed accordingly and she was able to speak a little better. "I can't -heehe- do it Cecily, when I'm being tickled that much I just canno-ohohhee-not stop myself." "I know it's difficult, but it can be done. Like I said, all it takes is practice. Can you take a little more?" "Hmm, a little," Lucy replied apprehensively. Cecily nodded and dove back in to a tickling assault, this time focussing her nails on the girl's heels. Lucy took a huge breath, trying to keep still and calm but even her heels were really ticklish – one downside of looking after her feet so well perhaps. Cecily spread her fingers and scratched along both the outsides and insides of Lucy's feet and began moving upwards towards her toes. Lucy lost it, simply melting in to loud laughter and began writhing but still doing her best to keep her feet still. Cecily quickly worked her nimble fingers up the girl's socked feet, her fingernails scratching all the way. "How about here?" Cecily dug in under and as far between the girl's slender toes as her socks would allow, testing the area to see if it was as sensitive on the girl as Cecily knew it was on herself. It was. Lucy screamed for a good few seconds, broke into peels of giggles and whipped her feet off the foot rest, placed them firmly on the seat of the armchair, and hugged her knees just like Cecily had done. "Wow," she panted, still out of breath, "that spot is so bad.." "I know..why do you think I tried it?" Cecily smiled another cheeky smile. "What the hell are you two doing?" Lucy and Cecily looked up towards the voice. "Oh, the babysitter tickling the baby," Laura spat from the doorway. She walked towards them both, "too tickling to take that, even with socks on Luce? Oh dear, maybe I'll have to tell eeeeeveryone at our new school," Laura taunted. She really was a brat. Cecily looked from one sister to the other and shared a look with Lucy. Lucy nodded slightly and Cecily shouted, "get her!" Both the girls leaped up and pounced on Laura who was utterly taken by surprise and fell under the force of the older girl and her sister. As Laura collapsed face-down on the ground Cecily sat on her back and Lucy jumped on top of her legs, each girl holding Laura down and sitting back to back so they faced each end of the petite girl. "Get off me!" Laura roared as she tried to wriggle free. "What were you doing? Were you spying on us?" Lucy was angry with her sister and also very embarrassed, she wondered how much she had seen. "No! I came downstairs to see what was going on, I heard you screaming - baby." "I wouldn't talk to her like that if I was in your position," Cecily warned, "I've been told by your mother to keep you in line - " Laura huffed loudly - "and your sister tells me you've been tickling her and she'd like you to stop." "Well you were tickling her just a minute ago, what's the difference?" "The difference is that I was trying to help her, while you were using it to bully her. She's your sister, your twin, you two should be together and strong against the world." Laura huffed again and said nothing. "Are you going to stop tickling your sister?" Laura still didn't answer. "Well we'll have to see if we can persuade you then," said Cecily mischievously. She used her feet to push both the arms of the prone girl away from her body and held them there with the strength of her legs. The terracotta-coloured dress that Laura was wearing had no sleeves and the position her arms had been forced in to exposed the soft, smooth hollows of her armpits. Both girls were used to pampering themselves and keeping their skin in very good condition which often meant that certain spots were a tickler's dream. Cecily's fingers dove for Laura's armpits and began poking and prodding, scratching and skittering across as much bare flesh as they could find. Laura instantly stiffened and said – almost instinctively - "I'm not ticklish." Cecily smiled and said, " I know you are Laura, you're just good at holding it in – like me." Cecily looked over her shoulder, "Laura; go on," she smiled at the other girl, sitting on her twin sisters bared legs. Lucy looked down at the smooth, slender legs and tiny feet at the ends. It was time to pay her sister back, she knew that she could handle being tickled for a while, but not on her feet and her armpits at once! She placed her short fingernails on the backs of Laura's knees – always a sensitive spot – and began to tickle. She could feel her sister's legs tense up and her hips and upper body start to wriggle. Lucy tickled from the backs of her knees slowly down towards her sister's little feet. As she reached Laura's ankles, Lucy scooted down her sisters legs to ensure that she had complete control over them. She relished tickling her ankles and a little of the sides of the bare feet in front of her and smiled hugely as she was rewarded with little yelps from her sister. "She's starting to loose it Lucy, keep going!" Buoyed by Cecily's help and enthusiasm for the task, Lucy finally reached the smooth, delicate soles of her sisters feet. They were very much like hers – they both wore shoes of the same size and always had done – and it was odd to see a pair of soles that looked so familiar trapped and helpless. She descended quickly and all out attacked Laura's bare feet with her fingers. She landed right on her sisters arches and tickled the surface of her skin quickly. Laura was starting to wriggle and buck beneath the other two girls so they knew that she was really feeling it, it was only a matter of seconds now before she cracked. Lucy dug her short fingernails lightly in to the skin of Laura's arches and scratched ticklish scratches which sent Laura over the edge. She could hold it in no longer; she yelped, squealed and dissolved in to giggles. Lucy did not stop, in fact she increased the tickling on her sisters feet now she knew that she was laughing – finally. Cecily noticed how similar the giggles of the two twins were, almost surprised that something such as this should be almost identical even in identical twins. Now that Laura was laughing, Cecily too stepped up her tickling. She was dancing her fingernails over the bare flesh one minute and digging in to the sensitive skin with her fingers the next. Laura was trying desperately to escape, writhing and trying to buck her ticklers off her back but she could not. She had known that she could only hold out for so long but it had been her only option. She was usually so good at preventing ticklers from trying more than a few pokes. Yet now she was face-down on the floor, pinned and tickled by her twin sister and the babysitter. She was just thankful that no one else was here to see it. Lucy was really having fun by now, it was usually her that was being tormented so to turn the tables on her regular tormentor was rather wickedly fun. Her fingers were flying quickly over her sister's soles and then switching to nimbly digging in to the soft skin. "Maybe we should be the ones telling people at your new school about what's happened tonight," Cecily teased, "maybe everyone should know how ticklish you are?" "Nooo," Laura wailed through her manic giggles. Lucy smiled, "are you sorry for tickling me so much sis?" "Shu-u-u-ut hehehe Shut Up! Stop it! Please!" Laura begged, she did want them to stop, but was not ready to say sorry just yet – the girl was stubborn. The two girls renewed their ticklish torments. Laura screamed and her laughter reached a more frantic pitch. There was no way she could stop what was happening to her, nor her own reactions. She was pinned, flat-out on the floor and her armpits, ribs, feet, and legs were all being viciously attacked. After a few more seconds she had had enough; she needed it to stop. "Stooop! Please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the girl bleated through her tormented laughter. "Think we should stop Lucy? It's up to you," Cecily asked. "Hmmmmm," Lucy 'thought' loudly. "Please! Luce, please stop!" Laura was frantic now, desperate. "Are you going to stop tickling me? Going to be nice when we start at our new school? It'll be easy for you, we only have to be there for a year." "YES! Just stop," Laura begged, her pride gone, her resistance drained. The girls slowed and stopped, the stood up slightly embarrassed. They looked at each other sheepishly and then down at Laura who was laying on the floor panting. Lucy felt slightly guilty – she was normally the 'good girl' – but her sister had been increasingly horrible in the last few years and she deserved teaching a lesson, if only to make sure she didn't make Lucy's life hell once they started at their new school. Cecily knelt and made to help Laura up from the floor. "Ahh, no, please no more," Laura wailed writhing to protect herself from a perceived second attack. "Calm down, we're not going to tickle you any more," Cecily cooed, pulling the exhausted girl from the floor and on to the sofa, "we are done tickling you -" "- for now!" Lucy finished slightly menacingly but with a smile on her face. She was going to  enjoy her new-found power over her sister. "Thank you for helping me Cecily," said Laura looking first at her slowly recovering sister and then at Cecily. "That's ok Lucy, I was glad to. You're both going to fit in very well at your new school, I can tell."

[tickletherapy]

Renfaire Tickling

And if you’ve ever really been in the stocks at renfaires you know how horrific it can really be. it’s all in fun and just joking around, right/m they lead you up to the stocks, carefully help you in them, stick each ankle in the holes and lock down the wooden beam so you can;t pull your ankles back through it’s a tight fit and the wood is think and heavy. They tie your hands tightly behind your back with strong soft rope around a post you lean back against. you can;t get your arms free. Ok, so you’re a little nervous, but its all in fun right? Then they start untying your tennis shoes one at a time and slipping them off. you’re now in your cute hello kitty socks or whatever, and they begin to peel them off too. You protest, “Hey, now come on, stop! Don’t take off my shoes! NOOO not my socks too! Please give me back my socks and shoes! ”

They walk away with your shoes and sicks and pur them in a tent close to the booth with the stocks. People are starting to gwther around and just look at you like you are a zoo animal on display for all to see. You begin to get nervous and feel embarrassed. Here you are all tied up, can;t get away, vulnerable and helpless, they just stole your shoes and socks so you sit there with your feet all vulnerable for everyone to see. Then some kid about 8 or so walks up and giggles at you and begins to tickle your feet with a feather he found on the ground. You tell him to quit as you begin to giggle and he doesn’t. he just strokes that feather up and down your soles and it begins to seriously tickle! Then he decides to slide it in and out between your toes and you squeal and scream begging him to stop. Finally his mother comes by and grabs him and leads him away scolding him for his actions.

You finally get relief even though it was only for a minute or two, and you think you are safe, but that doesn;t last long as everyone has seen your weakness now. Others walk up and smile at you with evil intent as fingers slide up and down your soles. You scream and laugh as it begins to REALLY tickle now! You beg and plead an they just laugh at you as they take turns tickling your feet. Someone has decided to tickle your knees too. they crab pinch just above your knees and you scream louder wiggling and thrashing as both your knees and feet are tickled.! You’ve never been soo vulnerable and felt so completely helpless before in your life and you seriously start to panic! And just when you think it can;t be any worse, someone snakes their fingers into your armpits and wiggles them tickling you even MORE! along with that they skitter their fingers up and down your ribs poking and prodding driving you tickle crazy! All this has only happened in 5 minutes or so! You feel like its going on for hours! Everyone tickling you is giggling and making comments and teasing you with gitchy gitchy gitchy, coochie coochie coo and taunting you with ,Aww, is her poor tootsies sooo ticklish? poor dear soo ticklish isn’t she. I bet she was real bad to be strapped in these stocks like this to deserve this kind of punishment.

As this is all going on at the same time, you still hear people commenting as they stand around and stare and watch intently. “Oh my god i could NEVER handle what she’s going thru! I;m so ticklish i would jut DIE! Oh that poor girl! i bet she’s suffering BAD! Oh look t her! She’s hysterical! u bet they are paying her a LOT of money to do that! I don;t think they could pay me enough to go thru that myself!

And then Things wind down a bit and people tire and get bored and stop tickling and move away to other displays. time elapsed? aprox 15 minutes from start to finish.

Now as you sit there breathing hard trying to pull oxygen back into your longs and let your highly excited nerves calm down, you look up and you see a bunch of girls from school walking through the faire grounds and then they see you…. Of course it had to be the school snob squad. the pranksters, the girls that are your sworn enemy. And what do you do? you’re tied here in place completely helpless… They walk towards you giggling and talking to each other as they point and whisper to each other laughing at what they see as they get closer.

They stand in front of you and scoff giggling, and start taunting and making fun of you. and they do it loudly! Now as they do this, another crowd is forming only much bigger crowd. You sit there in tears as they humiliate you and poke fun and embarrass you to the point you want to become invisible climb out of your own skin and just dissapear. Then it happens. As the girls stand in front of you and point at your feet and make fun of them, Oh now look, her toenail polish just doesn’t match her outfit at ALL good lord, girl don;t you have anything right/ And look, she has a callous on her heel! OMG that’s sooo gross! ” While this is going on and everyone is giggling, someone from the crowd simply says…. “Tickle her! get her feet!” .

The girls all look at each other and their mouths all drop and eyes get big and wide, and they burst into the biggest grin! OMG YES lets tickle her feet that will teach her! So they grab your helpless feet and rake their long perfectly manicured nails up and down your soles and you just burst out into screams and fits of sheer hysteria immediately as the tickling drives you completely mad! The tickling on your poor feet gos on and on and on incessantly as you beg and scream and cry and look absolutely pathetic from all the tickle torture. The mean girls just giggle and poke fun and tease and taunt you the entire time. You think it will never stop because the more you scream and beg and plead, the faster and harder they tickle and you simply can’t stand it another second! As you realize they are NOT going to stop, you panic even more and lose your mind completely1 this is all for just fun right?m that’s what it’s supposed to be! so how come I’m going insane and can’t stop it???

 Just when you honestly think it can; not possibly get any worse, you see your crush walk up into the crowd and stand there gawking mouth open and smiling at your predicament. As they tickle you into sheer and utter insanity, your bladder releases and the front of your shorts show wetness and you pee all over yourself from the unbridled tickling of your feet by three really mean girls with long manicured sharp nails! You cry and  cry and cry profusely and your crush notices the wet spot and after giggling a bit, walks up and tells the girls you’ve had enough and makes them stop. They finally relent and walk away skipping and giggling. Your crush unties your hands, unlocks the stocks and releases you. as you sit there crying and hold your knees to your chest your crush hugs you and holds you.. They help you down and you walk barefoot in the dirt at the faire grounds and holding hands, walk away . Your crush reaches over and whispers, “You looked very sexy siting there being tickled. i’ll have to try that at home sometime with you ted to the bed. I LOVE how sexy your  feet are….

[tickletherapy]

Tickling Hermione Granger

Hermione kicked off her trainers by the front door and flopped onto the sofa clutching her book.  Ron was off on Auror business with Harry and wouldn't be back for a few days.  Normally she begrudged him being kept away, though she understood the need for extended works hours at times.  Tonight was different though.  She had a book that she'd been dying to get on with.  Now was her chance.  She had the house to herself, her paperwork was done, all the little household chores had been taken care of, the fire had died to a gentle crackle and there was a steaming cup of hot chocolate on the side table next to her.  She looked around the room for a moment, totally contented, and sighed.  Leaning back she placed her socked feet on the low table and, flexing her toes, settled down to read.  She had half expected some sort of disturbance.  Everything was a little too perfect.  However the crash from outside still made her jump.  It had sounded like something hitting the gate at the side of the house.  Placing her book down and grabbing her wand, Hermione got up.  Whatever it was she wanted to make sure it wasn't going to happen again.  She made her way to the door and eased her feet into her trainers.  Turning the key in the lock she opened the door and went outside.  The chill night air ruffled the curls of her hair but otherwise nothing stirred in the street.  “Lumos” she muttered and directed the light into the shadows around her.  She saw the bins had been toppled.  Moving over to them she heard a scuffling inside.  “Crookshanks?” she said hopefully.  She still held out hope her long lost pet would find its way home.  However when a rather tatty looking moggie crawled out her hopes vanished.  It mewed aggressively.  “Shoo!” she said, the light from her wand flickering.  With another, more plaintive meow the cat scampered off, its little bell ringing.  “Not homeless then,” Hermione said to herself.  Turning her attention to the bins a couple of quick charms righted them and held them in place in case of any further scavenging.  She would remove the charm in time for the collection, but for now, there'd be no more interruptions.  She turned to go back inside when she noticed something attached to the front door.  There was a simple envelope pinned in place, just above the handle.  Pulling it down she opened it.  'Too easy' The scrawled message was blotched as if from a cheap quill.  Hermione spun round raising her wand, but it was already too late.  “Stupify!”  And it all went black... Hermione woke to the sound of dripping water echoing in the distance.  Her mouth was dry and she felt uncomfortably warm; her clothes clinging to her.    “Wakey wakey, dear,” said a woman's voice, a soft hand brushing the hair from her face.   Hermione opened her eyes and blinked.  The first thing she saw was the cat that had been scavenging outside her house sitting on her lap.  It meowed happily, staring at her.  She quickly realised with mounting dread that she couldn't move.  She was sitting on a rough wooden bench, that was bathed in a shaft cold light from some unseen source above.  The light made it hard to see into the shadowy room beyond, though what she could make out looked like a dank stone room.  Her upper body was raised so she was in a sitting position, though slightly reclined back.  She had bands around her wrists, fastened tight and holding her arms in a position that looked as if she were trying to show off her biceps.  There was another band around her waist, more across her thighs and shins, her legs sticking out straight in front of her.  Her ankles though were unbound, her feet free to wriggle over the edge of the table, her trainers moving back and forth.  Hermione took all this in very swiftly and, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she turned her gaze back to the cat.  It cocked its head studying her.  “Quentin!  Shoo!” the same voice shouted.  The cat leapt off the bennh and a woman walked into the light, standing over Hermione, peering down at her.  The wavy dark hair and pale skin was all too familiar.  “Bellatrix...?” Hermione breathed, squinting in the hope that her eyes were playing tricks on her.  “So...  You knew mother...  I should have guessed, I thought I recognised the handwriting.”  The woman prodded at Hermione's arm, grinning.  The arm of her sweater had been pulled up, exposing her forearm and the word 'Mudblood'.  The scar that Bellatrix had burned into her was faint but still clearly visible. “Unfortunately,” the woman went on.  “Or not, depending on how you look at it, she hasn't yet found away to cheat death.”  Hermione eyes widened though the woman had by now turned away.  She walked over to a low wall and perched there, twiddling a wand in her fingers.  Quentin, the cat, leaped up onto the wall  and sat next her, beginning to purr as the woman scratched its head.  On some level Hermione noted this as an important observation; she was dealing with a witch.  However something more pressing and alarming took priority in her mind.  “Mother?” she asked.  “I'm Ariadne Lestrange, a pleasure to meet you.”  The witch gave her a wide-eyed, toothy grin, allowing her wand to hang at a jaunty angle, held loosely between her fingers.  It was quite a disturbing expression on such a terribely familiar face, though it was quite different from Bellatrix's snarl.  However now that Hermione looked more closely she could see the subtle differences.  She was very obviously Belltrix's daughter, the resemblance was uncanny, though she was probably only a little older than Hermione.  But where the older Lestrange woman was filled with hate and anger, there seemed only a playful energy in Ariadne's eyes.    “Bellatrix had children?” Hermione asked still not quite believing it.  “A child... me,” send Ariadne in an off-hand fashion.  “No one ever said anything,” Hermione replied, still trying to make sense of the situation.  She strained against the bonds holding her in place, but they didn't budge.  “No one would have,” Ariadne went on, her expression now serious, but her eyes still wide.  “They saw me as something of an embarrassment so locked me away.  I had this hobby, you see.  Something I liked to do.  They didn't mind when it was just muggles and mudbloods.  They didn't like it, but they didn't really care.  But they lost their temper after what I did to Aunty Narcissa and Aunty Andromeda.  They hated it.  I still remember them wriggling and giggling and crying.  So they hid me and forgot about me.  They didn't love me anyway...  They didn't love each other.  Made me a bit peculiar really.”  Hermione watched the witch visibly sag, as she stared off into nothing.  Now tah the was no longer receiving any attention the cat obviously lost interest in the situation and darted off to explore the dungeon.  Hermione almost thought better of asking her next question, but she had to know.  She was very worried about what this witch had in store for her.    “What did you do?” she asked.  Ariadne immediately sat upright and was smiling again.  “You'll find out very shortly, dear...” she grinned wider and then shot her wand out towards Hermione.  “Calceus apage!”  Herminone couldn't suppress a surprised yelp as her trainers were yanked from her feet and flung away across the room as if by invisible hands.  “Uh...” Hermione gasped looking down at the end of the table where her socked feet wriggled back and forth.  Now Hermione really didn't like the way this situation was developing.    “Is it really worth all this trouble?” she asked.  Still smiling Ariadne continued to speak in soothing tones.  “Your name hasn't been forgotten these last few years.  Not after all the adventures; all the battles!”  At this point she got up and started pacing around the table Hermione was bound to.  “The legendary Hermione Granger!  Hero of the Wizarding War.”  “If it's revenge your looking for...?”  Hermione began but was interrupted.  “Revenge?  This isn't revenge.  I don't care about the Deatheaters and Mum and all that.  I just wanted to meet a celebrity!”  Ariadne grinned manically at Hermione, the witches face just a little too close to her own.  “I'm not a...” Hermione started but was again interrupted.  “Yes you are!” Ariadne snapped.  “Everyone knows you, second only to Potter himself.  And now... you're all mine.”  “So... what's your plan?” asked Hermione trying to keep her voice level and calm.  Ariadne grinned lopsidedly and straightened up.  “Isn't it obvious for a smart girl like you?” she asked.  “Well,” Hermione began, slightly unsure.  She looked down at her socked feet. “No... It really isn't,” she finished lamely.  “I'll give you a hint...”  Ariadne cooed.  Pointing her wand at Hermione's feet she breathed another spell.  “Retexere...”  Hermione felt a tugging at the toe of her right sock.  A lone thread rose up from the end of her foot.  It twirled in the air, forming a little ball, and became larger as her sock unravelled.  Very slowly Herminone's toes were left bare and exposed, small and pink in the stark light.  Still smiling Ariadne watched mesmerised as Hermione's sock slowly disappeared.  “I've created a few quite interesting charms for my own amusement...  You'll find the experience is more intense with these than most standard charms...  When used correctly.”  Hermione shuddered.  Her sock only covered her heal now, the pink sole of her foot mostly bare.  “What are you going to do to my feet?” she asked timidly.  “Do you really have no idea?” Ariadne asked.  The last threads of her right sock unravelled and the ball dropped from mid-air.  Almost immediately her left sock began coming apart in the same way and in just a few moments the rest of her delicate toes became visible.  “Well...” Hermione began, certain ideas flashing through her head.  “Come now girl, don't play coy.  Pretty little feet like yours...” Ariadne pointed her wand at Hermione's wriggling toes.  “You must have had some boys desperate to get your socks off?”  “Certainly not!” Hermione snapped.  “Ron's not into anything like that!”  “Well he doesn't know what he's missing!” Ariadne said, squatting down at the side of the table so her eyes were level with Hermione's feet.  Her eyes danced back and forth as the thread of the sock unfurled from Hermione's heel.  “And, might I add, neither do you.  You may actually enjoy this.  Speaking for myself, I can't get enough.  And if there's one thing I love it's plump little toes like yours! So I have to ask...” She turned and looked up the table, “Are you ticklish?”  Hermione began to breath harder.  The thought of her feet being tickled...  It didn't seem as bad as some of the thoughts that had occurred to her, but is still terrified her.  It was like being a child again, she couldn't think properly.   She struggled and, as she did so, clenched and fanned her toes, which brought a gasp of pleasure from Ariadne.  “I think you are...” Ariadne purred, cocking and eyebrow.  Had Hermione not been struggling so hard she may have noticed Quentin had perched on the low wall again and was watching intently.  “Please...” Herminone begged.  Ariadne stood up and walked around so she was facing Hermione's bare soles.  For all the good it did Hermione wriggled her feet back and forth, curled and fanned her toes, but none of the restraints loosened.  Ariadne smiled and, raising her wand, pointed it at Hermione's exposed feet.  “Please don't!” Herione almost squealed.  “Peditatus Titillatio!”  Hermione tensed and waited.  For a moment nothing happened and she thought for a moment that maybe this charm of Ariadne's wouldn't work.  But then she felt it.  On the arch of her right foot, making slow movement back and forth.  It wasn't so bad, but slowly it was getting more and more intense.  “No... Please...” Hermione said, but Ariadne wasn't listening.  She was concentrating, drawing delicate little patterns in the air, her eyes locked on Hermione's bare feet.  Slowly the sensation became more intense, and Hermione tried to stifle the laughter that made her body shook.  She clenched her fists and screwed her eyes shut as Ariadne guided the magic towards her helpless soles.  Starting on the right the sensation swirled around her wriggling foot, from the plump heel, up the smooth curve of her arch, along the ball of her foot and then moving on to caress each of her delicate little toes.  It ended with a flourish, swirling around her big toe.  In the brief moment that followed Hermione let out a ragged breath, and had a fleeting hope that it was over.  Then she felt it, more intense than before, the little circles being traced in the tender hollow of her left foot's arch.  It was too much and she barked out with laughter.  She tried to stop it but couldn't control herself and Ariadne guided the tickling charm around her foot, up the sole, between her squirming toes and back down, again.  “Stop!” Hermione managed between fits of laughter.  “Please stop!  I... don't...” she squealed with giggles and then ran out of breath.  Ariadne obviously enjoyed her pleas, but ignored them anyway and took a few steps closer so as better to toy with her victim's toes.  “Different isn't it?” she asked, still working the tickling charm over and around Heriones bare feet.  “Deep down I bet you enjoy it?”  Hermione, unable to control her laughing could only shake her head furisouly.  “Not even a little?”  Ariadne asked, emphasising the question with a wiggle of her wand directed right at the soft, pale flesh beneath the balls of Herione's feet.    “NO!” Hermione shouted between fits of laughter.  Ariadne shrugged and rested an elbow on the bench.  She swept her wand back and forth, back and forth, tickling both Hermione's feet one after the other.  In an effort to alleviate the sensation Hermione curled her toes, soft little ridges apearing along the sole of each foot.  “Adorable, but there's no escape,” said Ariadne giggling to herself.  Hermione caught her breath as the other witch ceased the tickling charm and said, “Reflectere.”  Hermione yelped again as the magical charm seized her feet.  She was helpless as her toes were slowly eased backward drawing the skin of her soles taught and leaving her toes spread and unable to move.  “There now...” Ariadne said with a glint in her eye.  “Much better.”  “No more!” Hermione yelled, tears welling in her eyes.  “Please... Stop.  I can't...”  She couldn't stand it, being trapped, her feet being tickled.  It was all too much.  Worse, Ariadne now had that look, Bellatrix's look.  It was the same hunger to see others tormented.  It terrified Hermione. Bringing back unwanted memories.  Ariadne though seemed to be in her own little world and gazing at her captive's now immobile feet.  Slowly, relishing each syllable he said,  “Ped-i-tat-us... Tit-ill-a-t-io!”  “NO!” Hermione screamed as her feet were ticklishly attacked once again however this time they were unable to move or wriggle and the sensation of being trapped made the tickling far, far worse.  She was helpless as Ariadne guided the magic back and forth along the exposed, tender skin beneath her toes.  Ariadne moved closer and closer, delicately tracing her wand band and forth.  All the while Hermione laughed, tears streaming down her face.  She could barely concentrate on anything around her, but was vaguely aware of Ariadne speaking.  “Your feet are gorgeous you know.” she was saying.  “You've got perfect toes for this; so cute... so delicate.  I almost can't control myself!”  Ariadne hunched over Hermione's left foot.  With practised skill she continued to titillate Hermione's right foot with her wand, but wrapped her soft lips around her prisoner's left toes.  “NO!” Hermione screeched.  “NO! NO!”  Ariadne groaned as she mouthed Hermione's immobile toes, sucking her big toe, working her tongue around it.  Demurely she lifted her head wiped her mouth and grinned. Hermione looked back, for a moment before the tickling overcame her and she was lost to the torrent of giggling again.  Ariadne bent again and placed Hermione's middle and third toe in her mouth, wrapping her tongue around each, touching the oh-so-soft skin between them.  “Mmmm...” she mumbled.  “Lovely.”  Ariadne saw that Hermione wasn't listening and lowered her wand.  Hermione gulped down air and sagged against her restraints.  “To hell with it!” Ariande said.  “ Rictumsempra.”  Hermione's whole body exploded with the feeling of being tickled.  She wailed with laughter, bucking and straining against her bonds.  Meanwhile Ariadne placed her wand down and then delicately cupped Hermione's still trapped right foot in her hands.  Then, with great care, she ran her tongue from Hermione's heel up and down the sole of her foot, relishing the soft, smooth skin.  The tip of her tongue strayed over the pale, untouched flesh of her arch, before working its way over the sumptuous ball of her foot.  She then mouther Hermione's big toe and game it a playful nibble.  She raised her gaze to Hermione's shuddering body.  “How about the left foot now, huh?” she asked.  “No!” screeched Hermione.  “Please....”  Gently Ariadne placed her hands either side of Herione's dainty foot.  Then she lowered her lips and began to mouth the underside of Hermione's toes.  Pouting her lips she wrapped them around the round pad of each toe and then sucked on each, feeling each toe in her mouth and against her tongue.  Opening her mouth wide she unrestrainedly mouthed Hermione's fanned toes.  As she did so she ran her fingertips up and down Hermione's soles.  She carried on like this for minutes, her mouth working around all ten of Herione's little toes, her fingers caressing the gentle curves of both feet.  All the while Hermione bucked and laughed but was unable to do anything to stop her feet being tormented.  The little pink toes still in her mouth, Ariadne looked up and watched Hermione gasping for breath, not fighting the laughter anymore.    “Right...  Okay...” she said.  “That's quite enough for now then!”  Ariadne pickup up her wand and gave it a dismissive flick.  Suddenly the charms dissipated and Hermione slumped again, exhausted, breathing heavily and blink tears from her eyes.  She flexed her feet, at last able to move them again.  Ariadne watched the young woman for a moment and then strode off into the shadows.  Rummaging around in a heavy chest she spoke to Hermione over her shoulder.  “There was another reason I wanted you here.”  Hermione continued to pant and gasp and said nothing in reply.  Ariadne continued unperturbed.  “You see... As well as you there's someone else I want to meet.”  Hermione still said nothing as Ariadne retrieved a magazine form the chest and walked back towards the bench.  “I think you know her.  She's quite famous...” Ariadne said with twinkling eyes.  Hermione only sat and stared back furiously.  “Ginny Potter!  She's a friend of yours!”  Ariadne held up the magazine, a picture of Ginny, clad in her Quidditch gear, waving to cheering crowds was splashed over one whole page.  “What do you want with Ginny?” Herimone croaked.  She had recovered some composure, her her throat was hoarse from the almost non-stop laughing.  “Silly girl,” said Ariadne before adopting a very prim tone.  “The same thing for which I wanted you.”  “You want to tickle her too?” Hermione asked incredulously.  “Can you think of another better reason?” Ariadne asked in reply and gazed at the picture.  She reached out and stroked the page.  “I've got a real thing for red-heads...” she mumbled, almost to herself.  Suddenly she looked up excitedly, full of energy.  “Besides, I've got something new for her!”  Ariadne grabbed the sides of the bench and spun it around, it pivoted with a smooth fluid motion.  Blinking tears from her eyes and still trying to catch her breath Hermione followed the witch's gaze, trying to see what she had in store for her friend.  In the corner, in another pool of light was what looked like a dentist's chair.  It was a sinister contraption, with all kinds of bands and restraints.  However what disturbed her most was, unsurprisingly near to where Ginny's feet would rest.  There was a pair of thick wooden footrests, but they obviously weren't solid.  There was movement on the upper side.  To her horror two pink tongues stuck out of two holes in the footrests.  They lolled and slathered, moving back and forth with slow languid movements.  “I found it in the sub-basement of Borgin and Burkes...” Ariadne explained unbidden.  She was wringing her hands and grinning like a lunatic.  “They've got an interesting collection of paraphernalia down there.  Fascinating stuff to people who like that sort of thing.  Might not interest a good girl like you though.”  “Ginny won't be taken by surprise as easily as me,” Hermione said. “You won't be able to get her here.”  “I think she will.  Especially when she receives a letter from one of her oldest and dearest friends.”  Ariadne reached into her pocket and withdrew a small piece of card.  She placed what looked like a party invitation onto the bench next to Hermione's hip.  She flicked her wand at the restraint around her right wrist and it popped open.  Almost immediately a pen floated into the hand.  “Just needs your name,” Ariadne said.  “Well...” Hermione sniffed defiantly. “I'll never sign.”  Quentin meowed happily, still sitting on his wall.  Ariadne grinned.  “I was hoping you'd say that,” she left the invitation on the edge of the bench.  She walked away, grabbed a stool and set it at the end of the bench between Hermione's bare feet.  Hermione started to tremble and curled her toes defensively, simultaneously biting her lip.  Ariadne grinned wider and cracked her fingers much like a particularly ostentatious piano player.  “We'll see.  Time for more of the hands-on approach, I think.”  The witch actually licked her lips as she eyed Hermione's bare feet.  “Not again, please...” Hermione started but it was already too late.  Ariadne ignored the pleas as once again she pressed her fingers into the smooth, soft flesh of  Hermione's bare soles.  Hermione erupted into laughter once more and Ariadne's fingertips ran back and forth across her feet, and then moved on to tease the tender skin beneath her toes.  “And anyway...” Ariadne said.  “Even if I can't get Ginny here... I still have you!  Maybe you'd like a go in the chair in a bit, huh?”  Hermione didn't hear.  She was laughing too hard to notice anything. Next time: Ginny strode out of her Quidditch teams practice area mopping her brow with a towel.  She was heading back to the changing rooms after the two hour training session, and was stiff and sweaty from aerial drills and goal shooting.  All she wanted to was to get home and have an early night.  As she passed the reception desk she smiled at the attendant.  “Hey Rebecca.”  “Oh, Mrs. Potter!  This arrived for you.”  Ginny reached out to take the enveolope and said, “Please call me Ginny.”  “Will do Mrs. Potter...  Er Mrs. Ginny,” Rebecca sputtered.  Ginny smiled as Rebecca fidgeted with stationary.  “Thanks, have a good evening.”  “Your too Ginny Potter...  I mean Mrs...  Oh...” Rebecca buried her face in some papers. In the changing room Ginny sat down on the bench in front of her locker.  She gratefully toed her trainers off and flexed her sweaty toes with a sigh.  She was about to peel one of the white ankle socks off when she remembered the letter.  She opened the envelope and the card inside immediately floated out of her hand and hovered before her.  Hi Ginny. I thought with the guys away we could hang out.  Feeling a bit blue, would be great if you could come over.  Hermione.  Ginny took the envelope.   It was certainly Hermione's signature...  A little shaky, but still...  “Hmmm...” she breathed.  Ginny didn't like it.  It wasn't like Hermione to pine.  She missed Ron sure, but she was too together, too busy to feel sorry for herself.  It wasn't right; it didn't feel right.  “Well...” She said to herself, drawing her wand.  “Let's investigate!”